Relentless (20 page)

“Bulletproof glass, relax.”

“This is relaxed,” she muttered dryly, flinching every time they were slammed by the other vehicle.

Thorne yanked the steering wheel hard left. He grinned with satisfaction, hearing the Mercedes’s fender crumple. He could barely see a thing though the shattered glass, but he managed to use the Jeep like a plow and shove the Mercedes onto the center divide and oncoming traffic. “Where to?”

IT WAS EXTREMELY DIFFICULT
to read in a vehicle moving ninety miles an hour. Isis glanced—once—at the
speedometer and didn’t look again. In fact, despite the bumping and high speed, she’d rather be trying to read the small print on the map than watching the means of her imminent death.

The Nile ran on their right. “Stay on Kornish El Nile.” There was a
bullet
embedded in his side window. Isis inched lower in her seat until she was practically sitting in the small space on the floor. Dear God, this was crazy. Stuff like this didn’t
happen
to people like her.

She considered getting out her camera to take a picture of the bullet lodged so close to Thorne’s head, for proof or something, but opted to hang on for dear life instead.

The Jeep made a right-angle turn. Even though she couldn’t see the cars Thorne cut off, she heard the strident, annoyed horns, the screeching brakes, and imagined she smelled the burning rubber of skidding tires. Bowing her head, she promising herself that she couldn’t die until she’d ticked a few more things off her bucket list.

“In three blocks, turn left onto the Kornish El Nile—
no
. Sorry! I mean left on—” She covered the bloodcurdling scream induced by a jarring slam to her side of the car with a hard palm across her mouth. Freaking out wasn’t going to help Connor elude these people.

“Left on Manzal Kobri,” she managed to say, sweat trickling down her temples and between her breasts.

“Grab the steering wheel.”

Her stomach knotted with apprehension. “What?
No
, I don’t think s—”

“Get over here and take the wheel. Damn it,
move
.
Now!
”

At his commanding voice, she lunged across the seat until her face was buried in his lap, then curled her fingers around the bottom of the wheel. Her glasses bit into the bridge of her nose.

“Somehow,” Thorne said dryly, his hard thigh muscles flexing under her cheek, “this isn’t what I pictured for our first time.”

“Cut the jokes.” Her voice was muffled. “Now not only can’t I
see,
I can’t
breathe
! What are you doing?”

He wrapped his fingers around hers to keep the wheel steady. “Just like that. We’re not
likely
to end up in the river…”

Funny man popped open his door. The wind whipped her hair around her head and his hips. The sound of tires against pavement mere feet away terrified her. “Oh, my God, Thorne, what the hell are you—”

He leaned out, way out—until her nose was smashed against his hip bone. He fired a barrage of shots. Each blast made her flinch and squeeze her eyes more tightly shut.

He reached back to adjust her stiff fingers. God.
He
wasn’t holding on to anything!

“Damn it, Isis! Keep it steady!” His thigh muscle flexed under her cheek as he manipulated the accelerator. Not easing up, but pressing his foot flat to the floor.

The stink of car exhaust and gas fumes, and the thrum of the tires speeding on the road surrounding them, were
nothing compared to the terror she felt holding that steering wheel in a death grip as they raced along blindly.

For God’s sake.
Neither
of them was looking at the road!

He was hanging out of the open door, firing, his head almost on the road racing by beneath them. Protected, she hoped, by the door panel. But she doubted his view of the other car was any better than her view of the road. In other words: nonexistent.

Metal pinged against metal as his shots were returned.

She
expected
the sound of cars crashing behind them, but Isis still flinched and bit her lip at the voracious crash and crunch of the cars smashing into one another a few seconds later. The blast of an explosion rocked their car. The furnace heat of an exploding gas tank warmed the crown of her head and shoulders as a ball of fire exploded far too close by. Red bloomed behind her tightly closed eyes.

“Slide over,” Thorne said grimly, giving her a little shove. Numbly, Isis slid back across the seat, eyes still squeezed shut. Shaking, she huddled, half on the seat, half in the footwell as his door slammed, shutting out the majority of the cacophony outside, so that the sound of her rapid heartbeat in her ears was deafening.

The Jeep didn’t stop, or slow down.

After a few moments, Isis opened her burning eyes and swallowed dryly. “They stopped following us.” That was the best she could manage. Whoever had been in that car, or God help them—those
cars
—was very dead. No one could have survived that conflagration.

“No.
One
car stopped following us. The Audi is closing in, and fast. What’s the next turn?”

She was half sitting on the open map, and lifted her hip to free it. She straightened her glasses and found her place with a shaking finger. “Turn right onto Abd El Khalik Tharwat.” Calm descended. Probably shock, but she would take it.

He veered sharply from the left lane across traffic to take the right-hand exit. Isis didn’t even flinch when cars blared their horns and tires screeched to avoid them. Same old, same old.

She struggled half up onto the seat so she could see where they were. Streetlights flickered on, shop windows brightly lit against the evening shadows. Lots of foot traffic now that they were off the main arteries. She recognized the area. “Continue on to Gohar al-Kaed for about a mile and a half.”

“Do you have a destination in mind, or are we just driving?” He almost mowed down a donkey cart filled with tomatoes and giggling children, and had to go up on the curb to avoid two old men shuffling across the street in the semidarkness.

“We’re heading toward Insaid al-Azhar Gardens. Lots of tourists, but better still, only a few blocks from Husani’s apartment. I know the park quite well; we played there as children.”

He checked the review mirror. “Good enough.”

“I don’t want these clowns to follow us to Husani’s place, Thorne!”

“We’ll shake them. Where next?”

“Sharp left. Stay on Passages Insaid al-Azhar Garden, then keep left at the fork. We’re almost there.”

IT WAS A WARM
evening, with just a hint of a breeze scented with fresh-mown grass and night-blooming flowers. Thorne abandoned the Jeep in a gully running alongside the full parking lot and grabbed Isis’s hand. She pulled him into the green park, beyond which he could see the glow of Cairo’s lights reflecting off a scudding cloud cover.

A concert in the amphitheater was drawing a large crowd of cheerful, jostling teenagers who inhabited the hilly lawns and winding paths of park like ants at a picnic before the music started.

“This way,” she said, tugging his hand. “I know a shortcut. I spent several months each year in school near here, and learned all about it. They spent thirty million dollars building this oasis in the middle of the city. It was a garbage dump for five hundred years! Can you imagine that?”

Thorne didn’t give a flying fuck but let her rattle on about hidden walls and something about the park being expensive as they walked at a fast clip. Hedge-lined plazas, rolling lawns, flowering plants, and tall palms framed spectacular city views. Of greater interest was who, if anyone, might be following them. He kept a sharp eye out as they walked. He wouldn’t bring danger to Husani’s home and was prepared to run like hell if necessary.

Water features misted the air with their cooling spray
as Isis and Thorne mingled with the crowds, blending in as people streamed to the amphitheater. “Keep going; I’ll catch up with you,” he said in a low voice.

“No
.” Her fingers tightened in his. “I don’t want you going off alone.”

That elicited a short bark of laughter. He’d been shot, stabbed, and almost gutted over the years as an MI5 operative, but no one had ever given a damn. “It’s not my first day at kindergarten, darling. I’m going to double back to see if we’re being followed.”

“Then we go together.” She met his gaze, his eyes shadowed by her glasses. Chewing her lower lip, Isis admitted, “Frankly, I don’t want
me
to be alone, either.”

He should’ve considered that, especially after what she’d been through in the past few days. He rarely worked with a partner, so being autonomous was par for the course. And the last time he’d partnered up—

Goddamn it, he didn’t
want
to be responsible for anyone else’s safety. Clearly he was shit at the job. Ask Lynn Maciej and Troy Ayers. “We’ll double back to that fountain where the kids are playing. We can remain concealed by the hedges along the way.”

She smiled her thanks. They went back, then casually drifted into a rowdy group of teenagers and adults. No one looked as though they were skulking, but then, professionals wouldn’t. They, like himself, would blend undetected.

It was an exercise in futility. Too many people about, and he had no way to ID the men in the tan car. Unless
they happened to be
in
said car. “I don’t see anything. Let’s head to Husani’s and regroup.”

HUSANI’S WIFE, RABIAH, WAS
preparing dinner when they arrived. The small, crowded apartment smelled deliciously of roasting meat and spices. Isis’s mouth watered as she was urged to the table. While they ate, Thorne pretty much interrogated her friend.

Husani and Rabiah had been surprised, but instantly welcoming when they showed up unannounced. “I’m sorry, Thorne doesn’t mean—”

“Thorne
does
mean,” he corrected as he rested his hand on her wrist. “Someone is trying their damnedest to kill us. I want to know who, and how they know we’re even here. Are they after you or are they trying to kill me?”

That was pretty plain and out there. “I’ve been thinking about this in my copious spare time,” Isis said facetiously.

“Maybe someone thinks you know something?” Rabiah suggested, spooning another slice of fiteer onto Isis’s plate.

The light, flaky pastry stuffed with lamb and white cheese was mouthwateringly delicious, and even though Isis was full, she took another delectable, gooey bite. “Then they should politely stop me and ask a freaking question.”

“You were followed from the minister’s house,
aiwa
?” Husani gave her a worried look. “These men must’ve followed you from there.” Thorne cocked his head in response. “Or from the market.”

Thorne looked grim, his mouth tight. “Either. Both. I’m here to assist Isis in finding this tomb her father claims to have found and lost. But it’s very possible someone from my past has caught up with me. I’m a British intelligence officer on inactive status. This man could be—probably
is
—behind these attempts. Both MI5 and the Mossad—”

“You are working with al-Mosad lil-Istikhbarat wal-Mahamm al-Khassah?” Husani asked, clearly impressed.

“Yes. Israel’s Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations is vested in helping me find a man or syndicate who has been stealing and selling the Middle East’s most priceless antiquities on the black market for years.”

“And you believe that this man has heard of the professor’s claim of finding Queen Cleopatra’s tomb, and wants it at all costs?”

“That’s where I’m heading. But as yet there’s nothing concrete to tie Professor Magee to Boris Yermalof.”

“Other than a frigging queen’s ransom in priceless artifacts, you mean?” Isis said flatly, leaning forward, her arms on the table.

“Yeah, I must admit, it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“It would’ve been nice of you to share your thoughts along the way,” she told him.

“My contacts have drawn off the men chasing us this evening. I also have two men posted at the hospital in case your father’s attackers decide to go back. He’s secured,
and no one followed us here. But Isis must be returned home, where she can be kept safe while I resolve this.”

“I concur.” Husani cradled his coffee cup, a deep frown creasing his brow.

“May
I
be allowed to insert a word in edgewise?” Isis straightened from the table. “
My
father was attacked only a few hours ago in Seattle. I won’t be much safer
there
than I am
here
.”

“
There
you’ll be under the protection of Zakary Stark and a full security team.”

Isis slumped back in her chair. “Excellent point.”

“What do you need from us?” Rabiah asked quietly as she sat down beside Isis, who’d left a small amount of food on her plate as was the custom, so her hostess wouldn’t keep refilling her plate.

“You’ve been more than gracious serving us this delicious meal, and giving us respite from the men following us.” Thorne smiled at their hostess. He had a sexy smile when he bothered, and seeing it now made Isis’s heart skip a beat.

She picked up her glass of orange Fanta, sipping the sweet soda to prevent herself from lunging across the table to kiss him. Despite, or because of the danger, and the crazy rush of endorphins, pheromones, and whatever else, Isis wanted her hands on him in the worst possible way.

“We’ll find a hotel off the beaten path,” he told their hosts, apparently oblivious to the neon sign over her head blinking out T
AKE
M
E
. “I’ll call in some favors. See if anyone on the street knows anything about these dangerous
men. See if I can charter a private plane to get Isis out of the country as soon as possible.”

“We own an empty rental apartment one floor below,” Husani offered after a silent communication with his wife got a nod. “It’s furnished. You can stay there as long as you like. I’ll lend you my computer should you need it.”