Relentless (34 page)

“Who, where, and why?” The indignation in her voice was clear.

“In light of what I just witnessed, I have my suspicions.”

“Care to share?”

“The guy in charge appeared to be Dr. Khalifa Najid.”

“The Minister of Irrigation and Water Resources? That son of a bitch! He knew the tomb was here all along, and lied to us.”

Thorne smiled at her horror. “He’s the bad guy. Bad guys have a tendency to prevaricate to cover their nefarious deeds.”

If the information wasn’t pissing her off, Isis would’ve smiled at his very British and oh-so-dry delivery. But hearing that the man in charge of the new recreational area, the man who had lied to her face about knowing her father, really set her off and made her want to go and confront him. Preferably with a strong force of police officers beside her. Or just Thorne.

“This is more than a nefarious deed! He
knew
my father found this tomb. Knew, damn him. Worse than lying right to my face, is that he’s depriving the world of—” Incensed, the words logjammed. “He’s covering up a find with major historical impact! It’s a criminal act.”

“Well, we can’t do anything to remedy that while we’re still trapped here. First things first. Did you give me the hand sanitizer a while ago?”

Okay, that wasn’t the furious response she was looking for, but she knew him well enough to know he was processing something. She hoped when he was done, he’d fill her in. But she made a mental note that in the future she needed to teach him how to play well with others. Or at least, play well with
her.
“You want to clean your hands?” Of course, that was supposing that there’d
be
a future for them.

He started walking back around the shrine, his limp more pronounced. Isis suspected she was more aware of how badly he was limping due to the stygian darkness. “I want to relight the torch. See how to get down to that level.”

“You do realize I have no idea what you’re talking about, right? What level?”

“There’s a chamber below this one—eight or nine
stories
below this one. The temple must be built on a steep hill. Some chambers on this level, and at least that one on a much lower level. There were men and equipment down there, so that’s the way out. All we have to do is find a way down.”

He leaned over, and she heard him rummaging through the stuff he’d tossed on the floor. “Give that to me. I’ll put it back in my bag. You never know when we’ll need a notebook or a pack of tissues.”

Thorne squirted sanitizer on his torch, then there was the flare of his lighter.

“Holy cow! I can’t believe how much better I feel with that little bit of fire. I’m going to add a lighter to the
contents of my camera bag and carry it everywhere I go from now on.”

“One would hope you wouldn’t be trapped in an Egyptian tomb very often,” Thorne said dryly, stalking off to run the torch across the surface of the east wall.

“I’m going to take a bunch more pictures, okay?”

“Go ahead; the flash will help over here.”

Isis wasn’t any less thirsty or tired, but knowing for sure that there was a way out gave her a new burst of energy. She took shots of the two shrines from every angle. Whether her father had Alzheimer’s or memory loss, he’d appreciate the magnificence of Cleo’s last resting place.

“There’s another soul door over here,” Thorne called, his voice carrying across the chamber.

Isis followed the red glow. “You think it’s also a real door to the lower level?”

“I’m searching anything that might be feasible. Can you hold this?” He handed her the torch and Isis held it up high as he ran his hands over the surface from the lintel at the top, then down. This door showed an image of what Isis was sure was Cleopatra, sitting in front of an offering table. Scribed into the stone was a reed mat with a loaf of bread on it, as well as bowls of petrified food. She held in her hand a goblet covered with gold.

As Thorne meticulously felt and tapped on every inch, Isis let her artist’s eye search, too. Looking for anything out of place, anything that might indicate a latch, or—

Her breath snagged.

All the embellishments surrounding the center panel were in bas-relief with exquisite coloration and intricate detail. The tiles and stone glinting in the flickering light, the gold giving off a rich glow. Except for the small winged god used as decoration on a chalice in Cleopatra’s right hand:
Isis
, wings spread, was the only object in
sunk
relief.

“Thorne, give me my amulet!”

“Find something?” He dug in his pocket and handed her the tiny chamois pouch.

For a moment Isis curled her fingers around the bag as she said a little prayer to her patron goddess. Opening her eyes, she carefully pulled the little cord and tipped the bag onto the flat of her hand. “Look,” she whispered, her fingers clumsy as she fit her amulet into the image on Cleo’s goblet. “A perfect fit—”

As if in a coin slot, the amulet started sliding down, out of sight. Isis lunged to grab on to the fine gold chain as the charm disappeared.

The center panel of the false door screeched open as stone grated across stone.

SEVENTEEN

T
horne judged the narrow opening to be about seventeen inches wide and ten feet high. Beyond it was dense black space. A rush of cool, dry, ancient-dust-smelling air drifted around them.

Isis’s fingers tightened on his upper arm. “Am I imagining this?”

“Surreal, isn’t it?” Thorne wedged the backpack into the gap, then pushed his arm through the opening, holding the torch aloft. Isis crowded behind him, her hand on his back as she tried to see around him.

She studied the area. “Who used this? An alien?” Her fingers curled into the back of his shirt. “I wish I hadn’t said that. People believed aliens
did
help build the pyramids…”

“I doubt aliens need stairs,” Thorne told her dryly, passing the torch deeper into the void.

“Stairs? Seriously?” Her slender fingers dug into his upper arm, her excitement contagious. “Woo-hoo!”

“Don’t get excited. We have no idea where they lead.”

“I’m guessing
down
,” Isis suggested, resting her head on the back of his shoulder as he assessed the situation.
Thorne loved the feel of her soft breasts pressed against him. He liked the way she held on to him as she peered inside the opening, and the tickle of her soft curls brushing the side of his face. He loved the smell of cinnamon combined with the musk on her skin. And he admired the hell out of a woman who’d been put through some damn terrifying times and still maintained a sense of humor.

“I hate to burst your bubble, darling, but they could just as easily end abruptly midair, with a forty- or fifty-foot drop.”

“Buzzkill,” she muttered, half teasing, half serious.

Thorne smiled, brushing her nose with his fingertip. “Or they could take us all the way to the lower level and a well-marked exit.”

She slid her palm up his back, resting her hand between his shoulder blades. Had anyone else done the same gesture, Thorne would’ve spun around and taken his opponent out before shoving them unceremoniously down into the darkness. With Isis it was merely an indication that she trusted him, believed in him, was there with him. It was an odd sensation.

“Let’s go with that option.”

“We’ll see…” The stairs were carved from solid bedrock. Hazardously steep, the tread, at least from this angle, looked too narrow, the risers perilously high. The stairwell was almost as narrow as the door opening. It would be a restricted, dangerous descent, with no guarantee that there would be a similar door at the bottom. Or if Isis’s amulet would open that one as well as this.
Or, Thorne considered, what would happen if the amulet was removed from one door to carry down to a possible second?

The staircase could be just another thing the ancient Egyptian tomb builders had come up with to trap would-be raiders. Both doors could be traps, sealing them inside a tube of solid rock for eternity.

Or they could be what they seemed.

He backed up and so did Isis. “Well?” she asked hopefully.

“I only saw about a dozen feet, but it’s hellishly steep. There’s no guarantee that after trekking down six or seven flights, there’ll be a door at the bottom.”

“Let’s go down and see.” Isis abruptly paused, her eyes narrowing. “No.
You
wait here.
I’ll
go. I’m smaller than you are, and my leg isn’t killing me.”

At her words, Thorne’s heart did a double clutch of fear. “No way.” Jesus, the woman would be the death of him. “
No.
Absofuckinglutely not.”

“If the bad guys show up here,” she said in tones of calm reason, “I won’t be able to stop them slamming this door closed and trapping you down there. It makes more sense for me to go. I’ll be quick.”

“Not just no, but
hell no
,” he told her flatly, adjusting the weight of the torch as he weighed the pros and cons of taking the risk—something he’d do if he were on his own—or returning to where they’d started and start chucking rocks until they were free. “I don’t like it.”

Isis ignored him as she fingered the length of delicate chain hanging from the slot. “Let’s see if the opening
closes if I take… thiiiis… out.” As she eased it out slowly, they held their breath. The portal didn’t close.

“Which means I’ll probably need it at the bottom. I’ll take the torch, okay?” She clasped her fingers below his on the piece of wood. “Connor, don’t be macho about this.” She gave a little tug when he didn’t hand it right over. “Me going down makes the most sense. Admit it. I’ll be very careful, and we can talk all the way down. I’ll tell you what I see. Please? I’m getting tired, and God knows we’re both dying of thirst. Besides, I want to see if that step machine at the gym worked worth a damn.”

Every damned thing in him didn’t want her going down there. He gave her the torch. “Take your time. Feel every step before you put your weight on it. Use one hand on the wall… Jesus, I hate this.”

Standing on her toes, she brought her free hand up to cup the back of his head. “I know. You’re being very brave.”

“Have I told you…” He didn’t finish the thought, merely slipped her glasses off, holding them in one hand, and used the other to tangle his fingers in her thick hair. Then said, “. . . what a pain in the arse you are?”

“Not out loud.” She smiled against his mouth. “Give me a nice kiss to hold me until I get back.”

“I’d rather give you a naughty kiss to hold
me
.”

“Six of one…” She pressed her slightly open mouth to his, slanting her head as she wrapped her hand around the back of his neck. She slipped her tongue into his mouth and Thorne met it with his own. There was precious little lubrication, they were both so goddamned
thirsty. But it didn’t seem to matter. The more their tongues and teeth mated, the more they kissed, the more moisture they generated. She hummed her appreciation, her fingers gripping his neck more tightly. Without opening his eyes, Thorne used the hand in which he held her glasses to deflect her wrist so the torch she held didn’t burn off his eyebrows. Oblivious to where they were, she pressed her breasts against him and parried the thrust of his tongue with her own.

It was Thorne’s turn to murmur deep in his throat, and he felt the sweet curve of her lips against his. Slowly he eased back. “We need to get the hell out of here, love. I don’t want you to go, but I can’t fault your logic.”

Her eyes gleamed. “I’ll keep that hot shower and big bed in mind. It’ll keep me motivated.”

Thorne touched her wrist, angling the torch toward the ground, then gave it another squirt of hand cleaner so that it flared. He used the hem of his T-shirt to clean her glasses, then slid the earpieces through her hair and positioned the frame on her nose.

“Okay, Tomb Raider Librarian, don’t take any foolish chances, do you hear me?” He spoke against her mouth. “Talk to me every step of the way. I want to hear what you’re seeing and what’s happening. If anything feels off, you haul your arse back up here.”

“Yes, sir. Got it.” She started sliding sideways, then came back and gave him a quick, hard kiss. “We’ll be out of here just in time for breakfast.”