Solomon's Sieve (27 page)

“Guess how it came to be there,” he demanded.

She thought about refusing to guess, but decided that would be boring and she had vowed when she took the job offer from Black Swan that she had left boring Mercy behind. Forever.

“You were riding a skate-board through a copying office without a shirt on and fell onto the paper cutter when the blade was left open.”

His face split into a gorgeous grin that lit the entire jet cabin. “Good guess! But no. I was actually wearin’ a shirt when this happened. ‘Twas the result of a vamp who’d let his nails grow long and groady like Howard Hughes. Took a swipe at me with his ugly-ass jagged claws and preserved the incident, now frozen forever on my body. As you see.”

“Well, three things. First, what a shame your perfection is thus marred. Second, if I’m reading this manual correctly, it’s a good thing it wasn’t his teeth. Third, you know they make over-the-counter scar reduction cream that could have helped with that.”

He grinned, let his shirt fall and dropped back onto the couch next to her. “True, but usin’ the scar cream? ‘Tis no’ very manly now, is it? And I would no’ have a conversation starter.”

She stared at him. “In other words, you wouldn’t have a legitimate excuse to bare your assets to strangers who happen to be female.”

His grin morphed into a smile that was both seductive and conspiratorial. He leaned over and lowered his voice so that only she could hear. “You got me.”

She looked away, laughed and went back to her reading.

Torn slid down in a sexy devil-may-care slouch, stretched his arms over the back of the sofa behind Mercy’s head in a possessive pose and looked over at Raif to see if he was watching. Raif’s eyes were closed, but Torn could tell by the tension in his jaw that he’d seen every delicious moment, which made Torn chuckle to himself.

Mercy looked over. “Something funny?”

Torn turned back to her, his eyes going deliberately to her mouth and lingering there in an aggressively intimate display. “I was just thinkin’ about my partner over there nappin’ in the nappy chair. He told me he had the pleasure of meetin’ you. Briefly.”

She stiffened visibly and put the book down in her lap, but not before casting a glance toward Raif’s form that was reclined if not relaxed. What Torn saw there in the instant of that flicker was a mixture of embarrassment and outrage. But there was also something more than just wounded pride. Just as he’d suspected.

You could say a lot of things about Torrent Finngarick, but he did know women.

Glen broke up the quiet by raising his voice so that everybody could hear him. He was waving a tour guide in the air. “Hey! Let’s try to finish this up fast so we can do a little sightseeing before we have to head back.”

Torn gave him a blank stare as did Gun, who’d been standing in the galley chatting up the flight attendant. Raif opened one eye before crossing his arms over his midsection and renewing his determination to sleep.

Glen didn’t seem fazed that no one responded. He simply resumed his research on tour destinations.

Torn looked at Mercy, who looked at Glen and said, “Sounds good to me.”

The elf smiled at her in such an indulgent and amused way that, for just a second, she was tempted to give him a chance at a one nighter. That thought took her gaze in Raif’s direction like he was a magnet. Believing that she could look him over without being observed, she let her eyes move slowly over the length of him, from the messy jet black hair to the stubble on his jaw past the partially visible tattoo on his bicep down to the frayed hems of his jeans, all the way to the square toed boots underneath.

She almost jumped when Glen announced that, “They say that there’s history underneath every rock in Sozopol. Turn one over and you’ll find something left by Greeks, Romans, Thracians, Slavs, Ottomans or Proto-Bulgarians. That’s a quote!”

Raif’s eyes opened a slit and caught her staring, but not for long. She quickly looked away with a telltale flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck toward her cheeks.

Mercy had done her fair share of traveling. It went with her occupation of choice, but she’d never come close to the way The Order transported their personnel from place to place. That rich-and-famous level of luxury was a new experience.

When Pietra, the flight attendant, wheeled out an entire standing prime rib on a rolling butcher block, Mercy gaped.

“What’s the matter?” Torn asked.

“I didn’t even know it was possible to cook prime rib on a plane.”

Torn laughed. “Well, you ought to get out more.” He winked.

Pietra cut the prime rib and served it at the booth-style seating in the front of the plane that could be used for dining or cards. She served a Caesar salad that was the best Mercy had ever tasted along with baskets of popover rolls just out of the oven and smelling divine.

Mercy sat next to Torn with Gun and Glen across from them. Raif sat in the other booth, across the aisle, by himself. Having had the experience of once being the new kid at school, the seating arrangement made her uncomfortable. She wouldn’t want her worst enemy to feel ostracized, which probably meant she didn’t have any real enemies. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she decided to say something.

“Perhaps someone should go sit with Mr. Nightsong.”

The three men looked across the aisle. Gun and Torn just laughed like it was a ridiculous notion, but Glen said, “Would it make you feel better if I go sit with him?”

“Well,” she hedged, “I think it would be nice.”

Without another word Glen picked up food and paraphernalia and moved across the aisle. When he started to set his plate down across the table, Raif didn’t look up, but said, “Fuck off.”

Glen promptly picked up his dinner setting and moved back to his original spot. He smiled at Mercy. “Miss me? The gentleman declines and says he prefers to keep his own company this evening.”

She returned his good-natured smile, nodded her head and, as thanks, passed him her portion of chocolate mousse that had just been delivered. While she was scowling at Raif, Torn leaned close and said, “Sir Nightsong.”

She looked back at him. “What?”

“You called him Mr. Nightsong. When you’re in the company of The Order, ‘tis
Sir
Nightsong.”

“Oh. Of course.” She glanced back across the aisle.

“May seem silly to someone who is new to our conventions. The formal observance of service is a small thin’, but believe me, he’s earned it.”

She looked at Torn. “Respect you mean? He’s earned respect?”

“Oh, aye.” Torn caught Pietra’s eye. “Pee, my darlin’, will ye be kind enough to pour an Irish whiskey as a chaser for this lovely puddin’?”

She smiled. “You know perfectly well that it’s a mousse, Sir Luscious. And, yes, I will bring your nectar of gods.”

Mercy looked across the table and crossed her eyes while mouthing, “Sir Luscious.”

Gun and Glen rewarded her with a big laugh. Smiling at the shared joke she looked across the aisle and came face to face in a stare with Sir Nightsong. The pale color of his blue irises was so arresting and the intensity of his gaze was so electrifying, she couldn’t make herself look away. She had a brief impression of a mouse being held spellbound by a snake.

When she opened her mouth to say something, his eyes dropped to her lips before coming back to her eyes. “I guess we’re going to be stuck together for a couple of days. So let’s be grown up and have a truce. I’ll go first. I apologize for calling you a liar, Sir Nightsong. I guess it turns out that you really
are
a vampire hunter.”

He desperately wanted to say something. He knew he
should
say something. All those days that he’d aimlessly loitered around a four square block area of New York he had rehearsed what he was going to say a thousand times. Then he had his chance. There it was. She was staring at him with those big liquid eyes waiting. Waiting. Waiting. While he was dumbstruck.

Pietra stepped in between them to clear Raif’s dishes and, in doing so, broke the visual connection.

Mercy realized that her olive branch had been rejected with Raif’s abject silence. In some ways it was worse than telling Glen to, “Fuck off.”

She was grateful that Pietra’s body hid from view the fact that her face and neck had gone chameleon, perfectly reflecting the red color of her humiliation. It only took an instant to make a vow that the great fiery pit would freeze over before she gave him another chance to be decent.

When Pietra left with Raif’s dishes, Mercy had turned away and was again involved in conversation with her dinner companions. He’d lost the chance to fake a semblance of civilized behavior. He hadn’t left the impression of looking dumbstruck. He’d left the impression of being an asshole. He thought about slapping himself, but it was too late for that, too. It would just raise further questions about his sanity.

Glen was reading from the guide book. “There’s a reserve habitat for rare animal species. The reserve is inhabited by fifty types of mammals: noble deer and lopatar – deer, roes, muflons, foxes, jackals, otters and colonies of bats live in the rock caves. The extinct species of mammals are the bear, the lynx and the monk seal.”

“I’d go with you if it can be worked out, Glen. I’ve never taken much time for sightseeing when traveling. It’s always about the destination and not the journey. I think it would be fun and I haven’t been to a zoo in twenty years.”

“It’s not a zoo! It’s a reserve habitat. Apples and oranges. Think there’s a rare Bulgarian animal tee shirt?”

She laughed. “Let’s find out.”

Eavesdropping on the conversation across the aisle, Raif rolled his eyes and took a sip of the black coffee Pietra had just poured. He was starting to believe that every dick on the plane was a rival. Even the kid. He was thinking that it got dark fast when you were flying away from the sun. And she seemed easy to talk to. He’d never liked flying over oceans at night. How he wished he had found out how easy she was to talk to by talking to her instead of sitting on the other side of the jet sneaking an eavesdrop. He was wishing he’d asked for Benadryl instead of coffee when he heard the rustle next to him. Mercy had stood to return to the lounge seating and left a hint of perfume behind when she passed.

After dinner Mercy had decided to take advantage of one of the luxurious sleeping compartments in the rear. The few hours she could grab in what was left of the nine hour flight would come in handy because the next day would be a full day. Maybe the most important day of her archeological career, even if the work was never published or professionally recognized in any way.

She woke when Pietra announced they were landing. Between the steady vibration of movement and the engine noise, she’d conked out and slept hard. She sat up thanking the gods for the partition that shielded her from being seen sleeping with her mouth open or drooling.

Sitting up and angling her body toward the exterior wall, she looked out the window. Because of the seven hour time difference, the sunrise was just beginning, enough that she could make out the landing strips with farmland on one side and a Black Sea village on the other.

Mercy insisted on supervising the transfer of her equipment from the plane. The Order had provided two identical Audi sedans. The older members of Z Team quickly decided that Glen would drive the car with all the luggage and equipment while the other three and their assignment rode together. Glen seemed to understand that the new guy gets the shit jobs and was okay with it. He took the keys to the equipment car good-naturedly.

Torn grabbed the keys to the people car. “I’ll drive.”

“Shotgun,” Gun said. “I’ll navigate.”

“Welcome to this century, Gunnar. We do no’ need a navigator. The car has navigation.”

“Don’t like the navigator angle? Okay. How about this? I get shotgun because I have long legs.”

“I don’t mind sitting in the back,” Mercy said.

Torn turned to Raif with an especially bright twinkle in his eye. “I guess you’re stuck sittin’ next to her, brother.”

Raif shrugged as if to say he didn’t care, that he’d done worse.

CHAPTER 15

It’s an orangeade sky. Always it’s some other guy.

Sozopol, Bulgaria

Not once during the entire drive did Raif look over at Mercy. He stared out his window as if he’d never witnessed anything as fascinating as farming.

Sozopol turned out to be a picturesque fishing town on the coast of the Black Sea, located on a peninsula that boasted one of the most beautiful coves and beaches anywhere in the world. And, just as they say, build a gorgeous beach and resorts are sure to follow. The marina claimed three hundred thirty berths to house yachts and sail craft for the well-heeled.

The ancient Bronze Age town had been rededicated to Apollo by 7
^th
century BCE Greeks. They erected a temple and a statue forty-five feet tall when they renamed it Apollonia. For centuries after that it thrived as a stop on the trade route of sailing vessels, part of the flow of commerce between Rhodes, Corinth, Athens, and Thracian territories. It was vibrant with culture and art, which meant it was also rich and populous.