Covert Danger: Mata Hari Series - Book 1 Page 8
“Obviously, you’ve got yourself into a mess and the box has something to do with it. Who did you steal it from?”
Her mouth dropped. “I told you, I didn’t steal it.”
“You’re a thief.”
“Look what I am and what I do is none of your business…”
He moved in and kissed her, gently on the lips. They were full and soft and tasted like honey mixed with magic. Fuck. Now, he was done for. “Sure about that?” His voice sounded croaky.
She kissed back, slipping her tongue into his mouth.
He touched his forehead to hers trying to steady himself, feeling his pulse roar. “Look I don’t judge people. But why do you steal? You’re a successful model.” He pulled his hands through her hair. Thick and soft. So soft.
“I didn’t steal anything.” Her voice, low and shaky, passed his bullshit meter. He considered women complicated, but she blew all the rest out of the water.
“Venice?” He stepped back so he could watch her face.
“Oh, that was an emerald and diamond necklace from a lady with good insurance. She won’t miss it.”
“But why do it? For the thrill? They have programs for people like you.”
“I don’t have to explain myself.” Now she sounded huffy.
“Then I’ll look in the box.”
In an instant, the color drained from her face. “Okay. I’ll tell you this: I’m turning thirty, my career will be over soon and I need a retirement fund.”
“To keep you in designer clothes?”
“They’re expensive.” She sighed and fluttered her eyelashes.
“I don’t buy it.”
Her eyes widened. “You, you, you…”
“What?”
Trembling with what he assumed was anger she spit one word. “Bastard.”
“Cause I know you’re not a flake?”
She growled.
Gotta love a woman who growls. Wonder what other sounds she makes.
“Don’t get me wrong Sadie, you look beautiful in your designer gowns, but that’s not who you are. There’s a lot more to you. Even I can tell that. And I’ve never been considered the brightest color in the artist’s palette.”
Her eyes hardened. “I’m not looking for a shrink, or a Dutch cowboy, or… or even a lover. Get out of here.”
“Hmmm, not even a lover? Sure about that?” He moved in again and kissed her. A simple kiss. No hands, no bodies touching, just lips. And it was like the finest he’d ever tasted.
She stepped back, her face flushed with arousal. “Look, if we’d met at another time, I really think we could…”
“Have something?”
“Yeah, but…”
“Baby, there’s only this moment and what we have is pretty damn fine.” He moved in again, but she put her fingers to his lips.
“Stop. You’re confusing me.”
“I’m confusing you? Tell me about the box.”
“Just leave,” she said.
“Darling, if I was a sane man, I would.” He moved closer again
She picked up the lamp that sat on the nightstand and coiled her arm back to pitch it at him. “Oh no.” he said. “No, no.” He moved back, away from her towards the door.
She threatened with her arm again and a look of satisfaction crept into the corner of her eyes. Hah, she thinks she’s in control.
He took another step back. She looked so hot, like an Amazonian warrior, except instead of a spear she had a table lamp. “How about breakfast?” he asked.
“I don’t do breakfast.” A small smile started on her face, as if she too saw the humor in their situation. “Too many calories.”
With his hand on the door handle, he gave her his most pleading look. “I’d rather stay. I’m house trained.”
She shook her head, making her mane of long red curls bounce. He wondered if her hair was red elsewhere on her body. Images of her lying naked before him flooded his mind. “I’ll play by your rules. I promise.” At least for awhile.
“Get out.”
He turned the knob. “One last kiss?”
Her stone glare cut through the space between them like a surgical knife.
“I won’t ask about the box.” He grinned.
That did it. The lamp flew and he caught it with his hand. He put it down on the floor. “It’s always interesting seeing you,” he said and then he opened the door.
***
What an infuriating man. Why should he care about the box, or how empty or full a person she is? He left without another word.
The door closed quietly behind him and she leaned on it. Her lips tingled from his kisses. Hot kisses. Was he the one? Oh—come on, woman, this isn’t a fairy tale. He’s no frog prince and you’re no sweet innocent. You’re way too old for girly sentimentality. She grimaced. But is a woman ever too old to believe in true love?
Her grandmother told her that there would be one special man out there for her, and part of her had always believed it. Sebastian wasn’t like any other man she’d met. He seemed so…right. Deep down right. It wasn’t just that he was so drop-dead handsome he sent her whole body into turmoil every time he came near. It was more than that. His honest blue eyes, his mischievous character… his way of making her feel good about being alive. Sheesh, she sounded like a star-struck teenager.
No, no, no Sadie. It’s time to get down to earth—practical. Could he help her out? Not likely. A giant full of moral lectures, he’d get in her way. And she had to face the truth. Sebastian’s probably just another guy who wanted what every other man wanted, to own her damn cheek bones so he could show her off around town like a hunter’s trophy.
The box. She needed to look at it again. Unbelievable how quickly he zeroed in on it. Like he was a detective.
She needed to get rid of the finger. What if someone needed it? Should she phone the local hospitals and ask? What an impossible situation.
Walking back to the table, she grumbled. She’d seen some nasty stuff in her life as a spy, but she’d never had a body part delivered to her door before. That only happened in movies. She shook her head. Sweat trickled down her neck.
She opened the drawer. The smudge of blood on one side of the box had dried. As she lifted it to her face, her message tone on her regular cell phone rang. She jumped. 4:00 a.m.
“Tell no one about the package,” the message read, “or the next body part will be yours.”
The screen said source unknown. She screwed up her mouth. Must be Delilah. But her name usually popped up as, “D.” Maybe she was using a trash phone. But Dee lacked that sophistication.
“Who are you?” she typed.
“Bring the package to the fountain in front of the American Hotel at noon tomorrow.”
Where the hell was Dee? Did she set her up and run off with the merchandise? A stone of worry settled in the pit of her stomach like lead encased with shards of glass. “Message received,” she typed and hit the send button.
An emoticon of a devil’s smiling face stared back at her. Great, the bad guy had a sense of humor. She took the lid off the box and studied the contents. Definitely a pinky finger, shorter than her own, and the nail had been coated in polish. It had the acrid smell of blood and rotting flesh. With a tissue, she wiped away the blood to have a good look at the nail. Her stomach plummeted. Dee’s favorite shade, “Hooker red,” with silver stars applied on the tip. Her signature style.
14
Chapter Fourteen
Seb left Sadie’s apartment laughing at her lame attempt to hit him with a lamp, but by the time he’d made it down the three flights of stairs a cold soberness had swallowed him up. He felt like he’d been punched hard in the gut. Sadie had to be in some sort of danger. Real danger. He could feel it. Why wouldn’t she let him help her?
Sadie’d gotten into his bloodstream like a virus. No, worse than that, more like a damn parasite with teeth like Jaws. The woman came with trouble written all over her. So why the hell didn’t he back-off? She wa
s a thief—plain and simple. Getting involved with her would be reckless, stupid, and possibly illegal. But he couldn’t deny the pull she had on him.
What hid in the box? Maybe if he knew that, he could make sense of it all. One minute she suggested sex and the next she threw lighting fixtures as him. Whatever was in the box, she didn’t want him to see it, and that made him want it—really bad.
Had she stolen jewelry during his show? No one had reported a theft. He’d check with Paul again in the morning, to be sure there were no complaints. If she had stolen something, that could explain some of her behavior, but it wouldn’t explain the flash of terror in her eyes that he caught when she thought he wasn’t looking.
Back at his apartment he cracked open a Heineken and checked his messages. Xander had forwarded a document from their friend Seamus at Interpol. The heading read: “LA drop tomorrow, Amsterdam.” LA meant looted art. He grumbled.
It was too late to call Xander. He’d already got him out of bed one night this week when he contacted him from Florence. The image of his friend snug in his home with his wife and baby flickered through his mind. Nice image. Tomorrow would be soon enough.
A solid weight hit his right shoulder like a bag of potatoes with a thump. Shit. Rascal, his three-year old Siamese cat had lunged off the top of the fridge and landed on him. Although he knew she excelled at flying leaps, she took him by surprise and he’d never grown accustomed to her claws cutting into his flesh for balance. The suddenness of the cat attack quickened Seb’s pulse. It didn’t matter how many times she jumped him, it always took him by surprise. “Rascal,” he growled with pain, annoyance and affection.
She started talking back to him the way Siamese do, making vocalizations almost as clear as words. Unimpressed by his long absence she had a lot to say, so Seb stroked her long sleek back as he opened a can of sardines—her favorite. Her noises faded into a loud purr. Life with his cat.
The image of Sadie’s long red hair crossed his mind. Wonder if she’d like a can of smelly fish. But there were more interesting ways to manage a woman. His body hardened at the thought. Would Rascal approve of her? He threw the licked clean can in the trash like a softball. It missed. He never missed.
Rascal settled into licking her chops, and Seb stretched out on his favorite leather chair with a beer. He looked at his messages again. The rest of Seamus’s document didn’t say much. “Chatter about an exchange set for tomorrow. Exact location not clear. Stay in touch.”
Tomorrow’s another day. Maybe he’d help his friends catch some thieves, and learn more about the red head.
The smell of the sardines made him think about how good Sadie smelled good, like fresh flowers in the sunlight. He laughed and took a good swig of his beer. Is that how trouble smells?
15
Chapter Fifteen
Bakari’s gut twisted as he descended the rope ladder on the side of Herengracht canal. When his feet touched the deck of the sorceress’s houseboat he gritted his teeth. He hated needing anyone, but he needed her.
The green door squeaked open. Djeserit, the Egyptian psychic sat at her table with her tarot cards in front of her, looking like she’d been expecting him, though he hadn’t told her he was coming. Kypher incense lay heavily in the air. He could hear the noise of people traveling home from work or school on the street above them. Ancient songs played in the background on her music system. Without a word, he closed the door and took the seat opposite her.
Her dark eyes pierced his. “I told you to never come back.”
“I must know more.”
“You are cursed.”
“Enough.” His voice echoed in the small cabin.
Her eyes flinched.
“There must be a way I can free myself from my past. What I did may have been wrong in the eyes of the world, but everything I did, I did for others. Will I be damned for all eternity because I love my family?”
“Do not fool yourself Bakari. Helping your family is second place in your life. You are a man who thinks of himself first and foremost.”
“Doesn’t every man?”
“You went too far. There’s a cost when lives are lost. Balance must be maintained.”
His fist banged the table. “You must tell me what you see. That is all I ask. I will deal with whatever is coming my way. You can name your price.”
Her face framed with long black hair paled and her hands trembled, but she said nothing.
“What do you see?”
She looked towards the windows as if conferring with a spirit and nodded her head. “It is true there are many paths through darkness and light in this world. I fear you’ve been in the dark too long. Forces of justice are heading your way.”
“Give me a name? A time? A place? Something I can work with?” Maybe, Chasisi was right. She toyed with him for her own gain.
“No,” she said, “Chasisi is wrong about me.”
His chest tightened. She’d read his thoughts.
“I tell you only what I see.”
“Which is?”
Her jaw clenched. “You cannot escape your past. When you pass and Anubis weighs your soul you will be found wanting.”
He shook his head. “I’ll deal with that when the time comes. I want to know about now. What is going to happen? Why do I keep getting bad dreams?”
She glanced towards the window again. “Your subconscious is sending you warnings. That is why you can’t sleep. As you get closer to obtaining the most powerful ankh, you draw danger.”
He fisted his hands. Sweat trickled down his neck.
She took a deep breath. “All right. I will read the cards for you one more time.” She lit the candles in the ornate golden candelabra snapping the matches with quick angry strokes.
Bakari closed the curtain and turned off the lights. He breathed in the kypher incense and cleared his mind wanting it to be as open as a book for her to read. He sat back down, picked up her tarot cards and shuffled them.
She stood and raised her hands to the sky. “I, coming forth am Amen, the hidden one.”
An ethereal lightness flowed through his being.
In her right hand she drew an ivory wand from a pocket in her robe inscribed with hieroglyphs. She waved it once in the air. “I am the keeper of Akashic Records. All of which is, and which shall be. Eternity and Everlastingness, open your portals.” She put her left hand on the deck. “May I fly like a golden hawk. May I see the truth revealed.” She stood absolutely still. Her eyes lids closed and her body shook. Then her eyes slowly opened.
Bakari forced himself to breath.
Her eyes glazed over like a demon.
She waved the wand once in front of him. “Son of Isis, Searcher of truth. Let your life be revealed.”
As he formed his question clearly in his mind, he cut the cards into three piles, and then collected them together. He placed them in a pile in front of her.
Without looking at him, she turned ten cards into the tree of life spread to show his energy moving through matter. “The three columns of the tree represent the three aspects of experience in the physical plane, the pillar of mercy, the pillar of mildness and the pillar of challenge.”
He stared intently at the unturned cards.
She turned over the first card, number twenty—Judgement. The card displayed an image of a winged angel blowing a trumpet above people adrift in rough seas.
His eyes widened. The cards confirmed his suspicions yet again. He was hearing a message from his inner self.
Djeserit nodded, “The “Judgement” card. It is a moment of decision for you. But remember the ego travels in the underworld and you must consider the consequences of all your actions.”
After a moment of silence she turned the second card, number Eight—Strength reversed.
His lips quivered. Damn the cards. How dare they judge him?
She tisked gently. “The cards never lie. “Strength” reversed in the wisdom position indicates you have a lack of control in your tho
ughts. You are being selfish and contemplate violence.
He swallowed, tasting acid from the anger boiling in his gut. What right did others have to judge him? Especially now?
She turned over the third card, number Eleven—“Justice” reversed. “The cards know you well.”
He growled. “The cards can be wrong.”
Shaking her head she met his eyes. “They are never wrong when they are read properly. This card warns that you are thinking about a bad choice and that you are filled with mistrust.”
“I can fight that.”
“Yes, you can fight it all Bakari. But these first three cards form a powerful triangle. They represent your life energy moving from light into pure consciousness. Only a fool would ignore the warnings.”
She turned over each of the remaining card and read their meaning, ending with the bottom one. Four—“The Emperor” Reversed. She bowed her head. “At the root of your activity will be cruelty, confrontation, violence…domination.”
He shrugged, “That’s all necessary when you want power.”
“There will be a price.” Her voice held a deep sadness, as if…as if she glimpsed something more than this bad news.
“I know what I want and I know what I must do. Djeserit you know why I seek this power. It is not for me. Does that not make a difference?”
“If you choose to continue on a dark path there is only one thing that may help you. You must reach deeper into the darkness and use the powers of evil.”
“The amulets?”
“Yes, to grow your power you must collect them as I have told you. But remember power comes with a price. Every time you steal an amulet and claim it as your own, a piece of your soul dies.”
“I have collected ten, as you instructed.”
“That is good, but there is one amulet that has more power than all them combined. It’s called the Emerald Ankh. It is solid gold, inlaid with powerful crystals and infused with a spell of Kebechet, the goddess of purification. Etched at its center is the Eye of Ra and at its base is an emerald stone like no other. They say when you look at it you look into the secrets of eternity.”