Stolen Heat Part 12

Pete fought to keep from frowning as he stared at the wall and tried to picture all the spooks he knew in the area. "Good to know," he mumbled.

Her finger traced a lazy circle on his forearm. "Um, I have a confession to make."

He looked over and watched her bite her plump lip in a way he'd learned the last few days meant she was nervous or worried about something. "What?"

"It's nothing. Silly, really. You'll get a kick out of it. But," she bit into her lip again, "when you took me to the Mena House that first day and I, uh, got the wrong idea about you-"

"About me not wanting you? I think we cleared that up."

She blushed. "Yeah. Well. I was worried you were only interested in me so you could get information about my work site. Artifacts have disappeared from some of the neighboring tombs, and there's talk of a smuggling operation in the area. Some of the crew's on edge about it."

Pete stiffened, though he hoped like h.e.l.l she didn't notice.

"Crazy, huh?" she said with a chuckle. "I mean, that you would do something like that? I don't know what I'd been thinking. I guess I was just nervous."

Pete turned fully toward her. "I'd never use you like that, Kit-Kat. Never. You know that, don't you?"

Her smile faded. She sensed he was making her a promise, and though she couldn't understand the enormity of what he'd just given her, she did realize it was an important moment between them. "Yes, of course I do."

Her hand tightened around his forearm. "When do you think you'll be back?"

For your sake? Hopefully never.

He brushed a lock of hair back from her cheek, marveled at how soft her skin was and called himself ten kinds of stupid.

Why her? Why was she the one woman to get under his skin when he'd avoided letting any woman inside all these years?

All he knew for certain was that there was something special about her. Something pure and fresh and wholesome he hadn't ever experienced before. Something that made him him feel whole and fresh and pure. And corny as that sounded, he only wanted more of her. "I don't know." feel whole and fresh and pure. And corny as that sounded, he only wanted more of her. "I don't know."

She put her hand over his on her cheek, tipped her head into his touch in a move that was so tender his heart pinched. "This is really stupid, isn't it? We don't have a shot in h.e.l.l at making this work."

"Yes, we do," he heard himself say, even though he knew it was a mistake. "Because what we've got going here is a lot more than most couples who live in the same city have."

"And what's that?"

"Everything."

Her dark eyes held his as if she were searching his soul for some truth he couldn't prove. Then she leaned up and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her face slid into the hollow between his throat and shoulder in a way that felt like she'd been made just for him. "I'm very glad you took my tour four times in a row, Peter Kauffman."

He closed his eyes and held her tight. And hoped she'd still be saying that a month from now.

Before he thought of a reason to change his mind, he eased back and reached for his bag on the floor. "There's something I want to give you."

He watched her closely as he handed her the small wooden box he'd been debating over giving her, then held his breath while she opened it.

Her doe eyes widened, then darted up to his face. "How did you-"

"It came from a private collection," he said quickly, hoping to G.o.d that was the truth. "I found it in Europe last week, and, well, it made me think of you." Carefully, she lifted the chain. The gold crouching pharaoh pendant peeked over the edge of the box. "I've got the provenance on it, and all the paperwork, just so you know."

She didn't seem to hear him. "This has to be worth a fortune."

It was. But seeing her reaction to it now, the awe in her eyes as she stared at the piece, there was no way he could ever sell it.

"I want you to have it, Kat. It means more to you than it would some stuffy old collector."

"Look at the detail." She ran her fingers over the gleaming gold. "It's so beautiful. Made for a queen. This should be in a museum."

Gently, he took the chain from her hands and draped it over her head so the golden pharaoh fell over her St. Jude medallion and hung between her succulent b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "It looks to me like it was made for you. And it doesn't even come close to being as beautiful as you are."

Her eyes lifted to his, and his heart turned over at the tenderness he saw there. At the trust. And when she whispered, "Pete," and tugged him close with a hand that felt like heaven and he knew from experience could take him there, he gave in and brushed his lips softly over hers.

He meant the kiss to be gentle, he really did, but the moment her hands came up to cradle his face and she opened to his mouth, his restraint broke. He pulled her tighter against his body, opened and stroked his tongue against hers until they were both breathless and frustrated beyond words. Then he pressed his forehead to hers and waited until the last possible second before he finally let go and stood.

He lifted his bag from the floor. "It's cliched to say I'll call."

She hooked her arms around her knees. "But you'd better if you know what's good for you."

He smiled at her l.u.s.ty grin and the mischievous twinkle in her eyes and squashed forever that little voice telling him to walk away. He couldn't now, even if he wanted to. "I will, Kit-Kat. I promise. Think about me lying next to you when you go to sleep tonight."

She let out a contented sigh. "G.o.d, I love that."

Outside her building, he opened the door of the cab he'd called earlier and paused to glance up. She stood in the second-floor window, watching him with a look of longing in her eyes, the golden pharaoh hanging around her neck. And he knew right then, aside from his gallery, he'd never had anything all his own he'd ever truly wanted to hang on to. Now he did.

He waved, then climbed into the car.

"Airport?" the driver asked.

Pete rubbed his chin as they pulled away from the curb. Any doubt he'd had about what he was about to do next disappeared forever. "No." He gave the driver the address of a bar in a dilapidated area of Old Cairo. "I have one last thing I have to finish."

CHAPTER TWELVE.

Present day Philadelphia

In a run-down apartment in the heart of Philadelphia, Dean Bertrand lifted the gun in his hand and stared down at the lifeless body of David Halloway. Blood from the shot to the man's head was already seeping into the carpet.

He unscrewed the silencer from the end of the 9mm with care and placed it in his jacket pocket. Then he tucked the gun in the holster hidden in the back waistband of his pants and eyed the dead man like a cat eyes a writhing mouse. Funny that most would have considered Halloway his friend only moments before. If, that is, Halloway'd had any friends.

No one would come looking for ex-FBI Agent David Halloway for days. He'd been the solitary sort, no girlfriend, no wife, no kids watching out for him. He'd dedicated his life to the Bureau, and what had he gotten for it? A p.i.s.s-poor pension and a date with the devil.

Dean shook his head as he watched the color of the carpet change before his eyes. He figured eventually the stench would seep out into the hall and someone would investigate. Probably that elderly neighbor next door who kept her TV up too loud and let her d.a.m.n cats wander the hallways. Maintenance would find him when she insisted he was cooking drugs or something else altogether repugnant in his apartment. The police would come, and a case would be opened. Only the authorities would never locate Halloway's killer.

Because like a silent shadow, Dean Bertrand had never been here.

Turning away, Dean lifted the untraceable cell phone from the coffee table and dialed a number he knew by heart but hadn't used in years.

He waited while it rang. The link he'd forged so long ago had finally panned out. When Halloway had IMed him moments before and told him of Slade's phone call, he'd known the two years of watching and waiting had finally paid off. He'd been here within minutes.

A clipped female voice answered. "It's been a long time, Dean." Her Middle Eastern accent was strong, her tone all business. Just as it always was.

"Yeah. A long time." He stared out the dingy window at a pigeon balanced precariously on the railing of the fire escape as he thought about the best tactic to use with her. Some women were easily swayed. This one wasn't. A shark with claws, that was the way he'd always thought of her and still did. "I have something that may interest you."

"Oh, really?" Traffic rumbled in the background. A horn blared. "Must be pretty important for you to come out of the dark. Jameson's death last fall didn't even rouse you. We thought you'd fallen off the face of the earth."

Not quite. But he'd wanted to. More than once. He'd seen and done things in his fifteen years with INTERPOL he wasn't proud of.

Of course, none of that was relevant now.

He ignored her taunt. "I know where Aten Minyawi will be in roughly three hours."

Static crinkled across the line, followed by clicking footsteps, then silence, like she'd entered a building or found a quiet corner to continue their conversation. Oh, yes. Now he had her attention.

"That does interest me," she said. "How, exactly, did you come by this information?"

He glanced at Halloway's lifeless body on the floor. "A mutual acquaintance informed me of his movement. Katherine Meyer will be calling shortly."

Silence.

Yep. That was what happened when you dropped a bomb like this one. He definitely had her attention now.

"So Meyer is really alive," she said in a quiet voice.

"Alive and on her way to meet me."

"You?"

"Our mutual contact is unavailable, you could say."

Silence again as she processed the information. Then, "Minyawi is a top priority for us."

"I know. Of course, he's really just a small fish in a very big pond, isn't he?"

"He is. But not for you."

No, not for him. Dean had been hunting Minyawi for years. It was why he'd left INTERPOL and gone out on his own. The man who'd murdered his wife was his only only priority. And this was as close as he was ever going to get to the sonofab.i.t.c.h. priority. And this was as close as he was ever going to get to the sonofab.i.t.c.h.

"You want to make a deal," she said.

"Don't I always?" He imagined her tapping her toe and twirling the ring on her finger as she thought through her options. He'd watched her do it numerous times in the past.

"If you're calling, it means you must need my help. You wouldn't be telling me any of this simply out of professional courtesy."

She'd always been a smart broad. Smart and savvy and deadlier than a snake. On that he could match her inch for inch. And Kelly had paid dearly for it.

His jaw tightened. "Leak the information Meyer is alive and on her way to Philadelphia to meet with an FBI contact. It'll get out eventually if it hasn't already, but if you jump-start it, Minyawi will come running, guaranteed. And then he's yours."

Silence.

He held his breath as he waited for her response. Did she suspect his real intentions?

"And what of Meyer?"

No, she didn't suspect anything. Not yet at least.

He breathed slowly as he thought about the darkhaired Egyptologist he'd seen pictures of in Halloway's file. He'd memorized every angle of her face, every word in her dossier.

Halloway had seen her once six years before in Cairo, when she'd gone to the SCA to report her suspicions of an artifact-smuggling ring linked to the tomb she'd been working in. He had been at the SCA office in Cairo that day because of an ongoing, unrelated investigation in which the FBI had cooperated with INTERPOL. Though her story had momentarily intrigued Halloway, he hadn't done anything about it. Hadn't reported it to his FBI superiors, to his comrades at INTERPOL, even though the woman had looked fl.u.s.tered and had easily been on edge. Instead, he'd left it in the hands of the SCA.

And that was his first mistake. Because if Halloway had reported it, Minyawi may have been apprehended sooner. And Kelly might still be alive today.

Yeah, Halloway was more than an acceptable sacrifice.

"She's yours to do with what you want," he said.

Her end of the line was silent again, and then finally she said, "Give me a specific location."

His relief was bittersweet as he recited the rendezvous point he intended to use.

In the quiet that followed after he ended the call, he stared out the window at the Philly skyline and thought about Kelly's sunny smile, her bronze skin, her long, silky dark hair. Traffic whizzed by on the road below, while the low echo of cars braking and horns blaring bounced around the walls of the drab apartment five stories up. The pigeon stared back at him, as if it knew every one of his secrets. Then with a great flutter of wings, disappeared into the sky.

Up to Kelly.

He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Freedom and peace were but hours away. He'd failed Kelly in life. He wouldn't fail her in death.

He sat down to wait for Katherine Meyer's call.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

Present day Central Pennsylvania

The two plus hours it took to get to Williamsport felt like the longest of Kat's life. The snow had lightened up the farther south they drove, but it was still slow going. The iced-over roads were slicker than snot.

Kat tried to sleep, but it didn't work. Her mind was a tumble of activity. s.h.i.+fting on the seat, she glanced at Pete through hooded lashes, and try as she might, she couldn't help focusing on his bloodstained s.h.i.+rt. More than once she'd told him to pull over or lean forward so she could have a look, and more than once he'd told her he was fine.