The Soul Jar Read online

  Everything appeared normal, yet something tickled the back of Chance’s brain. He’d often joked that, like the comic book hero, he possessed a spider sense that told him when to expect trouble. He had that feeling now.

  Once again, he dismissed the notion that Bree might give him the slip. Nevertheless, he remained vigilant, giving each passerby a surreptitious once over. No one even glanced back, and no one seemed particularly bent on avoiding eye contact, either, but that did nothing to calm his case of nerves.

  He’d just begun to worry about Bree when she appeared, and his heart gave an involuntary thud. How could he have missed her more in the twenty minutes she’d been gone than in the two years since he’d abandoned her in Kingston?

  “What happened, dollface? You fall in?” Gino gestured to her new outfit, which Chance thought made her look sophisticated and exotically beautiful.

  The tight, bright colored dress and killer heels were gone. Now she wore slim black pants and flat shoes, a black turtleneck, which still managed to accentuate her generous curves, and a flowing scarf in shades of tan and emerald green. She’d draped the scarf loosely over her head and toned down her makeup except for adding a thicker layer of black eyeliner, which made her eyes look like sapphires.

  “The outfit I had on would have drawn too much attention in Cairo,” she told Gino as she slung her knapsack over her shoulder. “A woman doesn’t dress like that in the Middle East these days.”

  “Too bad.” Gino clucked his disappointment. “It’s a sin to cover up legs like yours.”

  Chance had to agree, though he gave Gino a dark look. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked, but the nagging feeling of unease silenced his compliments. “Did you check the jar?”

  “The jar is fine. I don’t care what the two of you do. I’m getting something to eat.”

  “Good idea. The food court is this way.” Chance pointed to the area where a number of passengers were headed. “I could use another breakfast.”

  “You got any more o’ them uppers?” Gino asked Bree as they fell into step on the concourse.

  “They’re not uppers.”

  “Can I have some?”

  “You’re not going to take another dose too, are you?” Chance asked as she fished the yellow box out of her bag. He saw the fatigue in her eyes, and it gnawed at him.

  She sighed. “No. I’m tired, but I’ll manage. I think I’ll try natural caffeine this time and go for a tall iced coffee.” She tossed the box to Gino, who caught it eagerly. “Keep them.”

  “Yeah, coffee sounds good. That piss they served on the plane stunk.”

  Chance ignored Gino’s complaints and concentrated on Bree and their surroundings.

  Like any airport, Frankfurt had a larger than normal security complement these days. Though many of the staff were undercover, Chance could pick them out with little effort.

  Despite the illusion of safety, he closed the distance between himself and Bree instinctively and continued to rate each individual on his internal threat scale. The jittery feeling in his stomach intensified when they found an empty table in the food court and sat.

  He made a mental note of everyone within earshot and pegged an older man in a dark coat and black knit cap sitting two tables away as the most suspicious.

  Leaning close to Bree as they settled into their chairs, he whispered in her ear, “You’re holding out on me too, aren’t you, luv?”

  She smiled sweetly at him, her alluring eyes huge and innocent. “You can bet your life on it, MacKenzie. Now, buy me some breakfast.”

  Chapter Seven

  Bree woke, startled from an unpleasant dream, and found Chance’s arm flung casually over her shoulders. She sat up hastily in her seat and checked her watch. They still had another half hour before boarding for the flight to Cairo began.

  How could she have let herself fall asleep?

  Chance watched with a supremely neutral expression while she made a show of checking her bag for the jar. She found it untouched, still nestled safely in its velvet bag and tucked under her clothes. She gave him a scathing look. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “You needed a nap. Plus I like to look at you when you sleep.”

  “Don’t get used to it.” She stifled a yawn and stretched. The impromptu nap hadn’t done much good. With a rich German breakfast in her stomach, she felt more tired than she had when they’d arrived.

  Chance nudged her. “We have a little time. I played confession. Now it’s your turn. Why are you really involved with this?”

  She shook her head, zipped her bag, and stashed it tightly in the seat beside her. “I told you. I work for a man who wants to return Egypt’s national treasures. That’s all.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Fine. Then, when we land in Cairo, we’ll go take care of Mallory. After that, you can tell your client that my client stole the jar. Let the two of them battle it out over who gets to keep it.”

  Bree considered her response. Would he even believe the truth if she told him? “I’d be the first casualty of war, MacKenzie.”

  He sighed. “Let’s be honest, Bree—”

  “I am. Yes, there are things I’m not telling you. I’m involved in something dangerous, just like you are. That’s my job. Deal with it.”

  “Maybe it’s time we…” Chance stopped mid-sentence and his eyes focused over her left shoulder. She twisted to follow the direction of his gaze and saw Gino conked out in a chair a row behind them. “What’s the matter?”

  “How many caffeine pills did he take with breakfast?”

  Bree shrugged. “Three, I think.” Despite popping the pills with his coffee, the bodyguard was sound asleep now, so deeply asleep, in fact, that he wasn’t even snoring.

  Chance moved to the next row of seats and sat beside Gino for a moment. When he returned to Bree, his eyes were hard and narrow.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Go where? We’re about to start boarding.” Passengers were beginning to assemble in the boarding area now, and a flight attendant had stationed herself at the ticket desk.

  Chance leaned over and whispered in her ear. “We’re not getting on the plane.”

  “Why not?”

  In response, Chance put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed hard. “Come on, sweetheart. If we hurry we can get you another book to read before they call our row.”

  Before Bree could protest, Chance pulled her to her feet and slipped his arm around her waist. “We’d better hurry, luv.”

  “What about Gino?” She gave a quick glance in the bodyguard’s direction before Chance yanked her toward the main concourse.

  “He’s on his way to his final destination, and I’d rather not go with him.”

  “He’s…?”

  “Dead. Just keep walking, darling, or we will be too.”

  A million thoughts collided in Chance’s brain as he hurried Bree along the concourse toward the main terminal exit doors. He’d not been so naïve to think Garadeshi would go to such lengths for a simple alabaster jar when the sands of Egypt were full of them. Obviously the Soul Jar had some greater meaning, and whomever Bree was working for thought so as well. The fact that someone would kill Gino—

  No. The realization hit him like ice water as they passed from the bustling terminal into Frankfurt’s watery morning sunshine. Gino hadn’t been the target. No one could have anticipated Bree would give her caffeine pills to the bodyguard except Bree herself.

  That is if the pills were to blame, though it seemed the most likely explanation. For Gino to fall asleep and stop breathing within two hours of taking a triple dose…there were too many variables to consider at the moment. All Chance was certain of was that the deal was not going down as planned, and that meant three lives were in danger.

  He effortlessly snagged one of the waiting taxis and shoved Bree into the back seat. His German was rusty, but as he climbed in beside her, he managed to convey pass
able directions to the driver. The cab sped off through the terminal at breakneck speeds, reminding Chance that the Autobahn wasn’t just a highway but a state of mind for some.

  As they careened through the airport and onto the nearest major road, he snaked his arm around Bree’s shoulders and pulled her into a tight hug.

  With his lips at her ear, he said, “How much cash have you got on you?”

  “In Euros? None. I wasn’t planning on tooling around Frankfurt.”

  “All right. We’ll have to rely on my credit cards.”

  “Rely on them for what? Where are we going? We have to get to Cairo.”

  “Not on that flight and probably not from this airport. Hush now. We’ll talk details later.” He planted his lips on her temple, making a loud smacking noise, then rattled off some touristy schmaltz to the driver. “We’ll be at the hotel soon, dear,” he said, lacing his fingers through hers. “And I’ll take you shopping, but I’m sure they’ll find all our luggage by morning.”

  Though her eyes showed both suspicion and confusion, she played along. Smiling tightly, she squeezed his hand, perhaps a little too hard. “Lots of shopping, darling. Who needs luggage? We’ll just buy everything brand new!”

  After forty minutes of battling late morning traffic, they pulled up in front of Frankfurt’s Continental Hotel. Bree did her best to act touristy, while Chance paid the cab driver. As the cabbie waved and pulled away, Chance grabbed her hand and gave her a theatrical hug. As soon as the car disappeared, instead of leading her inside the busy hotel, he tugged her toward the street.

  “Where are we going now?” she demanded, torn between anger at herself for blindly following him and amazement that he’d managed to get them this far away from Gino’s corpse so quickly.

  “We’re going to find a little hole in the wall hotel to hide out in until I can get us on another flight to Cairo. I need to find an ATM and get some cash. There’s no way we can avoid leaving an electronic trail.”

  Chance tugged her along the busy sidewalk as he spoke, alternately smiling politely at passersby and scanning the crowd for suspicious characters.

  “Once we get settled, I’m going to make you tell me exactly what you’re involved in,” he told her as they walked.

  She smirked at the implied challenge and wriggled her fingers out of his grasp. She stopped walking, and when he turned to glare at her, she asked, “How do I know this wasn’t all part of your plan in the first place?”

  Chance closed the distance between them in two swift strides. He grabbed her arms, backed her up against the brick façade of the nearest building and leaned in close like he was going to kiss her. Bree braced for it, wanting it, but defiant at the same time. When his lips grazed her ear, her body jolted.

  “My plan, in the first place, never included seeing you again. It didn’t include having to fight with you over the jar, and as much as I might have thought about it, my plan didn’t include killing Gino, at least not until Sam was safe. We’re going to find a nice, quiet place to talk, and you’re going to come clean, sweetheart, if I have to torture the truth out of you.”

  Her throat went suddenly dry, and she had to force the words out. “You wouldn’t.”

  “You know I would, luv. You also know I’d never harm a hair on your gorgeous head, but I can hurt you without touching you.”

  Bree swallowed her rage and met his gaze. She saw regret in those smoky eyes, determination and something else—a shadow of dark lust. She wasn’t afraid. Chance had already hurt her as much as he ever could.

  She should have walked away, but she couldn’t. She could pretend it was because she had no way to get to Cairo except by his good graces now, but the truth ran far deeper. She’d found him again and she wasn’t ready to let him go, yet.

  “I’ve got a few weapons of my own, MacKenzie. So don’t push me.”

  He held her gaze for another minute, during which she became aware that his breathing was as shallow as hers. His body felt like a coiled spring, and pressing into her hip bone, the bulge in the center of his jeans had grown rock hard.

  When he let her go, she sagged a bit and let out her breath. He took her hand again, gently this time, and pulled her back into the lockstep of pedestrian traffic on Baseler Strasse.

  “Let’s settle the rest of our differences in private then, luv. I can’t wait to see your arsenal.”

  Chapter Eight

  While Chance’s visit to an ATM meant their location in Frankfurt was traceable, the amount of cash he took would keep them solvent for a day or two until they could find another flight to Cairo.

  They bought lunch at a small café and sat in the back, near a door that led out through a crowded, noisy kitchen. They ate quickly and quietly and then continued their journey on foot for another hour and a half through the teeming streets of the City Center.

  As they walked, Chance stole furtive glances at Bree, wishing he could take back his threats. He had to know the truth about her client, but he wanted her to know he’d never hurt her to get it.

  Being with her again had done things to him, begun to transform him back into the man he’d been two years ago. Back then his every plan included her. His concern for her, his desire, had blurred his vision, and in truth, it had made him a little careless when it came to Montague. That would not happen with Garadeshi.

  “Let’s try this place,” he said around 3:00 PM, tugging her toward one of the numerous no-star, boarding house style hotels that still managed to eke out a living beside the growing commercial properties that dominated the city. The building possessed a tarnished charm and didn’t look quite as seedy as some of the places they’d passed so far. While Chance wished they could have gotten a little more lost, he was too exhausted to continue much farther, and he didn’t want to waste any of their limited supply of cash on another cab ride with a driver who might later be able to identify them.

  Check-in went smoothly, though Chance thought the price was a bit high for one small bedroom for the night. He paid in Euros without grumbling, though, and accepted the key from the bored looking desk manager. He hustled Bree into the ancient elevator and hit the button for the second floor.

  “I doubt this place has Internet access. I’m going to have to find a café or someplace I can jack-in and make flight reservations.”

  “You do that. I need a shower desperately.” Bree sighed as she pulled off her scarf and shook her hair free of the tight knot she’d twisted it into. Chance watched the cascade of dark waves and remembered the luxuriant feel of it against his skin and tangled in his fingers when they’d made love.

  “What?” she asked when she noticed his stare.

  “Nothing.”

  Theirs was the last room at the end of the dingy second floor corridor. The door stuck, but Chance shoved his shoulder against it and together they stumbled inside.

  Though the nondescript furniture, shabby brown curtains and orange rug all showed considerable signs of wear, the room smelled stale as if it had been closed up a while. The double bed looked terribly narrow and lumpy, and its mustard yellow spread sported odd spots of discoloration, too faded to be called stains but disconcerting nevertheless.

  Chance shut the door, locked it and immediately did standard recon. The smudged window looked out on an alleyway accessed by a fire ladder made of steel pipes. He checked the window locks and pulled the curtains closed. The bathroom, done in the monochromatic shade of sour milk, was reasonably clean, about the size of a broom closet and had no window of its own or any visible means of ventilation.

  Satisfied with the meager security, he set his carryall next to the bed and faced Bree, who had already kicked off her shoes and draped her scarf over the straight-backed chair that sat in the corner next to a scuffed, four-drawer bureau.

  “Now it’s confession time. Who are you really working for?”

  “Question for question,” Bree responded as she settled onto the edge of the bed. Chance moved to stand over her, hands on his hips, h
is eyes hooded. Her breath hitched at the sudden intimacy of their situation. Liquid heat coiled low in her belly at the thought of baiting him, forcing him into an emotional battle just to bring him close to her like he’d been on the street. Could her heart survive it?

  “Fine. Answer mine first,” he said.

  In response, she threw her arms behind her and leaned back on her elbows. God, five minutes on her back and she’d be blissfully asleep. “Wendel Firenze, CIA.”

  “You’re CIA now?”

  “My question first.”

  Chance nodded.

  “Name your client.”

  “Urkhat Garadeshi. A private collector with a nasty reputation.”

  “I’m not CIA. I’m a…consultant. How did you get mixed up with a gangster like Garadeshi?”

  Chance raised one eyebrow, and Bree continued, “I’ve heard the name. He mostly flies under CIA radar.”

  “I didn’t get mixed up with him. Mallory did. Took a job excavating an ancient tomb and uncovered all kinds of corollary information on the Soul Jar. I’m the rescue team. What does the CIA want with the jar?”

  Bree stretched, rolled over and crawled toward the bed’s painfully flat pillows. She bunched one under her head and closed her eyes to block out the image of Chance’s broad shoulders and that enticing ridge below his huge belt buckle. Why on earth was she so turned on? A shower would have to wait. There was no way she was taking her clothes off with him in the next room.

  “Well?”

  “Sorry…what?” She snapped back to reality. “The jar is worthless to Firenze. He’s trading it for valuable info to his contact in Cairo. I only have a codename for him.”

  “So who’s following you?”

  Bree pushed herself up on one elbow and blinked at him. “No one that I know of. If Firenze could spare someone to follow me, he’d have given them the job in the first place.”

  “Someone had to be involved in Gino’s death. He didn’t overdose on caffeine. What scares me is they may have been after you.”