The Soul Jar Read online

  “Mr. MacKenzie, I’m so glad to see you made it safely to Cairo. I was very concerned when Gino managed to contact me and inform me that he’d been forcibly separated from you.”

  “I brought the jar, just like I promised. Where’s Mallory?” Chance was in no mood for pleasantries. He had a bad feeling that Garadeshi was about to expect a lot more than he’d originally bargained for.

  “The doctor is fine and will be joining you soon. I see you brought a guest.” Garadeshi gestured to Bree, lying pale and still on the floor.

  “You can let her go. She doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

  “I can. But I haven’t decided if I will yet.” Garadeshi gestured to Gino who brought the Soul Jar forward, removing it carefully from its velvet sack. The Egyptian’s dark eyes lit when he saw it, and he reached out to cradle it gently in his palms.

  “Beautiful.”

  “You have the jar. Now where is Dr. Mallory?” Chance’s gut burned with worry. Did Garadeshi have any reason to keep Sam alive now? Was it already too late?

  “Yes, yes.” Garadeshi set the jar down in the depression on the altar. It shone like a beacon, clean and perfect in the shadowy room. “Bring the doctor now.”

  Chance tensed. Would Garadeshi’s men present him with a body? If Gino hadn’t taken revenge for what happened in Frankfurt, he certainly planned to. None of them were safe.

  The small, robed man began to chant as Garadeshi backed away from the altar. Gino and the other guards fell back to the far corners of the room as if they’d rehearsed the move. With Gino momentarily distracted, Chance took the opportunity to lean over Bree and check for a pulse.

  Thankfully, it was strong and steady. She moaned at his touch, and her eyelids fluttered.

  “It’s all right, luv. Lie still. We’ll be out of this soon.” One way or another, he added silently.

  Chapter Twelve

  Bree felt like someone had tried to tear off her head. The back of her neck felt hot and tight, and a dull pain radiated alternately down her spine and up into her skull, pulsing misery with each breath.

  She heard Chance’s voice, low and reassuring, and she sighed. At least they were still together.

  What had happened? She remembered being in line at customs and emerging into the airport terminal. Then Gino appeared, miraculously alive. Maybe miraculously was the wrong word.

  “Lie still, luv,” Chance repeated, and she heard the urgency in his voice. He didn’t want her to move. She opened her eyes and forced them to focus on her strange surroundings.

  They were in a cave—no, a tomb. Flickering flames cast long shadows on the craggy walls where golden artifacts glittered in carved niches. The place smelled old.

  Her dizzy gaze tracked past Chance, on his knees beside her, to a brilliant spot of white amid the shadows. The Soul Jar rested on a wide stone dais, a glowing oval of perfection in its crude surroundings.

  “What’s going on?” she asked. Chance hushed her. She reached up to rub her neck and heard an unpleasant click from somewhere behind her.

  “No sudden moves, dollface.”

  Gino. Crap. What the hell was going on?

  Suddenly the atmosphere of the strange temple room changed. A blast of cool air rushed in, guttering the flames for a moment.

  Everyone turned, including Bree, who pushed herself up on shaky arms. Two men entered the room through a narrow door across from the altar, dragging a slim blonde woman between them. She wore khaki pants and a flowing white tunic. Her pretty face looked puffy and dirt smudged. They tossed her toward Chance, who caught her in a bear hug.

  “Sam! Are you all right?”

  Bree watched, nonplussed, as the woman kissed Chance’s cheek and crushed him in a desperate embrace.

  “I’m okay. Thank God you’re back. I was so afraid something had happened to you,” she said in a breathless Australian accent.

  “I’m fine. We’re all going to be fine.” Chance patted the woman’s back in what appeared to Bree to be a chaste, brotherly fashion, though she wasn’t much in the mood to scrutinize their embrace.

  The woman wiped tears from her cheeks and sniffled a little as Chance set her down next to him on the stone floor.

  Her warm brown eyes tracked to Bree, and she gave a tentative smile. Bree only stared, her gaze bouncing from Chance to the decidedly feminine Dr. Sam Mallory.

  Before Bree could muster the energy to introduce herself, the priest-like little man spoke in a deep, commanding voice. “Ammonptah, open the jar.”

  Another man, whom Bree assumed was Mr. Garadeshi, stepped up to the altar and took the Soul Jar in his hands. He twisted the oval and the small lid came off, leaving the jar looking like a poached egg resting upright on the dirty stone.

  “What’s going on?” Bree’s stage whisper drew a disparaging look from the robed man, but she didn’t care. She hadn’t signed on for any ancient rituals.

  “Garadeshi is setting the trapped souls free,” Mallory responded. “He thinks he’s the reincarnation of Ammonptah, the magistrate who trapped them, and his own soul can’t rest until he frees the lovers he imprisoned.”

  “Ah…” A sudden rush of hot wind stole Bree’s response from her lips. As those assembled in the makeshift temple watched, stunned, a white vapor issued from the jar and swirled through the room, enveloping the man at the altar in a gauzy haze.

  His dark eyes widened as if in pain, and his mouth dropped open in a silent scream.

  “What the hell?” Bree heard Chance mutter.

  “I never would have believed it,” Mallory whispered.

  As they watched, the vapor split into two distinct forms. As the haze left the man at the altar, he sagged, a low moan escaping from his dusky lips.

  At the corners of the room, Garadeshi’s guards, including Gino, stood slack-jawed as the ghostlike apparitions flitted around them like nervous butterflies. The vaporous entities entwined with each other and broke apart again, went spiraling away toward the burning sconces, then collided again in what appeared to be a joyous rush.

  “This is our cue.” Chance grabbed Bree’s hand and pulled her toward him, his eyes on Gino and the gun hanging limply from the bodyguard’s hand.

  At the altar, Garadeshi slumped forward. The priest rushed to his side, and the hazy vapors danced in circles above him.

  “Let’s go now.” Chance pulled Sam up from the floor, and they started for the door just as the souls entwined and parted again.

  Bree felt cold, then warm, and she stiffened in her tracks as a white veil descended over her vision. Thinking she was passing out, she stumbled back to the floor. Sam caught her and helped her sit down.

  She could see that Chance was still standing, the other white vapor swirling around him. The apparition seemed to fade then, but instead of her vision clearing, everything around Bree went black.

  Samantha Mallory’s face swam into focus above Chance. Her soft brown eyes held both concern and relief.

  “Bree?” The sudden panic that gripped him forced him to a sitting position on the floor of Garadeshi’s faux temple.

  Sam’s hands rested on his shoulders, cool and reassuring. “She’s fine. She’s in the other room.”

  “Why? Where…?”

  “Give her a minute, Chance. The CIA is debriefing her.”

  “What? Sam, what the hell happened?” Chance pictured Bree being led away in handcuffs, bound for a federal prison in the States to serve time for crimes she’d committed on his account.

  Sam pushed him back, and slapped a cold, wet compress on his forehead. “You’ve got a nasty bump.”

  “From what?”

  “You keeled over, hit your head pretty hard on the floor. Just like Bree. How did you find her again, Chance? You must be so happy to have her back.” Sam smiled at him, and his heart soared for a moment. He had Bree back. Or did he? Was their reunion destined to be only temporary?

  “Sam, tell me what the hell happened.”

  “It’s a long sto
ry. I’ll give you the Cliff Notes. Garadeshi believed if he opened the Soul Jar and released the trapped lovers, he’d find peace. He thought he was Ammonptah reincarnated and that he imprisoned them three thousand years ago.”

  “The souls were really in the jar?” It seemed preposterous. How could such a wild legend be true?

  “Something was in the jar,” Sam replied with a delicate shrug. “Something that scared Garadeshi into cardiac arrest. His goons ran, but they didn’t get far. It seems your lady had a plan. She’d already called the CIA and had them waiting to be led to Garadeshi’s hideout.”

  Chance winced at the pain in his head. How had Bree found time to do that? “They’re not going to arrest her?”

  “I doubt it. Come on, I’ll help you up.”

  Sam got her shoulder under Chance’s arm, and he climbed to his feet. His head spun a little, and a strange memory surfaced. He recalled taking Bree in his arms and kissing her, desperately, longingly, as if they’d been unable to feel each other’s touch for centuries.

  Beyond that brief, startling recollection though, he remembered nothing after Garadeshi opened the jar.

  Sam led him from the empty temple room back through the narrow door to the modern office, which was now packed with people, including Egyptian police, paramedics, and surly security guards. In the far corner, beyond the crowd, Bree stood with a middle aged man in a rumpled business suit. She turned when Chance approached and smiled at him.

  “Chance, this is Wendel Firenze, CIA.”

  Still groggy, Chance managed to squint at the man’s outstretched hand. He put all the strength he could muster into a firm handshake.

  “So this is MacKenzie.” Firenze shot Bree a knowing smirk that rubbed Chance the wrong way. What secrets did this man share with Bree?

  “This is MacKenzie.”

  Firenze retrieved his cool hand from Chance’s grip and looked him in the eye. “Bree risked a lot for you, Mr. MacKenzie. I’m glad everything worked out.”

  “It did?” Chance slid his gaze to Bree, who looked skeptical.

  “The Soul Jar is back where it belongs. And I get to go home.”

  “After a short debriefing, yes, Bree. Give us a few minutes, Mr. MacKenzie. Then I’ll arrange transportation for the two of you and Dr. Mallory to a hotel. My agency will provide you with help getting back to…wherever you need to go.”

  Chance nodded and Wendel Firenze led Bree away through the bustling crowd that now filled the outer offices of Garadeshi’s hideout.

  Sam tapped him on the shoulder and gave him a sunny smile when he turned. “Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

  “You know I like a challenge, Dr. Mallory.”

  Bree wrapped a fluffy terrycloth robe around herself and hurried from the luxurious bathroom of her suite at Cairo’s Sheraton Towers. She was expecting room service, but the knock on the door didn’t sound like the polite intrusion of the hotel wait staff.

  She flung her damp hair over her shoulder, tightened the belt of the robe and opened the door. She didn’t need to check the security lens. It might have been two years, but she knew Chance’s distinctive knock. Her heart squeezed tight in her chest at the sight of him. Again freshly showered and shaved, dressed in a newly purchased suit, he looked like a blond James Bond. And here she was, the perfect Bond girl, naked, wet and as close to willing as she could get without actually throwing herself on the bed.

  “You’re early.”

  “I figured we needed some time to talk before dinner.” He slid one polished shoe over the threshold and peered into the posh depths of the room. “How did you rate a VIP suite?”

  She liked the hint of jealousy in his tone, but tried to keep her own voice neutral. “Wendel arranged it. I believe Dr. Mallory has a similar room. Maybe you’ve seen hers as well?”

  “Actually, Sam couldn’t stay. She’s got a fiancé waiting for her in Sydney and a long flight home.”

  The icy fingers that gripped Bree’s heart began to melt. “A fiancé?”

  “Nice fella. Classical pianist. You’d like him.”

  Bree crossed her arms over her chest and harrumphed. She’d worked up a lengthy diatribe about the lovely and extraordinarily feminine Sam Mallory and all that salty vitriol would now go to waste. “So then she won’t be joining us for dinner?”

  “Nope. She’s long gone. It’s just you and me, again.”

  “Wait in the hall and I’ll get dressed.” She made a move to close the door, but he blocked her efforts and slithered into the suite.

  “It’s so much roomier in here, luv. You go about your business, and I’ll just sit on this enormously comfy bed and wait for you.”

  Bree eyed the door as Chance closed it behind him. She’d planned to have dinner sent up all along, but now that she had Chance right where she wanted him, her resolve wavered. They’d been through so much. Could her battered heart really stand all the hurt they still needed to work through?

  Surrounded by the satin sheets, filmy curtains, and plush carpeting of the hotel’s most expensive room, could she separate her desire for Chance from her need to deal with his betrayal? It would be too easy to slip off her robe, wrap her arms around his broad shoulders and indulge in the fantasy that the last two years had never happened.

  “Maybe this was a bad idea.” She forced the words out. “I need some time to—”

  “I was wrong,” Chance cut her off. His voice had lost the jaunty, conversational tone and become rough with emotion. She felt it like a caress. Her spine tingled and her eyes burned.

  “Chance…”

  “Let me finish. I was wrong. I was stupid. I thought I knew everything and the worst part, the part I’m most sorry for, is that I didn’t trust you enough to keep you with me. I thought you would be my weakness, that Montague would use you against me because you weren’t as experienced as I was. I didn’t think you were good enough at what you did to keep yourself safe, so I had to do it for you. That’s why I sent you away, so I wouldn’t have to worry about you.”

  Bree swallowed hard. Of all the scenarios she’d played in her mind over the years, this was one she hadn’t rehearsed. It stung to hear him confess that he’d doubted her, but not as much as believing he’d never loved her to begin with. Just what she needed after all this time, a fresh wound.

  She turned away from him. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  “If I knew what could make you feel better, I’d say it. That’s the truth, and I’m ashamed of it. Before I go, let me say the rest.”

  “Before you go? You’re leaving again? You’re just going to lay all this on me and waltz off?” She turned back, anger heating her cheeks.

  “I figured you’d want me to.”

  “Well, it’s time you stopped deciding what you think I want, or need, or should have, Chance MacKenzie. You say what you have to say. I’ll decide if I want to throw you out or not.”

  He paled, and his smoky eyes were stark. Silhouetted against the brilliant blue of Cairo’s night sky through the suite’s picture window, he was all sharp angles and long lines. Bree wanted to smooth those edges, to make it right by kissing him, but she didn’t dare give in yet. She needed to hear everything he had to say.

  His chest swelled with a deep breath, and he took a step closer to her. “I’ve never loved anyone else the way I love you, Bree. Believe me when I say I only wanted to protect you, but if I had it to do over again, I’d never let you go. I hope one day you’ll be able to forgive me.”

  Bree concentrated all her strength on remaining on her own two feet and not falling into his arms. “I do. When I told you I didn’t hate you, I meant it. And even when I did hate you, I still loved you. I never stopped loving you.”

  Relief washed over his face, softening his features. He reached out and brushed a damp tendril of hair from her cheek. The rough pad of his thumb traced the line of her jaw, and her eyes fluttered closed at the familiar sensation. “I don’t have to say goodbye to you aga
in? It doesn’t end tonight?”

  She sank against him and his arms came around her. “No. Tonight, it begins…”

  Epilogue

  Three weeks later

  This time it wasn’t a dream.

  Bree smiled up at Chance, her face shaded by the brim of a new straw hat. The Caribbean sun beat on her bare shoulders, bronzing her skin under a layer of sultry, sin-scented tanning oil.

  Her bikini top lay unfastened under her. A thin strip of raspberry colored cloth barely covered her sumptuous rear end and nail polish in a matching hue decorated her toes, which dangled behind her.

  Chance lifted his freshly poured mimosa and toasted her, then walked across the private veranda of the beach house they’d rented and dropped down to sit next to her. A week in the sun before taking on another assignment for Wendel Firenze wasn’t quite enough time for a vacation as far as Chance was concerned, but he’d make do somehow. He found it much easier to relax since the CIA director had informed them Bree’s caffeine pills had not been poisoned. Whatever had happened to Gino at the airport was Gino’s issue, one for which he would likely receive excellent medical care during his lengthy prison stay.

  His pulse quickening in anticipation, he placed one hand in the center of Bree’s back and massaged her oil-slick skin. The feel of her, warm and pliant beneath his hand, made him instantly hard for her, despite the fact that, at half past noon, they’d only just rolled out of bed.

  “You’d better come back inside, luv. I don’t want you to get burned,” he rumbled, running his hands to the small of her back where he’d slid away the thong to check the color of her tan. Bree squirmed, laughing, and rolled over.

  “We’ve only been outside for fifteen minutes. You just want to get me back into bed.”

  He set the mimosa down on the wooden deck and lunged for her, covering her naked upper body with his. He buried his face in her neck, taking in the sun-warmed scent of her, nuzzling her until her nipples hardened against his chest.