Mission: Irresistible (10 page)

Wing Tips hung back.

Mr. Nike approached.

He had an awful feeling that the backstabbing, temperamental Demitri was the one in the sneakers. He closed his eyes, slowed his breathing, and pretended to be unconscious.

The tip of an angry Nike caught him hard and low in the rib cage.

The mummy grunted, biting his bottom lip against the pain. It wasn’t only his ribs that took the jolt, but his entire spine.

The man squatted, peered at him. It was the face of a ruthless thug, scarred and hard. He grinned and licked his lips.

Alarm charged through the mummy. Even though he did not recognize the man, he had a sense that he had run afoul of this unsavory character in the past, and their encounter had not been cordial.

“Eh, you’re not asleep,” Nike said in English, then suddenly grabbed him by the neck and dragged him to his feet.

The mummy screamed in shock and agony. He’d only imagined that he had been in pain before. Nothing matched the fiery train wreck that was now chewing through his body like it was a toothpick.

“Take it easy, Demitri,” Froggy croaked. “If he passes out again, it will be that much longer before we can coax his secrets out of him.”

The mummy’s eyes flew to the man illuminated in the path between the door and the stacks of metal on both sides of them. The man with the deep, hoarse voice of an ailing bullfrog. His coal-black eyes showed not the slightest glimpse of mercy. His face was as emotionless as marble.

He stepped closer.

Bullfrog Man was short and squat, barrel-shaped yet muscular. His dark hair was slicked back with something oily, and his mouth bore a nasty mixture of cruelty and intelligence.

“The sooner you talk, the sooner this will all be over.” His English was heavily accented with Greek flavor. A gyro-eating, wing-tip-wearing, bad-cold-having bullfrog. “Where is the amulet?”

The mummy did not answer.

What amulet? He didn’t remember anything about an amulet or who these men were, but something told him this question was vitally important. His head pounded. His gut roiled again.

Nike yanked his hair.

He yelped. Involuntary tears flooded his eyes. He couldn’t help it. The pain was that bad.

“Please, don’t make me ask you twice,” Bullfrog said, pulling a pointy metal nail file from the pocket of his suit jacket and slowly dragging it across his nails.

The thought of what an evil man could do with a sharp metal fingernail file squeezed the mummy’s breath right out of his lungs.

“I . . . I don’t know,” he whispered, his legs swaying as he struggled to remain standing. Demitri’s breath burned hot against his neck. He just dangled there, too weak to fight.

Bullfrog nodded. Demitri pressed a thumb into the aching wound at his back.

Blistering tides of agony lapped over him. His knees gave way. His eyes rolled back in his head.

“Where is the amulet?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Bullfrog sighed and passed the metal file to Demitri. “You know what to do.”

“Please,” the mummy babbled. “I swear, I don’t remember. My thinking is fuzzy.”

“Then Demitri will sharpen your memory for you. One way or the other, we will have both halves of the amulet. Never doubt that.”

Demitri stroked the file against the mummy’s cheek, stopping when he reached his eyes. “Where’s the amulet?” he hissed, his breath thick with garlic.

The mummy whimpered. If he could remember, he would tell him. But his mind was a blank screen and the harder he tried to conjure something, the more elusive it became.

The file was at the corner of his eye now.

“Where’s the amulet?”

Dear God!
the mummy thought just before he lost consciousness. He couldn’t remember anything. Not even his own name.

Not even to save his life.

CHAPTER 7

T
he American Airlines agent at the main ticket counter confirmed Cassie’s inquiry. Yes, Dr. Adam Grayfield had arrived at DFW Airport on the eleven-twenty-five flight from JFK twelve hours earlier.

“What about Dr. Grayfield’s cargo?” Cassie asked.

Harrison shot her a quelling glance.
Zip it
, his fierce glare warned.

She figured he was mad because she had asked the question before he could. Fine. She shrugged. No skin off her nose if he wanted to play big man in charge.

“What happened to my brother’s freight?” Harrison addressed the man behind the ticket counter. “Did it arrive safely? Or did you lose it?”

The ticket agent—who looked like a strange cross between Bill Clinton and Mr. Rogers with his lush gray hair, hound dog nose, long slender neck, and wooly red cardigan—went on the defensive. Cassie recognized from his stiffening body language that his self-protective instincts were kicking in. Squarer shoulders, narrowing eyes, clenched jaw, petulant expression. She understood that a good part of the ticket agent’s day must be taken up by people bitching about their lost or damaged luggage.

“As far as I know,” the man said to Harrison in a tone as warm as an Alaskan glacier, “we’ve received no complaints from Dr. Grayfield.”

“Did he pick up his luggage?” Harrison fished the baggage ticket out of his jacket pocket. “I have the claim stub.”

“Then I’m assuming he did not pick it up. Check with baggage claim.”

“Where’s that located?”

“Near the baggage carousels, but they closed at ten and it’s now eleven-thirty. Guess you’ll just have to come back tomorrow morning.” The ticket agent looked anything but disappointed.

“This is an urgent matter that can’t wait until morning. Dr. Grayfield never showed up for an important engagement this evening,” Harrison said.

“Not my problem,” the ticket agent replied. “Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for my lunch break.”

Cassie couldn’t keep quiet. Not when the ticket agent was about to walk away. Not when they had less than seventy-two hours to find Adam and the amulet.

“Excuse me.” She bellied up to the counter, not caring if Harrison got mad because she was taking over. She glanced at the ticket agent’s name tag and gave him the friendliest smile she could muster. “Jerry.”

Jerry stopped and turned toward her. “Yes?”

“Please excuse my friend. He’s very irritable because his only brother is missing.” She told him who Harrison was and explained about the star-crossed lovers exhibit, and she elaborated on how Adam hadn’t shown up for the event.

“He has no right to take it out on me,” the man grumbled and shot Harrison a dirty look.

Cassie nodded in agreement. “You’re absolutely right about that, Jerry.”

“I’m just doing my job.”

“Of course you are.” She lowered both her voice and her eyelashes seductively. “Could you please find it in your heart to check your computer and see if Dr. Grayfield’s freight was picked up? It could be a clue to his whereabouts.”

For the coup de grâce, she reached out and lightly touched Jerry’s forearm.

The ticket agent stood up a little straighter. “I could do it for
you
.”

“Thank you ever so much. I really appreciate your effort.”

Jerry returned to his computer monitor and typed something in on the keyboard. “Dr. Grayfield’s freight is still in the airport. It was never picked up.”

“Is there any way that someone, a supervisor maybe, could open baggage claim for us?”

“I could ask, but don’t get your hopes up.” Jerry sounded doubtful.

She pursed her lips in the sexiest pucker she could muster. Pamela Anderson had nothing on her. “Please.”

“All right,” he agreed. “I’ll call a supervisor and see if we can’t get those bags for you.”

She rewarded Jerry with a stupefying smile and a gentle squeeze of his forearm. She could practically see the man’s knees weaken. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem, Miss . . .”

“Call me Cassie.”

Damn if Jerry’s face didn’t flush red and perspiration break out on his forehead. Quickly, he grabbed for the house phone.

And that, Harrison Standish, is the way you handle people.

“You don’t have to act like a centerfold queen to get people to do your bidding,” Harrison growled softly in her ear while the ticket agent was on the phone to baggage claim. “I was handling things my way.”

“And getting nowhere.”

“I was about to demand to see his superior when you decided to butt in.”

“Maybe you were, sugar,” she whispered, keeping her smile pasted firmly in place even when she wanted to tell him to kiss her fleshy fanny. “But my way turned out to be faster and a whole lot nicer.”

“And a whole lot more manipulative.”

“A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

“You’re justifying your means.”

“What is your problem, Standish? Why do you care if I’m flirting with the guy to get my way? You reap the benefits.”

“It makes me feel like a pimp.”

“Well now, that sounds like a personal problem to me.” She tossed her head. Give the man a palace, and he would no doubt bitch because it was too big and drafty.

Jerry hung up the phone. “The supervisor will be with you in a minute, Cassie. Why don’t you have a seat? Can I get you anything? Cup of coffee? A soda?”

“I’m fine, Jerry, but thanks a million. You’ve been such a big help.”

Cassie and Harrison seated themselves on the black vinyl chairs. She practiced smiling coyly, preparing to cajole the supervisor into opening the baggage claim office for them.

Five minutes later a tall, muscular brunette woman with plenty of sass stalked from behind a door marked “Employees” on the opposite side of the concourse. Her navy blue uniform fit her like a second skin, and her three-inch pumps made her long, lean legs look even longer and leaner.

Cassie disliked her on principle. So much for her plans to flirt her way into baggage claim.

The woman sauntered over to Harrison and extended a hand. “How do you do,” she murmured in a silken voice. “I’m Spanky Frebrizo.”

“Dr. Harrison Standish. And this is Cassie Cooper.”

Spanky pumped his hand, but she never even glanced at Cassie. “I’m well aware of who you are, Dr. Standish. I’m a huge ancient Egypt buff, and I’m a big fan of the star-crossed lovers. I even attended one of your lectures at UTA through community education. When Jerry told me there was a famous archaeologist waiting to see me, I just about fainted.”

Imagine that, Cassie mused. Harry had a groupie. She half expected Spanky to grab a Sharpie and write “I LOVE YOU” on her eyelids.

Harrison beamed. “It’s always nice to meet someone with an interest in ancient Egypt, Spanky.”

Spanky?

What in the hell kind of name was that anyway? It had to be a nickname. Cassie didn’t even want to speculate on how the woman had earned it.

While Spanky totally ignored Cassie, Harrison explained the situation and their dilemma.

“I’ll take you over to baggage claim,” Spanky said. “Anything I can do to help you, Dr. Standish.” She turned and led the way.

Cassie mocked her behind her back, silently mouthing,
Anything to help you, Dr. Standish.

She and Harrison were walking shoulder to shoulder a few feet behind Spanky. Harrison leaned over to whisper, “What’s the matter?”

Cassie shot him an evil look.

“Jealous?”

Ha! Over Harrison Standish?

Why would she be jealous over a color-blind, pompous, nerdy professor who worked out regularly and was damned handy with a pair of manicure scissors? Okay, so maybe she was a teeny bit jealous. Big hairy deal.

Then suddenly she had an inkling into what he might have been feeling when she was flirting with Jerry. Ouch. The shoe didn’t fit so well on the other foot.

“Here we are.” Spanky unlocked the door to the lost baggage area, flicked on the light, and ushered them inside. “You can wait right here while I go see if I can locate the baggage.”

“It’s probably a heavy crate. You might need some help lifting it.”

“I’m sorry, it’s against our company policy to allow customers beyond the front desk.” Spanky ran her gaze over Harrison again, and Cassie could have sworn the woman licked her lips. “But I suppose it would be okay to let you in this one time.”

“Thank you, Spanky,” Harrison said.

“But she has to stay here.” Spanky indicated Cassie with a wave of her hand.

Bitch.

Cassie ground her teeth and glared while Harrison trailed off after Spanky. He cast a parting glance over his shoulder, giving her a what-can-I-do shrug. He might act innocent, but clearly he was enjoying turning the tables on her.

She plopped down on a bench. A few minutes later she heard whispering and giggling from beyond the shelves stacked tall with MIA luggage. She rolled her eyes and tried to ignore the churning in the pit of her stomach.

The giggling stopped.

A few seconds later Harrison reappeared. “By any chance do you have a Swiss Army knife?”

“Do I look like the kind of woman who carries a Swiss Army knife? If I needed to, say, oh, slice some Camembert, I’d just call in the Swiss Army.”

“There is no Swiss Army,” he said.

“Then what do they need knives for?”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“I know.” She grinned. “What did you want the knife for anyway? You and Spanky aren’t slicing Camembert back there, are you?”

Harrison looked at her like she was the weirdest person he had ever met. He just didn’t get her sense of humor.

“The crate is locked,” he said, “and I don’t have a key, but I think if I had a Swiss Army knife or something like that I could pick the lock. It looks pretty flimsy.”

“I have a fingernail file.”

“May I borrow it, please?”

“It’s gonna cost you.”

“Don’t be petty.”

“Take it or leave it.” She fished the file from her purse but held it out of his reach.

He sighed. “What’s it going to cost me?”

“I want to be there when you open the crate.”

He looked at her a long moment. “There’s nothing going on between me and Spanky.”

“Pfft.” She waved a hand. “As if I care. I just want to know what happened to Adam.”

“Me too,” he said soberly. “Come on. If Spanky gets mad, then she just gets mad.”