Sin and Sacrifice (12 page)

She caught Rhett checking
on her often with quick, sidelong glances. Carrying his bag in one
hand, he wore a jacket over his shirt to hide the holster packed
with guns. Christian came behind, sandwiching her between them.
They made an effective wall that moved her forward at all costs.
Never back, never straying off to the side. Ahead, deeper into the
flux, until it was hard to tell where one body began and another
one ended.

The decibel level felt like
they were standing directly in front of a tower of speakers at a
rock concert, the very air trembling with noise. Evelyn hunched her
shoulders up toward her ears, an inadequate barrier against the
din. She never remembered it being this loud on any prior trips to
Egypt. It grew worse when Rhett turned them down a narrow pathway
between buildings. Vendors, set up on each side, hawked their wares
with shouts and gestures, pausing to haggle with tourists and
natives alike. The goods ranged from soda in bottles, stacked
precariously like pyramids, to culture rich clothing hanging from
eaves and jewelry that clinked prettily together in the dry, arid
breeze. It was an explosion of color, sparkling glass, carts and
teetering piles of hand-painted goods arranged to draw the
eye.

Any other time, she would
have loved to wander the market, sampling food, purchasing trinkets
and collectibles to take home. Just now, she concentrated on being
Rhett's shadow, reaching out to touch his elbow or side when
someone sliced their way between them. Christian lurked close at
her back, a steady presence to help keep her on track and in sight
at all times.

Rhett took hold of her hand
when they were halfway through the market, towing her to the right
between two stalls. A dome shaped archway, cut into the wall of the
building, led them into a shadowy alcove straight to a door that he
pulled open to admit her.

Stepping inside, letting go
of his hand, she glanced around. Ahead, through a hallway, she
could see the side of what looked to be a foyer and front desk. A
dark haired man stood behind it, tending to guests signing in for
the night. On her right was a broad set of stairs leading up and it
was there Rhett motioned.

“
This way. Go on up. Three
floors.”

“
But don't you need a
key?” she asked, using the banister to start the ascent.

“
I've got it taken care
of.” Rhett and Christian paced behind her all the way to the third
floor. Charming little lamps provided light down the hallway when
they got there, accenting the Mediterranean décor and tapestries
lining the walls.

Rhett stepped ahead of her
after bypassing a handful of rooms and let Christian go in ahead of
them at a door marked
214.

Gun drawn, Christian went
in with it raised, ready for trouble. Rhett monitored the hallway,
a swivel-check each direction, until the agent returned.

“
It's clear,” Christian
said. He exited into the hallway, taking up a post against the
opposite wall.

“
Let's go.” Rhett guided
her over the threshold with a hand at the small of her
back.

If Evelyn hadn't known
better, she would have thought the agents had performed this dance
a hundred times before. Their overlapping protection had few
wrinkles, little room for mistake.

She got her first look at
what was more than just a hotel room. It was a suite, with several
doors leading off the main living area to other bedrooms and a
bathroom. Heavily Egyptian, the red and cream color scheme sported
accents of brown and gold trim. The material looked new and fresh,
the furniture heavy and solid.

A set of french paned glass
doors drew her out onto a narrow balcony that overlooked the market
below. She could see clearly from one end of the street to the
other.

The structure across must
have been a business with residential quarters above. Balconies
like hers jutted out from the stucco, some decorated with potted
plants, others used as a drying spot for colorful rugs.

“
You can sleep in here,”
Rhett said behind her, motioning to one of the open
doorways.

“
Thanks. Did Christian
talk to you about my...Galiana?” One of these times, she was going
to call the girl her sister. Chiding herself to think before she
spoke, she stepped in from the balcony and closed the doors behind
her. The barrier only cut the noise in half rather than obliterate
it completely. Evelyn wasn't sure how anyone could get any sleep
with that cacophony outside.

Rhett watched her like a
hawk.

“
Yes. We're waiting word
from our boss. He's supposed to call before too long.” Rhett
consulted the watch on his wrist. “Probably within the
hour.”

“
Great. How's your wound?”
she asked out of the blue, turning her mind from dead sisters and
funerals she wouldn't be able to attend.

Rhett dropped his bag on
the coffee table and speared a hand through his hair before sliding
his coat off.

“
It's fine. You're looking
pretty good yourself.” His eyes traced her face and the bruises
that had faded to all but indistinguishable shadows. She knew they
were hardly recognizable from the state he'd found her in and that
the healing was curious if not questionable.

Evelyn didn't know what to
do or say about it. This was another thing that could trip her up
if she wasn't careful.

“
I've been icing it every
night. It helps.” She hadn't had time to ice it. Every second she
turned around there was a crisis to deal with.

“
Mm.” He rumbled a
noncommittal noise, still studying her, like maybe he was trying to
suss out the reasons she might be healing so quick. As if he didn't
buy her icing explanation.

“
I'm going down to talk to
the clerk on duty, have a look around,” Christian said from the
hallway.

Rhett ticked his chin in
goodbye.

The door clicked when
Christian closed it.

Evelyn didn't have time to
give a goodbye of her own. She broke eye contact with Rhett and
made her way into the bedroom he'd indicated. Better to settle in
and let the topic of wounds pass by. The few hours sleep she got on
the yacht healed the remaining wounds on her hands, leaving her
fingers looking normal, the redness gone.

Spacious and as well
decorated as the rest of the suite, the room had a queen bed and
its own small bathroom. Setting the purse she'd been carrying on
the dresser, she sank onto the mattress and flopped back. It felt
like she'd been on the run for weeks instead of an intense few
days.

“
You hungry? I'm going to
order up.” Rhett called from the living room.

“
Actually...yes. Will you
choose something for me?” Feeling whimsical, wanting to just forget
and rest for a while, she left the choice in his hands.

“
Feeling
adventurous?”

“
I trust you,” she said
with a laugh.

A moment later, she heard
the warm baritone of his voice ordering food—in Arabic. Versed in
all languages, like the rest of her sisters, she understood
everything he said. All the children who had eaten from the Tree of
Life and Knowledge gained the ability to speak and understand every
tongue. It was a talent that served them well over the
centuries.

Her surprise faded when
she realized that if he worked in the area, he probably knew
several
languages, not
just one or two.

Rising off the bed, she
made her way into the bathroom. At the freestanding sink in front
of the oval mirror, she stared at her reflection while turning on
the water. Eyes wide, hair windblown, skin glowing with a healthy
tan, she looked the same and yet different. It was in the set of
her lips, the faint frown on her brow and the quirk at the corner
of her mouth. She couldn't decide if she looked thoughtful or
perturbed.

Fifteen minutes later, face
freshened with a splash of cold water, she wandered back into the
sitting room. She paused when she saw him; limned in the spill of
dusky light from the balcony, Rhett sat on one of the couches with
his hands locked behind his head, elbows askew. It was a masculine
position of stolen ease. Knees tilted out, boots flat on the floor,
jacket discarded, he looked peaceful with his eyes closed, chest
rising and falling in an easy rhythm. She almost hated to disturb
him.

“
Room service should be
here in about five minutes,” he said, somehow knowing she was there
without opening his eyes.

“
Okay. What did you
order?”

“
It's a surprise. You said
you trusted me.”

“
I do trust you.” Evelyn
was startled to realize she meant it more every time she said it.
Or thought it. Rhett made it almost too easy to trust him. “But I
also think you'd order something like octopus eyes and a side of
tentacle just to see how fast I'd throw up.”

He barked a laugh, one
knee rocking back and forth like it was a lazy hinge. Finally, he
slit his eyes open. “That's a little scary, Grant, because it's
something I definitely
would
do. If you weren't under my care, that
is.”

“
But I am, so eyes and
tentacles are off limits.” Grinning, she wandered into the
kitchenette. It overlooked the sitting area so she didn't have to
raise her voice to continue conversing with Rhett. This unexpected
truce, or whatever it was, felt much better between them than the
friction.

“
You'd do the same thing
if the situation was different,” he said. It sounded like a
challenge.

Evelyn glanced over the
short counter. “I would not. I'm the soul of propriety and good
manners.”

He snorted. “I don't
believe you.”

Rhett's disarming
personality threatened the careful wall she tried to keep erected
between them. It felt thin and all but useless when he bantered
with her like this. Just as she opened the cooler to see what was
inside, someone knocked at the door.

Four hard raps.

With sinuous grace,
obliterating the languor and ease in a heartbeat, Rhett rose off
the couch and removed a gun from the holster. At the door, he stood
just off to the side.

“
Yes?”

“
Room service,” a muffled
voice said from the other side.

“
Leave it there. Thanks.”
Rhett listened with his head cocked, the gun angled low along the
outside of his thigh.

Evelyn watched in silent
fascination. Cautious even in this, he took no chances with her
safety. After several minutes, he cracked open the door with the
chain still in place and peered out into the hallway. The section
he could see must have been empty because he closed it, unlatched
the chain, and swung it wide again to pull the cart inside. Bolting
up the door when he was done, he pushed the cart to the small table
adjacent to the couch. The gun went back into the
holster.

“
I ordered drinks, but if
you want something stronger than wine, there's a handful of little
bottles in the cooler,” he said, lifting the steel tops off the
plates to check the food.

Evelyn came out of the
kitchenette, wiping her palms down her thighs. The scent of the
food made her mouth water.

He presented her plate with
a flourish.

“
Kushari. If you've been
here before, you've probably had it.”

She sidled up to the table
and knew the dish the second he took the lid off. Evelyn had spent
a good amount of time in this country and knew the cuisine
intimately. The pasta, rice and lentils covered in tomato sauce was
accompanied by rice stuffed grape leaves, a favorite of
hers.

“
I have, and it looks
great. No tentacles in sight.” With that, she took a seat and
snagged the bottle of wine chilling in a bucket.

“
All I have to do is call
down to the restaurant...”

“
Rhett,” she warned,
stifling a smile, and distracted him with a question. “What did you
order?”

“
The same thing.” He set
the covers aside and sat down opposite her. “But I've had it
before, so I know I'll like it. Want me to open that?” His chin
ticked the direction of the bottle.

Evelyn arched a brow. “I'm
not totally helpless, you know. Are you having some? There's only
one wine glass on the tray.” One wine glass and one plain glass of
what looked like water with a lemon wedge floating
inside.

“
Nah. I don't drink while
I'm working.” He transferred his plate to the table and picked up
the utensils.

Rhett, she discovered, ate
like he walked: Brisk, to the point, just get the job done. He
chewed hard but ate quietly, adam's apple bobbing up and down every
time he swallowed.

She was so distracted by it
that she didn't realize she was staring until he stopped eating,
fork poised midair, and stared back.

“
Is there something on my
face? You still don't have the wine open,” he pointed
out.

She jolted herself out of
her reverie, aiming her sheepish smile down at the wine. Using the
corkscrew, she got to work. “You eat like you don't really enjoy
the food at all.”