Sin and Sacrifice (9 page)

Christian flanked them,
darting looks around the water. Everywhere.

“
They sent me a text. I
think they know where we are,” she said, flashing Rhett the front
of her phone.

He paused and glanced at
it, then took it out of her hand. Manipulating buttons with his
thumb, he handed it back when he apparently didn't glean anymore
from it than she did. His posture relaxed, the gun tucked into the
shoulder holster.

“
Is your phone
unlisted?”

“
No.”

“
Then that's how they
found your number,” he said. “I think if they knew where you were,
they'd act first and taunt later.”

“
Doesn't look like there's
another boat in sight,” Christian added, sliding his gun into the
waistband of his pants in the back.

“
Are you sure? Maybe
they're waiting in Cairo.” Evelyn wasn't convinced that the
Templars didn't know where they were.

Christian, standing at her
side, shook his head and met her gaze. “I agree with Rhett. If they
knew where you were, they would have come after you instead of
warning you. If they're waiting in Cairo, we'll have to deal with
it when we get there.”

“
Then why text me at all?”
she asked, annoyed that the Knights were able to set her on edge
like this.

Rhett and Christian both
gave her the same look.
Did she really
need to ask?

“
To do just what they're
doing. Planting doubts, forcing you to stay tense and worried,”
Rhett said, spelling it out for her.

“
Well, that's just
lovely.” Evelyn maneuvered through the menus until she found the
one she wanted. “We'll see how they like being blocked.”

Rhett and Christian gave
her understanding glances.

After turning the phone
off, she made her excuses and disappeared into her room. Determined
to get some rest, she kicked back a shot of bourbon from an array
of tiny bottles left on the dresser and stretched out on the bed.
Rest didn't consist of sleep—she couldn't after the text
message—but she did make plans for their stop in Crete on the way
to Cairo. She would have an hour to find access to an unmonitored
laptop and check the email account to see if any of the girls had
left messages. They weren't responding by phone, which could mean a
number of things, but there was a much greater likelihood that
they'd found a way to leave a note for her there. It was the
contact center of last resort and one they all knew to use in
extreme circumstances.

If they were all okay,
Evelyn planned to depart the agents' company in Cairo and go her
own way. She couldn't rely on their help forever and the sooner she
began the changes required to disappear from the Templar's radar,
the better.

The Old Venetian Harbor in
the port of Heraklion buzzed with brisk business. Boats motored
slowly by, coming and going, while Aristo guided the yacht into a
waiting berth. Other boats bobbed in their slips and people milled
around the marina, each on their own agenda. The morning sun,
bright and rising in the sky, spilled warm rays that Evelyn tipped
her face into when she stepped out on deck. All her belongings were
in the pockets of her jeans rather than in her purse so that she
didn't give her intentions away.

Crete had always been a
favorite place to visit and vacation for the sisters. Evelyn found
it mildly ironic that she was here when she hadn't planned to be,
without her siblings, in the company of government agents. With
effort she steered her thoughts away from Galiana and surveyed the
bustling activity on the docks. She wondered if the Templars knew
she was here, and whether they were watching her even now. It made
her plans for the day riskier after the text but she was set on her
course.

Aristo disembarked with a
promise to be back in one hour exactly. Something about refueling
and restocking the yacht for the second leg across the
Mediterranean.

Rhett appeared from inside
with a tray in his hands. He looked like he'd been awake all night
with his heavy layer of whiskers and wrinkled jeans. Despite that,
the smile he gave her lacked weariness that she could see. Under
the glow of the sun he seemed golden, from his skin to his hair,
and she would have never guessed he'd suffered any kind of injury
by his confident posture.

Setting the tray on a table
under the shade of a blue and white striped umbrella, he glanced
her way.

“
Lunch. Hope you like
chicken salad,” he said.

Surprised, Evelyn walked
over to inspect the bowl and the food. The lettuce looked fresh.
Grilled chicken lay in strips over the top with several cherry
tomatoes sitting to the side. Rhett's talents ran beyond his
commendable ability as an agent.

Meeting his gaze, she said,
“You didn't have to do that, but thanks. You're not
eating?”

Having lunch with Rhett
might have been appealing if she didn't have something she needed
to do. He gave her an out a moment later and she hid her relief
behind a neutral facade.

“
No. Christian's on the
phone with our boss and I'm heading in to take a
shower.”

“
You didn't get any sleep
last night, did you?”

“
I will after we set sail
and get out into the open water again.”

“
How's your wound?” She
squinted at his side.

“
It's just a scratch and
already on the mend. Your face and hands look a lot better than
they did yesterday,” he pointed out.

Evelyn snapped a look up
from the bowl to find him studying her. What remained of the
bruising had faded down to yellowish smudges and the split in her
lip lacked even a scab this morning. She had healed even more than
she'd thought she would given time to rest. Self conscious, she
touched her cheek and nodded.

“
I'm lucky it's healing
well. Thanks again for lunch, Mister Nichols.”

“
I didn't know what you
wanted to drink. Help yourself to water or bottles of juice and
whatever else he's got stocked in there.” Rhett gestured toward the
small bar in the parlor before turning on a boot heel and
disappearing inside.

Evelyn watched him,
fiddling with the utensils he'd rolled into a linen napkin. He
hadn't pursued the subject of her unnaturally fast healing and for
that she was thankful. It made her curious what he thought though.
Rhett Nichols did not strike her as a slow man who let obvious
things get by him.

Sitting in a chair, she
attacked the salad and glanced around for Christian while
pretending to be absorbed in her meal. Which was excellent, she
noted, while spearing a slice of seasoned chicken. The other agent
seemed to be elsewhere on the yacht. She doubted he would have
disembarked with Rhett needing some downtime, leaving her
unprotected. Evelyn weighed her options and the risks. She could
stay here and not try to make contact with her sisters, or she
could hurry about her errand and return before anyone noticed her
gone.

She made her decision after
another discreet check of the deck.

It took her less than
fifteen minutes to disembark, hail a taxi, and have him drive her
to a small café bordering the marina. Bustling with tourists, the
café had floor to ceiling windows along the front, a small seating
area around the doors and palms in pots lining the walkway. She
went inside and bought herself a ten minute block of time on one of
the public laptops lined up on a long counter facing the
harbor.

Feeling strangely
vulnerable out in the open without Rhett at her side, she engaged
the search directory and typed in the email address for the private
account. Glancing over her shoulder, she scanned the faces of the
customers, looking for anyone who seemed too interested in what she
was doing. No one, in her estimation, was paying any
attention.

Fingers flying over the
keys, she typed in their user name and password and hit enter. The
account scrolled into view. No new messages. Evelyn checked the
spam folder and the sent folders too, thinking maybe her sisters
might have hid something in there so that it wasn't seen at first
glance on the screen.

Nothing.

Two days was more than
enough time for one of them, if not all of them, to make contact.
An uneasy pang clenched her stomach. Alexandra, at the very least,
would have found a way to access a computer. Which meant her other
sisters had suffered the same fate as Galiana, or they had been
captured after their escape from the parking lot and were sitting
underground somewhere like she'd been. Tortured and
interrogated.

There was no way she would
be able to find them without outside help. Help like Rhett and
Christian could give her. It was part of their job, wasn't it, to
recover kidnapped Americans in foreign countries? They'd
recovered
her
.

As dangerous as it was to
continue interacting with the government on such intimate levels,
they had access to information and resources she just didn't have.
This kind of situation was their specialty, she thought, and it
certainly wasn't hers. Unless there was a message waiting when she
arrived in Cairo, she decided to stay with the agents a while
longer.

Going through the history,
she erased any trail of where she'd been on the laptop. Leaving the
seat with time still on the 'clock', she wove her way through the
bodies and back outside. Brushing wayward strands of hair from her
cheek, she glanced left and right and hailed another taxi. With
directions to take her to the nearest bank, she settled in the
seat, watching the buildings flash by out the window. The
architecture never ceased to amaze and mesmerize her although her
appreciation was a distant thing compared to her growing
consternation.

The taxi pulled up outside
a string of businesses on Agapo street and she paid the driver
extra to wait.

Climbing out, she crossed
the sidewalk and went inside the bank. The interior of the older
structure had been redone in marble with spiraling columns and a
long counter beyond a sitting area with several couches for the
customer's comfort. Sunlight streamed in through tall windows and
highlighted a bank of ATMs that she passed on her way to one of the
available tellers. She needed more money than the ATM would allow
her to withdraw on any given day.

The teller, a black haired
woman with clear skin, a hook in her nose and a pair of brown eyes
greeted her with a heavy, English accent. “Welcome to the Bank of
Herstos. May I help you?”

Evelyn fished out her
identification and bank card from her pocket. Smiling at the
teller, she passed both over and snatched a withdrawal slip from
the stack to the side to begin filling out. “Hello. Yes, I'd like
to make a withdrawal.”

“
Do you have an account
with us?”

“
No, I don't. But I'd like
more than the ATM will give me,” Evelyn explained. “Can you do
that?” She pushed the withdrawal slip over while the teller
examined her I.D and the card.

“
Yes Ma'am. There will be
a short wait and a transaction fee, you realize.”

Evelyn nodded. She'd
expected as much. “I'll wait. Thank you.”

“
Let me verify this and
then we can discuss currency.” The teller punched in numbers into
her computer, watching the screen through the fine veil of her
bangs. She frowned and clicked through another series of
information on the keyboard.

Unable to see the screen,
Evelyn watched the woman's face instead. “Is something
wrong?”

“
It seems your account has
been frozen, Ma'am.” The teller spoke with clear
hesitation.

“
Frozen?” Evelyn frowned.
“That can't be right. I haven't closed it out or even accessed it
in several days.”

“
Excuse me for a moment,
Miss Grant. Let me see if my supervisor can make a call.” The
teller smiled cordially and took her card, her I.D and the
withdrawal slip with her away from the counter. She spoke with a
balding, rotund man in a voice too low for Evelyn to hear. They
spoke at length while he took the information to a different
computer behind a desk in the back, tapping through numbers and
screens. Evelyn could see their eyes scanning each different one
that popped up.

Unease ate at her insides.
What could be the problem?

After several minutes, the
man came back with the teller and took up the spot on the other
side of the counter. He had an even thicker accent than the
woman.

“
Miss Grant, I am the
manager. I'm sorry to tell you that your account has been frozen,
and I will be required to confiscate your card.”

“
Confiscate my card?
But--”

“
I'm sorry, Miss Grant,”
he said, commiserating with her. The only card he traded back to
her was her I.D. “Perhaps you can straighten it out with your bank
on one of our house phones?” He gestured to a row of them, all
tucked into privacy cubes, against a far wall.

Evelyn didn't need to
follow his gesture. She'd seen them on her way in. It dawned on her
belatedly that it was probably the Templars. They'd accessed her
information and had enough pull or connections to freeze her
account, making it hard for her to maneuver around the country.
They were tightening the noose in every way they could.