In Her Name

by Esther Mitchell

  "Who was she? This woman who hurt you so badly." The compassion in every line of her face got to him. The burn of unshed tears against the backs of his eyes surprised him. "Why have you let her evil spirit haunt you?"

  His throat closed as he realized Manara knew the truth, or at least part of it. Drawing a deep breath to ward off panic, he shook his head.

  "I can't tell you. Not yet." Maybe never. He pushed the thought away and offered her a hopeful smile. "Now, will you please eat and drink? I need you to be strong."

  Her eyes brimming with fresh tears -- of acceptance rather than defiance -- Manara nodded as she accepted the proffered plastic pouch and canteen. Matt breathed a silent sigh of relief as she lifted the canteen and drank deeply. Maybe Mustafa was right. Maybe it wasn't too late, after all.

  Chapter Fifteen

  She ought to kill him. In another time or situation, she might have. Unfortunately, she couldn't afford to yet. Instead, the Black Widow glared coldly at the man groveling before her.

  "You let her escape?"

  "P-please, Black Widow, we tried! She was too quick! She killed Haroun before we could get hold of her..."

  She straightened, her heart kicking in excitement. Could it really be so easy? She twitched forward, her lips darting over her tongue in anticipation. "She killed? With what? A knife, a gun?"

  The man shook his head in surprise. "N-no... she struck him with her hands and he fell."

  Damn. Black Widow's eyes narrowed. If she could make that pristine little bitch shed blood, there'd be nothing left to stop her plans.

  "Then, there was the man... he came out of nowhere. He shot Fahd before we even knew he was there."

  "A man?" Her attention snapped back to him as her blood thrummed with energy. "What did he look like?"

  "He was an American. Tall, with dark hair."

  Black Widow's tongue darted out to lick her ruby lips, tasted familiar blood. Matthew. Interesting. Matthew was following Ishtar's little brat across the desert. She expected the girl's beliefs to separate them. She knew Matthew's fear, and she counted on it to keep them apart. She hadn't anticipated his concern for her would override his hate. Still, Black Widow refused to be discouraged by this turn of events. There was still time to divide them. All she had to do was make use of the power she was saving for the temple. It would take nothing to rebuild that power once she had Matthew firmly back in her grasp.

  "Prometheus, indeed!" A grin twisted across her face. His choice of names for his organization was no coincidence, and he didn't even realize it yet. However, it told her Matthew retained some of his early tutoring. Too bad for him Joyanne never had a chance to tell him enough to make a difference. True, Prometheus was the Light Bringer; but he paid a terrible price for his compassion. The Gods cursed Prometheus to endure Their wrath for all eternity, chained to his doom. She intended to see to it Matthew Raleigh ended the same way.

  She laughed as she dredged up Rachel Murray's memories. As Rachel, she knew Matthew Raleigh's fears better than anyone alive did; she'd drunk his blood and possessed his soul. She knew, without a doubt, the only reason he'd follow a woman into the desert was if the fool was in love. A cold smile twisted up her lips. It was almost worth losing the little bitch to gain that tidbit of information. No one got away from the Black Widow. Matthew had yet to pay for his escape. She intended to see he did -- in blood.

  *****

  Manara's anxious gaze darted between the mercenaries, and her stomach lurched at the grave expressions illuminated by the fire. Absently, she rubbed the chafe marks on her wrists where handcuffs once stripped her of her freedom. She did not like the grim emotions that gripped these men of action. Whatever weighed on them affected her. She feared it could be her end. Her gaze settled on Matthew's dark expression. Bile rose into her throat. She could not stand this silence for even a moment longer.

  "What is wrong?"

  Three gazes bored into her, each full of conflicting emotions. It was to Matthew's worried hazel eyes that Manara's clung, reading a wealth of questions in their roiling depths.

  "We're trying to decide what's strategically more sound; sticking together or splitting up."

  Strategy was not something she was familiar with. She relied on faith to guide her to the correct solution. This was something Matthew would not appreciate, so she stuck to logic. "How would you keep in contact if you split up?"

  Color crept into his face, surprising her. Matthew was not a man she thought would ever respond to a question with embarrassment. When he refused to meet her eyes, Manara's heart skipped a beat in panic. Then, he shifted uncomfortably and mumbled, "I took some radios from your tent."

  Relief poured through her as she realized it was shame that colored his face and kept his gaze averted. This was not a man comfortable with thievery. Still, his admission didn't surprise her. Matthew was a resourceful man who would make us of whatever was handy. She secured extra equipment when he arrived in her camp, in anticipation he would need it to complete his journey. Shrugging, she nodded. "Those are good radios. We use them when traveling in case of sandstorms. Each woman carries at least one because they cover a wide range and sand doesn't easily clog them. It is good you took them."

  Matt's gaze snapped up to meet Manara's, shock ricocheting through him. The last thing he expected was for her to be reasonable about the radios, or his making off with anything in her tent, for that matter. After what he'd done to her, he expected annoyance, even anger. Her calm, pragmatic response underscored her generosity. He flushed anew to know he was the monster here.

  "Sorry. I should have asked."

  The gentle smile curving her lips set Matt's body on full alert. "You did not need to, Matthew. Anything I have to give is yours."

  Matt swallowed hard. He wanted one thing more than any other. Manara. But she couldn't give him that. She said as much when they first met. She could give him anything, except herself.

  "Um," he cleared his throat, shifting to hide his tension. "Do you, ah, think they'll cover several kilometers' distance okay?"

  She shrugged again, the motion sending a cascade of hair over her slim shoulders. "I see no reason they should not."

  Matt nodded, grateful for Manara's naïvete in personal relationships -- she had no idea he already knew the RF-5800s would allow him to talk to aircraft, if he wanted. She just answered his question as pragmatically as always.

  A chuckle drew his attention, and Matt glanced at Peter, whose eyes danced merrily. Damn it, Pete didn't have to enjoy this so much. Matt scowled as he handed the other man one of the radios.

  "We should split up. Together, we make an easy target. Apart, we'll be harder to track if anyone," he glanced quickly at Manara, "even figures out we're alive."

  Talladay's expression turned somber again. "We should set a rally point."

  "There are maps in my pack." Manara rose and moved to where she dropped her saddlebag when they set up camp.

  Pulling a roll from the saddlebag, Manara returned to the fire to unroll the wrinkled papyrus. Talladay whistled appreciatively and reached to test one corner between his forefinger and thumb, as if he didn't quite believe his eyes. Matt knew how he felt; he was impressed too. He knew a lot about antiquities, thanks to his mother and a natural curiosity that had yet to let him down.

  Manara's map wasn't something most modern cartographers would recognize the value of. Most were only interested in useful maps and to most cartographers, Manara's map would be useless. The outlines on Manara's map were crude and clearly as antique as a map could get, the names written in cuneiform -- a language only scholars had a hope of deciphering.

  Matt studied the map with a critical eye and had to admit it was a damned fine example of ancient history. A curl of excitement wound through him. "Amazing."

  "This," Manara pointed to one location on the map, "is where we are now. The ruins of this village are where we camped last night."

  "Abitawa."

  Her head lifted in surprise as Matt r
ead the name on the map -- a name no longer included on any map.

  "Th-that is correct. We must head for Nineveh if we wish to stop Ra'id."

  Matt smirked at the stunned expression on Manara's face. He knew she hadn't expected him to know how to read cuneiform. He imagined she'd be amazed by just how much he knew. He met her wide, gray eyes and the world dropped away so suddenly he was dizzy with the effect. His lungs froze, adrenaline pumping through his veins, as he watched her pupils dilate and heard her breathing shift from steady to shallow. The air sizzled and he couldn't break away if he tried. In that instant, he knew what destiny was. Somehow, this woman figured into his.

  The sound of a throat clearing shocked Matt back into awareness. His gaze jerked to the left where Pete sat just as the other man spoke, his voice slicing through the remnants of tension that hung in the air. "How old is this thing, lass? I've never seen a papyrus map before."

  Manara's gaze turned as well, and she turned her soft, mysterious smile on Talladay. Matt scowled. He had no claim on Manara, but damn it, he didn't like seeing her turn that smile on any other man.

  "It is old," she agreed as she touched a reverent hand to the map. "How old, even I am not certain. It has passed through my mother's line, mother to daughter, for many generations."

  Talladay nodded as he leaned closer to study the map. His gray eyes twinkled mischievously as he met Matt's glare. His gaze dropped to the map, then, and a stunned look of disbelief crossed his face as another whistle left him, accompanied by a soft curse in Gaelic.

  "I can't believe how good a condition this thing is in! If I didn't know better, I'd swear it was just made." He looked back to Matt, then. "We should split up, and soon." He pointed at a section of map. "If the topography has shifted consistently, the Tigris should be shallow enough to cross easily here. There's a ridge just to the Northeast of Tappah Gawra that could be al-Mawsil's campsite. At very least, they must have been through here. Maybe they left a clue as to what they're after."

  Matt caught the tight seal of Manara's lips and the flash of secrets in her eyes, and the pit of his stomach opened wide as he leaned close to study the map. Damn it, why did he do this to himself? He didn't trust Manara's motives. Ever since her battle with those thugs in the desert, he kept wondering about her and al-Mawsil. It stuck in the back of his mind, nagging him with the worry that she was nothing more than a pretty trap. Just how close were the siblings? Was Manara really the innocent woman out to save the world she claimed to be, or was she the bait for some sadistic trap al-Mawsil laid for them? He swallowed a breath and his gut tightened in reaction to her closeness. He faced the truth -- he didn't want her to be a trap. Even with all of his questions about her motives, she made it impossible for him to concentrate. She was so close her subtle, spicy perfume infused the air around him. Drawing another deep breath meant to clear his head, but which only shot his libido into the stratosphere, Matt jabbed a finger down on a rocky area outlined on the map. As solid rock, it should still be relatively unchanged even after millennia of erosion.

  "You check out this ridge, Pete, and sweep from the east in to this point," he indicated Nineveh on the map. For now, he had to trust Manara wanted to help them, and she was right about where al-Mawsil was headed. "This is near enough to Mosul to mean something to our boy, but remote enough to not invite visitors. That's where al-Mawsil's probably headed. Make sure there're no surprises coming our way from Iran. Last thing we need right now is to land smack in the middle of some border skirmish." He glanced at the black man sitting silently to his right. "Trevor, you take the river, starting at Qaiyara. Try to get a fix on what our man is doing with the local populace. If they're not happy about him being around, that will help us out. If they're on his side, we're looking at big trouble." He glanced at the woman beside him. "Manara and I will head East, toward Nineveh. We'll rendezvous about two klicks North of the ruins."

  The other two men nodded in silent agreement, grabbed radios and supplies, and disappeared into the darkness of the night. Manara watched them go, worry etched on her face.

  "Should they not wait until morning, Matthew? It is dangerous to wander in the desert at night."

  Matt laid a hand gently on her shoulder and felt her trembling with the coolness of the night. Cursing inwardly, he grabbed a thin thermal blanket from his pack and draped it over her shoulders, his hands lingering there as he looked into her anxious face.

  "Hey, don't worry about them," he assured her quietly. "Pete and Trevor have clocked more desert time than camels. They know what they're doing."

  She rewarded him with a small, wan smile, before she curled into his warm embrace. The sweet warmth of her curves, and the rise and fall of her breathing body, froze all his fears and misgivings. He knew actresses, and even the most consummate of them couldn't fake this kind of trust. It wrenched his heart to know she could still trust him, after what he'd done. He was never more aware of how close he came to losing her forever. Someday, he wouldn't be able to escape the truth any longer. He only hoped, when that day came, his tarnished past wouldn't turn this gentle beauty against him again. He was very much afraid he couldn't live without her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Matt's tension mounted as they neared their next stopping point. He needed to speak with Doctor J.R. Halloway, the archeologist in charge of the Hatra dig site, and Project Prometheus' antiquities expert. Matt needed J.R.'s unbiased opinion of Manara and her map. He just wasn't sure how he could get either without Manara's knowledge.

  The sound of an engine jerked his attention back from his musings as they walked along a dusty desert roadway.

  "Shit." Matt dragged Manara with him as he dropped behind the cover of a stone outcrop as a vehicle kicked up a cloud of dust, headed right toward their location. A vehicle out here had a better chance of being Iraqi Army than anything else.

  "What--?"

  He gestured Manara silent with a sharp slice of his hand, even as he peered over the edge of the outcrop. Yeah, they were Iraqi Republican Guard. Shit. Matt dropped back behind cover, continuing to swear silently.

  "What is wrong?" Manara's voice was barely a breath, and yet it sounded impossibly loud to Matt's heightened senses.

  He shook his head and hoped she understood his silent signal for quiet. Manara's eyes grew wide and her lips formed a silent gasp, though not a peep of sound left her. Matt winced as the liability Manara could become shot through him. After all, he essentially kidnapped her. She had no reason to help him and every reason to hate him, no matter her actions from last night. He vaguely recalled a conversation where she denied being Iraqi. Yet, she was Ra'id al-Mawsil's sister. Could he really trust what she told him over the facts?

  Tension coiled in Matt. He kept his attention evenly divided between the approaching Iraqi threat and the woman by his side.

  Manara's chest rose and fell in the rapid pattern of stress, and her gray eyes were huge with fear. At first, he didn't understand why she was afraid. Then, as he took in the anxious dart of her eyes as the jeep full of Iraqi soldiers passed by on the desert road above them, realization dawned. Manara was dressed in cammies, like him. As a woman, that left her open to greater reprisals from the Iraqis than she would ever face from him. She would be a fool to give away their location, and Manara was no fool.

  Matt waited, his own breath swift and shallow as the pulse of adrenaline danger inspired rushed through him, his ears tuned to the sound of the engine as it passed them by. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the sound faded away and disappeared. Matt relaxed, the buzz of danger flowing away as he heard Manara release her breath in a long sigh.

  The mercenary's gut churned as he faced how unfair he treated Manara, almost from the moment he awoke in her tent. He saw her as a captor, a nurse, a sex symbol and a sadistic danger. He never gave her a chance to be his partner or friend. Still, she repeatedly proved herself capable of both. Matt never encountered unwavering loyalty like Manara's in his life -- especially not from a w
oman. Most didn't care, and those who did thought it was their job to fix him. But not Manara. Instead, she offered him a non-judgmental ear and left it up to him to make use of it. She asked a question once and if he didn't answer, she let it drop.

  Matt was surprised to realize he actually did want to tell Manara about his past. He wanted her to share his treasured memories of his parents, and his few happy childhood recollections. He even wanted to tell her about Rachel. He wanted her to understand why he ran from her before, and why he threatened her. He actually wanted her to know his fears. He knew his secrets were safe with Manara.

  Only problem was, he'd never told anyone about Rachel. He didn't know if he even had the words to describe the damage one woman had done to him.

  "Matthew, what is wrong?" Manara's quiet concern, as much as the touch of her soft fingers against his face, drew Matt back from terrible memories with a shudder, and he gripped her hand like a lifeline. As he stared into her compassionate eyes, he never wanted to let anyone into his life like he wanted to let Manara in. But he couldn't. Not yet. Instead, he could only shake his head.

  She sighed, but let the matter drop with a half-shrug. "Where are we going?"

  "We have to make a short detour. I need to speak with someone at Hatra."

  "About my map?"

  He shot her a surprised look, his lips curved up in spite of himself as he realized she would draw that conclusion based on where he let slip they were headed. "Nothing gets by you, does it?"

  She frowned, and he thought he'd insulted her, until he saw the confusion in her eyes. "I do not understand."

  His smile deepened. "It's an expression, Manara. It means you put things together fast and know what's going on without having to be told."

  The tension in her body evaporated and her brow smoothed. "This is true."

  He laughed, surprising himself. He hadn't laughed this freely in so long, the sound was strange to his own ears. He felt light, almost buoyant, which was odd given how much danger they were in. However, as if his decision to tell Manara was all it took, a weight he didn't even realize he carried left his shoulders.