by Linda Barlow
I sat down among them and accepted a glass of raki. They didn't exactly make me welcome, but I ignored the vibe. "Can we talk?" I said to my cousin after knocking back the milky liquid. Fortunately, it took more than one raki to affect my mental acuity.
Nigel gestured to his men, who obediently rose and moved away. I suspected some of them could still hear, so I spoke English. Several of them would understand, but I didn't really care about that.
"I don't know how sincere your interest was," I drawled, "but I've decided to get rid of my slave. She's not as tractable as I hoped she'd be. I'm going to auction her off via an intermediary I know. Just in case you want to get in on that action."
His eyes narrowed. "Why would I care about your leavings?"
I was tempted to remind him that he'd cared in the past, but I resisted. I was having a tough enough time keeping myself from smashing his face in. "No reason. Except that I've seen you following her with your eyes. She's easy on the eyes, isn't she? Too bad she's so difficult to train."
He smiled in his lazy, superior manner. "Maybe your methods are faulty. I heard she caused some trouble at the dig yesterday. Refused to take the photographs?"
"She had a problem with her equipment."
Nigel cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. "That's not the way I heard it."
"Whatever. I don't care whether you're interested in her or not. The arrangements will be made through an agent of mine." I slammed my empty glass on the table and stood. "If you want the guy's contact info, let me know. Otherwise forget I mentioned it."
"Does she know?"
"Of course not. I want to keep it that way. She's enough of a headache as it is."
He was about to say something else, but I cut him off with a gesture and stalked away.
I called up to Granddad that I was going to spend the night on my boat and left the compound.
I met Metin, as previously arranged, in the shelter of a dark cliff. He had brought the items I'd been keeping locked up on the boat: several small but valuable Hittite coins and a couple of gold earrings. They were hot and precious. I hadn't stolen them; they were plants donated by Hepburn. Where the fuck he had gotten them, I didn't know and I didn't ask.
Nigel had always been careful. It was one of the main reasons that he had so far escaped prison. He made sure never to implicate himself. He had lackeys to cart around his stolen items. He never carried anything suspicious on his person, not even a fake passport. Even though he was working closely with our grandfather, he'd made sure that if anybody got nailed for this, it would be Granddad, not him.
Yeah, nice guy.
He had my number, but I also had his. I'd known him all my life and I knew stuff about him that few others knew.
He wouldn't be able to resist going after Ellie tonight. I didn't think he would try to rape her, given the number of people in the building, but he was sick enough to want to taunt her. He would gloat over her, taking pleasure in her ignorance of my supposed plans to sell her.
Stuff like that got him off.
She would be alone and vulnerable. He wouldn't be able to resist. And while he was stalking her, I was going to hammer the last fucking nail in and make sure that when Hepburn moved in a couple of days from now, Nigel would be caught with the goods on him.
Assuming, of course, that everything went as planned.
It usually didn't.
I waited in the dark outside the room where Nigel slept. It was, of course, the best room in the place—the largest, the one closest to the bathroom, the one with the best view of the ocean. I'd have given that room to Granddad, but Nigel's mind didn't work that way. He wanted the best of everything, and if it didn't come naturally to him, he found a way to take it.
Fine. I planned to use those tendencies against him.
He left the room, as I'd expected he would, striding past the corner where I was concealing myself. Better still, his hound, Sinan, shadowed him. Sinan served as a sort of bodyguard for Nigel, although I doubted that was his actual role. But he seemed to be loyal to my cousin, and he stuck to him and probably shared most of his confidences. Nigel trusted him more than he trusted anyone else, but Nigel didn't fully trust a soul. Nor would he hesitate to stab a comrade in the back if it suited him.
I was afraid they might go to Ellie's room, but they descended the stairs to the ground floor. I'd set Metin to keep watch on Ellie tonight. I was pretty sure Nigel was going to hassle her, but I hoped I'd be able to finish my own task before things got ugly.
Nigel's room was empty. I was careful as I slipped inside it, though. I wouldn't put it past him to leave some sort of booby trap in place. He had a damnably suspicious mind.
And, sure enough, he wasn't going to make things easy for me. There was nothing of interest in his room. Metin had been right. Nigel had already packed up. His personal possessions must have been taken to his boat. Fuck. I'd figured as much, but it made my task more difficult.
I slipped back out of the room and out of the compound. I had planned for this eventuality too. I got what I needed from the cache I'd left under some rocks on the beach, donned my wet suit and mask, and swam silently out to Nigel's moored motorboat.
Chapter 30
ELLIE
I was nervous during dinner so I felt thirstier than usual. I drank water and a little fruit juice. Not the raki, though. After an hour or so, when Nick didn't return, the combination of liquids and nervousness made it imperative for me to find the bathroom. I put it off for as long as I could, since the only toilet on this floor was down a corridor toward the back of the compound. There was one on the upper floor, but Nick had told me not to go up there this evening.
So far, Nigel had left me alone. He was at the other end of the table, talking to his men. Unlike Nick, he never danced or joined in the musical activities. I wondered if this was because of what Sir Avery had told me about Nick always being better at music and the arts. How ironic that something the young Nick had been teased about was valued among the males here in Turkey.
I set off down the corridor toward the toilet. The weird thing was that I realized as soon as I stood up that I felt a little drunk. But I'd taken no alcohol. Maybe I was just tired from staying up all night fucking? The thought of curling up somewhere and going to sleep was appealing. A cold thought came to me: had I been drugged? Where the hell was Nick? I hoped he'd hurry up and come back.
I made it into the toilet, which was one of those traditional Turkish toilet holes in the floor. I didn't like them, but I'd lived in some of the less developed parts of the country long enough to be accustomed to them. They were perfectly nice porcelain bowls...they were just set into the floor, with footrests carved into the porcelain on either side so you could swat down in relative security. I pulled down my panties and squatted to relieve myself, glad there was a latch on the inside toilet door. It was strange being the only female in the entire place.
There was a small tap and bowl inside where I could wash my hands, but no paper towel to dry them. Typical. I made do, tidied myself up, and unlatched the door.
When I stepped back out into the dimly lit corridor, Nigel was there. My heart clutched. I ordered myself not to be silly. He probably had to use the facilities, too.
"I'm sorry if I've made you wait," I said, stepping out and to the side. The hallway was narrow, and Nigel had planted himself smack in the middle of it. I could not get by without touching him, which was something I really didn't care to do.
Instead of entering the toilet, he folded his arms across his chest and said, "Where is your master tonight, little slave?"
His tone was not unpleasant, but something in the depths of his blue eyes was. I dropped my gaze and let my shoulders relax, trying to appear submissive. "I'm not sure," I said, which was true enough. "I think he had things to do on the yacht."
Nigel slid an arm around my shoulder and walked me farther along the corridor, which ended in a door. I didn't know where that door went, and I didn't want to find out. I glanced
back over my shoulder. Where was Metin? He was supposed to be watching out for me.
I was still feeling dizzy. Had I been drugged? The corridor was dark and narrow and my claustrophobia began to kick in, too. This was not right. Nick had told me to flirt with Nigel, not to go off by myself with him.
I tried to detach his arm from my back, but he was solid muscle. "I want to go back to the dining room. I haven't finished my meal."
"Don't worry, pet. I'll make sure you're filled up."
My body shot into fight or flight mode, with the incipient claustrophobia kicking my adrenaline levels even higher. "Please let go of me, sir," I tried, with one last attempt at following orders to act submissive. When he didn't, I sucked in breath to scream. Maybe there weren't too many people in the compound who would help me, but Metin was there. And Nick's grandfather...although the latter had poor hearing.
"Shut the fuck up," snarled Nigel, jamming his big hand across my mouth before I could get out more than a squeak. He dragged my struggling body to the end of the corridor and flung open that last door.
It led outside. Away from safety. Away from witnesses. The fucking brute had me.
Chapter 31
NICK
Nigel's boat wasn't as nice a vessel as Max's yacht, but it looked fucking fast.
I assumed there would be a man on board, guarding the boat. I was right. He didn't see or hear me coming. I slipped in behind him and got him in a headlock before he knew what hit him. I knocked him out with a blow to the head, trying to do it hard enough to keep him unconscious for a while, but not hard enough to kill him. It was Selim, one of the younger and stupider members of my cousin's little band of outlaws. Although I didn't know him well, I was pretty sure he wasn't religious, which suited my purposes. The Islamic prohibition against alcohol wouldn't be in play. I pulled out the pint of raki I'd stashed in one of the wetsuit zipped pockets and sloshed some around in his mouth, poured a little down his neck and chest, and took a hit myself before emptying the bottle over the side and wedging it under the netting behind him. He would have his own story to tell Nigel tomorrow, but it would look as though he'd fallen asleep on the job.
Once that was taken care of, I went below to find the master cabin. Because I knew what I was going to do, this part went smoothly. All I needed now were Nigel's precious custom-made shoes. My cousin is obsessive about his appearance; always has been. Has to have the best of everything. But I swear the guy has a fucking shoe fetish. I hated to think about how much each pair must cost. On a dig, where most guys traveled light with old clothes rolled in to a backpack and the tools of their trade far more important to them than what they wore, Nigel stood out for having the best leather on his feet.
Too bad for him.
From my pocket I removed a special tool that Rob Hepburn had provided me with when we'd set this thing up. I wasn't sure if it was standard spy gear or if it had been specially engineered for this job.
What this item allowed me to do was slide either a fragile gold earring or an ancient coin into a thin sliding thing. I could then hold the device to the side of one of Nigel's Italian loafers, press a button, and presto, a blade slid out the side and inserted the contraband into the heel of the shoe, leaving hardly a trace behind to reveal that the shoe had been tampered with.
Hepburn had told me that the last time my cousin had been stopped at a border, he'd been impossible to detain because he'd been clean of any contraband. This time Hepburn was going to make sure it didn't happen. He'd provided me with six stolen objects, all small enough and slim enough to be hidden in the heel of different shoes of Nigel's. I found four pairs of shoes in his room, in addition to whatever he was currently wearing on his feet. That gave me eight individual shoes to work with. Nigel's expensive shoes had just become even more valuable.
It didn't bother me that Nigel hadn't stolen this stuff. I hoped he'd go down for the crimes he had actually committed, but if Hepburn wanted to ensure that he didn't twist out of the charges the way he always had before, that was fine with me.
I'd have liked to stay longer and really go through his stuff, but I was antsy about leaving Ellie. Even though I figured she'd be safe enough with Granddad there and Metin to watch out for her, I'd already been gone too long. Besides, I wasn't sure how long the guard dog would remain unconscious.
I went back to the dude and searched his pockets for a mobile phone. Cell coverage on the island was spotty, but sometimes it worked. I didn't want him to be able to send a text.
Phone found. No signal, but I tossed it in the sea anyhow. Then I slipped into the water and stroked back to shore.
Chapter 32
ELLIE
When Nigel closed the door and slammed me up against it, I realized that it wasn't submission he was looking for. For the first time I saw the man Nick had warned me about. He might be beautifully dressed and groomed, but Nigel was a beast.
"So...do you know what your lover told me today? Not that I fucking believe him for a moment, but you might want to think about it before you answer the other questions I have for you."
Uh oh. This wasn't what I had expected "flirting with Nigel" would consist of. "I'm not sure what you mean, sir," I mumbled, through his fingers which were still jamming my mouth closed and keeping me from screaming.
"He tells me he's decided to sell you to a new master. Someone rich and cruel, no doubt."
Even though I knew this was bullshit, it still jolted me to hear it again. Nigel wasted no time rubbing it in: "How does it feel to know that he values ancient objects of metal and stone more than flesh and blood people? What did you expect when he took you? That he would one day return you to your country of origin?"
Was this supposed to make me leave Nick and turn to him? I'd expected a more suave approach. Where was all his fake charm?
"He'll probably sell you to some wealthy Arab or perhaps farther East to someone in Thailand or Malaysia. Maybe for a while you'll have an easy life in some cozy harem, but when your master gets sick of you and your beauty begins to fade, it'll be the streets for you. Sex, drugs and booze, if you can get it. Dead before you're 30."
Does he actually expect me to believe that? "Why are you telling me this?"
He cupped my chin in his hand. I felt the strength in his fingers, and was afraid. He was not like Nick. There was no tenderness in Nigel.
"A woman alone in a rough place like this is a temptation for some of the men, you know. I wouldn't want anything to happen to you."
"How kind of you," I said, trying to restrain the sarcasm.
His other hand came up and anchored in my hair. I couldn't move. I felt nothing but disgust. "Does he please you in bed?"
There was something about this scene that amused him, I sensed. Something was going on that I didn't understand. "He's adequate. I've had better."
The irony intensified. "Is that so?" He jerked me closer. I hadn't seen the movement coming, and I flinched. Was there a way out of this? My rapid heartbeat told me that my body was getting desperate to think of one. "The thing is, I don't think this slave marketing thing is really gonna happen, do you?"
"I hope not," I said, having no clue what my answer should be.
"Because Nick's being involved in human trafficking is all bullshit, isn't it?"
I was beginning to get seriously alarmed. Nothing about this was happening the way I'd anticipated.
Nigel shook my body so hard my hair went flying. "Answer me, bitch."
"I'm not sure what you're asking."
"What I want to know, what you are going to tell me, is this: what are you and your precious choirboy planning? Who is Hepburn?"
I froze. You're working with Hepburn, aren't you? Who the fuck is Hepburn? Who the fuck are you?
Nick hadn't referred to Hepburn again last night, and in the rush of emotions that had followed since then, I'd forgotten all about that interchange.
Nigel's hand had slipped down to my throat. I shook my head, hoping I looked as clueless as I wa
s. "I don't know. If he's planning something, he hasn't informed me."
Nigel hit me. Pain shuddered through my face and jaw, making me realize that Nick had never done anything truly violent to me. Nigel had just punched me in the face, knocking me sideways. I lost my balance and fell in a heap on the ground, my head ringing and my vision blurred. Nigel was strong. I felt as though someone had just slammed a two-by-four into the side of my head.
From somewhere high above me I heard his voice say, "That's a sample of what you'll get if you don't answer my questions." He seized me by the hair and jerked me to my feet. More pain burned in my scalp. I would have screamed if I'd been capable of making a sound, but the first blow had knocked the wind out of me. "Do you think I'm a fool to fall for your tricks?" He sounded furious. If I'd been able to see him through my dazed eyes, I'm sure he would have been foaming at the mouth.
I could taste my own blood on the inside of my cheek. I must have bitten myself when he'd struck me.
He dragged me a couple of yards away from the building. I'd never been out here at the back before. It was rocky, as most of the island was. The compound was close to one of the many overhanging cliffs. From somewhere not too far away I thought I could hear the waves of the Aegean crashing, but it might have been the ringing in my head.
He shoved me toward the almost-vertical cliff of earth and stone that loomed over the old villa. I stumbled on some loose rocks. I think one of my shoes came off, but Nigel didn't stop hauling me into the dark, out of sight of anyone who might have come to help me. Not that anyone would. Where the hell was Metin? He was supposed to be keeping watch on me while Nick was away.
I heard footsteps approaching fast, and thought, thank god, but my hopes were crushed when I heard a rough voice say, "Boss? I got word to meet you back here?"
It was Sinan, the only one of Nigel's crew whose name I knew. He seemed to be the leader of the workers whose loyalty was more to Nigel than to Sir Avery. He had never acknowledged my existence, and he continued to ignore my plight now.