by Addison Fox
Why couldn’t she remember?
“Are you going to call the cops?”
“And tell them what? That two big guys held me up and I got away?”
Suzy shrieked at her, the sound reigniting the headache from dull throb to roaring attention. “Two guys? You didn’t tell me there were two guys.”
“Well . . . yeah.” Ava blew out a deep breath. There were two, right? Or three? “I’m sure all they wanted was money.”
Suzy gave her a quick once-over. “You’ve got your purse, thank goodness.”
Ava looked down at her bag. So she did.
“I guess I got lucky. I forgot it yesterday.” An increasing occurrence in her absent-minded worry about the upcoming exhibit. “I had my keys when I walked out and forgot the rest.”
“And the twenty you always keep buried in that sweater pocket”—Suzy pointed at her—“ensured you never missed it.” The small woman whistled through lips perpetually painted fire-engine red. “You got so lucky, girlfriend. Although why they targeted you, I don’t even want to think about. Do you think they were after your grandmother’s money?”
“What?”
“Seriously. People know your pedigree. It’s not hard to tie you to the Harrison fortune, even if you do prefer Goodwill to Bergdorf’s for your outfits.”
“Hey!”
Suzy held up a hand. “I don’t mean to nag. At least not this morning. But why would someone randomly attack you on the street to mug you when you don’t have any visible items to mug? These guys are into quick hits—grab it and go.”
Quick hits.
Quick.
Hits.
Ava’s stomach dropped as bile rose in her throat. Her mind filled to bursting with images of landing a blow to her attacker’s neck. A death blow? Oh God, did I actually kill someone last night?
Making a polite excuse, she fumbled to right her workbag on top of the small suitcase. “Um, look. Why don’t I finish telling you the rest over lunch? I need to get to my desk and get caught up for the morning.”
It was Suzy’s turn to give her the fish eye. “Assuming you take lunch today.”
The not-so-subtle censure wasn’t lost on her. “Yes, yes, yes. I won’t blow you off today. We’ll grab a bite in the cafeteria.”
Suzy pulled her close and wrapped her in a hug. Ava felt some of the chaos of the morning fade under the warm mantle of friendship. “Okay. You’ve got a deal. Love you, girlfriend.”
“Love you back.”
As Ava walked down the corridor to her office, the shakes she’d hid from Suzy came back in full force. She flipped her light, dropped her bags on the closest chair and closed the door behind her. She clutched the oversized paper cup of coffee in her hands, desperate for the little warmth that seeped into her palms.
Back against the door, she sank to the floor, teeth chattering. Cold sweat ran down under her arms and a flat, metallic taste covered her tongue. Her body quivering from the darkest fear she’d ever known—even darker than the day Daddy died—she looked around her office.
Her breath caught on a sob as she acknowledged the truth, the memories undeniable. She really was a murderer.
Dr. Lorna MacIntyre’s heels clicked as she walked briskly through the Great Court of the British Museum. Although it was celebrated as an architectural marvel, she hated the Great Court. Hated its great, cavernous echo. Hated the bright light that spilled into what should have been a somber place of learning. Most of all, she hated the way she felt so on display whenever she walked through it.
There were too many brightly lit square feet for onlookers to watch and gaze and draw their conclusions about the people they watched.
And people did watch.
And that was how they knew about her—and about the dark, desperate need for money that drove her every action. Jason would die if she couldn’t afford his treatments.
Her status as a well-respected scientist allowed her access to others in the scientific community. The physicians who were developing new, experimental drugs; the research labs where they did their work; and the sordid few who were willing to take payment for their work not yet approved for patient treatment.
The steady supply of money she provided ensured her connection would continue to steal the drugs Jason so desperately needed to survive.
Clack, clack, clack. Her heels tapped the last few feet before the bright light faded to a more respectable level as she moved into room 4.
Egyptian antiquities.
Or one antiquity in particular.
With deliberate movements, she walked through the now-empty room, the daily throng of tourists long since gone for the day.
Oh, how they loved this room.
No one missed the Egyptian room on a visit to the British Museum. All day long, large groups pressed around various exhibits—the piece of the Great Sphinx’s beard, the never-ending cluster of people around the Rosetta Stone and the horde that was drawn, without even understanding why, toward the Great Summoning Stone of Egypt.
She walked through the now-quiet room and knew the timing was essential. She had exactly ninety seconds in the Egyptian room until the cameras would go back on and the security would be restored to full power.
Her skin crawled as she imagined the normal throng of people. She could imagine the press of their bodies, the fetid smell of their breath, the sheer joy of their comments as they oohed and aahed.
They enjoyed while her own son suffered day after day. With that injustice clamoring in her head, she bent under the exhibit case that held the Summoning Stone and removed the panel that covered a recessed keyboard. The simple removal of the keypad cover would normally send an alarm, so she kept her movements quick, forcing the images of Jason to the back of her mind as she worked.
She keyed in the new codes she’d received as her short, dull fingernails caught the light of the overheads. Three more codes and she’d be done.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
She reset the alarm so the lights shifted from red to green.
Then replaced the keypad cover.
Then walked from the room, through the Great Court and back to the office.
As Dr. MacIntyre took the seat behind her desk, she lifted the day planner on the left side of her desk blotter. The plain white envelope containing her payment sat underneath, exactly as promised.
Politics.
From ancient Rome to the French Revolution to right this very minute inside the American Museum of Natural History, Brody was convinced politics were the most loathsome part of human existence. Hell, he’d bet a lost battle to Enyo that human politics could be traced all the way back to the Garden of Eden.
“I’ve been told your security firm is top-notch, Dr. Talbot. Perhaps you can tell me why I’m just now meeting you face-to-face.”
Brody walked the length of the exhibit hall with the head of the museum, Dr. William Martin. The man’s slight frame and distinguished gray hair gave him the look of the elder statesman, but his sharp comments suggested a man in his prime. They’d spoken several times on the phone since the discovery of the prophecy, and Brody had deduced the esteemed Dr. Martin was a scientist with the highest degree of wit, charm and decency.
The last ten minutes in his company had shot that theory to hell and back. Martin was a spiteful little fucker who showed very little evidence he even had a clue how the museum ran.
“I thought our previous conversations had cleared that issue up, Dr. Martin. My fieldwork concluded only last week. That’s why I’ve worked so hard to provide you with thoughts over the phone. But I’m here now and we’ve got plenty of time to finalize all the details.”
“Yes, well, still, I don’t know that you’ll be ready to take on this challenge. We’re two weeks out from our opening and we’re still waiting on the stones from our partner museums. I’ve scheduled Dr. Harrison to go in your place.”
“Dr. Harrison? The curator?”
“Yes. She’s more than qualified and her pedigree”—Ma
rtin’s gaze roved the length of Brody’s body, clearly unimpressed with the standard adventurer’s outfit of khaki pants, black T-shirt and work boots—“is excellent. Her father discovered the Summoning Stones, you know.”
“Yes, I am familiar with both generations of Harrisons and their work. What I’m not understanding is why there is suddenly a problem with my involvement in the project. Or why Dr. Harrison needs to divert her precious time from last-minute preparations on the exhibit.”
“I’ve changed my mind. I think Dr. Harrison will be a welcome replacement and will ensure the proper relations are maintained with our partner museums.”
Brody bit down on a quick retort.
Why was there suddenly a problem?
And wasn’t it an odd coincidence the timing fell right in line with the attack on Ava?
Coincidence, my ass.
Although he couldn’t pinpoint the cause of the bug that had crawled up Martin’s ass, Brody figured the best course of action was to keep him talking.
“I thought you made it clear to Quinn this project required the highest level of security detail. The investment your partner museums are making—allowing the transport of their stones for the exhibit—requires significant expertise.”
“I’m simply questioning, Dr. Talbot, whether Emerald Securities is up to the task.”
A little late to question it now, asshole.
Upon the discovery of the prophecy, and its subsequent award to the museum as an added piece of the Summoning Stones exhibit, Quinn quickly moved to put Brody in place as an expert “consultant.” His role as security specialist with an archaeological background had made him the perfect choice. Add his role on the recent dig at Thutmose’s tomb and he’d been a shoo-in for the plum assignment of finalizing the security for the exhibit and overseeing the transportation of the stones.
Through a series of conversations, it had been evident to Brody that he and Dr. Martin had comparable philosophies on the removal and display of artifacts, his respect for the scholar growing with each call.
And now—when they were finally meeting face-to-face—Martin wanted him out of there?
The sound of tapping heels interrupted the debate as both men turned their attention toward whoever had come to pay them a visit.
Brody had exactly two seconds to clear the expression of primal hunger that crossed his face as Ava Harrison came into view. Gorgeous calves flowed in feminine glory from the bottom of one of those black pencil skirts Grey was so fond of. A thin white blouse was buttoned over full, perfect breasts. Even that hideous gray sweater she covered herself up with couldn’t hide the perfection of her hips or the hourglass detail of her figure.
Dr. Martin put out his hands in a welcome gesture as Ava crossed the room toward them. “Ah, Dr. Harrison. I’m so glad you’re here. I’d like to introduce you to someone.”
His heart thudded in his chest as if he were a schoolboy waiting for his first date as his gaze drank in her perfection. Her scent—the raw, raspy smell of the hot desert as it descended into cool moonlight—hit him with full force.
He knew she wouldn’t remember him—his mind alterations as she slept ensured that—but he could wish, couldn’t he?
Ava’s eyes took him in as she extended a hand in greeting. As the words formed on his lips to give her his name, he saw that flicker.
A spark that flamed to life as her eyes widened and her mouth dropped into a delightfully surprised little o.
Ava Harrison knew exactly who he was.
Ava clutched at her stomach, praying whatever was left of its contents would stay down.
What was he doing here?
The hottie who had saved her from the attackers. The one who had gotten her back to her apartment somehow. The one who’d told her to murder the other man.
Her stomach turned over.
There it was again, that horrible awful truth she couldn’t forget and couldn’t escape. She’d murdered someone.
Would she never feel clean again?
Whole?
And just who, exactly, was this man? Why had he followed her? And, if he wasn’t working in tandem with the two guys who tried to jump her, which, from what her fast-restoring memory could piece together he was not, then what the hell did he want?
Pushing every ounce of personal theater she’d learned over many years of interacting with her grandmother, she painted on a pleasant demeanor for her boss. “Good morning, Dr. Martin.” With a nod, she accepted her boss’s introductions and smiled when she addressed the other man by name. Like the last tumbler falling into a lock, she realized why she knew him. Or his reputation, more specifically.
“Dr. Talbot. You were part of the team that removed the prophecy from Thutmose’s tomb? It’s quite the accomplishment.”
“Thank you. It was Dr. Dryson’s work. I feel privileged to have been part of the team.”
It was another death at the hands of that tomb—first her father and then Dr. Peter Dryson. Maybe the curse the media wouldn’t stop clamoring about had more elements of truth than her scientific mind wanted to accept.
An involuntary shudder ran the length of Ava’s back. She was almost getting used to the sensation as her central nervous system attempted to deal with the chaos going on around her. Shaking it off, the reality of the situation—curse or just plain rotten luck—was sobering. “I’m so sorry for the loss of your colleague.”
“Thank you. So am I. The world has lost an amazing archaeologist and an incredible man.”
It was the sincerity in his words that got her first. She’d spent her life reading people, the majority of her social interaction spent in observation rather than action. And Dr. Talbot seemed genuinely sad and hurt by the loss of his colleague.
With a slightly altered outlook on the large adventurer, she risked another glance into his eyes. The heat of that sky blue gaze shot a ribbon of desire curling through her bloodstream. It felt good. Real. Raw.
And it sent a torrent of heat crashing through her system, a welcome change to the cold numbness that had taken up residence in the marrow of her bones that morning. Even her forty-five-minute pruning session in the shower, the water steaming hot, had done nothing to warm her up.
“Dr. Talbot and I were just discussing the security and transportation of the stones.”
She and Dr. Martin had already been through this, but she put on a patient smile and tried to look interested. She wanted to add travel to London, Paris, Sydney and Alexandria to her workload about as much as she wanted to take a vacation with her grandmother.
Not bloody ever.
But, like the surprise trips he’d sprung on her the other day, she smiled and went with it. Dr. Martin had been seriously off his game lately. She adored the fatherlike figure he had been to her since she joined the museum straight out of college. Sadly, in the last few weeks he’d started to show his age.
She supposed it was the natural order of things—if her parents had lived into their later years, she suspected she’d have dealt with it as her friends did. Suzy certainly did, regaling her with tales of lost car keys, misplaced bills and snits at the drugstore.
But knowing it was the natural order of things didn’t make it any easier to watch—or any easier to accept the speed with which it happened.
Of course, her conscience taunted, Grandmother hadn’t shown a bit of slowing down in her old age. A few misplaced memories or forgotten tasks would actually be quite welcome.
Good grief, what’s wrong with you? Ava gave herself a mental head shake, dragging her mind back from the ether. From missing memories to scattered thoughts, she was a freaking mess this morning. Painting on another big smile and nodding her head, she hoped she didn’t come off like the village idiot.
Murdering village idiot, her still-taunting conscience added for good measure.
“I’m all packed and ready to leave this evening.”
“Dr. Talbot will be joining you for the trip to London.”
“Excuse me?”
The words flew out before she could stop them. At least she had the small comfort of seeing her surprise match Brody’s, whose wide eyes and open mouth reinforced her own shock.
“Dr. Talbot has just convinced me these trips require a security expert. He will be going with you.”
Old age be damned, this was too much. She laid a hand on his arm. “William, may I speak with you for a moment? Please?” She almost dropped her hand at the darkness she saw in his eyes, but when she blinked to look again, whatever she thought she’d seen was gone.
William?
Or is that darkness a reflection of yourself, Ava Marie? Brody walked off with the quick excuse that he wanted to study the layout of the exhibit. “William. You can’t be serious about my traveling with Dr. Talbot.”
“Dead serious.”
“Yes, but why? If you want him to go, then send him. It’s his area of expertise. I could use the time here at the museum, anyway.”
“Delegate it. I’ve told you more than once you need to share the responsibility. Lighten your load a bit. I need you on those trips, Ava. I need someone to follow him. I don’t feel good about him.”
“You’ve been raving about him for weeks.”
A tight, mulish expression flattened Martin’s lips. “I hadn’t met him yet.”
“What changed your mind?” And why are you sending me off alone with him, then?
“This is your exhibit. I suggest you get your work requirements in order so things can progress in your absence.”
“Of course, William.”
“Oh, and Dr. Harrison, keep an eye on Talbot. There’s something in that cocky demeanor I just don’t trust.”
Before she could come up with any other argument that might change his mind, William was gone, marching across the wide expanse of the exhibit hall, expertly weaving his way around glass cases still to be built and oversized printed reliefs that still needed to be hung on the walls, educating their visitors as they walked the route of the exhibit’s story arc.
Brody walked back over to her, a smile on his lips. Damn, but the man was too attractive for his own good.