The London Deception

by Addison Fox

  “Rowan.” Finn whispered her name and she turned, her gaze preternaturally sharp.

  She gave him the briefest nod as she took another small step back.

  But it was when Briggs turned, a sad smile on his face, that they both knew he wasn’t their friend. “I’m sorry, Rowan. Really, I am. It was just a job, you know.”

  Finn didn’t wait for the man to confess his sins, but instead swung out with the heavy book in his hands, the thick weight connecting dead center of Briggs’s face. A huge howl went up as Briggs dropped to the ground, but Finn’s only thought was to get them as far away as possible.

  He grabbed Rowan’s hand and dragged her along with him as they raced back the same way they came.

  “There was a store door open.” She pointed down the alley in the direction of a line of trash cans.

  “Where?”

  Footfalls echoed behind them, and the heavy shot of a gun firing had them both instinctively ducking as they moved.

  “The next door, Finn!”

  He caught sight of a screen door with open access to the space inside and rushed them toward it, dragging her in front of him as another bullet echoed down the alley.

  They barreled through the door, Rowan screaming the entire time for the people in the store to stay back in a mixture of English and Arabic, over and over, as they ran pell-mell through racks of clothing, shelves laden with canned goods and several revolving racks that held bags of chips.

  Rowan grabbed at the cans as she ran, tossing them onto the floor as a deterrent, and he shoved at the racks, their tottering crash behind them giving him hope they might have slowed their pursuers down.

  They burst through the front of the store onto the street. The narrow lane seemed far more menacing than when they’d walked up the street not even an hour before, and Finn kept moving despite having no idea where he was going.

  “The church. Come on!” Rowan pointed toward the twin towers of the Coptic church in the distance as she kept pace beside him.

  “We’ll be stuck there.”

  “Not if we find the right place to hide.”

  A loud shout echoed behind them and Finn wasn’t about to argue; he just followed her as they wove in a zigzagging pattern down the street, avoiding the occasional car or group of pedestrians, the honking or screaming of either echoing in their wake.

  They raced up the front steps, bumping past throngs of tourists as they went. Hanging on to each other would slow them down, so he kept Rowan in his sights but let her run as fast as she could. Once they cleared the entrance, the interior of the church spread out in front of them.

  He followed her as she moved quickly to the edge of the gathering space, searching for any small alcove they could hide in. The loud shout of a guard went up, and Finn hesitated the briefest moment to turn and gaze toward the front door.

  One of their pursuers stood at the door, arguing with the guard in a mix of Arabic and English, and Finn caught enough to know the man was passing himself off as police.

  “Wanker,” Rowan muttered as he followed her into a small alcove. “Thinks he can pretend to be undercover.”

  “It may work. And his second friend appears to have taken a different direction.”

  Rowan pointed to a long row of candles atop an oversize table. “Under there. The tablecloth will hide us and we can figure out next steps.”

  It wasn’t an ideal hiding place, since it meant they were still trapped inside the church, but it would give them the time they needed to regroup. He followed her small frame under the cloth, grateful she’d selected an empty alcove away from the prying eyes of the tourists taking in the church as he attempted to fold his large body into the small space.

  He didn’t miss her broad smile when he struggled to drag his feet fully under the cloth covering. “I don’t think this was quite what you had in mind when you said you wanted to take me through the church.”

  “Probably not.” She leaned forward and pressed a hard kiss to his lips. “But we’ll make do.”

  They sat in tense silence for a few minutes, waiting for discovery. When the immediate threat passed, he pointed toward her bag, his voice a low whisper. “Do you have anything in this bottomless monstrosity we can use as a weapon if it comes to that?”

  “You mean aside from its lethal heft?”

  “Tell me about it.” He made a show of rubbing his shoulder. “I carried it.”

  “I carry it every day.”

  “Glutton for punishment.”

  The teasing seemed out of place for the situation they found themselves in, yet Finn couldn’t deny it felt good to sit still and catch their breath.

  Rowan dug through her purse, intent on her goal, but he still didn’t miss the notes of pain layered underneath her soft-spoken words. “I can’t believe Briggs sold us out.”

  “Maybe we’ll find out why on his computer.”

  “He’s still out there.”

  “Unless they don’t need him any longer.”

  Her head snapped up. “You think they’re going to kill him?”

  “It depends on how useful they think he is. How entrenched he is in their organization. A lot of things.”

  “And here it is again. Another personal connection.”

  “Look, Rowan. Briggs made his choice.”

  She waved a hand. “I know that and unfortunately I also understand he’s the one responsible for that. It doesn’t change the fact I’ve known him a long time, and whatever his eventual outcome, it hurts to think about it.”

  They sat in silence awhile longer, her quiet digging through her purse the only sound in their small hiding space until she stopped abruptly.

  The distant sound of footsteps grew louder and he dropped a hand over hers as they waited. Noise floated around them, then quieted when several people stopped and stood inches away from them, lighting prayer candles.

  Through it all, they remained in place, their hands locked tight.

  The moment the footsteps from the other side of the curtain faded from their hearing, Rowan whipped out a small, cloth-wrapped package. “What about my lock picks?”

  “Aren’t they a little small?”

  “We can stuff them between our fingers. A swipe like that wouldn’t feel all that great. And—” she whipped a second packet out of her bag “—I carry two sets.”

  The moment struck him as so silly and strange, yet he couldn’t have held back if he’d tried. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

  “Nah, I’m just resource—”

  He didn’t let her finish her statement. Instead, he leaned forward and wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, pulling her close, the soft, short wisps of her hair tickling his fingers. “Amazing.”

  He pressed his lips to hers, the taste of her the sweetest rush on his tongue. The reverent environment wasn’t lost on him; instead, it lent an air of importance to the simple act of giving comfort and sharing their feelings for each other.

  Her hands trailed over his face, tracing his jaw, before she lifted her head. “We should probably go.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “There’s an entrance on the opposite side of where we came in. If we leave separately, we should be able to get back outside.” She pressed her lips to his once more. “And this time I promise we can call a taxi.”

  “I’ll go first. Stay here and when it’s clear I’ll let out a sharp whistle.”

  “Here. Take these.” She shoved one of the pick sets into his hand. “Hold them like I said.”

  She helped him lodge the sharp tools between his fingers, even as the thought of using them wasn’t high on his list of activities for the day. “Now you.”

  Rowan followed suit, positioning the picks in her dominant hand.

  He listened for any noi
se, then lifted the curtain on the back side of the table for a look at the room. Sunlight still streamed in through the windows, dust motes curling in the beams, but the alcove was empty. He slid out, about as gracefully as when he slid in, and winced when the picks scraped against the floor. A muffled “shhh” echoed from under the table and he couldn’t hold back a smile at the bossy rejoinder.

  The majority of people were in the interior of the church, and his quick scan of the area didn’t turn up anything unusual. He let out a short, sharp whistle and waited, his back pressed to the wall.

  Within moments, Rowan sauntered out of the small alcove. She’d positioned her hand around the edge of her heavy bag so the picks weren’t visible.

  At the evidence he wasn’t comparably covered, he tossed a pointed glance to his exposed hand. She placed her empty hand over the picks and he hoped it would be enough to get them out of the church unnoticed. “Let’s go.”

  “Walk slower.”

  “We need to get out of here.”

  She dropped his hand and snagged the back of his T-shirt, effectively slowing his movement. “There’s a guard across the way and he’s looking at us. Slow down.”

  Finn appreciated her quick read of the situation and slowed, waiting until she’d once again wrapped her left hand around his pick-filled right. “Are they hidden?”

  “Yep. Now stroll.”

  The seconds crawled and the distance to the front of the church and the other exit Rowan had identified seemed endless, but he kept his pace moderate. They’d come this far; it would all be for naught if they ended up in a police station under interrogation.

  When they finally saw daylight, Finn exhaled on a heavy breath. The area was still crowded with people, but the cloying sense of confinement that came with being trapped inside began to fade. “That was close.”

  “Or maybe not.”

  The heavy press of a gun hit the center of his back and Finn stopped moving. “What do you want?”

  “You really don’t know?” The man kept his voice at a low register so as not to be overheard but his accent was British.

  “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  “Maybe I can do something about that.”

  Rowan squeezed his hand once before she moved, her actions as graceful as a cat’s. The hand shielding his lifted and shoved him off balance at the same time she swung her other hand, wrapped tight around the picks. Finn briefly registered the man attempting to capture them—medium build, sandy hair, goatee—before he lost his footing and stumbled, just as Rowan had obviously intended.

  Her hand continued its deadly arc and connected with the side of the man’s face. He let out a howl of pain as he reached for his cheek, the action reflexive enough for Rowan to knock into him with the bag, dislodging the gun.

  The heavy piece clattered to the ground but Rowan ignored it and was already grabbing Finn’s hand as they ran for the street. They both shouted and waved their hands for a cab hovering down the street. Finn pushed her on ahead of him, shielding her from the lumbering, screaming man who chased after them.

  She flung the door open and scrambled in, turning toward him the moment she had a seat. “Finn! Come on.”

  The open door beckoned and he dived in, unable to fold his large form into the small space as quickly as she did. The thug chasing them leaped toward his feet and snagged his shoe but didn’t get a firm grip. Rowan was already barking out orders at the cab driver. “Drive. Now. Go!”

  Whether the driver spoke English or not didn’t seem to matter, especially when Rowan began tossing money onto the front seat. Finn struggled to right himself and nearly fell back out the car door as the driver took a sharp curve.

  Rowan’s hands were tight on his and she dragged at his shoulders, one hand fisted in the material of his shirt while the other dragged at him from under his arm.

  He finally managed to get his body fully inside the taxi and slammed the door closed. On a heavy breath, he reached for her and pulled her close. “That was fun.”

  “Are you okay?” Her hands were already roaming over his body, checking for any damage, when he caught sight of the blood that covered her fingers.

  “Me? You’re bleeding.”

  “It’s not mine.” When he reached for her hand, she lifted them out of reach. “Don’t touch me. There are wet wipes in my purse. Would you grab them?”

  He dug out the small packet after she directed him to a side pocket, and pulled out several sterile, wet sheets. “Here. Get that blood off you.”

  “With pleasure.”

  It was only as she was scrubbing the blood off her hands, the thin bones of her wrists flexing with the motions, that the thug’s words struck a chord.

  You really don’t know?

  With startling clarity, Finn did know. And he had a rising sense of panic the people after them knew, too.

  None of this was about the Nefertari tomb. Or Egypt. Or even discrediting a made-up curse.

  Someone wanted the Victoria bracelet. And he’d walked straight into their trap.

  * * *

  Rowan tried desperately to wash the stench off her body, but no amount of soap seemed to make her feel clean. Hot water sluiced over her head and neck, then down over her breasts and stomach, but it didn’t seem to matter. The physical traces of blood and smoke were long gone, but the water still couldn’t erase the brand both had made on her skin.

  “Rowan.” Finn’s voice echoed from the doorway. “You’ve been in there for a while. Are you okay?”

  Her lack of a response had him across the bathroom in seconds, and before she could think to protest, he was inside the stall. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re pale and shivering and it’s a billion degrees in here.”

  He reached over her shoulder to adjust the steaming water before his gaze swung back around to her face. “Tell me.”

  A hard sob caught her square in the throat, the harsh events of the past several days finally overwhelming her. “I thought I was okay with it. Really. And then I got in here. And all the dirt started streaming down the drain and I wasn’t okay with it anymore.”

  He pulled her against his chest, the wet cotton of his T-shirt warm against her cheek. “It’s a lot to take in.”

  His heart thudded strong and solid beneath her ear and she tried to focus on that, taking comfort in the sure, steady beat. “I’m glad you’re here, Finn. So glad.”

  The water continued to sluice over them both, and as his clothes got soaked, her thoughts shifted and grew more urgent. She needed him. Needed the comfort and the mindless pleasure to be found in his arms.

  He’d already changed out of his clothes from earlier, replacing both with the fresh T-shirt and shorts he now had on. His erection pressed against her stomach through the thin material and she focused all her attention on his body. With quick movements, she slipped her hand beneath the waistband of his shorts and gripped his full length.

  “Rowan—” Her name came out on a clipped groan. “I already feel like enough of a lecher for getting a hard-on while trying to comfort you.”

  “We’ll comfort each other.”

  He gripped her wrist, holding her still. “I’m serious. Just let me hold you.”

  “I want more.” She reached up and nipped his jawline with her teeth and lips. “So much more.”

  “We can’t.”

  “Yes, we can.” She captured his lips once more with hers, desperate to show him with her mouth and her hands how badly she wanted him.

  So why did she get the vague sense he was holding back, even as his body betrayed him with the urge to give in?

  And then there was no time to question or argue because his hands were on her, sliding over her skin and pulling the most exquisite pleasure from her body.

>   She dragged at the wet T-shirt, lifting it over the hard planes of his stomach and chest. When the wet material caught on his chin, he smiled. “Let me.”

  The wet cloth hit the floor of the shower with a heavy thwack, followed almost immediately by his shorts, and then he was back against her, his body hard and demanding as he pressed her into the shower tiles.

  Rowan celebrated the moment, so much ugliness fading away as he made her clean with his body. The play of his hands over her skin, the drag of his lips over her flesh and the brand of his body as he filled her—all of them combined together to chase away the ugliness of what they’d both survived over the past days.

  She traced the slim line of the knife wound, now free of its bandage, and was pleased to see the flesh already knitting together.

  Her warrior.

  Hers.

  The thought was so swift and immediate, she stilled, her fingers hovering over the cut.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing.” She whispered it on a shake of the head before she placed her fingers back on his body and traced the hard lines of his stomach. At the thick, heavy pace of his breathing, she reached for the condom he’d had enough sense to snag from his shorts and leave on a small ledge, tearing the foil in quick movements.

  Finn’s question faded away under the pounding spray and he returned to her body. With his mouth and hands, he pleasured her. With his quietly whispered words, he seduced her. And with deep, soulful gazes, he worshipped her body.

  And when he lifted her leg and wrapped it around his waist, she took him in, welcoming him fully into her body. His thrusts were sure and deep, and with each movement Rowan could have sworn she heard her soul shatter into a million tiny pieces, right along with her body as her release exploded from the depths of her being.

  She took him and they rode the pleasure together.

  Her warrior.

  The man she loved.

  * * *

  Rowan turned off the bathroom lights and stepped into the bedroom. Although she’d originally worried sharing a room would be awkward, it was the opposite. She felt safe knowing Finn was with her, and the moments between them were slow and easy, full of lazy, knowing glances and gentle caresses.