by Susan Napier;Kathryn Ross;Kelly Hunter;Sandra Marton;Katherine Garbera;Margaret Mayo
‘I want to go home.’
‘Now?’ There was bewilderment in his green eyes. ‘But it’s still early.’
‘No, it’s not,’ she said. ‘It’s late. Later than you ever imagined.’
She started to turn away and Slade reached for her, caught her by the shoulder harder than he’d intended, and swung her toward him. People around them on the tiny floor cast sidelong looks, but he didn’t notice.
‘No,’ he said sharply, ‘no, you’re not leaving, dammit. You’re going to listen.’
‘To you?’ She laughed. ‘What could a man like you possibly say that a woman like me would want to hear?’
Behind him, someone gave a muffled giggle. Slade spun toward the sound, his cheeks flushed, but no one met his eyes. When he looked for her again, Brionny was stalking from the dance floor.
Damn her! And damn him, for having thought she’d seen him, really seen him, for the first time, for having been about to tell her everything—who he was, what had really happened to her precious emerald…
He drew a breath. She had saved him from making a complete ass of himself, he thought grimly. He owed her something for that.
He reached the table an instant after she did, peeled some bills from his wallet, and dropped them on the cloth.
‘Let’s go,’ he growled, and he took her arm. She made a little sound and he knew he was hurting her but he didn’t much care. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ellen staring at him, but he didn’t much care about that either.
The heat in the parking lot was oppressive. Beside him, Brionny was trying to break his hold, but she didn’t have a chance.
What a fool he’d made of himself tonight! Determined to humble Brionny Stuart, convinced he owed her a lesson for the pain she’d inflicted on him, he’d forced her into an unholy contract and then ended up trying to please her instead.
How in hell could one woman who stood for everything he despised always end up making him lose his self-control?
‘I’m speaking to you, McClintoch!’
He looked at her. They had reached his car; he was holding her against it and she was looking at him through eyes that blazed with contempt.
‘Forgive me, my lady,’ he said. His teeth glinted in a shark-like smile. ‘I didn’t hear you.’
‘I said I’d rather go home by taxi.’
‘Would you?’
‘Yes. This night is at an end.’
Slade laughed. He opened the car door and pushed her inside.
‘No,’ he said, very softly, ‘no, sweetheart, it is not.’
She was frightened now; he could see it in her face, although she was doing her best not to show it. Quickly, he got behind the wheel, put the car in gear, and sent it sliding out of the gravel lot.
She swung her head toward him. His profile was blade-sharp, his mouth thin. Her hands shook a little, and she folded them quickly into her lap.
‘This display of machismo is boring,’ she said. Her voice, at least, was steady. ‘And it’s not impressive.’
‘I’m not interested in impressing you, Bree.’ He looked at her, his smile terrifying in its emptiness. ‘We made a deal, remember?’
‘The deal’s off,’ she said sharply.
‘Don’t be silly, sweetheart. Don’t you want that emerald?’
‘Why don’t you tell the truth for once, Slade? You just wanted to—to bring me to my knees. You know it’s money you want for the emerald, not me.’
‘Ah,’ he said, ‘Brionny Stuart, she who knows all, speaks again!’ His voice hardened, became like the sting of a whip. ‘Well, you’re wrong, lady. We made a deal, and you’re going to live with it. You’re spending the night with me.’
‘Slade, damn you—’
He reached out, dumped the Billie Holliday CD from the player, stabbed in the Rachmaninoff, and turned up the volume. Music, loud and dramatic, filled the car with sound. Speech was impossible.
Brionny gritted her teeth. She hadn’t pleaded this afternoon; that was what this was all about. He wanted her to plead now.
She’d sooner burn in hell.
Let him put on an act. He was angry, he was trying to scare her, but so what? No matter what else he was, Slade was not a man who would force a woman into his bed.
Cars lined the curb in front of her apartment building. Slade shot into a space beside a fire hydrant. He slammed his way out of the car, clamped his hand around Brionny’s wrist, and marched her up the four flights of steps to her apartment.
‘The key,’ he demanded, holding out his palm. When she didn’t move, he pushed her back against the door, took her purse from her and dug through it until he’d found what he wanted. Then he undid the lock and shoved her inside.
He’s trying to scare me, Brionny told herself, that’s all he’s doing.
When he unbuttoned his dinner jacket and dropped it across the back of the sofa, she decided things had gone far enough.
‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘You’ve made your point. You’re stronger than I am, and—’
He laughed. ‘Haven’t we had this conversation before, sweetheart?’ He reached out and took hold of her shoulders. ‘Don’t fight me, Bree. I don’t want to hurt you.’
At last, fear flooded through her veins. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Slade, don’t—’
His kiss was punishing and painful, forced on her unwilling mouth with a pressure that made her head fall back.
‘Stop it,’ she panted, struggling frantically against him.
‘Hell, sweetheart, I’m disappointed. I thought ladies of your class never tried to squirm out of an agreement.’
She cried out as he kissed her again, his mouth fierce and hot.
‘You’re hurting me! Slade, please…’
All at once, the terror in her voice cut through the blind rage that had almost overcome him.
He went absolutely still. ‘Bree?’ he said. ‘Bree…’
His eyes swept over her face. He saw the tears on her lashes, saw her mouth, bruised and swollen from his kisses. He looked at her arms, at his fingers biting deep into her flesh, and he groaned with despair.
‘Dear God,’ he said. ‘Bree, sweetheart, forgive me!’
He gathered her to him, pressing soft kisses to her hair, to her throat. He murmured her name, over and over, and stroked his hands over her back.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, ‘I’m so sorry…’
With a little sob of desperation, her arms went around his neck. She brought his head down to hers and kissed him, her mouth open to his. She didn’t understand it, but fear had given way to something else, something that was always there when she was in Slade’s arms, a desire so sharp and sweet it was like a pain in her heart.
The emerald, she thought as his hands began moving over her, the damned emerald! If only he’d really give it to her, she could return it to Esterhaus along with some made-up story about how she’d come by it, and all this would be behind them. There would be time to explore these feelings, this incredible, wonderful emotion she’d felt ever since she’d met him…
‘Bree.’ Slade kissed her deeply. ‘I have to tell you…’ She moved in his arms, just enough to lean back and look up at him. The action sent her hips against his and he groaned and shifted his aroused body against hers. ‘Hell, it’s going to have to wait.’
‘No,’ she said urgently, ‘it can’t wait. I have to talk to you, Slade.’
He swallowed hard, took a breath, and took a step back.
‘You’re right. This conversation is long overdue.’
Brionny put her fingers over his lips. ‘Don’t say anything until you’ve heard what I have to say. Please.’
He gave a choked laugh. ‘Hell, we’ll have to take turns. OK, sweetheart. You first.’
She drew a deep, steadying breath into her lungs. ‘Slade? Did you mean it when you said you’d give me the Eye of God?’
He tensed. ‘The emerald? That’s what you want to talk about?’
‘Yes! Of course. I
t’s the most important thing we—’
‘Sure it is.’ Slade looked at her, at the soft mouth and beautiful eyes that offered a promise of warmth that was a lie, and he felt a coldness seeping into his bones. ‘Business before pleasure, right?’
Brionny’s face paled. ‘You don’t understand.’
‘But I do.’ He let go of her, knowing that if he didn’t he might put his hands around her lovely, fragile throat and squeeze. ‘I understand completely—and because you made the evening interesting I’ll even give you an honest answer.’ His eyes, flat and bright as green glass, met hers. ‘I never had any intention of giving you the emerald, sweetheart.’ His lips drew back from his teeth. ‘A night with you, for the Eye of God? Not even the Mali-Mali would have made such a poor trade.’
Slade picked up his jacket, flung it over his shoulder, and walked out into the night.
Chapter Eleven
EARLY IN morning, the museum was so quiet that Brionny’s footsteps seemed to echo like gunshots as she made her way through the Great Hall.
She had always liked the museum at this time, just before the crowds invaded. One of the privileges of being on staff was that you could flash your ID at the guard at the gate and enter the building early, either for some quiet time at your desk or simply to stroll the halls and enjoy the treasures of the world in privacy.
That was what she was doing now, taking a last, peaceful look at the artifacts she loved, because she knew that the next time she came to this museum it would be as a paying patron.
But it would be worth it. By this time tomorrow, the museum would have its emerald.
And Slade would be where he belonged, in a prison cell.
At seven, she’d telephoned Simon Esterhaus at his home. His voice had been muzzy with sleep and gruff with the displeasure of being awakened. After she’d identified herself, his tone had sharpened.
‘Have you news of the emerald, Miss Stuart?’ he’d said.
Brionny had taken a deep, deep breath.
‘I know who has it, sir.’
‘Wonderful!’ Esterhaus’s joy had been almost palpable. ‘That’s wonderful news, my dear. Tell me everything.’
‘I will, Mr Esterhaus. But—but not over the telephone.’
‘Of course, Miss Stuart. I’ll see you at ten. I take it Mr McClintoch will be with you?’
‘No. He will not be with me, sir. I’ll be alone.’
If that had struck Esterhaus as odd, he had not said so. Now, in just a few minutes, she would meet with him in his office—and this nightmare would finally come to an end.
She glanced at her watch, turned, and made her way slowly across the hall. The huge front doors were just opening and the early arrivals were filtering in. Students clutching notebooks, tourists, families with children whose squeals turned quickly to excited whispers when they spotted the impressive Tyrannosaurus Rex rearing up in the center of the Great Hall.
The anteroom to Esterhaus’s office loomed ahead. Brionny came to an abrupt halt, her heart hammering. Then, before she could lose courage, she strode purposefully through the open door.
Esterhaus’s secretary looked up from her desk.
‘Good morning, Miss Stuart. The director is expecting you.’
Brionny tried to smile, but her lips felt stuck to her teeth. She nodded, marched to the door to Esterhaus’s office, knocked lightly and opened it.
It was like a replay of her last appearance here. Esterhaus was seated at his desk, thumbing through a stack of papers. He looked up, frowned, and motioned her forward.
‘Sit down, Miss Stuart.’
Brionny sat. She waited for him to say something more; when he didn’t she cleared her throat.
‘Mr Esterhaus. Sir. I—I have news about the Eye of God.’
Esterhaus took off his eyeglasses, massaged the bridge of his nose, and leaned back in his chair.
‘Yes, so you said, Miss Stuart, but I think I should tell you—’
‘Sir, please, this is—it’s difficult for me to talk about. I’d appreciate it if you’d just let me—just let me say my piece. I’m sure you’ll have questions, and I’m more than willing to answer them, but—but—’
Esterhaus sighed. ‘Of course. Please, say whatever you wish.’
Brionny ran the tip of her tongue across her lips. She had gone over her speech dozens of times; it was the only thing that had kept her sane during the hours of the night.
She cleared her throat.
‘Sir. You know—you know that there was a man traveling with me when the emerald was taken from me. And you know that—that I thought we were in grave danger from headhunters.’
‘Miss Stuart—’
‘The missionary thought I’d been hallucinating, but—’
‘But he was wrong. The headhunters were dangerously real.’
Brionny blinked. ‘No. They weren’t real at all, Mr Esterhaus. Perhaps I didn’t make that clear when we spoke, but—’
‘An advisory reached me yesterday from Peru, Miss Stuart.’ Esterhaus popped his glasses on his nose, thumbed through the papers on his desk and selected one. “‘To Simon Esterhaus, Director,”’ he read, “‘from the Minister for…blah, blah, blah. Please be advised that permits for the purposes of archaeological and anthropological digs will be temporarily suspended due to…”’
He whipped off his glasses and looked at Brionny. ‘The point of all this bureaucratic mumbo jumbo, Miss Stuart, is that some rarely seen Indian tribe’s suddenly come creeping out of the jungle. The Mori-Mori, something like that.’
‘The Mali-Mali?’ Brionny said, eyes wide.
‘That’s it. Apparently they went on the warpath just about the time you located the Eye of God.’
She swallowed convulsively. ‘Because the professor and I took the stone?’
‘No, no, it’s nothing to do with that.’
‘The road, then. They must be angry about the road that’s going through the jungle, and—’
‘It’s not that either. According to this directive, the—what did you call them?’
‘The Mali-Mali,’ Brionny whispered.
‘The Mali-Mali are stirred up over some internal problem, a battle between two warring factions that’s been broadened to include anyone who gets in their way.’ His sharp little teeth showed in a quick smile. ‘Primitive, but not without a certain definite parallel in our own world, don’t you agree?’
Brionny sat back in her chair. Slade had not lied, then—at least, he had not lied about the headhunters. But he had lied about everything else—about wanting her, about trust, about caring…
‘Miss Stuart?’
She blinked. ‘Sir?’
‘I was saying, if that’s all you wanted to tell me—’
‘No, it isn’t. There’s—there’s more, Mr Esterhaus.’
The director sighed. ‘Go on, then, Miss Stuart.’
‘I—I think you have the right to know that I bear sole responsibility for the loss of the Eye of God, sir.’
Esterhaus’s brows lifted. ‘I thought you said it was stolen from you, by your traveling companion.’
‘Yes. It was.’ Brionny hesitated. The hard part was coming—and yet this wasn’t the worst of it, not by a long shot. ‘But—but he’d tried to get it from me before, many times.’
‘Go on.’
She looked up. Esterhaus was watching her with a little smile on his face. Oh, God, she thought, God…
‘I’d refused to tell him where it was, you see, because I knew—I knew he would steal it. And then, that last night…’ Brionny took a shaky breath and stared past the director, her eyes focused on the wall. ‘That last night, I made a terrible mistake. I told him where he could find the stone, I told him where I’d hidden it, and—and—’
Her voice broke. She gave a sob and buried her face in her hands.
Esterhaus shoved back his chair and hurried toward her. ‘Miss Stuart, my dear young woman, you were under an incredible amount of stress. In the circumstanc
es—’
‘Dammit, Mr Esterhaus!’ Brionny looked up, her eyes streaming. She dug into her pocket for a tissue, blotted her eyes, and blew her nose noisily. ‘Will you please stop interrupting and let me get this over with?’
Esterhaus drew back. ‘If that is what you wish, Miss Stuart, but I assure you it isn’t necessary. If you’d just listen to me for a moment—’
‘No,’ she said fiercely, rising to her feet, ‘you listen to me, sir! I have something to tell you, and, and—I know where the Eye of God is,’ she said.
Esterhaus smiled politely. ‘Go on.’
Brionny frowned. She’d certainly expected more of a reaction than that.
‘It won’t cost us a penny to recover it, because we won’t have to buy it, you see; we’ll only have to have the thief who took it arrested.’
‘Miss Stuart—’
‘Don’t you want to know his name?’
‘No, not really, Miss Stuart. You see—’
‘What do you mean, “not really”?’ Her face, pale but for the slashes of color in her cheeks, took on a stern cast. ‘I want the thief tried, convicted and imprisoned. I want him to spend years in jail. I want him to be old and feeble by the time he gets out.’
Esterhaus was smiling again, in a manner that was almost paternal.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I think I’m beginning to understand.’
‘Good,’ Brionny said. ‘You’d better understand. And you’d better be prepared to bring charges against—against—’
After a moment’s silence, Esterhaus his throat. ‘Against?’
Brionny stared at him. I can’t tell him, she thought, I can’t!
She had spent the endless hours of the night deciding which punishment Slade deserved more, immersion in boiling oil or being tied to the rack, reminding herself that she would have to be satisfied with seeing him handcuffed and led off to prison—and now, with her chance finally at hand, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t condemn Slade to a cell and to years of confinement.
‘Miss Stuart?’ Esterhaus said gently.
Brionny looked at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. ‘I can’t tell you,’ she whispered.
‘Well, then,’ Esterhaus said, even more gently, ‘if you can’t tell me the thief’s name, how will we recover the stone?’