Out of Sight

by Cherry Adair

  AJ's head turned toward him, but her eyes were still glued on the gory calling card, as if she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. She blinked, then switched her focus and looked at him steadily—in control again.

  He'd never noticed just how green her eyes were before. Must be her pallor and the dirt. He'd never seen anyone with eyes quite that clear, pale, summer grass color.

  Christ. He really didn't want AJ Cooper here. A woman—hell, nobody—should have to see shit like this. Looking at her standing there in her filthy black clothing, her face pale and streaked with dirt, her sleeve torn from a gunshot, Kane felt every protective instinct inside him rear up and shout. She was made for silk sheets and candlelight, not cordite and blood.

  She shouldn't—Christ.What the hell was he thinking? She wasn't his to protect. Cooper was an operative. It was her job to deal with things like this. She'd made the choice to enter the game. Now it was time to learn the rules.

  She cleared her throat. "Whose?"

  "Only two choices. Struben or the houseboy."

  "God, what's that smell?" She frowned, absently rubbing her forehead. "Never mind. Let's get the search over with. I doubt they left any other evidence, but we can check, anyway. I'll take this one. You take that one."

  "Yes, ma'am," he said tongue in cheek. He'd gotten the closest bedroom and, he suspected, the source of most of the stench.

  Weapon up and ready, he moved through the doorway. His glance was swift and all-encompassing.

  The bed had been slept in. Struben. He'd been napping, had been hauled up and out of it, taken by surprise. A Glock was exposed by the strewn bed pillows, but there'd been no time to fire it.

  The prints of several pairs of feet on the carpet indicated at least four men besides his operative. Struben had had the shit beaten out of him against the far wall—blood splatter indicated blunt force, probably many well-placed fists, then he'd been dragged across the carpet—here, more indications of a scuffle, more blood. A lot more blood. Fresh. A body's worth of blood and fluid puddled on the matted carpet.

  Kane's gut twisted. They'd hauled the man, battered and bleeding, into the living room to interrogate him. When he'd refused to talk they'd cut out his tongue to show they meant business, and then dragged him back into the bedroom. Kane could see how it all had played out. It ran like a video in his brain.

  Struben had still been alive. His nails had left striped furrows in the matted carpet on either side of his body as he lay bleeding. He'd tried to crawl. Fallen over. Here. And here.

  They'd offed him. Right here. Three feet from his fully loaded weapon.

  The foul smell wafted from the small adjoining bathroom. The door was ajar. Kane kicked at it. Hard.

  Stuck.

  Bingo.

  Wedging his shoulder into the eight-inch gap, he used his full weight to force the door, and whatever was behind it, to move enough for him to see inside.

  Struben. Or what was left of him.

  "Jesus. You didn't go quietly into that good night, did you, you poor, sorry bastard? "

  He'd bled out, but defensive wounds on his hands indicated he'd got in a few good hits. Too few, too late.

  "Anything?"AJ called, coming into the bedroom soundlessly.

  "Don't come in here." Kane's voice was grim. She'd been cool so far, but this was sure to set her off.

  "Why no—" She narrowed her eyes, then the penny dropped. "Oh, hell. Who?"

  "Struben."

  "Let me in there." She came up behind him and lay her hand on his arm. "Call for cleanup."

  Kane glanced down at her fingers on the black fabric covering his forearm. Her slender hand was filthy, the short nails broken and chipped. He didn't know why he noticed her hand, or how fragile it looked. All he knew was, he didn't want her to see what the tangos had done to Richard Struben.

  "He's beyond help," he told her flatly, braced for her tears, and probably hysteria.

  "Yeah, I know," she said gently, but he saw the shudder that coursed through her body. "Dead operatives are an unpleasant reality in our business, aren't they?" The rim of her full lips was white, and a rapid pulse skittered at the base of her slender throat as she stood, straight as a soldier, looking at the carnage. "It doesn't get easier to deal with, either, does it?"

  "Wait in the other room."

  "It's okay—I'm okay. Let me do my job." She looked at him through cool green eyes that looked a hell of a lot steadier than he'd expected.

  She'd seen death close up and personal a few months before. Was her therapist right? Had she worked through it? Kane would have said no yesterday. But now? Maybe. Curious, he stepped aside. AJ slid between his body and the door-jamb, then crouched down beside Struben's body. Teeth biting her lower lip, she felt, unnecessarily, for a pulse at his throat, then gently closed the man's staring eyes.

  She stepped over the body, and turned on the water in the sink to wash her hands. She caught Kane's eye in the mirror.

  "I'll call it in," he told her. "Go ahead and collect what we'll need. I want us gone before the garbage detail arrives."

  Calmly she finished washing her hands, her booted heels inches away from a dead man, who looked like a raw side of beef, and smelled like a latrine.

  Her throat worked as she dried her hands then stepped over the body a second time. "I wasn't finished in the other room. Be right back."

  A few seconds later he heard her puking her fear out in the kitchen. He was tempted to go in there and help her, but he knew damn well she wouldn't appreciate it right now.

  While water ran in the other room, he made the call. Arranged cleanup of the body and told Control they were on the way to the Ra.

  Christ. The hits just kept on coming. "Clear," AJ said, coming back into the room. Her face had been scrubbed clean. Her eyes were shadowed, but she met his gaze with a steel he hadn't noticed in her before. She'd puked, yeah, but so would most people when faced with what had been left of Struben. And damned if Kane wasn't a little impressed that she was holding it together.

  "How well did you know him?" she asked.

  Kane stuck the phone back in his pocket as AJ picked up the unused Glock, checked it, then inserted the gun into her belt in back. She went to the closet and pulled open the door. Finding a black canvas duffel bag, she tossed it on the bed and started filling it with the few items she found in the closet. Clearly she needed something to do with her hands. They wouldn't have any need of Struben's clothing.

  "Well enough to be pissed off seeing him like that," Kane said, going to the nearest bedside table and removing a flat black bag. He tucked it inside his galabayya and waited while she finished packing the duffel. She opened her mouth, then snapped it closed again without saying anything. "What?" he asked.

  "They tortured him." AJ didn't bother to hide a shudder as she zipped the duffel closed. Her face was dead white but she was maintaining. A man had to admire her for that.

  "Would he have talked?" Kane wondered aloud. He'd never met Struben before the briefing. He hadn't liked him on that occasion, but that didn't mean he didn't feel pity for the poor bastard being turned into hamburger meat. And for having the bad luck to have Kane Wright on his team. Damn it to hell. Yet another man to add to his list. The sooner he got rid of Cooper, the better he'd like it. "He—he's been with T-FLAC for about four years. He was a sexist jerk, and an a-hole, but he was an exceptional operative, and well trained. So, no. He didn't talk." She straightened, holding the duffel.

  "Are you prepared to risk our lives on the belief that Raazaq didn't discover our next move from Struben?"

  He'd said "risk our lives." Did that mean he'd changed his mind? AJ kept her gun in her hand as she walked beside him, and felt ancient spirits and centuries-old traditions brush her skin. Imagination, of course. Something to do with the big black cockroaches skittering underfoot, and the towering walls surrounding them. It was hard not to be affected by a structure that had been built more than two thousand years ago. Despite the rising te
mperature outside, down here in the bowels of the earth, the air was cool and a little musty.

  "What is this place?" Her quiet voice echoed off the high, vaulted ceiling of the underground cavern.

  "Necropolis," Kane answered. "City of the Dead."

  "Lovely." AJ had no trouble imagining the square alcoves off to each side of them as receptacles for sarcophagi—a lot of coffins. The little burial rooms soared several "stories" above their heads. Condos for the dead. Hundreds upon hundreds, row upon row, as far as the eye could see. People long forgotten, their bones turned to dust, the artifacts, buried with them to take across the River Styx, long since looted and defiled by grave robbers. Faded and worn traces of ancient inscriptions above each crypt were etched and timewom against the sand-colored walls. Memories of loved ones, the name of the mortician, even spells to ward off evil, spelled out in hieroglyphs.

  The colors must once have been brilliantly vibrant, some still were. Terra-cotta and gold, black and peacock blue. At any other time, AJ would've enjoyed lingering, learning, knowing about the people who had been interred here. Now all she could think about was the possibility of being back in the game.

  Kane walked beside her, galabayya swirling about his feet. The Hotel Ra was, as the mole crawled, six miles across town.

  When they'd emerged down the stairwell thirty minutes earlier and approached the parking garage, they'd found then-car being watched, as well as the entrance and exit from the building.

  T-FLAC operatives learned early and well there must always be a way out. Which, in this case, there was. AJ rather wished she'd been the one to know about the maze of catacombs beneath the city. She needed to rack up some Brownie points pretty damn quick.

  If they didn't get lost in the labyrinth of the catacombs, they'd arrive beneath their hotel in about an hour. AJ looked at him. "How'd you know about this place? I thought the Necropolis was in Alexandria."

  "There's one there, too. They discovered that one first, then this one a couple of years later. They're still excavating both. Alexandria is taking precedence because they think Alexander the Great may be buried there. But there is some incredible history here, too. You interested in Egyptology?"

  "Right now I'm more interested in the here and now than in a bunch of very old dead people."

  "Seven centuries of dead people, in this case."

  "I'll be sure to come back on my next vacation."

  He didn't stop walking, nor did he slow down. The man was the Energizer Bunny. They passed broken shards of pottery stacked by the archeologists in higgledy-piggledy piles on the sandy floor. They passed rows of what looked like Roman lamps, they rounded a corner and saw hundreds of terracotta figurines lined up ready for inspection.

  Maybe if she could figure out what made him tick. "Don't talk much, do you?"

  "No. This isn't a cocktail party."

  All righty, then. "Are you chatty at cocktail parties?"

  Kane slanted her a glance. "What do you think?"

  I think you don 'tget a lot of invitations."Not."

  "Right."

  "Just as well." AJ heard something behind her and glanced back over her shoulder. A rat. The rodent variety. She tried to relax but the back of her neck felt as though it were being gripped in a vise. Every small noise was spooking her. Odd that she was more freaked out by a noise than she had been seeing Struben lying in a pool of his own blood.

  The known and the unknown? Probably.

  "If you weren't on this op," AJ asked Kane, to break the thick silence, "would you enjoy being here?" Her hand encompassed the immense chamber they were crossing, the frescoes and friezes, the trompe 1'oeil.

  The old-man disguise Kane was wearing right now was an illusion to fool the eye just as the ancient paintings on the walls were.

  "Very much. I was invited here by the Egyptian government when it was first discovered several years ago. Did a photo essay for National Geographic."

  He speaks!AJ looked at him. "You did?" She knew his work as a photographer was another part of who Kane Wright was, but of course there were no reports to study on that aspect of him. Although she'd accidentally come across some of his work in magazines when she'd been in the hospital, and had been fascinated. His photographic work seemed to cover the spectrum of subjects. From high fashion to famine. People always featured prominently in his work. In the National Geographic piece she'd seen, his pictures of a tiny South American village had brought tears to her eyes. Somehow, he'd managed to capture the quiet dignity of an old chieftain and the simple joy of the children. In a few beautiful photos, he'd made time stand still—and had drawn her into a world she'd never known.

  "Yeah," he said, fishing a length of cream-colored fabric out of the bag he carried. "Really. Had to use ultraviolet light. It was incredible to see all the glyphs for the first time in centuries. Here." He handed her a nigab. "Put this on. Cover your hair and face. We'll cut through the subway station and cross the street to the back of the hotel."

  She was almost stunned into silence. Kane Wright had been talking to her. Like she was a person. Like a person he didn't hate.

  "Right." Not all Arab women covered their heads these days, and many wore pants. Still, if she wanted to hide in plain sight, the long dress and veil of the nigab, worn by conservative Muslim women, would do the trick. AJ took a moment to brush off her black pants and shirt. Dust rose from the fabric in little clouds. "I hope nobody looks at us too hard. I'm filthy enough to raise questions."

  "You'll be up to your neck in hot water in ten minutes," Kane said, probably thinking about a shower himself.

  Too late, AJ thought ironically as she pulled the fabric over her head and settled it into place. Way, way too late.

  She'd been in very deep, very hot water for hours already.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  « ^ »

  An uneventful ninety-two minutes passed as they swam fhe tide of early-morning commuters, traversed the crowded Rameses train station, then strolled across the street to the back entrance of the Hotel Ra.

  AJ kept her eyes modestly lowered as they went through the service entrance of the hotel. Not only was it the custom, she didn't want anyone getting a good look at her. Green eyes would stand out like a bikini in the marketplace around there. She'd be made, and remembered, in an instant.

  She and Kane had arrived, with attitude and a mountain of Louis Vuitton luggage, through the front door yesterday morning. The world-renowned photographer Kane Wright and his model dujour. For their entrance this morning they chose the service elevator and low-key.

  The elevator smelled of spicy food, B.O., and some kind of pungent furniture polish. Quilted brown fabric covered all four walls, absorbing sound.

  "There's a commercial flight out at two. That'll give you a couple of hours to clean up and rest," Kane told her as the doors closed. "I'll be taking you to the airport myself."

  So much for that second chance. AJ slanted him a look. "Don't trust me to catch a cab by myself?"

  "No," he told her shortly. "And that's wasted on me, Cooper."

  "What's wasted on you?"

  "That flirty under the lashes look. I'm not your boyfriend. Nor am I charmed."

  AJ hadn't realized she'd done whatever it was he was accusing her of. But his crappy attitude was really starting to piss her off. Irritation rose like a wave. "Where the hell do you come o—" AJ snapped her mouth shut.

  Jesus God. What was she doing? Pissing him off even more?

  On the other hand, she thought, what did she have to lose? Who knew? Maybe he'd even respect her standing up for herself. Arguing for the right to prove she was more than one bad mistake.

  "You were saying?"

  Maybe not. The words backed up to sit like a rock in the pit of her stomach. "Not a damn thing." Her jaw ached from clamping her teeth together, but she didn't say a word for the rest of the trip upstairs.

  The elevator stopped. AJ glanced around as they emerged into a wide corridor on the eighteenth floor. Plush
red and gold carpeting cushioned their feet. Not a bug in sight. -

  "Yippee," she said drolly. "No creepy crawlies." Just then they passed an ornate mirror over a gilded table and she got a good look at herself in decent lighting. "Oh, man!" She choked back a laugh at her filthy, disheveled appearance.

  "Wait here," he said, flashing a quick look at her as the door quietly snicked open under his hand.

  AJ followed him into the suite. She wasn't about to put herself in the position of the little woman, told to stand in a corner and quietly wring her hands while the big strong man took care of everything. She was a trained operative. Okay, maybe not as experienced as Kane. But she knew what she was doing.

  Hand on her weapon she scanned the large cream and gold living room of the suite, listening, hoping like hell there were no intruders. If she stumbled over a tongue-slasher right now, she'd probably just shoot him, and then cranky Kane would be even crankier. No thanks.

  By the look of things, the room hadn't been disturbed since they'd left yesterday afternoon.

  Unlike the low-rent safe house across town, these accommodations were top of the line. The Queen's Suite consisted of elegantly monochromatic tones in cream and gold, cool and soothing to the eye. Pale, silk-lined walls were bathed in the soft, warm glow of recessed lighting as morning sunlight filtered in through the sheers at the bank of tall windows.

  Antiques mingled with tasteful modern pieces. Everything had a subtle Egyptian flavor, from the curved lotus shape of the gilded legs on the tables to the understated hieroglyphs on the wallpaper and fabrics. The elegant room was filled with the fragrance of fresh flowers reflected in the gold, embossed mirror on a half-round table across the room.

  "Grab that shower," Kane told her. "I want to check your head. You might need stitches."

  "I don't."

  He raised a fuzzy white brow. "You a doctor?"

  "Nope. Not a patient, either." She didn't want him to touch her, and that was the honest truth. There was too much emotion swirling around inside her, and AJ wasn't sure just how she'd react if he did. She'd either pummel him, or grab him and… kiss his bad temper away. Which would either start a war, or the opposite. Until she could manage to get her all-over-the-place emotions in check, she'd lay off having him touch her, just to be on the safe side.