by Rebecca York
“You came to see your daughter,” Agnapopolis brought him back to the present with a jolt.
Zeke’s eyes narrowed. “She’d better be unharmed.”
“You’re not in a position to give me orders.”
“Is she all right?” Zeke insisted.
The old man smiled. “She’s in good health. I’m afraid that her quarters aren’t quite as luxurious as she’s used to, however. Her aunt tried to run away with her early this morning. I had to lock them in a secure place.”
Heedless of the man with the gun, Zeke stood. “Take me to her,” he growled.
“That was my plan all along,” Agnapopolis murmured. “I want you to meet her, get to know her. That will make the end of our little drama all the more poignant.”
“What the hell are you planning?” Zeke growled.
“Partly, that will depend on you.”
ELIZABETH LEANED INSIDE the driver’s door of the truck, staring at the ignition keys dangling so temptingly a few feet in front of her. She started to slide behind the wheel, then changed her mind as she pictured herself turning the key and the vehicle exploding. The scenario was farfetched. Mr. Smith hadn’t had time to rig a bomb, had he? Yet it didn’t make sense that he’d left her the means to escape—unless he knew that driving the truck would be a fatal mistake. It would certainly make her conspicuous, she conceded. He could have men all over the roads looking for her. And he could send them back here, she realized with a sudden twinge. Whirling, she looked over her shoulder, scanning the landscape. No hostile faces popped up from behind any of the rocks. But that didn’t mean she was safe.
Quickly, she scrambled inside the vehicle and climbed into the back where they’d stowed their luggage. Pulling open Zeke’s bag, she brought out one of the rough-textured dark shirts he’d packed. It was too big for her, she thought, as she pulled her own knit top over her head and stuffed it into one of the empty olive buckets. But if searchers had been given a description of her clothing, they’d be thwarted.
As she pulled on the shirt, she closed her eyes and inhaled Zeke’s scent. For a moment she went very still, imagining his arms wrapped around her. But she couldn’t let herself be seduced by the compelling image. He was a captive, and she was on her own. She had promised to rescue Ariadne. Now she had to rescue him, too, she thought.
Buttoning the shirt, she cinched in the waist with her own belt. Then she rummaged in the bag and came up with the gun that had stood them in such good stead. Ready for action, she tucked the weapon into her waistband and covered it with the shirt. Now all she had to do was figure out where Mr. Smith had taken Zeke.
HOLDING AN OLD-FASHIONED lantern, Zeke walked down a flight of cement steps, his footsteps echoing hollowly. The stairs led to a dank basement where the temperature was ten degrees colder than the first floor of the villa. Mr. Smith walked directly behind him with the gun. Agnapopolis brought up the rear.
On the lower level, Agnapopolis unlocked a heavy wooden door.
“Inside,” he ordered, pulling out a pistol that had been tucked into the waistband of his slacks. “And don’t try anything clever, or your daughter will be the first to get it.”
Zeke considered his options. He had only one. Ducking past Agnapopolis, he walked into the room. The moment he was inside, the heavy door clanked shut. But he was hardly aware of being locked in.
As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he searched the small chamber and found a cot in the corner. Huddled on it were a woman and a little girl who clung tightly to the woman’s skirt. As he stood facing them, he felt a tearing sensation inside his chest. The little girl was Ariadne.
His child.
He had studied her solemn dark eyes, her narrow face, her dark hair in the photograph and tried to find his own features. But looking at a picture was only a dim approximation of seeing her in person.
Although he wasn’t sure exactly what she’d inherited from him, he felt the connection between them all the way to the depths of his soul.
He had thought about this moment so many times in the past few days. Imagination had ill prepared him for the dizzying rush of feeling that almost knocked him off his feet. He wanted to bolt across the room and scoop her up, keep her safe from all harm. But he didn’t have that power. And he knew he was likely to frighten her if he moved too fast. So he clenched his hands at his sides and forced himself to remain where he was.
The woman was staring at him, a dazed expression on her face, as if she doubted her own senses. He had met her before, a long time ago when he had lived in the Pappas house. She had stayed out of his way, a woman of the old school, who wouldn’t dream of acting forward with a male guest. Her sister, Sophia, had been quite different.
“Irena?”
She nodded uncertainly.
She looked a little like Sophia. She was a few years older, he remembered. She wasn’t as pretty, but there was a quiet appeal to her face. Or there would have been, he corrected himself, if her features hadn’t been pinched with fright.
He took a step forward. “I’m Zeke. Zeke Chambers,” he said in Greek. “Thank you for writing to me.”
“I know who you are,” she answered, holding out her hand and letting it drop back into her lap. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t…keep her…” She let her voice trail off, as she looked down at the little girl.
“It’s all right. You did your best,” he said, wondering suddenly if Agnapopolis was listening to the conversation, feeding on the words and reactions. He decided it didn’t matter.
The child began to whimper softly, and Zeke couldn’t stop himself from crossing the eight feet of space that separated them. Slowly, he lowered himself to the floor in front of her.
“Didn’t your Auntie Irena tell you about me?” he asked, surprised that he couldn’t keep his voice from shaking.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Slowly, slowly he moved his hand, watching it tremble as he brought it up to lightly touch her arm. The first contact sent a shiver through him. The child flinched, but didn’t pull away.
“What did she tell you?” he asked.
The little girl focused her gaze somewhere in the vicinity of his right shoulder. “That you’re going to take care of me.”
“That’s right,” he managed.
“I don’t like this place.”
“I think we have to stay here for a little while.”
She looked toward her aunt accusingly. “You said—”
“Hush,” Irena instructed.
“It’s okay,” Zeke said quickly. “She’s frightened.”
So was he—for all of them. Perhaps he was the only one who knew how great was the danger. But he didn’t want Ariadne or her aunt to sense his anxiety. He gave the little girl an encouraging smile.
She didn’t smile back. She only stared at him.
But at least she was acknowledging his presence. He swallowed hard. “Did your aunt tell you I live in a big house with lots of dolls and toys a little girl would like?” He didn’t know where that idea had come from. It had simply popped into his head. “And there’s a nice woman there,” he added. “Elizabeth. She loves little girls. She’s told me how much she wants to meet you and help take care of you.”
Ariadne looked interested, yet she still clung tightly to her aunt. Zeke wished Elizabeth was with him to smooth the way. She’d know what to say to this frightened little girl. Then he brought himself up short, remembering how lucky he was that Elizabeth had gotten away from Mr. Smith. He’d have to do this part himself.
He gave his daughter an encouraging smile. “Tell me what kinds of toys you like to play with. Because if I don’t have them, I’ll get them for you,” he said in a choked voice. “Anything. I’ll do anything for you.”
ELIZABETH TUCKED THE pistol into the waistband of her slacks and covered it with the tails of the long shirt. Then she tied her hair in a bandanna, which she’d decided was more feminine and less conspicuous than Zeke’s hat. Finally, she stuffed a wad of drachm
as into her pocket. Maybe she could use them for bribes, she thought, with a wry twist of her mouth.
She also had a small carry bag of Zeke’s. In it were the pictures of Ariadne and her mother, Sophia. The best plan she could think of was to ask some of the women at the market if they’d seen the child with an older woman.
She decided it was prudent to stay off the road, so she picked her way cautiously through the hills, moving downward on a series of footpaths toward the village. As she rounded an outcropping of rock, a woman with a scarf very much like her own stepped directly into her path. The scarf was pulled high around the newcomer’s mouth and nose, hiding the lower part of her face. Above it, her eyes glittered with a dangerous intensity.
Pretending that she wasn’t alarmed, Elizabeth kept her gaze lowered as she started to move out of the way.
“Wait. Stay here,” the woman commanded. “You need my help.” Raising her hand, she pulled her scarf off her head, revealing a strikingly beautiful face.
Elizabeth gasped and fell back a step, feeling dizzy and disoriented.
“You know me?”
“I—I—” she stammered, her mouth so dry she could say no more. The woman’s face had been burned into her brain from the moment she’d first seen the pictures Irena had sent Zeke. It was Sophia, the woman Zeke had loved. Yet she couldn’t be. Sophia was dead.
Chapter Sixteen
“You look like Sophia,” Elizabeth breathed, her hand stilling as her gaze swept over the raven hair, the soft brown eyes, the even features. “But…but you can’t be. Sophia was…was killed.”
The woman shook her head and spoke slowly in a mixture of Greek and English. “You are correct. I am Sophia.”
“But how?”
“Aristotle thought he killed me in a car accident. It was safer to let him go on thinking he’d gotten his revenge! Safer to let everybody think I was dead.”
Elizabeth’s head was spinning. Questions piled up inside her, but she wasn’t even sure which one to ask first. Swallowing, she tried to pull herself together enough to think. What if Mr. Smith had sent this woman to find her—a woman who looked startlingly like Sophia. The scenario seemed implausible. Yet confronting this ghost was just as incredible. “How do I know who you really are?” she asked the question she should have posed in the first place.
The other woman gave her a wry little smile. “I believe you’ve answered your own question. You called me by name.”
“I’ve seen Sophia’s picture, but I’ve never met her. I—I could be wrong,” she answered in halting Greek.
The newcomer’s eyes narrowed. “And I could have let you wander into the village and get caught by Cyril’s men,” she spat out.
“Why didn’t you?” Elizabeth asked.
“You came here with Zeke. I think we can help each other.”
Lucky for me, Elizabeth thought, looking into eyes that were coldly appraising. This woman knew how to get what she wanted.
“I saw that lout sneak up on the two of you. You were clever to get away.”
Elizabeth nodded tightly, still trying to come to grips with the reality of Sophia. She was very beautiful; in fact. her picture didn’t do her justice. Yet below the perfection of her features was a chilling quality. Zeke could never have fallen in love with someone like this, she told herself. Yet perhaps Sophia had been different when Zeke had known her. Perhaps her unhappy marriage had made her cold and calculating.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” Elizabeth managed. “How did you happen to see us captured?”
“I was waiting here—watching for Zeke. I knew he would come to the village to get Ariadne,” the other woman continued. “I didn’t expect anyone else to be with him. Who are you?”
Elizabeth hesitated, wondering just how much to reveal. “My name is Elizabeth…uh…Egan. Zeke and I have been friends for a long time,” she finally said. “I agreed to help him bring his daughter home.” She didn’t want this woman to know that she was in love with Zeke, or that she’d actually married him as part of the agreement.
Sophia looked at her appraisingly. “Didn’t you know that it would be dangerous to come to Mythos?”
“Yes.” She could have said a good deal more, instead she tried to make her face a mask. Still, she had the unsettling feeling that Sophia’s dark eyes could see into her head.
“Why are you helping Zeke?”
Elizabeth swallowed. “I was separated from my parents at an early age. I know what it’s like to be a little girl alone and frightened.”
“Ah.”
Sophia’s calm acceptance of the explanation gave Elizabeth pause. “But you’re not dead,” she pointed out. “You can take your daughter back.”
“Not unless we can rescue her and Zeke,” Sophia countered.
Elizabeth stared at her. Lord, what was really going on? Had she and Zeke come all this way and been attacked by murderers and pirates because of some crazy plot this woman had cooked up? What was she trying to do? Drawing herself up taller, she said, “I agree that we can help each other. But if we’re going to work together, you’d better fill me in on what you know.”
“I’m not sure where to start.”
How about at the beginning? Did you seduce Zeke? Is that how you got yourself pregnant with his child? She’d been wanting to know that since she first heard about Sophia and her little girl. Yet the questions stayed locked behind her lips. Instead Elizabeth gestured toward the village below them. “How did you know Zeke would come here?”
“I had someone watching Irena, and I knew she had brought my daughter to this town. Unfortunately, my informant didn’t figure out she was with an enemy of Zeke’s. He’s Cyril Agnapopolis.” In response to Elizabeth’s dark look, she asked, “You know about him?”
Elizabeth nodded. “I know he and Zeke’s father worked together to smuggle antiquities out of the country.”
Sophia snorted. “He took his chances selling his country’s heritage, and he got caught. Then he blamed Zeke’s father for his predicament and swore to get revenge. But the father is beyond his reach, so he goes after the son. He’s responsible for all of this.” Sophia waved her arm in a sweeping gesture, then went on in a rush of words. “He came to my husband and started babbling about my past with Zeke.” She swallowed. “The bastard told him I wasn’t a virgin on my wedding night! Do you understand how a man like Aristotle would react to that news?”
Elizabeth nodded.
“He and I never loved each other. It was a marriage arranged by our families. When I couldn’t give him a son, he beat me. After Cyril got his ear, things became much worse. I saw the cold hatred behind his eyes and knew I was in danger. I listened to his private conversations and learned that he was planning to get rid of me and marry someone else. That night before I was supposed to take a trip to Athens, I told him I knew about his conversation with Agnapopolis. I told him that Agnapopolis was right. Ariadne wasn’t his. It was a calculated risk. I said I was leaving him. I knew I’d force him to make his move. But I was ready.”
Elizabeth tried to imagine a marriage like the one Sophia was describing.
Apparently unaware of the reaction she was producing, Sophia went on for several minutes, filling in Elizabeth, who listened with sick fascination. Sophia had carefully worked out all the details. She’d told the driver of her car that her husband was planning to get rid of her and didn’t care who else got killed. He didn’t believe her until she showed him the car’s brakes were about to fail. When he realized Aristotle was going to murder him, too, he agreed to help Sophia. The two of them pushed the car over the cliff into deep water where it couldn’t be recovered. She’d sold some of her jewelry and had enough money so she could pay him to disappear. She’d also paid a poor shepherd to say he’d seen them in the car when it plunged into the water.
Sophia finished and Elizabeth stared at her, thinking that it had taken guts—and considerable manipulative skills—to pull off such a risky plan.
�
��Does your sister think you’re dead?” she managed.
“Yes. Otherwise she wouldn’t have sent for Zeke,” Sophia answered, her voice sharp and practical. “I want to get out of the country. I want him to take me away where I’ll be safe.”
Elizabeth winced and knew Sophia had caught the response.
“You have other plans for Zeke?” Sophia asked.
“I told you. I want to help Ariadne.”
Sophia regarded her steadily. “Now you’ll help me, too.”
“I think we both want to rescue Zeke. You know where that man took him?”
“To Cyril’s.”
“Show me where that is.”
ZEKE CRADLED ARIADNE in his arms, the warm weight of her body remarkably comforting in this dark, cold place. It had been easier than he’d thought to win her over. She even trusted him enough to fall asleep. He’d had her laughing at some silly stories about elves playing tricks on people who invaded their hills. He hadn’t even known where the fantasies came from. Maybe a children’s book he’d read a long time ago.
His heart squeezed, as he stroked his fingers through the silky strands of his daughter’s hair. It hadn’t been so hard to get to know her. She was open. Trusting. So very sweet. And it seemed her mother had cared enough about her to shield her from the worst of Aristotle’s anger. He had to give Sophia credit for that.
Sighing, he lowered his face to his daughter’s neck and breathed in the clean scent of her skin, thinking about all the quiet and happy moments he’d already missed with her. He wanted to make up for lost time. And he would, he told himself sharply. Yet he knew he might only be spinning daydreams. He had no control of this situation. They were all at the mercy of Cyril Agnapopolis, the revenge-crazed man who had brought them here.