by Trisha Telep
For a few moments, Summer believed he meant it. She glanced outside the ring and saw that Jimmy’s uncle, Vince, was watching the fight from his office. He had a smirk on his face as he waved to her. She acknowledged it with a slight nod.
Mike stood again, then came at her more slowly, trying to keep his hands up and use his size and reach, only now getting cautious after the battering his ego had taken. He threw punch after punch. Summer dodged or blocked them, giving ground easily and drawing him into the middle of the ring. He started to sound like a broken Darth Vader mask.
Incredibly, Summer still felt fast and strong. Her breathing was regular, her mind calm. The extra energy that ran through her body as she danced around him came from her anger at being talked down to by this idiot. She hated trash talking. If opponents did not take each other seriously, then there wouldn’t be much of a fight.
“Stand still, you stupid little bitch, so I can hit you.” Mike grunted through his teeth as he came at her with another flurry of blows and half-hearted kicks. Summer stood her ground, moving her arms just enough to block everything he threw at her. Then, when he was gasping like a bellows, tired and worried, she struck back.
Her right fist flew forwards, firm and hard, sliding through his defence like a hot knife through butter. It connected, and blood gushed from his nose.
She lifted her knee into his stomach hard enough to raise him from the mat. Before he could fall, she swept her leg out and knocked his feet from under him. He hit the mat with a thud.
A smattering of applause came from the regulars and other onlookers.
“You’re out of here,” said Summer in a low, angry voice. “Next time, show your sparring partner a little respect. Idiot.”
The moment Summer pushed the front door open she knew that someone was in the house.
Used to being on her own, she could sense the disruption in the flow of the air in her private space. That and the fact that the kitchen light was on, while the rest of the house was in darkness. She could smell the scent of strong coffee in the air. She left the door slightly ajar behind her and reached for the 2 lb 6 z Gunn & Moore Catalyst cricket bat she kept handy by the door. Its grip felt comforting in her hand.
She easily navigated the few bits of furniture in her lounge and soft-stepped her way to the door leading to the kitchen.
He was sitting at her breakfast nook, flicking through the most recent copy of National Geographic, looking for the entire world like he belonged there. A stack of various other magazines she subscribed to sat at his elbow. He wore a pair of dark jeans and a black T-shirt that hugged the shape of his upper body. An informal jacket was slung over the back of the chair. Nothing in the way it hung indicated that it held weapons.
“Can I help you?” she asked, keeping her voice low and steady, stepping into the kitchen, making sure that she had enough space to swing the bat.
He stood and although he was not that much taller than her, he had presence. Thick black hair curled to his neck and contrasted wildly with the white of his teeth as he smiled. His hazel eyes shot to the bat in her hand, then to her face.
“A cricket bat?” His voice was rich and deep and it held laughter. “I’ve been threatened with many things before, but not a cricket bat.”
“Glad I could be your first.” She lifted her chin, not appreciating the way his eyes took in her too short T-shirt and jeans. “As I said before, can I help you?”
“Would you like to take a seat?” He gestured to the high stool opposite his. “I’ll pour you some coffee and we can talk.”
“Talk first, coffee later,” she intoned, letting her boredom show in her voice. She adjusted her hold on the cane grip. “Who are you and who sent you?”
“My name is Kevin Hunter. I’ve been sent to find you because you have a set of particular skills that Her Majesty’s Government would very much like to make use of.”
The business card he slipped towards her across the tabletop looked impressive. She glanced at it but didn’t touch it. It appeared real but all it really proved was that he had good stationers. She had a variety of business cards of her own.
“What do I get out of it?”
“Not to go to jail.”
Summer pursed her lips, taking in the planes of his face, those amazing eyes and shoulders. He was careful to stay quiet as she considered the situation. His eyes trailed to the bat she held ready. He could tell she knew how to use it and would no doubt be very good at doing damage to him. He shifted slightly, making sure his hands stayed in view.
Summer stared at him, past him, considering her options. Eventually she walked to the far side of the breakfast nook and poured herself a coffee from the percolator. It smelled heavenly. Kevin had taken his seat and was staring at her with an expression that was a mix of amusement and consideration. His gaze lingered on her cut lip and bruised eye.
“So, tell me more,” she prompted after taking a sip and putting the cup aside.
“You’re interested?” he asked, sounding surprised.
Summer bit back nervous laughter. The cool front she was putting up made it appear as if she encountered spooks offering her life-altering deals every day. She was glad he couldn’t see her shaking. The dimmed recessed lights weren’t good enough to show that.
“Not yet. But I really like not going to jail,” she answered glibly. “So, tell me a story.”
He sipped from his own cup and for a moment she had to bite her tongue. Her dainty flowered coffee cup looked ridiculous in his strong hands. “Where shall I start?”
She was leaning against the sink, the bat by her side. She liked looking at him. This stranger in her house appealed to her. She had to be out of her mind. Afraid, and out of her mind.
“An auction is coming up and we’d like you to attend and bid on our behalf, if you are satisfied that the goods are real.”
“That’s it?” she asked, her expression incredulous. “Somehow I don’t think that’s the whole story, Kevin Hunter from Her Majesty’s Government.”
“The auction is very real. And, to be fair, some of the items on sale would make lovely additions to the British Museum’s collection. That is why you will be going along. We need you to determine if the items we will be buying are bona fide.”
“And then?”
“Then, once you’re certain the items are genuine, we will bid on them.”
“Can you tell me the type of collection we’ll be looking at?”
“I’m not at liberty to say at this time.” He hesitated, an impatient frown between his eyebrows. “Egyptian, Roman, maybe some Greek.”
A whirlwind of emotions tore through Summer. “Where will the auction take place?”
“I’m not at liberty to say at this time.”
“So let me get this straight: you want me to go somewhere foreign and no doubt dangerous, to bid on something I don’t know anything about. It sounds risky and probably life threatening. Why on earth would you think I would say yes?”
“Because we’ll throw away your file and give you five-million quid as a nice little nest egg.”
That took her by surprise. She had always suspected that the British government had a file on her but she tried very hard not to be too optimistic or arrogant about these things. She strived to remain under the radar and keep her nose clean, but it was so difficult these days with electronic surveillance and international agencies sharing information. She had clearly slipped up somewhere. She would have to have a talk with Jimmy.
The fact that they had a file on her, and that they were prepared to delete it, spoke volumes. Whatever they were up to was dodgy, and for them to contact her for help reeked of desperation. A job run by MI5 – or the Spook Squad, as they were commonly referred to in familiar terms – meant that there was more at stake than just an object or two. And no one ever accused them of being an altruistic bunch: she doubted that the British Museum was high on their list of charitable organizations. What were they up to? Belatedly, she registered the amo
unt of money she was being offered. It was a nice little figure, one that if handled correctly could keep her nicely for a good couple of years. But then, her tiny cautionary voice said, what’s to stop them from taking her out after the deal was done? It was a package deal, with no one the wiser if she quietly disappeared off the grid never to resurface again. It was a challenge with insane odds she was wary of, but the thrill of the chase was on.
“Just like that? No strings attached?” she stalled, already knowing that would agree.
“Well, you could get shot at and maybe abducted . . .”
Summer shrugged. “Been there, done that. What’s the real catch?”
“You and I will be posing as a married couple on honeymoon. You are keen to buy some antiques for investment purposes and, as I’m terrifically wealthy and love you dearly, we hunt out unique auctions and spend stupid amounts of money on old junk.”
Summer snorted, a distinctly unladylike sound. “I always work alone. Or at least with back-up from a remote location.”
“Not this time around. You play by my rules.”
“That will cost you more.”
His smile widened and his lingering gaze brought heat to her cheeks.
“A million more,” she stated, firmly, testing the waters.
“Get me your bank account details and we’ll transfer the first half. You get the rest on completion.”
Summer followed the perky air hostess on to the runway where the jet sat. She was shown to the seating area and found Kevin already ensconced in a large comfortable leather seat. He had several folders open in front of him and looked up when he heard her enter.
He looked gorgeous, dressed casually in fitted jeans and a crisp white shirt. She stared at the tanned V of skin his shirt exposed and had utterly impure thoughts of unbuttoning that shirt to see if the rest of him was as tanned. And toned and kissable.
“Hey there. You’re early.” He stood up and put a hand on her arm, leaning forwards to brush a kiss across her cheek. His lips seared her skin with heat and she bit her lip at the frisson of electricity shooting through her. “Grab a seat. I’m just checking some paperwork. I’ll be with you in a few moments.”
Too stunned by his kiss even to respond with a quick jibe, Summer sank into the chair beside him. The air hostess appeared again, a wide smile on her face.
“Would you care for some champagne, Mrs Hunter?”
Summer declined with a quick movement of her head and watched the air hostess stroll off to speak to the pilot and co-pilot.
“Here we go, some papers for you to look at.” Kevin handed Summer a blue folder. “The details of the auction are in there, along with our background story. And before I forget.” He reached into his jacket hanging from a hook beside him. “A further formality.” He held out a black velvet box. “For you. I hope you like it.”
“Thanks.” Summer took the small box from him, utterly unprepared for the set of rings it held.
“Here, let me.” He slid the classic solitaire on to her finger, following it with a plain platinum band. “What do you think, Mrs Hunter? Did I choose well?”
“These are from the De Beers classic collection? Very nice.” She smiled at him, sliding her hand from his, ultra-aware of how close he was to her. He smelled of expensive cologne and she inhaled deeply. She turned her face so that their lips almost met. “Do I have to give them back?”
“Government property, just like me.”
Neither of them moved away. She kept her eyes on his mouth for the longest time before looking up at him. “Shame,” she breathed. “They are very pretty government property.”
His hazel eyes widened in surprise when he realized that she was flirting right back. He moved away slightly, with a reluctant sigh and a smile.
Summer sat back in the chair and flicked her hair behind her ear. “So what exactly aren’t you telling me?”
Those hazel eyes snapped towards her in surprise. He quirked an eyebrow.
“I’m not stupid, Kevin. I know there’s more to this whole trip. I think maybe you’re tracking some criminals, maybe even some terrorists and the easiest way to get in is to pretend to be something you’re not. How many people are waiting for us in Egypt? What’s your back-up plan?”
The silence in the plane was deafening. The air hostess came striding towards them, a professional smile on her pleasant features but one look at Kevin’s stony face and she veered off towards the back of the plane, where she took her seat and buckled herself in. The plane started taxiing along and Summer strapped herself into her seat. She kept her features blank and smiled widely at Kevin.
“Cat got your tongue?” she murmured, flicking open the file and shooting him a sly look.
“I am wondering how you gained access to our system?” he said, dangerously soft. “I do not appreciate being spied upon.”
“And I don’t like being threatened.”
He swivelled her chair around so they were face to face. The air vibrated around them with intense energy. Summer felt her nipples stiffen in response to his proximity. She curled her hands around her armrests.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she rasped out. “Don’t think you can intimidate me.”
“You realize you may have compromised the mission.”
“What mission?” she shot back, irritated. “You seriously can’t tell me that you think there won’t be agents from other countries there doing the same thing as us? What makes you think our little ruse will work?”
“Because,” he ground out, wrapping his hand around her wrist and pulling her closer, “we’ve got you. You’re our trump card. You are a very talented lady, one who knows her Early Kingdom from her New Kingdom. And a variety of other weird archaeological stuff. You are also a good fighter and a thief. A very dangerous combination: talented, intelligent and dangerous.” His hand cupped the back of her head, his long fingers tangling in her short hair. “Also, you are pretty. No one, especially not the men we will be dealing with, will suspect you of anything wicked. And it won’t be hard to pretend to like you.”
His lips pressed against hers, searing them with his heat. Summer made an involuntary moaning noise at the back of her throat and leaned in for a deeper kiss, straining against her seat belt. Her lips parted, inviting him in, but suddenly the force of their take-off was pushing her back into the plush softness of her own seat.
She found him staring at her. His eyes burned like coals.
“You will not jeopardize this mission.” It wasn’t a warning; it was a statement.
“I will help you as much as I can,” she conceded, closing her eyes and concentrating on her breathing. “And I get to keep whatever we buy—” she opened one eye to see if he’d go for that “—because collecting art is definitely not what this mission of yours is about.”
She wanted more than anything to contact Jimmy to let him know to hide the money, as much of it as he possibly could. She had very bad feelings about this whole thing. Most of which concerned the welfare of her heart.
The plane eventually levelled out and the air hostess appeared, offering drinks. Summer ordered a spritzer. She unbuckled herself, took her glass and the folder and strolled to a comfortable-looking couch, opposite Kevin. There was a small table between them so she could limit their physical contact. Her wrist ached where he had grabbed her and she looked down to notice red marks there. She rested the bottom of her cold glass on them for a few moments. It relieved the burning sensation. It did nothing for her aching lips, however. She touched her tongue to the healing cut at the corner of her lip, courtesy of the boxing match, and winced slightly.
“I want you to be up to speed with everything in that folder before we land. Make sure you study it well.”
Summer couldn’t resist. She pulled a face at him. “I’ve been doing this for a long time. I won’t be a liability.”
The silence between them stretched. Summer bent her head over the paperwork in the folder. It would appear that a selection of items tha
t would give museums the world over palpitations were up for sale to the discerning buyer. She flicked backwards and forwards through some pages. It was maybe an hour before she spoke.
“These are gorgeous. Really good quality.” The words were out before she could help herself. “See? These anklets are of incredibly high workmanship. The winged scarab here is holding the solar disc aloft and beneath is this hieroglyph, the start of the mummy’s name. It looks like Aakheperre. It’s at least twenty-first dynasty.” She tapped the next picture of a solid gold collar in the form of a vulture. “No one knows who this one belonged to. The pharaoh’s name was erased so scholars have no clue whose this is. Some say it may very well belong to the heretic king Akhenaton.”
She smiled at him, unguarded, her earlier tension dissipated.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” When she nodded, he continued. “Why do you do what you do? You obviously have a talent and affinity for historical fact and data. Why aren’t you a lecturer or a historian or even an archaeologist?”
Summer pretended to fall asleep and sat up again. “Sorry, what?” She shook her head. “No, I’ve genuinely tried, believe me. I spent seven years of my young life studying all kinds of things and then discovered that deskwork is not quite my forte. I did it for one summer, helping out at a university in Italy on my father’s insistence. I almost died of boredom. It was the first museum I stole from.”
The news was nothing new to him but he clearly appreciated her honesty and nodded his head. “I understand what you mean. You’ve become addicted to the thrill.”
“Yes!” Her smile was wide. “There is nothing on earth like it. The planning and execution of a well thought out raid. I love it. It makes me feel . . .”
“Alive.”
“Yes, alive. It’s the best feeling in the world.”
“Better than sex?” he quipped.
“Definitely,” she shot back, laughing.
“You are clearly not doing it properly then.”
The light banter was in complete contrast to their earlier conflict. She liked it. She liked his smile but she loved his kisses. The random thought made her sit upright and she shifted uncomfortably.