“But what if they do?”
Tension coiled inside him, but he forced his voice to stay calm. “We’ll be gone by the time they find a place to land.”
In reality, the Huey didn’t need to land. A door gunner could fire from the air, or a man could rappel to the ground. But he didn’t intend to worry her about that.
The noise intensified, thundering through the musty cave and vibrating the soles of his feet. Then the nearby trees thrashed from the downdraft, and Deven’s eyes confirmed what he already knew. It was a Huey, all right—a military gunship.
And it appeared to be hunting them.
But whose was it? Interpol had access to Hueys and so did Magnum, but they couldn’t be trying to rescue him, since they didn’t know where he’d gone.
Singh knew he was out here—but where had he gotten a Huey? Romanistan’s military didn’t own one, and neither did the various terrorist groups he supported—as far as Deven knew.
The helicopter hovered, swaying above the pine trees, its deafening noise blasting his ears. Then the deep, rapid whomping receded as it moved off. Silence descended again.
And Deven turned his mind to his most pressing problem—getting Maya away from here fast.
He caught her worried gaze. “I found a trail earlier,” he told her. “It’s washed out in spots, but we can get through. It probably leads to a village where we can get supplies and find out where we are.”
“But what about the helicopter? Won’t it come back?”
“I doubt it. They have a lot of area to check. And even if they do, the trees are thick.”
She nodded, but the tension in her eyes didn’t ease.
Wanting to reassure her, he reached out, cradled her soft cheek. “Don’t worry. We’re going to be fine.”
She lifted her chin, a determined glint entering her eyes. “I know.”
A warm feeling curled around his heart. This was the woman he remembered, the crusader brave enough to take on Singh. And despite his vow to resist her, despite knowing that he shouldn’t touch her, he leaned down and took her mouth. He only meant to reassure her, but as his lips slid over hers, as the scent of her skin, the seductive heat of her mouth made his pulse began to thump, he knew that he was doomed. This woman was a need in his blood, a hunger he couldn’t sate.
And as she sank into the kiss, her body responding to his, he knew she felt it, too. It took all his strength to pull away.
But they didn’t have time to waste. “We’d better go.”
“Right.” She managed another tight smile, and his respect for her grew. She was a fighter, all right. Now he had to keep this courageous woman safe.
“I’ll lead.” He picked up the blanket containing the supplies they’d culled—the remaining food, a bottle of water—and swung it over his back. “All set?”
She nodded, and he strode from the cave, casting an uneasy glance at the sky—because despite what he’d told Maya, he was worried about this trek. The police would keep combing the hills. That chopper patrolled overhead. And if Singh had found Maya’s drawing—if he’d forced that bookseller to talk before he’d killed him—he might have realized they would head to the monastery and be setting a trap.
And if that weren’t bad enough, he was mired in his own personal hell, yearning for a woman he couldn’t have.
He waited for Maya to catch up, then led the way up the narrow path, alert for signs of pursuit. Pine needles muffled his steps. The crisp morning air cooled his arms.
And his resolve hardened with every stride. No matter how hard it was to resist her, he couldn’t touch Maya again. He’d surrendered to a moment of weakness, but now he had to clamp down, exert control and concentrate on bringing down Singh.
And then get himself out of her life.
Before he lost every shred of decency he’d once possessed and begged her to love him again.
Maya was a wreck.
It was bad enough that the helicopter dogged their steps. All day long it had thundered in and out of view, the ominous drum of its rotors sending them fleeing for cover in the steep terrain.
It was worse that she now had to rethink the past twelve years, that everything she’d believed about Deven’s departure was wrong.
But that one blunt statement had unraveled her completely, putting her so on edge she could hardly think.
“I’ll remember last night until the day I die.”
His words echoed through her mind as they had all day, sparking another flurry of excitement in her veins. She followed him up the steep, narrow path, trying to keep up with his powerful strides. And her mind kept leaping to his deep voice rumbling in the dark, the addictive scent of his skin.
She pressed her hand to her chest to quiet her heart. She was a disaster, all right. Instead of watching the trail, she kept admiring his body. Instead of listening for their pursuers, she kept hearing those intimate words. And instead of trying to figure out the mystery of her medallion, she kept reliving every second of that blissful night, battling the urge to launch herself into his arms.
She exhaled again, heavier this time, knowing she had to get a grip. No matter how much she ached to touch him again, no matter how tempted she was to surrender to the hunger stirring her blood, she had to concentrate on surviving this mess.
The police had to know where they were by now. Why else was that helicopter buzzing the trail? And she knew what Deven was thinking; she’d seen the grim set of his mouth. He feared that Singh’s men would be at the monastery, lying in wait.
And it made sense. The monastery was a well-known way station for travelers, a historical shelter for refugees. Once the police had spotted them at that roadblock, they had to know where they’d gone.
She glanced at the sun-dappled trail ahead and realized Deven had disappeared. She hiked past a clump of rhododendrons, rounded a boulder jutting into the path, then spotted him several yards ahead at the crest of the hill.
He turned his head at her approach and raised his finger to his lips. She straggled to a stop behind him, braced her hands on her knees and struggled to catch her breath. “What…is it?”
“The monastery.” He shifted to the side, giving her room to see around him. She wiped her forehead on her sleeve, straightened, then took in the breathtaking view.
The monastery clung to the sheer mountain cliffs at the end of a narrow valley. The snow-covered peaks of Mount Sangkat towered behind it. Steep, rocky ravines plunged down either side. A massive rampart encircled the turreted buildings, like a medieval fortress, as if the forbidding mountains weren’t enough to keep intruders out.
The monastery was magnificent, formidable, impassible—except through the lone gate in the center of the high stone wall.
Peering closer, she spotted men standing at intervals along the rampart, and her stomach plunged. Guards.
“Who do you think put those guards there?”
“Singh.”
“But why would he take over the monastery?”
“To hunt for us. Or force information from the monks.”
Swallowing hard, she scanned the guarded wall, the cliffs, the jagged ravines plummeting down the sides. A dirt road stretched from the monastery across the open valley to the village below where they stood.
She eyed the crude wooden huts of the village, the chickens pecking the mud. Then she traced the road back through the valley to the gate. It was the only way inside.
“What are we going to do?”
“Good question.” Deven rubbed his hand over his face.
Maya dragged her gaze from Deven’s profile to the handful of farmers working the fields. They couldn’t just waltz through the gate, not if those guards belonged to Singh. But they hadn’t traveled all this way only to be locked out.
Without warning, deep, rhythmic vibrations filled the air. Another spurt of fear spiked her throat. “The helicopter.”
“Come on.” He grasped her arm, pulled her back down the trail with him into the woods.
/> He dropped her arm when he reached a thicket, then shoved his way inside. She plunged in after, ignoring the sharp twigs stabbing her scalp. She dove to the ground beside him, landing in a carpet of leaves.
The rapid whomp of rotors grew louder. Reverberations shook the ground. Deven threw his arm around her shoulders, and she huddled against him, not daring to move.
The helicopter came closer, the roar thundering through her skull. She clamped her hands over her ears, curled tighter into a ball, praying they couldn’t be seen from the air.
Then suddenly, a shadow moved over the woods. She looked up through the leaves, saw three sinister helicopters pass overhead.
Her mouth turned to dust. Exactly who were they fighting here?
The vibrations rattled her bones, her teeth. The bushes around them thrashed. Just when she feared they’d been detected, the noise began to recede.
Long seconds later, she pressed her sweating palms to her knees. “What was that?” She couldn’t keep the horror from her voice.
“I’m not sure.”
“Was it the military? The police?”
Deven gave his head a shake. “Romanistan doesn’t own any Hueys. Someone else must be working with Singh.”
“Someone else?” She’d known Singh had influence beyond the borders, but to have foreign forces patrolling the sky…How could they possibly fight that?
Deven shoved his way out of the thicket, then held the branches aside. She crawled out and stumbled behind him up the hill.
Still shaken by the sight of those choppers, she studied the valley again. Farmers toiled in the fields. A peasant trudged toward the monastery’s gate, carting a monstrous load of straw on her back.
“We have to go through that gate,” Deven said.
She’d come to the same conclusion. “But how?”
“We’ll have to disguise ourselves as villagers. They’re the only ones going inside.”
She eyed the dirt track snaking through the valley, the peasants plodding along. He was right. Still…
“It would be better if I go in alone,” he said carefully. “We’d be less noticeable that way.”
“Forget it. We had a deal, remember? The medallion stays with me.”
“The deal was that I’d keep you safe.” He folded his muscled arms.
Their gazes met—and dueled. His mouth formed an unyielding line.
And she realized that he wasn’t just acting stubborn; he was trying to protect her. She forced herself to gentle her voice. “Look, Deven. I know what you’re trying to do, and I appreciate it. I do. But I’m not that fragile. I’m the Leopard. I sneak around all the time. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“This is different. We don’t know what we’ll find in there.”
“So? I’ve taken on Singh before.” And Deven knew that. He’d found in her in Singh’s palace. So why was he balking now?
Frowning, she thought back to the first night she’d seen him, to his dire warnings about probing the past. And suddenly she understood. He wasn’t only trying to protect her from Singh. He feared what she might learn about her medallion—and herself.
She clasped the chain around her neck, sobered by the thought. All her life, she had fantasized about this medallion, imagining it to be something good—that it protected her, that someone kind had given it to her, that it came from her lost family as a token of love.
But what if it wasn’t so good? What if it was related to something sinister, something evil? What if she didn’t like what she found?
Deven’s gaze swerved back to hers. And in those dark depths, she saw more than the desire to protect her. She saw concern, sympathy.
And another realization blasted through her. Deven understood her dilemma. He’d hinted at discoveries he’d made about his own past—things too terrible to reveal. Now he wanted to spare her that pain.
She rested her hand on his muscled forearm, struck again by his concern. How could this man believe he wasn’t good?
“It’s my medallion,” she said softly. “My past. Whatever meaning it has—even if it’s a bad one—I need to know.”
His eyes stayed on hers for several heartbeats. And then he inclined his head, respect mingling with understanding in his eyes. “Fair enough.”
He turned his attention to the valley again. “Think you can carry a load of straw that far?”
She scanned the distance from the village to the gate—at least a couple of miles. She tried to keep the doubt from her voice. “If I have to.”
“It’s the best way to hide your face.”
She shifted her gaze to the woman still hobbling along the trail—carrying a load so huge that the straw appeared to have legs.
And she had to admit the disguise would work—as long as she didn’t collapse. “All right. Straw it is.”
But as they crept down the mountain into the village, the terrible irony struck her. She’d finally managed to stop thinking about Deven and get her mind off the previous night. But now a far worse worry consumed her—what she might discover about herself inside those walls.
Chapter 10
He should have forced her to stay behind.
Deven paused on the dirt road leading to the monastery, unable to stem a feeling of impending doom. He shifted his unwieldy bundle of straw, adjusted the leather head strap that secured the load to his back, then peered at the monastery again. Its rampart loomed twenty feet above him—impenetrable, unyielding, as formidable as the sheer granite cliffs slashing the sky. Along the top of the wall stood guards armed with semiautomatic weapons—guards wearing the black uniform of Singh’s men.
Another feeling of dread slithered through him, that fear that he couldn’t quite shake—fear that he was leading Maya toward something evil. Fear that he’d fail to protect her, that whatever they’d find behind those walls would forever change their lives.
His jaw rigid with tension, he waited while she staggered up the trail behind him, doubled over beneath her enormous pile of straw. Only her dusty pants were visible beneath the massive load—which was the point of the disguise.
But she had to be in agony. Scratchy straw rained over her head. That load weighed at least sixty pounds. The two-mile hike probably felt like twenty by now—especially given her strenuous trek all day and the little sleep she’d had last night.
But she hadn’t complained. She’d even taken the sight of Singh’s men in stride. She was brave, determined—and she was right. She deserved to know the meaning of her medallion.
Even if his instincts screamed at him to haul her away from the danger fast.
“We’re almost there,” he said when she’d caught up. “Only another fifty feet. Remember not to stop no matter what.”
“I know.” Her voice came out muffled beneath the straw.
Blinking away the sweat stinging his eyes, he shifted his own brutal load and continued toward the gate. He scanned the late-afternoon shadows creeping out from the wall, the blood-black slashes of the steep ravines. Singh’s helicopters rumbled ominously in the distance, like a monster growling deep in the earth.
He passed beneath the thick, arched gateway, felt the scrutiny of Singh’s men. He kept his head down, his pace slow, but his mind raced with impressions and plans. That medallion had to be important. Singh would never have gone to this extent merely to capture them.
Now they had to ditch their loads, find the head monk and ask about the inscription—and make sure they didn’t get trapped.
He veered around the monastery’s central courtyard, following the directions of the farmer who’d sold him the straw. Prayer bells chimed in the distance. The sound of trickling water indicated a fountain nearby. He trudged through the deepening shadows, moving slowly enough that Maya didn’t lag behind.
The bleating of a goat confirmed that he was nearing the stable. The gurgling water sounded closer, along with the chanting of monks at prayer. When he reached the stable, he paused, scanned the buildings around the courtyard
to orient himself, and eyed the man standing guard at the door.
“Dump the straw over there,” the guard ordered, pointing to a mound of straw inside the stable. “And be quick about it.”
Mumbling agreement, Deven plodded past the guard, then stopped before the pile of straw. He heaved the load off his back, wiped his sweaty face on his sleeve and took a quick glance around the enclosed yard.
A young, red-robed monk tended goats at the back of the stable. Only the one man guarded the door—but he had a machine gun slung over his back, and probably more weapons tucked out of sight.
Then Maya staggered over, and he reached for the straw on her back. “Hold up,” he said, knowing she couldn’t see much. He lifted the load off her back, and she instantly sank to the ground.
“My back,” she groaned. “Oh, God. I think it’s wrecked for life.”
Grunting in sympathy, he tossed her bundle on the pile, then blinked back the dust from his eyes. He wished he could let her rest. But every second they spent here endangered them more.
He glanced at the monk tending the goats, then back to the surly guard. “I’m going to call him over,” he told her under his breath. He tugged out his gun, positioning it so the guard wouldn’t see. “Keep your head down and don’t get up. Act sick. I’m going to knock him out.”
“Be careful,” she whispered. She lowered her head to the ground and groaned.
Keeping his back bent to hide his face, he motioned to the guard. “Hello,” he called out in the local dialect. “We have a problem.”
The guard turned to him and scowled. “What is it?”
“My wife. She can’t get up.” Maya let out another groan.
“Kick her,” the guard said. “Then hurry up and get out.”
“I tried that, but she won’t move.” Deven bent over Maya, his pulse accelerating as the guard stomped toward them, muttering about villagers too lazy to work. The thud of his boots grew louder. The guard moved into Deven’s peripheral vision and stopped.
“What’s the matter?”
The Royal Affair Page 11