by Valerie Parv
In spite of his unease, a warmth spread through him. He'd never come across such a wondrous mix of worldly wisdom and inexperience before. She charmed, delighted and challenged him in a way no other woman ever had. By the time they made love, she had already found a place in his heart.
His sense of well-being evaporated. By now she was probably cursing his name and wishing she'd never set eyes on him. Even if he lived through the next few minutes, and he intended to do his level best, she would probably never speak to him again.
A rustling sound in the bushes just ahead and to his left drove all other thoughts out of his mind. He kept his pose relaxed, kept his feet tracking, while fixing every shred of his attention on the source of the sound.
Not birds this time, something far larger, moving stealthily toward him. Whoever it was had waited until Gage was out of sight of the orphanage entrance, not out of consideration for the children, but to ensure the minimum number of witnesses.
He braced himself.
The man who confronted him belonged to one of Tamir's hill families, judging by his wide shoulders and swarthy complexion. A head taller than Gage, he wore his people's traditional outfit of coarsely woven shirt and loose pants tucked into leather boots, with a wide sash around the waist, hearkening back to a Tamir of a century before.
Gage had a split second to absorb this information before the man was on top of him, large hands reaching for his throat.
Gage leaped aside, slashing the side of his hand down on the man's shoulder with all his strength. The blow glanced off the muscle as if he'd merely patted the big man on the back.
No picnic, he reminded himself, dodging out of the path of the man's bull charge. His adversary had the advantages of weight, size and blood lust. All Gage could do was try to exhaust him, hopefully before he finished Gage.
Head down, the man charged at him again. Gage twisted in the air and landed on his feet, getting in a rabbit punch to the back of his attacker's neck. The man staggered, shook himself as if momentarily groggy, then came back at Gage, his eyes fiery with the desire to exact payment for the blow.
Some distant part of Gage's mind calculated the odds of getting out of this alive and found them depressingly stacked against him. No matter. He had beaten the odds before. He would do so again.
This brute was the reason Nadia never wanted to see him again, he thought, goading himself to fury. A haze of red darkened his vision. This man and whoever had sent him were responsible for Gage's being forced to hurt her, and for the pain in his own heart as a result.
He stopped dodging and moved in, looking for an opening. The mountain man swung at him. Gage ducked and came back with his hands locked together, slugging at his adversary in double-handed blows that should have been lethal but seemed merely to increase the other man's fury.
Another pass and Gage caught only a handful of shirt for his trouble. He found himself staring at the man's shoulder where the ripped fabric had exposed a symbol that made Gage's blood roar.
"You're one of the Brothers," he ground out as he and the man circled each other. He knew that the younger, more hotheaded members of the Brothers of Darkness had adopted the tattoo of a black octopus as their personal symbol, but had never seen it on a living person before now.
Most of the men wearing that tattoo had been in the morgue.
"What of it?" the man demanded, seemingly disconcerted that Gage had recognized the symbol. As the shoulder muscles of its owner twitched, warning Gage to brace himself for another rush, the creature seemed to writhe with an evil look of purpose.
Keep him talking while you formulate a strategy, Gage told himself. "This is a mistake. I'm one of you," he said, fighting his distaste for the admission, even if it was a pretense to buy himself some time.
The big man blinked his confusion but for the moment held off on another charge, giving Gage a few precious seconds to slow his laboring breath.
"Prove it. Show me the sign."
Gage thought fast. Did he mean the tattoo or some other code signal used between members of the Brothers? Since he didn't have a clue, he rode another hunch. "I'm working undercover for Butrus Dabir."
The look of confusion changed to blind rage. "Now I know you lie. Dabir himself hired me to kill you."
With a bull roar, the mountain man charged, locking his great arms around Gage's ribs, squeezing tighter and tighter until Gage felt as if he was in the grip of a boa constrictor. He felt his ribs start to give way under the relentless pressure. Black fringed his vision, and his lungs screamed for air. The octopus writhed close to his face, its tattooed death's head mocking his fight to breathe.
He—would—not—give—in—to—such—evil.
Desperately he brought his knee up, finding his target unerringly. He felt a grim satisfaction as his attacker's arms fell away and the man doubled over.
The sudden release of pressure on his ribs brought a new burst of agony, but Gage staggered for a moment until he got his feet centered under him. Determinedly he advanced on his attacker, the pounding in his temples and the ache in his ribs driving him on. The big man was trying to pick himself up when Gage drove his head back with a right to the jaw.
"This is for Nadia," he snarled as he sent the man doubling over again with a blow to the midsection.
As he moved in to finish the job, he caught the gleam of metal and dodged the blade barely in time. He should have known the man would come armed. Gage had not so much as a dinner knife on him, while the stiletto being waved in his face looked wickedly purposeful.
He weaved out of its deadly reach. The man wasn't as vanquished as he'd encouraged Gage to think. He came up remarkably easily and balanced on the balls of his feet, jabbing the air in front of Gage's face.
Trying to buy himself some time, Gage retreated behind a pile of boulders, but the mountain man followed him, stalking him, confident that his knife gave him the upper hand.
Gage allowed him to think so, not at all sure that his attacker wouldn't turn out to be right. Think, he ordered himself. That's what his training for this work had taught him to do. Too bad his training hadn't anticipated such unequal odds.
He kept retreating until he reached the bushes where he'd waited this morning while he listened in on the activities at the orphanage. Was it only hours ago? It felt like an eternity.
Backing the clearing, he remembered, was a rock wall hidden by greenery. He stepped out into the middle of the clearing, noting the tracks of his own tires from earlier in the day. By a miracle he was in the right place.
As if directing traffic, he held up his hands, flexing his fingers toward himself, inviting the other man to come at him. If he had judged the situation accurately, the rock wall should be only a couple of yards behind him.
The giant obliged him by rushing in for the kill. Head down, blade extended, he never saw the rock wall until he drove headlong into it, Gage stepping out of his path at the last second. Then the crunching sound of bone against rock jarred Gage's senses. The mountain man went down.
Moving in cautiously, Gage felt for a pulse. The man still lived. Good. He was only a hired gun, and Gage had never meant to kill him.
For a moment during the fight, he had wanted to, he thought grimly. Thinking of the distress this man's cohorts had caused to Nadia had made Gage furious enough to kill. Even now, as he thought about the hurt he had inflicted on her this morning, Gage had to struggle against the urge to keep going until the man was not only defeated but dead.
She was worthy of much nobler impulses, he told himself. He stripped away a length of the pliant strangle-quick vine clinging to the cliff, using his attacker's own knife to cut the thing to size. He used the vine to bind the attacker hand and foot, before slicing another chunk off the man's shirt to use as a gag when he came to.
Propping the man's trussed body against the rock wall, Gage dropped to the ground beside him and waited.
Only then did he allow himself to take stock of the injuries he'd collected fro
m the pounding. His ribs weren't broken but were severely bruised by the man's boa constrictor grip, and every breath hurt. Something wet dripped into his eye. He touched the spot tentatively and his finger came away red. Mountain Man must have nicked him with the knife without his noticing.
Gage pressed a handkerchief to the spot until the bleeding stopped. Considering the size of his attacker, Gage counted himself lucky to be the one sitting up.
As soon as his breathing slowed enough to make movement less arduous, he levered himself to his feet and headed for the car. A bottle of tepid water lay on the front seat and he took a swallow, then poured some on to the handkerchief and swabbed the knife wound. Squinting into the driving mirror, he was glad to see the injury felt worse than it looked.
By the time he returned to the clearing, the mountain man was awake and pulling at his bonds. "The more you strain, the tighter they'll get," Gage warned him. The vine he'd used for rope wasn't called strangle-quick for nothing. Under strain the fibers kept contracting until there was no give left.
If looks could kill, Gage would be dead where he stood. "Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?" the man demanded
"That may be how the Brothers of Darkness do things, but not how I work. As long as you tell me what I want to know, you'll be allowed to live."
The man spat on the ground. "I'll tell you nothing."
Gage flicked the knife against the octopus tattoo on the man's shoulder. "This thing offends me. It ought to be surgically removed." Pressing just deeply enough to make his point without breaking the skin, he traced the tattoo's outline delicately with the blade.
In spite of his bravado, the man shrank away from the deadly blade. "Butrus Dabir will kill me, anyway."
"Not if I let him think you're already dead. You'd have time to escape back to the mountains before he finds out the truth."
The man tossed his head. "You think I'd be safe there? The Brothers are everywhere."
Like the tentacles of their chosen symbol, Gage thought. "Then I '11 turn you over to the police and you can ask for protection in return for giving evidence against the Brothers. It's your problem, not mine. All I want to know is where and when you're supposed to report to Dabir and collect your payment for this job."
The man hesitated, weighing whether it was better to die now at Gage's hands or later at Dabir's. Deciding that later at least offered him a fighting chance, he let out a whistling breath. "I am to meet him in the alleyway behind the Old Souk in Marhaba in one hour."
Gage's sigh mirrored his captive's. "All I needed to know."
The man offered his bound hands. "Untie me now."
"Not until I've settled with Dabir. Until then, you're my insurance policy. Don't worry, I won't forget where I parked you."
The man began to protest, but Gage wadded up the piece of shirt he'd souvenired and used it to silence any further objections. Gage knew the man's best hope for life was to throw himself on the mercy of the police. He planned to tell them where to find him and also suggest they pick up Sitra Wahabi for questioning, but not before he confronted Dabir.
He finally had the link he'd been searching for between Dabir and the Brothers of Darkness. King Marcus was going to be very pleased with the news when Gage eventually shared it with him.
First there was Dabir's complicity in the murder of Conrad Drake. Before he died, Conrad had left a clue to his killer in the letters DOT he'd scratched in the dirt. Gage had followed the killer's trail to Tamir and found the Octopus—the Brothers' symbol. That left only D for Dabir. For once, Gage wished he was the vigilante type, who could mete out his own brand of justice without waiting for the law to act. He wasn't, but Dabir didn't know that.
Before handing Dabir over to the authorities, Gage intended to give the other man a taste of the suffering he had put Conrad through at the last. First he had to track down a traditional hill-family costume. Since he was meeting Dabir at the Souk, that was as likely a place as any to find what he needed.
* * *
Tahani watched her mistress pace. "A thousand apologies, Princess. When the car came for me—for you —I tried to make the driver wait, but he insisted Mahir and I were to return to the palace immediately. With your father and mother away, I thought something must be wrong with them. I had no idea what was to unfold."
Nadia rested a hand on her attendant's arm. She was sure when Butrus posted the guard on her apartment, he had forgotten that Tahani was in the bedroom, preparing the princess's clothes for the evening. The irony wasn't lost on her. He had objected to being treated as an inferior by his family, yet he was the one who had treated the servant as if she didn't exist.
The princess smiled at her attendant. "It's all right, Tahani. You did the right thing. The fault is mine for thinking I could change my situation."
"You have changed it, my princess. The children at the orphanage adore you. Your paintings command high prices."
"Because they are sold for charity, not because of their artistic merit," Nadia said on a deep sigh. She wished Tahani would stop fretting and allow her to think. She knew the other woman was distressed. Butrus's anger had shaken the princess, too, more than she was letting Tahani see. But she was more terrified for Gage. If she was too late to save him—and a tight fist of pain closed around her heart at the idea—she could at least make sure Butrus paid for his crime.
"I'm going out," she said resolutely.
Tahani was on her knees, collecting the last of the glass fragments and placing them on the tray. She stood up. "But the guard..."
"Did he pay you any heed when you came and went before?"
"Of course not, my princess." Her tone said she would have been surprised if he had.
"Give me a moment."
Nadia took out a palm-size tape recorder she often used to capture her thoughts about future works of art. Going into the bedroom, she recorded two messages, rewound the tape and returned, handing it to Tahani. Then she made Tahani stand still while her long hair was tucked out of sight under one of Nadia's beautiful scarves. Nadia was staking a lot on the guard's not noticing her clothes, but they didn't have time to change.
As she pushed a last strand of Tahani's hair under the scarf, the princess felt her attendant trembling. "All will be well," she assured her, wondering in her own heart if anything would ever be well again.
Tahani fumbled in her galabiya. "Please take this, my princess."
Tahani held out a jeweled knife in a carved leather scabbard. It was the sort of knife one would use to peel fruit or whittle a piece of wood, but the sight of it heartened Nadia. "Thank you, I shan't forget your loyalty," she said, tucking it into her own garment. Then she pulled a scarf over her head, shadowing her features.
She bid Tahani stand near the window with her back to the door, then opened it a little, balancing the tray in her free hand. As instructed, Tahani played the tape Nadia had made.
"Guard, kindly come in here."
The man looked around the crack, ignoring Nadia's downcast head. "I'm sorry, Your Highness. My orders are to remain outside until Mr. Dabir returns."
Nadia saw her maid's hand go to the tape again and heard her second message. "Kindly permit my maid to fetch refreshment for me. The first she brought was unacceptable."
The man must have heard the shattering glass, because Nadia saw him nod from under the fringe of her lashes. She adjusted the scarf over her hair and kept her head down as she carried the tray past him. He was so intent on watching Tahani's back that he barely gave Nadia a glance.
She kept her head down until she was out of his sight, then set the tray on the nearest table and ran the length of the corridor and across the courtyard to her car. A servant was cleaning it and looked astonished when she snatched the keys from his hand. But he was too well trained to intervene. As she got in and drove toward the main gates, in the mirror she saw the man resignedly gather the cleaning things.
Butrus was already out of sight. She pulled up beside the sentry box
at the main gate. The guard was the same one she had passed on her return earlier. This time he looked less surprised to see her behind the wheel. "My fiancé forgot something," she said. "Did you see which road he took?"
"Mr. Dabir did not inform me of his destination, Your Highness, but he went right, along the main Marhaba road."
One way or another, that road seemed to lead to her destiny, she thought as she thanked the guard and drove on. Tears almost blinded her as she passed the place where she had first met Gage. She couldn't believe she would never see him again, never know the magic of his touch or the press of his lips on hers.
Would the outcome have been different if she hadn't allowed him to send her away this morning? She should never have believed his assertion that she meant nothing to him. In her heart she had known it wasn't true.
It had never been true for her.
Gage meant more to her than any man she had ever known, and she was sure she meant more to him. No man could have spoken to her, touched her, loved her so completely unless he cared. Now she might never know for sure.
If Gage had come to harm, Butrus would pay, she vowed as the turnoff for the orphanage slid past. A commotion up ahead made her frown. She soon saw what was happening. A farmer was herding cattle across the road and Butrus's car was stuck behind them, delaying him long enough for her to catch up. She stopped, not wanting him to recognize her car, although it was agony when everything in her wanted to race after Butrus and claw his traitorous eyes out. When the road cleared and he moved off again, she saw he was heading for the old town.
How long had he been following his own agenda while pretending to be serving the crown? Most of his life, if his story was to be believed. She had never known that he was adopted, or that he so bitterly resented his lack of status.
It would have made no difference to her if she had known, but she could see that Butrus would never believe her. He was too caught up in his quest to redress what he perceived as the unfairness of his lot. No amount of reassurance would make any difference to how he saw himself.