by Anna Hackett
Dec made his way to the kitchenette and poured a cup of coffee from the pot. Darcy would have made it, which meant it was barely drinkable, but it was black and strong and had caffeine, so it ticked the boxes.
He saw his best friend slouched on one of the couches, his boots on the scarred coffee table and his long legs cased in well-worn jeans. He was flicking a switchblade open and closed.
“Logan.”
“Dec.”
Logan O’Connor was another SEAL buddy, and the best friend Dec had ever had. They hadn’t liked each other at first, but after a particularly brutal mission—followed by an equally brutal bar fight in the seedy backstreets of Bangkok where they had saved each other’s backs—they’d formed a bond.
Logan was big as well, the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt showing off his muscled arms and tattoos. From the day they’d left the military, Logan had let his brown hair grow long and shaggy, and his cheeks were covered in scruff. He looked exactly how he was—dangerous and just a little wild.
His friend eyed Dec up and down, then raised a brow. “How was the job?”
“The usual.”
Actually, the jobs were never the same, and you were never sure what was going to happen. Providing security to archeological digs, retrieving stolen artifacts, occasionally turning some bad guys over to the authorities, doing museum security, or running remote expeditions for crazy treasure hunters…it kept things interesting.
“Anyone shoot at you?”
The female voice came from over by the computers. Morgan Kincaid sat cross-legged on top of a table. She was one of the few females to pass the rigorous BUD/S training for the Navy SEALs. But when the Navy had refused to let her serve on the teams, she’d left.
The Navy’s loss was Dec’s gain. Morgan was tough, mean, and hell in a firefight. She was tall, kept her dark hair short, and had a scar down the left side of her face from a knife fight.
“Not this trip,” Dec answered.
“Too bad,” Morgan murmured.
“All right everyone, listen up.” Darcy’s voice echoed in the warehouse.
They all headed over to where Darcy stood in front of her screens. Logan and Hale dropped into chairs, Morgan stayed sitting on top of the table, and Dec pressed a hip to a desk and sipped his coffee.
“Where’s Cal?” he asked.
“He flew out a few days ago on another job. An anthropologist got snatched by a local tribe in Brazil.”
“Hate the jungle,” Logan said, his voice a growl.
“And Ronin?” Dec asked.
Ronin Cooper was another full-time Treasure Hunter Security employee. Dec kept a small full-time team and hired on trusted contractors when he needed more muscle.
“Coop’s in northern Canada on an expedition.”
Dec raised his brows, trying to imagine Ronin in the snow.
Hale hooted with laughter. “Shit, not too many shadows to hide in when you’re in the snow.”
Dec sipped his coffee again. Ronin Cooper was good at blending into the shadows. You didn’t see him coming unless he wanted you to. Another former SEAL, Ronin had gotten out earlier than Dec, and had done some work for the CIA. Lean and intense, Ronin was the scary danger no one saw coming.
Dec settled back against the desk. “What’s this new job?”
“An archeological dig in Egypt got attacked yesterday.” Darcy pointed a small remote at her screens. A map of Egypt appeared with a red dot out in the Western Desert. “It’s being run by the Rhodes University out of Massachusetts.”
Dec raised a brow. Rhodes had a hell of an archeological department. They had their fingers in digs all over the world and prided themselves on some of the biggest finds in recent times. Every kid with dreams of being the next Indiana Jones wanted to study at Rhodes.
“The dig is excavating a newly-discovered tomb and surrounding necropolis,” Darcy continued. “They’d recently found some artifacts.” She pointed again and some images of artifacts appeared. “All gold.”
Hale whistled. “Nice.”
Dec’s muscles tensed. He knew what was coming.
“And now the artifacts are gone.” Darcy leaned back on the desk. “The head of the dig was working on the artifacts at the time and was attacked. She survived. And now, we’re hired. One, to ensure no more artifacts are stolen, two to ensure the safety of the dig’s workers, and three—” Darcy’s blue-gray gaze met Dec’s “—to recover the stolen artifacts.”
Dec felt a muscle tick in his jaw. “It’s Anders.”
“Ah, hell.” Logan tipped his head back. “This is not good.”
Hale was frowning. “Who’s Anders?”
“Dec has a hard-on for the guy,” Morgan muttered.
Dec ignored Logan and Morgan. “Ian Anders. A former British Special Air Service soldier.”
Hale’s frown deepened. “Heard those SAS guys are hard-core.”
“They are,” Dec confirmed.
Darcy stepped forward. “Declan and Logan’s SEAL team was working a joint mission with Anders’ team in the Middle East.”
“Caught the sadistic fucker torturing locals.” Even now, the screams and moans of those people came back to Dec. A nightmare he couldn’t seem to outrun. “He kept them hidden, visited them every few days. Men, women…children.” Dec let out a breath. “No idea how long he’d had them there.”
“You saved them?” Hale said.
“No.” Dec stood and took his mug to the sink. He tipped the coffee he could no longer stomach down the drain.
“You did the right thing, Dec,” Logan growled.
Silence fell. Dec was not going to talk about this.
Darcy cleared her throat. “The British Military gave Anders a slap on the wrist.”
“Shit,” Hale said. “So what’s he got to do with stolen artifacts?”
“When he left the SAS, he got into black-market antiquities,” Declan said. “We’ve run into him a few times on jobs.”
“The guy is whacked,” Logan added. “He likes to hurt and kill. And he likes the pretty cash he gets for selling artifacts.”
“And you think this is his work?” Hale looked at the screens.
Dec had learned to trust his gut. Sometimes despite the facts or evidence, despite the fact you had nothing else to go on. “Yeah, it’s Anders.”
“Logan, Morgan, and Hale, this is your assignment,” Darcy said. “You’ll head to Egypt to meet Dr. Layne Rush.”
Another screen filled with a photo of a woman.
Dec blinked, feeling his belly clench, even though he’d never seen this woman before.
He wasn’t even sure what warranted the gut-deep response. She was attractive, but not the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. In the photo, she had sunglasses pushed up on her dark hair. Her hair was chocolate brown and straight as a ruler. It brushed her shoulders, except for the bangs cut bluntly just across her eyes. Her skin was so incredibly clear, not a blemish on it, and her eyes were hazel.
She had smart stamped all over her. Hell. Dec had a thing for smart women.
But he usually steered well clear. He wasn’t made for hearts and rainbows. He’d just seen too much and done too much. His relationships generally lasted one night, and he enjoyed women who wanted the same as him—uncomplicated, no-strings sex.
“I’m going.” Dec’s voice echoed in the warehouse.
Darcy’s beautiful face got a pinched look. “Declan—”
“No arguments, Darce. I’m going.”
“You’re going because of Anders,” she said.
Dec glanced at the photo of Dr. Rush. “I’m going to pack.”
His sister sighed and looked at Dec. “You’re sure you won’t change your mind.”
“Nope.”
Another sigh. “The jet’s fueled and waiting. Logan, please keep him out of trouble.”
Logan snorted. “I’m good, but I’m not that good.”
Darcy shook her head. “All of you, have a good trip…and stay safe. Please.”
Dec smiled, trying to break the tension. “You know me.”
A resigned look crossed her face. “Yes. Unfortunately, I do. So when the trouble hits, call me.”
Chapter Two
Layne walked down a crowded street in the Khan el-Khalili, absorbing the sights, smells and sounds of Cairo’s market district. Someone nearby was cooking falafel, which made her stomach grumble and reminded her she’d only had coffee for breakfast.
The narrow street was lined with shops whose wares spilled out into the street. Walls of colored fabric, shelves filled with souvenirs and ornaments, another with beautiful colored lanterns. All around were the sounds of hawkers calling out their wares and the rush of people—some locals and others obviously tourists. One local man walked past, balancing a huge tray of Egyptian flatbread on his head.
She loved Cairo’s bazaar district with its hustle and bustle. Beneath the tourist trappings was a deep sense of history. It had been built on the site of a mausoleum, and the sultans had made it a place of commerce and trade. Even today, it was still an important place for the locals. There were numerous traditional workshops in the Khan el-Khalili, like the goldsmiths and the silver merchants.
And there were also several of her local contacts who traded in antiquities.
She’d already visited them. Her jaw clenched. No one had seen her stolen artifacts. They’d all promised her that if any of them came up on the market, they’d contact her.
But Layne wasn’t planning on holding her breath.
She scowled, anger flooding her like a shot of lava to the veins. She couldn’t believe someone had been brazen enough to just waltz into her dig and steal valuable pieces of history like they were the tourist trinkets surrounding her.
Layne reached up and touched her cheek. It was now a spectacular black and green from the bruising. And a constant reminder of her failure.
Her bosses back at the university had been incensed and horrified to find out about the theft. They’d been sympathetic, but she could read between the lines of the carefully crafted responses.
This was a black mark on her record.
She breathed in a long breath. She wanted her dig to be a success, but more than that, she wanted to ensure everything they found could be studied and find a home in museums where anyone could go and see it.
She remembered her mother holding her hand, wandering their local museum. It had been one of the things that had ignited Layne’s love of history. She’d been too young then to understand the museum was free, and the only place her mother could afford to take her.
Anyway, now the university was on edge, and in response to the theft and attack on her, they’d hired a specialized security firm.
Layne’s scowl deepened, making her bruise throb. It was all she needed. Untrained people trampling her dig, issuing orders in the name of security, and getting in her way.
Still, if it helped safeguard the artifacts and keep her team safe, she wasn’t going to argue.
She kept walking. The university’s Cairo office and lab were a few blocks away. She’d spend the rest of the day there, another night in the city waiting for the security team to arrive, then head back to the dig.
Already she was itching to be back there.
She paused as a group of men in local jellabiya robes cut across in front of her.
It was then she felt a strange prickling at the back of her neck.
Someone was watching her.
She stood frozen for a second. This had to just be a bad reaction to being attacked.
Still, she slowly turned her head. Like she was looking at the nearby store and its wall of colored scarves and jewelry.
Then she spotted him.
She looked away, but the short glimpse was enough for her to catalogue the dark, intense man. Tan cargo pants, and a navy-blue T-shirt that stretched over a lean, muscled chest and toned biceps. Dark glasses and dark hair cut short.
He was definitely watching her.
Layne picked up speed. She knew these streets better than she knew her own neighborhood around the university. Hell, she spent more time here than her barely used apartment.
Her heart was beating hard, reminding her starkly of lying facedown in the sand while those men took her artifacts.
But she shoved the memory aside. If this man knew where her artifacts were, she was going to find out.
She ducked down an alley. It was lined with tiny, overcrowded stalls. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the man was following. She smiled.
Layne followed a twisting path through the market. Then she quickly doubled back.
She ducked through a shortcut covered by a stall selling bad reproductions of Tutankhamun’s mask and Nefertiti’s bust. She ducked out into the neighboring alley and came back around.
She spied the man ahead of her now, hands on his lean hips, looking around. His lips were moving and she got the distinct impression he was cursing.
She reached into the small courier bag she had draped over her body. She pulled out her tube of lip gloss and held it in her hand. She came up behind him and jabbed it in his lower back.
“Don’t move,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I do want to know why you’re following me.”
When he shifted his weight, like he was going to spin around, she jabbed him harder.
“I’ve already had someone punch me in the face and knock me out this week, so I’m not in a particularly good mood. You don’t want to test me.”
***
She’d gotten the drop on him. Damn.
Dec couldn’t believe it. Taken in by an archeologist. If Logan ever found out, Dec would never live it down.
He weighed his options. Despite whatever weapon she was carrying—and despite the firm determination in her voice—he was fairly certain Dr. Rush wasn’t going to shoot him in the middle of a crowded Cairo market.
Dec spun. He grabbed her wrist and heard her gasp. As he snatched the weapon, he got a glimpse of wide, green-gold eyes under blunt bangs. Then the little spitfire moved, bringing her knee up and aiming for his crotch.
He wrapped his arms around her, spun, and pushed her through a wall of fabric. Somewhere nearby, a shopkeeper squawked. Dec kept going until he had her pressed up against a stone wall, his body pinning hers there so she couldn’t use her knee.
She still fought, though, wriggling and twisting.
“Stop, before you hurt yourself,” he growled.
She kept fighting.
“Dr. Rush, I’m not going to hurt you.”
She stilled, her mutinous gaze meeting his. “Let me go.”
He ignored her and lifted the tiny thing in his hand. His eyebrows shot upward, embarrassment flooding him. “Lipstick? You pretended you were going to shoot me with lipstick?”
She sniffed. “It’s lip gloss. And I never said I was going to shoot you. I said I didn’t want to hurt you.” She frowned. “I’m rapidly thinking about changing my mind, though.”
Dec shook his head with reluctant admiration. “Dr. Rush, you can try, but I don’t recommend it.”
Her frown deepened, and he realized she had really full lips that were at odds with the rest of her face, with its sharp cheekbones and pointed chin. Pressed up against her, he felt tightly-packed curves and full breasts. His cock stirred and he cursed mentally.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“Declan Ward. Treasure Hunter Security.”
Her eyes widened. “The new security specialist.” She pushed at his chest.
Dec stepped back, and for a second, missed the warmth of her.
“Why the hell were you stalking me?” she snapped.
“I was checking you out. It’s part of my job.”
Now her eyebrows rose, disappearing under her bangs. “You think I have something to do with the theft of my artifacts?”
Yep, she was smart. He saw the intelligence glittering in those fascinating hazel eyes of hers. Large flecks of gold glimmered agai
nst the deep green.
Her voice rose. “You think I did this to myself?” She waved at her cheek.
The ugly bruise made his gut harden. In the photo, he’d noted her clear, almost-translucent skin. Up close, on her right cheek, that skin was even more attractive. He could even make out the delicate blue veins beneath her skin. The skin of her left cheek, however, was marred by a bruise that was an ugly reminder that someone had hurt her.
That Ian Anders had hurt her.
“Look Mr. Ward, I don’t know who the hell you think you are.” She poked him in the center of his chest. “But I have dedicated my life to my career. To finding, safeguarding, and studying history and its artifacts. I am in charge of this dig, and I have a hell of a lot riding on it. I wouldn’t jeopardize the biggest opportunity of my career, not to mention my personal integrity, to sell off antiquities.”
There was passion in Dr. Rush. He saw it burning in her eyes, heard it overflowing in her voice as she talked about her work.
God, when had he felt anything like that? Most days, he felt nothing.
Focus, Ward. “I’m doing my job, Dr. Rush. You want your artifacts back? You want to make sure no more go missing?”
Her tight shoulders sagged. “Yes.”
“Then I’m going to leave no stone unturned. I investigate everyone, until I know every little thing about them. Where they live, how much money they have in the bank, who their friends are, hell, even what color their panties are.”
Her lips pressed into a straight line. “Okay, I guess we’re on the same page, then.”
“And the same team.”
“I’ll save you some work.” She tucked her hair back behind her ears. “I live in Rhodes, Massachusetts, I have fifty-seven thousand dollars in savings in the bank but more than that in stocks and retirement savings. I don’t have a lot of time for socializing, so my friends are the people I work with. My underwear is not up for discussion.”
“You mean you keep an apartment near the university that you barely use, you have sixty-two thousand in stocks and 401K, and you’re closest to your assistant Piper Ross.” He couldn’t resist a small smile. “And you prefer black lace underwear.”
Her mouth dropped open and she stared at him. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or to hit you.”