Krewe of Hunters, Volume 2: The Unseen ; The Unholy ; The Unspoken ; The Uninvited

by Heather Graham

  She stood; she couldn’t stay where she was.

  She wasn’t sure what she was doing or why, but she left her room, walked across the hall and knocked on Sean’s door.

  “Just a second!” he called.

  A minute later, the door opened a few inches. Sean stood behind it, looking around its edge. “Sorry, I was waylaid by the computer,” he told her.

  “It’s okay,” she said, not moving. The scent of his soap seemed to waft into the hallway.

  He must have realized she wasn’t going away. He frowned slightly, but arched a brow. “I’ll be ready soon.”

  “May I wait with you?” she asked.

  He was silent for a few seconds, then opened the door the rest of the way. “I’m sorry—I’m not quite decent.”

  “You’re decent enough for me,” she said.

  He still hesitated. “Sure, come in. It’ll take me a few minutes to throw some clothes on. I’m a little behind—I ended up on the computer. There’s soft drinks and probably something harder in the suite’s work area.”

  She walked past him, heading toward the connecting door. It was closed and she turned back to him. He’d been reaching for a neat stack of clothing to bring into the bathroom with him but he paused, his frown deepening as he looked at her.

  “Madison, you all right?” he asked.

  “I—I don’t know,” she admitted.

  He smiled suddenly, as if he understood. But she knew he didn’t.

  “It was an interesting day. There’s something eerie about those catacombs, even after being in the morgue for an hour.”

  “It’s—it’s interesting all around.”

  “You must feel terrible. And I’m honest-to-God sorry. I never knew we’d have to worry about your safety.”

  “I’m fine with everything that’s happened,” she said. “We’ve already proven how it was done. As you said, we just need to discover who.”

  He nodded. “The who, and the why.” He frowned again. “Is there a reason you’re looking at me like that? Are you hungry? We’ll eat on the way to the Black Box.”

  “Yes, dinner will be nice, but…”

  “But?”

  “I was thinking of…spending a little time together. Not in the company of ghosts or in a crypt or a graveyard.”

  He offered her a slow half grin, his head angling to the side in a questioning manner. “I’d almost think you came here to proposition me, Madison,” he said softly.

  She met his eyes and inhaled, and tried to appear like a woman with a sophisticated sense of reality.

  “I did.”

  11

  The moment was ridiculously awkward. It was as if time stood still as he looked back at her—and yet time was ticking away. Madison thought she could actually hear the hands on the room’s old-fashioned clock-radio.

  But, in an odd way, it wasn’t awkward at all.

  She swallowed, but she was determined to be honest, and she wasn’t backing down, wasn’t going to pretend she was just joking.

  She wasn’t to going to run off in embarrassment, either; if she did, that was how she’d feel forever after in his presence. Her lips curved wistfully. She realized that although she hadn’t been sure of her exact intent until she’d said the words, she certainly hadn’t expected rejection. It wasn’t that she felt any man would instantly agree to have sex with her. It was just that she believed there’d been something between them. Chemistry, if nothing else.

  “Uh, you made rather a point about not staying in my room last night,” he reminded her.

  “I know,” she said. “But…that was, well…I didn’t want to be here because I had to be here—I mean, in a room with you—because I was afraid. When I’m afraid, I would rather be with you, but I… I’m not saying this at all well.”

  She was surprised when he walked over to her at last. She began to feel a trembling inside her when his hands dropped to her arms, and she was intensely aware of his height and physique, his damp bare chest and the towel about his midriff. Whatever it was that she always felt when she was with him seemed amplified, like a drumbeat in her head, or a riveting pulse in her bloodstream.

  “Trust me, I have nothing against the idea. I’d be a hell of a liar if I said it hasn’t played in my mind more than once,” he told her. The sound of his voice seemed to sweep around her, creating a deeper sense of longing with every throaty word, every nuance.

  “I guess it’s not the time or place,” she murmured.

  “Actually, it’s a fine time and place. Tyler’s gone to work with the others, I’ve called Eddie and arranged for a showing of the film. We won’t meet at the cinema for about two and a half hours.”

  His green eyes seemed to have a dazzling light as he stared down at her.

  “Oh!” she said, about to step back. “I’m sorry—I didn’t even think. Is there someone in your life?”

  He seemed to wince. “No. There’s no one in my life. You?”

  She shook her head.

  “At least I’m dressed—or undressed—for the occasion,” he said dryly.

  “I can be, too,” she whispered.

  “Madison, I’m not really… I didn’t plan on sleeping with anyone. I’m not prepared. I’m talking about sexual responsibility.”

  “I am,” she told him.

  His smile deepened and she added, “No, I mean, really, there’s no one in my life. I guess…I’ve been ever hopeful.”

  He laughed softly. She lowered her head, astonished that the simple sound of a laugh could be so provocative.

  He lifted her chin, then pulled her against him, and once more his eyes fell on hers. “You know we live in different worlds,” he said.

  “Different and the same.”

  He smiled at that, and there was something amused, something tender and yet still hesitant in the way he looked at her.

  “I care about you, Madison.”

  “Would it be better if you didn’t?”

  “Yes.”

  “We can’t just take this for what it is—and for whatever time we have?” she asked.

  He groaned. “Yes. Yes, we can.”

  He gazed into her eyes and seemed to struggle, and she wondered if he was worried for her, for himself, or for them both. But his thumb and forefinger were already on her chin and cheek, and he lowered his head slowly. His lips touched hers as lightly as a breath. As if he was giving her every chance to move away…

  He had no idea how much she wanted to be right where she was. She wished she could hold on to time and savor this closeness forever. His skin was taut and bronzed and smooth. The easy strength in his arms seemed unique, the very feel of his lips was beyond anything she might have imagined.

  But his lips grew hungrier, more impassioned, and he drew her closer, his mouth like fire on hers as the kiss deepened. She felt drunk with the luxury of his touch, aware of the hardness of his muscled form, and very aware of the rise of his erection against the thin denim of her jeans and the towel that was all he wore. He’d been quite right—he was dressed, or undressed, for the occasion.

  His hands moved down her back. She stepped out of her sandals, and together they removed her shirt. His fingers slid beneath her waistband. She imagined that no grace was possible in the act of taking off her jeans, and yet it seemed that they shimmied effortlessly down her body. The towel slipped from him as he picked her up, his eyes on hers once again as they crossed the few feet to the bed. The clothing he’d been planning to wear fell to the floor, landing on top of her hastily discarded T-shirt and jeans.

  He leaned over her, stroking her face, but he didn’t speak. She had to wonder what was going through his mind. But she didn’t speak, either; she was afraid of breaking the enchantment that had seized her.

  Then she felt his mouth on hers again, and she ceased to think or analyze and gave herself completely to the sensations that overwhelmed her. His mouth left hers, trailing over her breasts. She felt the pressure of his thighs, the ripple of muscle. He moved dow
n the length of her, kissing her, and where his lips touched, it seemed that fire erupted and spread. She touched him with feather-light strokes at first, and then the hunger inside made her bolder, and she caressed his hair and his bronzed flesh in return. His every movement against her seemed erotic; he was a practiced and natural lover, she thought, a man who knew where to touch and when, and how to tease and elicit and give all at once. She prayed that she could do the same. Again, she ceased to think, she was so caught up in the carnal and earthly sensations that swirled through her, the eroticism of his tongue on her flesh and the movement of his hands….

  She cried out softly as he brought her to a fever pitch and then rose above her, sliding into her smoothly and easily, his movements a slow and evocative thrust, then escalating…becoming more and more urgent. Her hands and fingers rested on his shoulders. His eyes gazed down into hers and, once again, beyond the physical intimacy they shared in all its heady glory, she felt something deeper. It was as if his eyes could reach where no physical movement could. And yet everything—their breath, the ripple of muscle, the pure eroticism of their intimacy, the pounding of their hearts—seemed so intense that nothing could be deeper.

  But it was.

  She closed her eyes. They’d taken a step together that neither of them had planned.

  Afterward, she lay there for a minute, trying not to breathe, praying they wouldn’t speak, that nothing would come to shatter the moment.

  Then thoughts crowded her mind again, and nagging fear took hold. For her it had been as if the entire world had glowed and sparkled, but…

  For him, it might have been sex. Just sex.

  Maybe he knew she didn’t want words; she wanted to savor the moment. He didn’t speak. He held her close, and the seconds seemed to slip away. Outside, the sun fell and shadows darkened the room.

  Then he turned to her, and the whole process began again, until once more, they lay side by side, silent in the wonder of aftermath.

  Then his phone rang, and the sound seemed louder than music blasting from a disco club. Madison jumped. Sean eased her back down, rolling over to find the jeans he’d discarded before his shower and pulling his phone from the pocket.

  “Cameron,” he answered.

  She heard Logan Raintree’s voice, but couldn’t really make out the words.

  “Yes, fine, all set,” Sean said. “We’re leaving here, and we’ll grab some fast food on the way…. Sure, see you in about thirty minutes.”

  He hit the end button on his phone and looked at Madison. She was afraid he was going to give her some kind of apology, that he’d thank her jokingly, but, hey, they really needed to get going now.

  He didn’t say anything like that.

  “Race you to the shower!” he said, and leaped out of the bed.

  Stunned, she watched him for a moment. Then she bounded to her feet and rushed in. “No touching!” he teased. “We’ll be late if you do.”

  He was serious about that. They passed the soap to each other, showered quickly and dressed with equal haste.

  They were out the door and in the borrowed Prius before she realized she had yet to say a word.

  When she finally did, it was in answer to his question about what she’d like on her burger and did she want onion rings or fries. And that was fine. Since she wasn’t sure what to say…

  That was incredible? Far too clichéd. Thank you? Far too sniveling.

  Good thing they were going to the movies!

  * * *

  Guilt.

  Sean told himself he should’ve been experiencing a massive sense of guilt—not that he’d done anything for which he should feel guilty. Not really. It was just that they shouldn’t be involved when there was a chance that she was in danger, when they were in the middle of a case, when—

  No. There was no reason to feel guilt, regret or remorse. They were consenting adults with the rights of consenting adults.

  He just wished…

  That they’d met at another time, another place. In a bar, for God’s sake. Somewhere other than here and now. Because he couldn’t jeopardize her, and he couldn’t jeopardize the case.

  But did it really make a difference in the practical sense? He’d already determined that she was in danger, and maybe being closer to him was better than not.

  Eddie Archer had already begun the film.

  Eddie had taken it on himself to have Helena, Mike Greenwood and Andy Simons join them. Maybe that hadn’t been such a bad idea; he knew the rest of the team would be observing those closest to Eddie, watching for any indiscretion. Detective Benny Knox had decided to join them, as well.

  Sean sat in the darkened theater with the group as they watched Sam Stone and the Curious Case of the Egyptian Museum. He tried to remember everything he knew or had heard about the movie.

  He’d seen it before—in this very theater. He’d seen it with Eddie and Alistair and a number of the other employees at the studio.

  It certainly wasn’t the most famous of film noir movies. It had done well in its day, but both of the leads—John De La Torre and Audrey Grant—had died soon after its release, de la Torre in the service and Audrey in a plane crash as she was flying out to entertain the troops. After that, Sam Stone had somehow slipped into the pile of the “mostly forgotten.” He wondered why. Probably because neither of the two performers had really had a chance to become a big name. There’d been an accidental death on the set as well—a bit player had been electrocuted. These days it seemed that such things would make a movie more popular; in the middle of World War II, there was already too much death. Sean remembered the first time he’d seen the movie; he’d thought it was excellent because there were only two suspects in the murder of Dianna Breen’s husband—the priest, Amun Mopat, and Dianna herself. But the writing, direction and action scenes were so effective that it wasn’t until the very end that you knew the widow was innocent, and you knew because the evil priest killed her just as Sam Stone discovered the truth and killed him. There had been a scene in which the mummy was brought to life…. But as Sam Stone fought the thing to save himself, he figured out that it was mechanically run and the priest was a sham. Alistair had loved the movie so much because he’d wanted to direct and produce from the time he’d been a little kid. This movie had exceptional special effects for the day—done at this very studio—and that, too, was part of its appeal.

  “Sam!”

  They were almost at the final scene. Dianna Breen cried out in horror, and Sam rushed in, pulling the priest off Dianna, nearly insane to save the woman with whom he’d fallen in love. Amun Mopat went flying into another of the museum’s displays, a lifelike statue of a warrior carrying a dagger. Mopat was killed, dying dramatically, but when Sam went to help the fallen Dianna, she opened her eyes for a moment, told him she loved him—and died.

  The credits rolled. Eddie rose to go back to the projection booth and stop the movie. The lights came on.

  Knox stood and looked at Sean.

  “So. What did this do? Any good at all?”

  Sean stood, too. He wasn’t sure why Knox was trying to intimidate him, but he was taller than Knox, so at least he had a physical advantage.

  “It did a lot of good,” Sean said.

  Eddie was coming back from the booth. “What? What did you see in the movie that could possibly help?”

  “I don’t get it,” Mike Greenwood murmured.

  “You don’t notice it, Mike—or you, Andy—because you haven’t been down in the museum since the crime. And you didn’t,” he said, turning to his team, “because you’d never seen the tableau before and wouldn’t know what had changed. Helena, I’m not sure how familiar you are with the tableau—”

  Before he could finish his explanation, Madison jumped up with a gasp.

  “You know?” he asked her.

  Her eyes met his, brilliantly blue.

  “Tell them,” he said.

  “The dagger is gone—the dagger in the hands of the ancient Egyptia
n warrior. It’s gone.” She looked at Sean again. “That’s why it seemed just a bit off. The mannequins were all turned slightly, not back exactly where they should’ve been. The sarcophagus was at an angle, the big jackal was too close to the warrior. But the dagger, the dagger that killed the priest in the movie—it’s gone!”

  “It was a real dagger?” Knox asked.

  “Those tableaux have been up for nearly fifty years,” Eddie said. “Yes, it was real. Not from a tomb of course, but a replica. The sarcophagus is real, too—made in Egypt by Egyptian craftsmen to the correct proportions and rules of funerary art.” He walked over to Madison, taking her by the shoulders. “Madison, you’re sure? Is there anything else? I have to get down there myself. I’m probably the only one who’d know if anything else was different.”

  Before she could respond, Helena stood, coming over to Eddie and speaking in a low voice. “Eddie, the dagger is gone, but…how does that help? So now the police know that a prop was stolen from the tableau. All that does is tell us what the murder weapon was—or might have been.”

  Eddie looked sick for a minute, but turned to Sean hopefully. “It helps, doesn’t it? It helps?”

  “Anything we know helps,” Sean assured him.

  “You’re sure it’s not there—somewhere?” Knox asked.

  “Detective, you don’t think your team of forensic experts would’ve missed a dagger?” Sean said with more than a hint of sarcasm. “Even if it had been precisely where it was supposed to be, they would have taken it for testing.”

  Knox seemed embarrassed. “Would the dagger have been sharp enough after all these years to have slashed the young woman’s throat?”

  “I need to go down there,” Eddie muttered again. “I need to go down to the tunnel.”

  Knox said, “There’s no way I’m going to have everyone traipsing around in that tunnel. When we release it, teams have to come in to clean. We can’t allow it to become a health hazard. We—”