by Anna Durand
I couldn't stand here doing nothing, and I didn't think I could hit a shadowy target with the gun. I needed light.
Without a clue what I might find, I pushed away from the jamb and rushed across the doorway. My fingers found the object I'd seen—a light switch, thank heaven—and I flicked it.
Light flooded the room, blinding me for a second.
It must've blinded Logan's attacker too, and Logan.
My vision cleared right as the attacker, a burly man with a scarred face, swung his pipe at Logan.
Logan caught the pipe and rammed his knee up into the man's groin. He tore the pipe from the villain's grasp and swung it like a baseball bat, whacking the creep in the gut.
The bad guy staggered backward, but he didn't stop.
Logan wielded the pipe with both hands, ready to strike again.
A fourth man loitered on the other side of the room, which looked like an old office, along with a fifth man who was tied to a chair.
I didn't have a chance to take in more details. The fourth bad buy whipped out a large knife and tossed it to the thug Logan had walloped with a pipe.
The villain charged at Logan, knife in hand.
No time to think. I reacted on instinct.
I raised the gun and fired.
The shot hit the thug in the shoulder. He dropped the knife, lost his balance, and stumbled into an old metal desk. Dazed, he slumped to the floor.
"Get the bitch!" the thug shouted to his cohort, his voice thickly colored by what sounded a lot like a Russian accent.
The only man left standing abandoned the guy strapped to the chair and whipped out a gun, aiming it at me.
Logan catapulted over the desk to tackle the man. The gun went spinning across the concrete floor.
The thug staggered to his feet, glaring at me with murder in his eyes.
I aimed my gun at him. "Stop right there."
Logan grabbed the zip ties out of his pocket. He roughly shoved the man who'd formerly held a gun into a dilapidated but sturdy wooden chair, securing his wrists by looping the zip tie through a spindle in the chair's back. That creep would not be running away, at least not fast enough to escape. Logan proceeded to secure two of the other men where they lay on the floor, but for the big thug he used four zip ties to secure the man's wrists and ankles, tying him to the old metal desk that I noticed was bolted to the floor. He wouldn't be escaping either. Not that I believed for one second any of these guys had a chance in hell of getting away from Logan even if he hadn't tied them up.
He approached the man who was tied to the chair.
I hurried over there too. The man looked young, twenties by my estimate. He had dirty blond hair that needed a trim and an angular face. I'd seen that face before. Alex's dossier on Falk Mullane had included a photo of the grad student.
We'd found Falk. But where were the tablets?
Falk stared blankly at us for a couple seconds, then burst into tears.
Well, he burst into sobs. I didn't see any actual tears. I exchanged glances with Logan, who seemed equally unimpressed by Falk's display. The kid was faking it.
He wasn't a kid, though. He was an adult. Much younger than I was, but a grown man nonetheless.
Logan barred his arms over his chest as he aimed his patented scary-calm glare at Falk. "Terrified are ye?"
The words conveyed no concern or empathy.
Falk faked a few more sobs. "Oh, th-thank God. P-please get me out of h-here, whoever you are. These m-men kidnapped m-me and threatened to k-kill me."
"I see," Logan said, tipping his head side to side while squinting at the man tied to the chair. "Afraid you're overdoing it, laddie. A few too many stammers in your plea for help."
Falk's eyes bulged, and his lip quivered.
Quivered too much. He was in no danger of winning an Academy Award for his performance.
The supposed prisoner bowed his head and let out a loud, not-the-least-convincing sob. "P-please, I d-don't know wh-what you m-mean."
Logan laughed, though the sound was menacing rather than cheerful. "I've seen drunk prostitutes put on a more believable performance." He ambled behind Falk, studying something on the back of the chair. "If you were a genuine prisoner, those scunners over there would have tied you up better than this. You can slip out of this rope anytime."
"Are you serious?" Falk said with too much relief and excitement. "Thank God those guys didn't tie the rope right."
"Oh, they tied it correctly." Logan reached down, flicked something, and the rope around Falk's wrists fell to the floor. "Your men made sure you could easily get yourself free, the way you instructed them to do."
Falk rubbed his wrists like they hurt, but given how easily Logan had released the restraints, I doubted Falk had any rope burns.
"What do you mean?" Falk asked. "You can't seriously think those guys work for me. I was kidnapped."
Logan moved in front of the supposed prisoner, standing inches from the man, and planted his shoe on the chair between Falk's legs. "You are a liar."
"Please, you gotta believe me."
"No one has to believe anything. And I donnae believe a word that's come out of your mouth." Logan bent his raised knee and leaned into it. "Try again, laddie."
Falk clamped his lips shut, flattening them. His gaze skipped around the room as he took in the sight of the four burly men Logan had defeated single-handedly. Falk's attention shifted to me, and his brows squished together. "Who's the chick?"
Nobody had ever called me a chick before, not even when I was a teenager.
Logan snapped his fingers in front of Falk's eyes. "Look at me, laddie, not her. I'm your entire world right now, so forget about everyone else in this room and look at me."
If he'd spoken those words to me, in that icy tone, I would've obeyed him.
Falk had at least that much sense, since he swerved his gaze back to Logan.
But of course, he couldn't keep his trap shut. "Why'd you bring your girlfriend? She's a potential hostage."
"Hostage?" Logan chuckled with such dark intent that a thrill rippled through me. "Think again, Mullane. Do yourself a favor and start telling the truth. Why did you hire those men?"
"What? I didn't—"
Logan transferred his foot to Falk's chest and leaned in close enough his breaths fluttered Falk's hair. Their noses were almost touching. "No more lies, no more evasion. The truth. Or I might need to resort to digging the facts out of you."
I had no idea what "digging the facts out" meant, but I was positive it wouldn't be pleasant. Logan would never take it too far, of that I was certain, but I had no doubts he knew every possible way to get the truth out of someone.
Falk's eyes widened. "Shit, man, you're seriously whacked, aren't you?"
Logan gave Falk's chest a shove with his shoe. "Stop yer blethering, ye cacan. You have five seconds to confess. One, two—"
"I don't—it's not—"
"Three, four—"
"Okay-okay!" Falk threw his hands up in surrender but made the mistake of glancing at me. "Jeez, lady, can you get your pit bull off my chest? He's speaking in tongues or something."
Logan backhanded Falk, making the twerp yelp and flinch. "What did I say about looking at her?"
"Not to do it."
"And will ye be doing that again, ye cacan?"
Falk shook his head. "No. But, uh, half of what you say sounds like gibberish."
"It's Gaelic, laddie. I called you a wee shit, which is what you are. A cacan and an eejit." Logan raised his hand as if to backhand Falk again. "Start talking."
"Yeah, sure, yeah." Falk squirmed, turning his face away but peeking at Logan out the corner of his eye. "Did Alex send you? I only ask 'cuz it'll make this easier to explain if you already know what he made me do."
"Alex Thorne didn't make you do anything." Logan folded his arms over his raised knee, his foot still pinned to Falk's chest. "He offered you a job, and
being a larcenous little bod ceann, you took it. And then you blackmailed him."
Falk looked confused but had enough sense to not ask what bod ceann meant. Logan was calling Falk a dickhead, and I had to agree the term was fitting.
"Look at me," Logan said.
The bod ceann faced Logan again, swallowing hard. "Yeah, I blackmailed him. Alex deserved it, though. He's such a prick and thinks he's always right, and how does he get all those women to sleep with him? That asshole gets more tail than any—"
Logan seized Falk's nose and twisted it, letting go as soon as the twit flinched and said ow. "Focus, laddie, and forget about Alex. Your petty jealousy is not illuminating. Start with the thugs you hired."
"Oh, them." The twit shrugged, managing a sheepish smile. "I hired them over the internet. A friend taught me how to get on the dark web, and I found a site where you can hire anybody to do anything. So I did."
I couldn't resist speaking any longer. "Did you pay by Visa or Mastercard? Probably got double cash back for a bulk purchase. Or maybe the dark web has a four-thugs-for-the-price-of-two deal."
Logan threw me an amused look over his shoulder, one that Falk couldn't see.
"Sorry—" I cut myself off before I said sorry, honey. Logan was in a groove with the badass spy routine, and I didn't want to ruin the mood. "I'll be quiet."
Falk seemed to have run out of common sense, because he sniggered at Logan. "You whipped or what? Maybe your girlfriend should do the interrogating." He sneered at me. "Gimme a blow job and I'll tell you everything. With that mouth, I bet you suck guys off real good."
A muscle pulsed in Logan's jaw, and his eyes narrowed to slits.
Oh no, Falk, you moron. Biiiig mistake.
Logan slugged Falk in the stomach. "Never look at her again. Never speak to her. For you, she does not exist. Understand?"
Wheezing, his face flushing crimson, Falk nodded.
"Good." Logan removed his foot from the other man's chest and took half a step backward. "You think you're a criminal mastermind, but you are a fucking eejit. Why did you hire those men?"
Falk was still trying to catch his breath, but he managed to speak, albeit haltingly. "I found a buyer for the tablets on the dark web, but I figured I'd better bring some muscle with me in case the buyer tries to shaft me."
"Or kill you, which is more likely. After five minutes with you, I'm plotting various ways to murder you and dispose of the body."
Falk gaped at Logan, too flummoxed for words.
"Something went wrong," Logan said. "Your hired thugs turned on you."
"Yeah, they decided keeping the money for themselves was a better idea. When you two showed up, they were talking about who should shoot me in the head." Falk rolled his gaze toward the man tied to the desk. "Sergei was really jonesing for it. He's a total psycho."
"Aye, that's what you get when you buy thugs over the internet."
The use of his name seemed to rouse Sergei. He blinked rapidly, lifting his head, which had lolled onto his shoulder. His attention landed on me, and he snarled, "You bitch, you shot me."
"Haud yer wheesht," Logan snarled back.
Sergei shut his mouth but scowled at Logan.
"Where are the tablets?" Logan asked Falk.
"Cyprus."
"Why would you hide the tablets on Cyprus?"
A few beads of sweat dribbled down Falk's temples. "My parents have a vacation house on the island. Since they're in Japan for the month, I figured I could stash the tablets at the Cyprus house until I meet with the buyer and get my payment."
"Then why are you in Egypt?"
"Because Leonid over there"—Falk pointed to the first man who'd attacked Logan—"thought we should lure you here, since I knew Alex sent somebody after me. It was a trap, and you walked right into it."
"We knew it was a trap, ye cacan." Logan studied Falk for a moment, the intensity of his stare making the younger man cringe. "How did you know Alex sent someone after you?"
"I paid off the butler to get info. You know, that dude Reginald."
Alex couldn't have known about that, I was sure of it. He trusted Reginald. Of course, Logan had deduced the fact the butler was faking his British accent. If he faked one thing, he could fake another—like loyalty.
"Where is your buyer?" Logan asked.
"Milan. He's a mondo collector of really old crap."
I had to ask. "How did you ever make it to grad school? You're not that smart."
"No, I'm not," he admitted with a rueful smile. "I cheated. Lots. And my parents bribed some people too."
Logan seized Falk's shirt and hauled him out of the chair. "We're going to retrieve the tablets, and you're coming with us." He glanced at the goons. "Without your mates."
"You're leaving them here? I mean, they'll be real pissed about that."
"Da," Sergei said, "we tear his head from his body. The tablets belong to us."
The man who'd previously guarded Falk bounced his chair across the floor, eliciting a sound like the scraping of nails on a chalkboard. "No, it belongs to my country."
He spoke with a different accent from the other three goons.
"Your country?" Logan said. "You're Egyptian. Babylon is in modern-day Iraq."
I sidled up to Logan. "What are you going to do with them?"
"Leave them here, for now. But don't worry, I have plans for them." He grabbed Falk's wrists and bound them with a zip tie. "And I need to call an old friend."
Chapter Thirty-One
Logan
Maybe I had suffered a wee attack of anxiety about how Serena would react when she saw me in my element, as she'd phrased it. I shouldn't have worried. Even while I interrogated the cacan Falk Mullane, I'd kept an eye on Serena, and she had been fine. The wonderful lass seemed to enjoy our adventure in Cairo, but I knew she'd come down from that adrenaline high sooner or later, and then she would realize she'd shot a man.
To protect me.
Other men might've been upset if they needed a woman to save them, but I loved her strength and bravery.
Serena must have wondered about my plan for the hired thugs Falk had ordered over the internet. Her unspoken questions were answered when my contact at the Egyptian version of MI6 walked into the office in the old warehouse. Serena cocked one hip and set her hand on it, her brows rising, when she saw the attractive woman dressed in a sleek black pantsuit and sensible but stylish black shoes.
I may have rushed too much to introduce the women.
"Serena," I said, "this is Nadya Zaman. She's with Mukhabarat, the Egyptian intelligence service. We worked together a few times. Nadya, this is Serena Carpenter. She's my, ah..."
"I'm his girlfriend," Serena said with a cool smile.
Why hadn't I been able to say the word girlfriend? It sounded strange, considering who we were. Not teenagers. Not even in our twenties. To refer to a forty-two-year-old widow and single mother as my girlfriend was odd, to say the least. What else could I call her?
Serena's smile had an edge to it, as did her voice, when she shook Nadya's hand and said, "It's a pleasure to meet one of Logan's spy buddies."
"Are you with the CIA?" Nadya asked, and I was sure the question was not a joke.
"No," Serena answered. "I'm the executive assistant to a Scottish billionaire."
"My cousin Evan," I said, as if that mattered. For some reason, this conversation made me uneasy. Tackling four brutes hadn't bothered me, but this did.
"How interesting," Nadya said, then she turned to me. "When you called, you mentioned something about illegal antiquities?"
"These men attempted to coerce this one here"—I hooked a thumb toward Falk, who was slouching in a chair with his wrists zip-tied—"into handing over priceless Babylonian tablets that he was transporting for Dr. Alex Thorne, a professor at a university in Montana. These charming lads over here"—I indicated the four thugs—"abducted the other one."
I had decid
ed to go along with Mullane's ridiculous story, at least officially. I needed Nadya to take these men into custody but leave Mullane with me, and though I doubted she was buying the lie, I knew she would cooperate. Giving her a narrative to share with her superiors would smooth the way for all of us. We needed Mullane to take us to the tablets, after all. And we needed him to take the fall for stealing them.
Maybe I should have felt bad about that, but the cacan deserved what he got. Every time I experienced a twinge of guilt over it, I reminded myself the bastard had laid a trap for us and had hired four thugs to do who-knew-what to us.
"Antiquities crimes are punished severely in Egypt," Nadya said to the men. "Do you enjoy prison? I'm sure our facilities will be to your liking, if you like sand flies and scorpions, and if you enjoy daily beatings."
I liked the way the Russians squirmed, those scunners. The Egyptian man, whose name I hadn't bothered to wring out of him, seemed even more disturbed than his cohorts. He'd probably spent time in an Egyptian prison and knew what it was like.
"My men will be here soon," Nadya told me. "I can handle these four until then. I'm sure you need to be somewhere, Logan."
"Thank you, Nadya."
She kissed me full on the mouth—thankfully, not with tongue—and smiled. "It's good to see you. Have a safe journey."
I seized Mullane by his bound wrists and grasped Serena's hand. We exited the warehouse, trudging down the road to where I'd parked our car. I considered stowing Mullane in the trunk, but decided Serena might not appreciate that, so I shoved him into the backseat. Serena took the passenger seat while I got in on the driver's side. Once we were on the move, driving toward downtown Cairo, Serena spoke.
First, she sneaked her hand onto my thigh.
"You could've locked Falk in the trunk," she said. "I wouldn't have minded."
"Hey!" the cacan said. "I'd mind."
"Haud yer wheesht," I told him. "No one wants to hear anything you have to say."
Mullane sulked, but kept his mouth shut.
"Did you sleep with Nadya?" Serena asked.
It was my turn to squirm. "Yes. It was a long time ago."