Enemy Mine

by Kay Hooper

  She drew a deep breath and handed the chalice to Kane, saying steadily, “I’m not sure. What do you think?”

  Kane turned the cup in his big hands for a moment, then upended it and studied the base of the pedestal. “Hell,” he muttered.

  Tyler was quick to catch the note of disappointment in his voice. “It isn’t—” she began, then glanced aside at Drew a bit uncertainly.

  “Don’t mind me,” he said without looking up from his scrutiny of the ruby necklace.

  Kane said to the other man, “You know what we were hoping.” And it wasn’t a question.

  “That it’s Alexander’s chalice?”

  “Yes.”

  “I recognized it,” Drew said simply.

  Tyler exchanged a quick glance with Kane, then said, “What do you mean?”

  Drew wrapped the necklace and put it in his backpack with the other bundles, then held out a hand. “May I?” He accepted the cup from Kane and turned it in his hands slowly, his eyes narrowed as he examined it. “The figures could be Egyptian, but there’s clearly a Greek influence, as well . . . common with Persian art. And this small figure here”—he indicated one of the chariot warriors on the bowl—“is bearing a royal standard. The size and design match the descriptions I’ve found.”

  “You’ve searched for it before?” Tyler asked quickly.

  “Paper search. The two chalices weren’t always together, so it was difficult.” As Kane had done, he upended the cup and studied the bottom. “It doesn’t have Alexander’s seal, but then, only one of the pair did.”

  “His seal?” Tyler was puzzled.

  Kane accepted the chalice again as Drew handed it over, frowning slightly. “According to legend,” he told Tyler slowly, “Alexander himself suspected poison. He wanted to mark the cup that he’d drunk from, so he had his manservant heat the base of the pedestal in the fire until the gold softened and then pressed his signet ring into it.”

  “You didn’t tell me that,” Tyler accused.

  Kane shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. This cup doesn’t have a sign of any tampering with the base. It could still be one of the pair, of course, but I was hoping for indisputable proof.”

  Casually Drew suggested, “Then find the other one.”

  Tyler felt a surge of excitement greater than any she’d felt today. “If we could do that—”

  “Where do we look?” Kane said dryly. “Considering how far this one’s come from Babylon—assuming it’s Alexander’s—the other one could have ended up anywhere in the world, even if it still exists.”

  “Venice,” Drew said, still casual. “Or thereabouts.” He was stared at, and returned the stares with a flicker of amusement. “That paper search I mentioned. I started with the last known whereabouts of at least one of the cups, in Florence, and since records after that were destroyed I backtracked. About two hundred years ago, one chalice was in the possession of a wealthy Venetian family by the name of Montegro. Maybe theirs was the chalice that ended up in Florence. Or maybe not. I was . . . distracted by other matters at that point, so I’m not even sure if the family survives today. But if they do, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to check them out. You never know, after all.”

  “What’s your interest?” Tyler asked him slowly.

  He smiled at her. “The same as always. I’d love to own both chalices. If you two do go after the other one, and do by chance find it and are able to acquire it, keep me in mind. I could probably match what your respective employers are paying, and it would be a shame to split the chalices up again.”

  Kane was slowly wrapping the chalice in its burlap, frowning. Tyler glanced at him, then looked at Drew as the other man got to his feet and shrugged into the backpack. “Montegro, you said?”

  He nodded at her. “Worth a try.” He glanced off toward the end of the valley they had entered, and said musingly, “We’ve probably got about six hours on the bandits. If you two head north, you should run into a road within a few miles to take you into Bogotá. I think I’ll head west for a few hours; with any luck, the bandits will have to decide which of us to follow. It might delay them. But I wouldn’t waste any time in leaving Colombia.”

  Tyler gazed at him a moment, then said bemusedly, “Why do I feel an absurd impulse to thank you after you shot at us?”

  “I have no idea. But I’m sure we’ll meet again.” Drew grinned faintly, saluted them both casually and struck out across the valley heading west. Within minutes he was out of hearing, and was soon lost to sight.

  “We should move out, as well,” Kane said almost absently. “Drew was right about that road being a few miles north. If we find some transport, a truck or jeep—hell, even a couple of burros—we could reach Bogotá by tomorrow afternoon.”

  Tyler took a deep breath. “And then?”

  Kane looked at her a moment in silence. “You want to carry this, or you want me to?” He lifted the burlap-wrapped chalice slightly.

  “And then?” Tyler repeated steadily.

  He half shrugged, then said somewhat tersely, “We could go to Venice.”

  She hadn’t wanted to be the one to suggest it herself, but Tyler felt relief sweep over her. “Do you think we have a chance of finding the other chalice?”

  “Probably not. But I’m willing to try.”

  Tyler got to her feet and shrugged into her backpack, tacitly agreeing that he should carry the chalice and watching as he put it into his own pack. She felt a return of her earlier weariness but squashed it determinedly; they had a long way to go yet, and she’d be lucky if she rested at all during the next twenty-four hours or so, much less slept.

  She told herself it was that dull weariness that made her suddenly more conscious of his every movement as he stood and slung his pack onto his back, and an anguished little voice in her mind asked her what on earth she was doing even considering spending as much as a week more in Kane’s company.

  She was out of her mind. . . .

  Kane took two steps to reach her, and lifted one hand to push her chin up slightly. “Nobody loses if we find the other chalice, right, Ty?”

  She gazed into his vivid green eyes and felt her heart lurch painfully. “Right,” she managed.

  His almost caressing tone became suddenly sardonic. “But we still don’t trust each other. Because even if we do find the other chalice, the two of them together are worth more than anything we’ve ever gone after before, right, sweetheart? Think of the bonus if one of us returns to an employer with both of Alexander’s legendary chalices.”

  Tyler felt sudden tears sting her eyes, and blinked them away. It was just rage, she told herself, rage because he took endearments like sweetheart and honey and made them sardonic or flippant, and she hated that.

  “Right,” she agreed flatly. She meant to jerk free of his grasp in a gesture of scorn and anger, but before she could move Kane lowered his head abruptly and covered her lips with his.

  Shock held Tyler still beneath the onslaught, but it wasn’t caused by his action. She was shocked because the first touch of his warm, hard mouth sent every last vestige of her anger spinning away like something shattered beyond repair. She was vaguely aware of a soft whimper of stark pleasure in the back of her throat as her lips parted beneath the insistent pressure of his, and when his tongue explored her mouth with hot need she swayed toward him with another mindless sound of delight.

  Kane’s hands dropped to her waist, sliding beneath the bottom of her backpack to hold her firmly as he pulled her hard against him. Her arms crept upward, her hands tangling in his thick hair, and she felt her body come alive wildly as it pressed against his. Her breasts ached heavily as the hardness of his chest flattened them, and she could feel the pounding of her heart and his. Instinctively her lower body molded itself to his, and even through the thick bulk of their jeans she was starkly aware of his throbbing response.

  He lifted his head at last with a reluctant slowness more eloquent than words could ever be. His eyes were darkened and hot, his
face taut, and when he spoke it was in a rough, harsh tone hardly louder than a whisper.

  “But trust doesn’t come into it, does it, sweetheart?”

  For a full minute Tyler didn’t know what he was talking about. She was still pressed against him, her fingers moving helplessly in his hair, her entire body aching and weak and heated, and she could only stare up at him in bewilderment. Her breath came rapidly between her parted lips, and she couldn’t have spoken in those first few seconds even if she had been able to string words together coherently.

  Want. It was in her mind, a seductive whisper, and in her body it was an incessant demand, like a fire burning her. But then his flat words sank into her dazed brain, and shock ran cold through her again—because he was right. Trust didn’t come into it, because she still didn’t trust him and . . . it didn’t matter.

  “Damn you,” she whispered raggedly.

  Kane gave an odd, low laugh and released her as her hands fell away from him. “Sure you want to go to Venice?” he mocked.

  Tyler turned away from him to get her rifle where it leaned near the cave entrance, and held it firmly pointed downward despite her impulses. She couldn’t control what he made her feel and that terrified her, and yet, as always, faced with a choice between running and fighting, she fiercely, even unreasonably, chose to fight. She wouldn’t run from this, couldn’t, even though every primitive instinct she could lay claim to told her that Kane and the emotions he evoked would always be beyond her control.

  “Lead on, Macduff,” she mocked in return.

  A gleam showed itself briefly in his eyes, but whether it was annoyance or admiration she couldn’t tell. He got his own rifle and started off across the valley, heading north.

  As he pushed his way through the tangle of shrubs, highly conscious of her behind him, Kane silently cursed the bandits on their trail. He would have given much to have been able to remain in the valley with Tyler for another day or so. Or, hell, even a few hours. Her instant response had both surprised and delighted him, and even though he knew the mental and emotional battles remained to be thrashed out, he also knew that physically Tyler had more or less surrendered.

  Strangely enough—and Kane found his own obstinacy baffling—it wasn’t enough. Tyler was a beautiful, desirable woman, but he wanted more than just a female body responding to his in passion. He wanted that stubborn, aloof part of her to respond to him, as well, wanted her totally involved mentally and emotionally as well as physically. And he wanted her trust.

  Stupid. A snowball had better chances in hell.

  But at least there was more time now. He had thrown down the gauntlet and Tyler had picked it up with a flash of stubborn fire in her eyes. And he felt more than a glimmer of admiration for her when he remembered that fire. She had courage and spirit and strength—and too much of all three to run from him or from anyone else.

  Anyone else . . . For the first time he wondered about the men in Tyler’s past. There had to be at least a few; with her fiery beauty, she drew men effortlessly. He knew that from their past encounters. The sheik in North Africa, so fascinated by Tyler that he’d even tried to literally steal her one night—he had been philosophical about the broken nose Kane had given him, saying only that he would have fought for her, and that it was perfectly understandable that Kane had done just that.

  And others, all over the world, men who had tried wooing, threats, bribery, and outright kidnapping. Tyler always seemed surprised, and always disinterested. But there had to be men in her private life, Kane thought.

  Had some other man discovered the same fire and courage in Tyler? Was her wariness now based purely on her mistrust of him, or had some other man hurt her? Walls came from hurt, Kane knew that, and she quite definitely had walls.

  He felt something inside him tighten, and recognized the sensation for the first time even though he had felt it before without understanding it. He had felt it in Hong Kong when Tyler had been held captive, and he had felt it in North Africa when she had been in danger. And in all the places in between, whenever she had been in peril. He had felt like this, his chest tight and a hot rage coiling inside him, and had acted instantly and instinctively to help her.

  He didn’t want Tyler to be hurt, not in any way. He didn’t even like to think about some man in her past hurting her, yet the question was in his mind now and eating at him. And he knew he’d get the answer eventually.

  THEY STOPPED ONLY briefly through the remainder of the day, and since they had found the road as predicted the going was much easier and faster than it had been until then. It was dark by the time they neared a small town. Kane found a shelter in the tumbled remains of a deserted barn.

  Shrugging out of his backpack, he said, “You wait here with the packs. Keep your rifle ready.”

  “Where are you going?” Tyler asked, trying to keep the weariness out of her voice.

  “I’m going to look for a truck or something. We could make Bogotá by noon with some wheels.”

  Tyler dropped her pack to the hard dirt floor and glanced upward at the stars shining through what was left of the roof. Flexing her shoulders, she said dryly, “Try and find us a hot meal, will you?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  They were both wearing jackets now, and Tyler drew hers tighter around her as she sat down and leaned back against one of the barn’s two remaining walls. She was bone-tired, chilled and hungry, and as she looked up at the tall shadowy figure that was Kane she felt a flash of longing for the hard warmth of his arms holding her and his body against hers.

  “Don’t go to sleep,” Kane warned.

  She found a flare of spirit from somewhere. “Have I ever gone to sleep when I shouldn’t have?” she demanded.

  He chuckled. “No. I’ll be back as soon as I can, Ty.”

  “I’ll be here,” she said with a sigh.

  TWO HOURS LATER he returned to the barn. He had found—and bought—a rickety truck with a missing muffler and four bald tires. And, with his peculiar talent for acquiring the little luxuries of life, he had also purchased, from a bewildered family on a nearby farm, a pot of stew.

  chapter six

  WHEN TYLER CLIMBED out of the truck just after noon the following day in the sprawling city of Bogotá, she had only one thing to say to Kane.

  “Shoot it. Put it out of its misery.”

  Kane grinned at her, and managed somehow to look sexy despite a heavy growth of beard and eyes reddened with weariness as he patted the rusting hood of the truck. “Don’t say mean things about Trigger,” he told her solemnly.

  She paused a moment before dragging her backpack out to rub her abused posterior. The truck had no shocks whatsoever, and the seat’s springs had a habit of poking whatever sat upon it. “I refuse to ride Trigger to the coast,” she said flatly. “We can get a train or a plane out of here.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” Kane agreed, abandoning Trigger without a backward glance as they moved by tacit consent down the street toward a hotel that looked as if it might be able to accommodate two weary travelers with the pesos to pay for a couple of rooms. “In fact, I have a friend here with a plane. And he owes me a favor.”

  In a reasonable tone Tyler said, “Even if the bandits do trail us to Bogotá, they aren’t likely to catch up with us anytime soon, not in a city of this size. So I vote we spend the night here and head for the coast in the morning. I want a bath, and then I want to sleep for about twelve hours.”

  Amiably Kane said, “Fine with me. But I’d like to go ahead and make arrangements for the trip. Why don’t you get us a couple of rooms, and I’ll see you back here in a few hours.” Before she could speak, he handed her his backpack and added, “You keep the chalice.”

  Tyler hadn’t even been thinking about that, which surprised her more than a little. But she was exhausted, and she chalked up her unusual trust to that. Because she had to say something, she said, “We’re just going to leave the rifles in the truck?”

  “Better
that way. We don’t want to attract unusual notice by carrying guns here.”

  “Okay.”

  “Got enough money for the rooms?” He grinned a little. “No offense meant, but the way you look, any desk clerk’s bound to demand the money up front.”

  Tyler eyed him, but decided a retort wasn’t worth the effort. “I have enough.”

  He nodded. “Try to get connecting rooms, and leave your side open, will you? I’ll need to get my stuff later, and you’ll probably be asleep.”

  She hesitated on the point of turning away from him and toward the hotel. Connecting rooms . . . and the doors left open.

  A bit roughly Kane said, “Take the damned chalice out of my pack and put it under your pillow.”

  Again Tyler coped silently with her own lack of mistrust where Kane and the chalice were concerned. She had been thinking along entirely different lines. I’m very tired, she reminded herself reassuringly. “Fine,” she said mildly.

  He stared at her for a moment, his mouth a little tight, then muttered an oath under his breath and strode away.

  AN HOUR LATER Tyler stood under the lukewarm spray of a shower and mused happily about how living rough made one appreciate the simple things in life. Like showers. She washed her hair thoroughly with an herbal-scented shampoo she’d bought in the gift shop off the lobby, then soaped her body luxuriously with a soap bearing the same scent.

  She remained in the shower until her skin started to wrinkle, then got out and dried off, dressing in the thick terry robe which the gift shop had also provided. She had sent every stitch of clothing she had with her to the laundry, stripping naked in the bedroom and reaching around the partly opened door to hand the stuffed laundry bag and a handful of pesos to a bemused bellman waiting patiently in the hallway.