Tut's Trumpet

by Allie Burton

  Her motions increased the torturous pain and made him uncomfortable in a purely male way. After a thousand years of being a stone statue, these new sensations awakened him from a self-imposed sensual prison. “Aria, listen to me.”

  Her movements froze. “How do you know my name?”

  “Really? That’s your most important question?” He tried to tease her into submission.

  She bucked like a bronco once. Twice. “What do you want?” She spoke through gritted teeth.

  He held her arms above her head and stared at her pouting lips. Stared at her smooth skin, and the long line of her naked neck. Frustration connected with desire, battled for dominance. “Tut’s trumpet.”

  “Join the chorus.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s a musical twist to the expression join the club, meaning everyone wants the trumpet.” Her eyes narrowed and she studied him. “Did you kidnap my grandfather?”

  “No.” He tightened his jaw knowing she wouldn’t believe him. “The Society of Aten kidnapped Professor York. They contacted you, right?”

  “Someone called and said they had Grandfather and they wanted the trumpet.”

  “For now. They haven’t realized you played Tut’s bronze trumpet.”

  Her jaw dropped open, making her mouth more tempting. “How do you know?”

  “If I get off of you, will you promise not to run?” His body twitched, fighting off the aching misery. And other things. He really didn’t want to stay in this position for several reasons. “I’ll explain everything.”

  She jerked her head down in a slow nod, thinking before agreeing.

  He didn’t trust the nod or her sudden blank expression, but he’d made a deal. He scooted off her and got to his knees. Standing, he held his hand out, even though the continued touch would hurt.

  She rolled away, closer to the bed. Scrambling to her feet, she grabbed the light off the nightstand and yanked the cord out of the socket. She swung the lamp toward him.

  Mad disappointment had him shaking his head. He didn’t panic or duck. He should’ve guessed she would lie. People in the modern era lied a lot. Casually, he put his hand out, blocking the lamp’s momentum. The lamp stopped in his palm. “You promised.”

  She let go of the lamp and veered toward the door. Another move that would get her nowhere and only increased the anger pumping through his bloodstream. He was done being nice.

  Without letting go of the lamp, he grabbed her upper arms with one hand and yanked her back. Using his super strength, he guided her toward the four poster bed and forced her to sit. He reined in his temper. “I only want to talk.”

  “Why would I trust you?” Her face scrunched in a nasty expression. Her fear throbbed.

  Fighting against her weak struggles, he tied her hands to the post with the lamp’s cord. “Sorry. Now maybe you’ll listen.”

  “Sorry?” She hadn’t expected politeness.

  He wasn’t feeling very polite, but he thought being nice might make her listen.

  “You break into the house, accost me—”

  “You attacked me with a guitar.” So much for her listening.

  “Tie me up and probably kidnapped my grandfather.” She jerked on the cord.

  “I don’t have your grandfather.” He hadn’t made the best knot so he hoped they could get this discussion over quickly and he could get away from her exasperating and tempting company. “The Society of Aten has your grandfather. I recognized them in the black car.”

  Her eyebrows arched so high he thought they’d top the Golden Gate Bridge. “You’re claiming you’re the good guy, yet you didn’t stop an old man from being kidnapped.”

  More accusations.

  “Not my assignment.” He crossed his arms against his chest.

  “What was your assignment? Kidnapping me?” She kept shifting, accusing and verbally insulting.

  Using his past memories to shore up his physical defenses, everything inside him hardened. He had a job to do. He couldn’t worry about her feelings or her future. He needed to get ahold of the instrument.

  “Retrieval of the bronze trumpet is my assignment.” His terse tone spelled out exactly why he was there. “And if you’ll tell me where the bronze trumpet is, I’ll be on my way.”

  Chapter Five

  Aria

  “Pfft.” Like finding the trumpet would be simple. I’d been searching the house for hours and couldn’t find the instrument. “What about my grandfather?”

  The intruder ran his fingers through his hair. “Maybe the Society will return your grandfather once they realize you no longer have the trumpet. It’s for his and your safety that you give me the trumpet.”

  Yeah, right. I didn’t believe a word he said. I didn’t know this guy from Beethoven. Besides, the trumpet needed to stay with me. I mean, the trumpet needed to stay with me until I traded it for my grandfather. I yanked on the cord.

  “The kidnappers, Society, whatever, think I have both trumpets.” Even if I did find the bronze trumpet, I didn’t have the second trumpet. Didn’t even know where to look. I wouldn’t have everything the kidnappers wanted to get my grandfather back. Panic palpitated, spiking into despair.

  “I know you don’t have both trumpets.” This guy knew a lot of things. About me and Grandfather and the trumpets.

  Shudders passed, cold ripples in my veins. “Do you know where the second trumpet is?” I kept him talking while I loosened the knot more. My wrist scraped against the cord, almost slipping through.

  “We’re working on finding it.” He balked, his intelligent eyes dimming.

  “Who’s we?”

  “The group I work for.” He shifted his feet and ran his fingers through his hair again. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Keep him talking and distracted.

  “How did you know I played the bronze trumpet?” I remembered he’d stated this as fact when he’d first grabbed me.

  “I don’t know anything.” He avoided my gaze.

  “You obviously know more than you’re saying.” My arteries hardened toward him and everything he said. “When I pushed you, you acted weird, as if I’d hurt you. And you said, you played the trumpet. You knew.”

  He pursed his lips. “Yeah, I knew.”

  “How?” Holding my breath, I waited to hear his explanation.

  Something about Tut’s trumpet was different. It wasn’t just an ancient artifact.

  “Once someone blows the trumpet…” He glanced at the floor. Was he trying to come up with a lie? Or was he trying to put off telling me? “What did you feel when you played the trumpet?”

  An instantaneous rush of power stirred in my blood. With the power came anger at him. At the kidnapper. At the police. At Grandfather. At anyone who interfered with my ability to play the trumpet. I yanked my wrists farther apart.

  I had to dissuade him from taking the trumpet away. “What’s so important about this trumpet? It’s old and it doesn’t have very good resonance.”

  “Professor York didn’t tell you?”

  I shook my head using the move to cover the fact one of my wrists was free. I held the excited jiggle inside and kept my expression neutral.

  “Tut’s trumpets have magical properties.” His tone was so serious, so sure.

  I was drawn in by his deep voice, by the precision in which he picked his words. Then I analyzed what he said and fake-laughed. “Good one.”

  “I’m not kidding. How do you think I knew you played the trumpet?”

  My brows furrowed. He did seem to be positive about the fact, even when I’d denied it. He had probably been spying on me.

  Glancing around the room, his longish hair swished. “Tell me where the war trumpet is?”

  “War trumpet?”

  “The bronze trumpet is called the war trumpet. The silver trumpet is called the peace trumpet. Together, the trumpets provide balance and harmony.” His determined expression told me he wasn’t going to give up.

  “Now you sound new-ag
ey.”

  His mouth firmed with an angry scowl. “Where’s the bronze trumpet Gordon brought to your house?”

  I struggled with the cord. If I could get loose and surprise the intruder I might be able to escape. “Where’s my grandfather?” Maybe this guy could help me find him.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I don’t know where the trumpet is, either.”

  “You have to. You played it.” He tapped his black-booted foot.

  “Yes, and my grandfather found me and was angry. He hid the trumpet.”

  “I don’t have time to search this entire house.” He nodded and ran his fingers through his thick hair again. His eyelids closed slightly. “But you can feel the trumpet’s essence, can’t you?”

  “The trumpet’s essence?”

  “The trumpet has a way of calling people to play. Once you do, the war essence is embedded inside of you. The more you play, the more you want to play, the greater connection you have to the instrument.”

  I remembered how I’d sensed something in Grandfather’s office closet. How my anger had come to the top of my emotions. How I’d felt power and put it down to my anger and fear.

  A crashing came from downstairs. Glass being shattered.

  New fear quaked in my body. I jerked in my bindings. How many people wanted to break into the house tonight?

  “Stay here.” His tone showed over-protectiveness, like he cared what happened to me.

  Which was stupid. He only cared about finding the trumpet. “Funny, because I’m tied up.”

  He stalked toward the door without making a sound. Flashing one last glance at me, he headed out and down the stairs.

  He’d better be careful. Stop that. I don’t care what happens to him.

  I struggled with the electrical cord around my wrist. I had to get free. Pulling on the final knot, I slipped my other wrist out and ran toward the door. When I hit the top step, I paused. I didn’t hear anything. No raised voices or sounds of a skirmish.

  I dashed down the stairs. Peering around the hallway corner, I tiptoed toward the front door. My only thought one of escape.

  Strong arms wrapped around me in a hug. The tingles and warmth surrounded and gave me strange comfort.

  “It’s too late to run. The Society has changed their demands.” The intruder, the first intruder, held me tight. He carried a wistful tone as if he wished for a simpler time.

  “Where are they?” My gaze searched the area. My ears listened for a sound.

  “Gone. Why didn’t the Society call with their change in demands? Why throw a rock through a window with a note attached?”

  Even the intruder thought this situation was bizarre.

  “Phone’s dead.” Anxiety thumped my brain, similar to a clock counting down. “What do they want now?”

  From the hallway I saw the smashed window. A damp breeze slinked through the cracks. How was I going to fix that? If I left it someone else could break in.

  “The Society is demanding you play the trumpet of war.” The intruder held a note.

  “Why? Are they terrible-music fans?” The ticking in my head boomed louder. Why did I feel safe in his arms? The thought teased my mind. Why did I not classify this stranger with the kidnappers?

  “The bronze trumpet is known as the war trumpet because it causes discordance in people.” His arms slackened, realizing I wasn’t going to run.

  “It causes anger in people who play it?” I remembered the anger charging through me when I played, remembered Grandfather’s fury.

  “Yes, and…” His lips gave a grim smile. “…causes discordance in the world. The Society is trying to start a war.”

  “How is that even possible? How could some small organization start a war?” I studied the fractured window with a large hole in the middle the rock had made. Who delivered messages that way?

  The intruder leaned against the kitchen counter. He picked up a cookie jar shaped like a bass drum. “The Society of Aten is larger and more powerful than most people think. They plan to seize power.”

  “Why would I believe you? Who are you?” Why was I even standing here listening to him? I should call the police, except the phones were down. Had he cut the line? But he hadn’t known the phones were dead.

  He set the cookie jar down and bowed. Yes, bowed. “Excuse me. I haven’t formally introduced myself.”

  A gasp squeezed between tight lips. “That would be normal for most burglars and kidnappers. How many thieves do you know who break into a house and introduce themselves before stealing? Um, that would be none.”

  “I’m Falcon.”

  “Weird name. Aren’t falcons birds of prey?”

  Color flooded his cheeks. He glared at the tile on the ground. “I’m a good guy.”

  “That would explain why you broke into my house and tied me up.” This conversation was getting more bizarre. Next, he’d be telling me he wanted to help. I took another step toward the kitchen door. Maybe I could run outside and flag down a passing police car. “How do I know you’re not working with the kidnappers?”

  “Why would the kidnappers send you this note while I’m here if I was working with them?” Shuffling his feet, Falcon ran his fingers through his hair—a trait I was already starting to recognize. “I’m working for an organization that retrieves artifacts with magical abilities to protect the world from those who would abuse the items.”

  “Magical abilities?” I choked down a laugh. “Why would I believe any of this?”

  This guy was crazy. I took another step toward the door, trying to be casual, to look more like pacing than escape.

  “You said your grandfather hid the trumpet. Why?” He leaned toward me and grabbed my arm.

  Controlling my natural jerk, I tried not to react. To his touch or to his offensive move. So much for getting away. Maybe if I kept him talking, calmed him down, built his trust…

  “It’s an ancient instrument. It’s valuable,” I said in a like, duh voice.

  “You know you sensed the power of the trumpet when you played.”

  I sucked in a large breath, remembering the power and fury rushing through me, similar to one of Richard Wagner’s angsty operas.

  “If you give me the war trumpet, the kidnappers will go after me. Not you.” He used a reasonable, this-is-the-only-way tone. A tone meant to convince and persuade. A deep tone that sung through my veins, as if he had power over me like the trumpet.

  No. I don’t believe that. The trumpet was valuable because it was an ancient artifact. There were no magical powers. “You’re trying to scare me.”

  Angling my head, I scowled at the place where he clutched my arm.

  He dropped my arm, as if I’d burned him. With his stupid belief in magical powers, maybe he thought I had. “You have to listen to me.”

  “I don’t have the silver trumpet and don’t know where my grandfather hid the war trumpet.” Free from his touch, I took another step in the direction of the door. “If you were a good guy, you’d leave.”

  Falcon stared, trying to decipher my true meaning. The intensity of his gaze set my heart on a fast tempo. “Don’t you want help with the broken window?”

  “Really? You’re going to help me?” I didn’t understand him. Sneaking into my house, tying me up, demanding the trumpet, and now offering to help. He must be trying to trick me.

  “I said I was a good guy.” His serious expression didn’t try to convince. He stated the fact as if it was truth and I was supposed to believe him.

  My brain bongoed back and forth. I did need help. With my injuries, I wasn’t supposed to lift more than ten pounds, and between running to the house after Grandfather’s kidnapping and fighting Falcon, every torn muscle in my body ached. “There’s a piece of plywood in the laundry room.”

  “Come with me.” Falcon pushed himself off the counter and took hold of my arm.

  A pleasing zing spiraled down my skin. I shot a glance at him. His face twisted in pain. He didn’t like me or
trust me, and wasn’t the least bit attracted to me.

  We were thinking along the same lines, because I didn’t trust him, either. I did need his help, though, so I let him pull me into the laundry room. I’d let him fix the window and then I’d somehow get him out of the house so I could search again for the trumpet.

  Falcon pulled the plywood from between the washer and dryer. “Do you have a toolbox?”

  “I think Grandfather has one in here.” I opened the cabinet above the washer and dryer.

  Grandfather kept supplies you’d normally keep in a garage here. I knew, because I’d wanted to hang the new curtains he’d purchased for my room the day I’d moved in. They gave me a feeling of having a fresh start. Who knew my fresh start would change to terror within days?

  Pushing the horrible thoughts aside, I located the toolbox behind the laundry detergent and got the metal box down.

  Falcon carried the wood and I carried the toolbox into the kitchen. He hefted the wood over the window and placed it on the ledge. “Hammer and nails.”

  I handed him the hammer, thinking how stupid I was, giving my enemy a weapon. I realized if he wanted to hurt me he didn’t need a weapon.

  With a single thwack, proving how strong Falcon was, each nail sunk into the wood and the window frame. The repair job took less than a minute.

  Bzzzzz. Bzzzzz.

  He took a cell phone out of his pocket. “Falcon.”

  I ogled the phone, wanting to grab it out of his hand.

  “I’m with her right now.” As he listened, his gaze roved my body, sending tingles across my skin. “Should I tell her?”

  He was talking about me. To whom?

  “I’ll meet you there.” Falcon clicked the phone and studied me. “There’s a lead on Professor York.”

  The turned-on tingles morphed to ripples of relief. “What kind of lead? Where is he? How do you know?” And why should I believe Falcon? Could he be trying to trick me?

  “I can’t say.” He tucked the phone back in his pocket. “I gotta go.”