Hidden Sanctuary, page 11
I looked at the taxi meter. The cabbie was charging me twice what he should, but I didn’t have time to argue. “Qaitbay?” I asked.
He pointed down a street toward what I hoped was the tomb. I handed him a wad of bills and got out. Walking up the street, I tried not to stand out. For a cemetery, this was a busy place. Laundry lines hung between gravestones. Through an open door, I saw a family eating their evening meal, using the top of a stone sarcophagus as a table.
I had no appetite, for the entire city reeked of garbage, but these people had no choice. If they didn’t live here, they’d be living on the streets with no shelter.
Even as my heart ached for them, I found myself avoiding their curious eyes and walking faster, wondering if I’d end up in an attempted mugging before I found Griffin.
It seemed like forever, but was probably less than a mile when I found what I hoped was the mosque that housed the Tomb of Qaitbay.
The building was a work of art. Inlaid with wood and gold, the main turret towered over the City of the Dead, an island of reverence and beauty in a sea of despair. “Please be it,” I muttered, walking faster.
I rounded the front.
Standing there, with his back to me and one foot tapping with impatience, was Griffin.
“Griffin!”
He turned and then walked to meet me. “What took you so long?”
I ran to him, so grateful that he was safe that I threw my arms around his neck.
He hesitated. “You’re causing a scene,” he murmured against my neck, his mouth firm and hot on my skin.
“Let them watch,” I replied, not caring that my display was completely inappropriate in Muslim society.
As if reading my mind, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close, lifting me off my feet. His mouth came down on mine.
The kiss was perfect. I parted my lips, wanting more, and was rewarded with a low, rumbling groan and a husky, “Damn it, Tru.”
He didn’t fight me off, and the world went away as I sank into the kiss. Nothing mattered but Griffin and the heat that rose in my body.
Finally, he set me on my feet and pulled my head to his chest, his hands in my hair. “I was worried about you, too.”
I looked up into his dark eyes. If we were anywhere else, I’d do more than kiss him. Instead, I grinned. “I never said I was worried,” I teased.
He chuckled. I took a deep breath, releasing my tension as I exhaled. Play was over, and it was time to get down to business.
“Did you have much trouble getting away?” I asked. Our hands slid together as we walked back the way I’d come.
“A little. A thump on the jaw as he came around a corner stopped him cold.”
“Nice,” I replied, a little envious of Griffin’s strength.
“How about you?” His thumb stroked my skin, and I shivered at the unexpected, pleasant familiarity.
“I infiltrated a tour group and used them as cover. There wasn’t much he could do but let me go or cause a scene.”
“Nice, yourself.”
My mind raced, searching for our next move. “Do you think we should go back to the hotel and try to find Pauline?” I asked.
“I’d like to, but I suspect that whoever was chasing us today will be waiting there for us.” He looked around. “As much as I hate to say it, we might be safer staying here for the night.”
“Here? In the City of the Dead?” I stopped in the street, facing him. “Where?” I gestured around. “There isn’t exactly a Holiday Inn here, and I can’t imagine the locals being too thrilled with putting us up.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he said. We started walking again. “I know a place. It’s not the Marriott, or even a Holiday Inn, but no one will look for us there. Tomorrow, we can catch Pauline at the airport and get some answers.”
We continued in silence until we cleared the City of the Dead and found a taxi. Griffin gave the driver directions, and we stopped in a poorer section of Cairo. The adobe house Griffin led me to was small, but if he said it was safe, that worked for me. “Do you know these people?” I asked, as he knocked on a heavy wooden door that was partially covered with peeling red paint.
“Kind of. They rent rooms.”
The door opened, revealing a short, brown-skinned man dressed in a traditional white galabia. There was no smiling. No familiar conversation. Griffin said something in Arabic. Our host replied with a scowl. Griffin countered with something that sounded like it might be rude, and the man waved us in. Griffin handed him money, then tugged me up a set of creaky wooden stairs to the second floor.
The room was simple. A double mattress on the floor with a small trash can next to it. A chair. No dresser. No mirror. Nothing that would indicate this room was anything more than a place to sleep. “The bathroom is down the hall. If you have to go, now would be a good time,” Griffin said. “Otherwise, you can use that.” He pointed to what I assumed was a chamber pot.
“I’m fine.” And if I had to go later, I’d hold it.
After wedging the back of the chair under the doorknob, he shuttered the windows to hold in the warmth from the impending chill of the night.
Bending down, I pulled back the embroidered bedspread to reveal white cotton sheets. “Thank God,” I said.
“What?”
“They’re clean.”
Judging from his expression, I’d just stuck my entire foot in my mouth all the way to the knee. “They’re poor. Not slobs.”
I flushed, my cheeks burning. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply they were unclean.”
“S’okay,” he said, smiling at my discomfort. “I’d think the same thing if I hadn’t stayed here before. It doesn’t help that Sayyid is as pissy as they come.” Griffin pulled off the bedspread. “I’ll take the floor.”
Surprised and pleased with his gallantry, I stared at him. I wanted him, and not just for his body heat. “The bed is big enough for two,” I offered before I could second-guess myself.
He met my gaze, looked at the bed and then returned to me. We knew that if we shared the bed, we’d share more than just the blankets.
“Are you sure?” he asked, a thousand questions behind the single sentence.
I nodded, never more sure of anything or anyone. “Positive.”
“Okay then.” He spread the blanket back over the bed and held his hand out. I took it, and he pulled me close. “You know we won’t get much sleep.” His other hand stroked me from hair to hip, and I shivered.
“I’m counting on it,” I replied, rising to my toes and touching his lips with mine.
His mouth was both sure and soft, and neither of us was in a hurry.
He nibbled my neck, and I was barely aware of movement as he lowered me to the bed, until his weight was on me. He slid his hands up my arms, twining his fingers with mine and pressing both my hands into the pillows. “We’re going to be a little limited,” he said, biting my neck and making my breath catch in my throat. “I don’t have any condoms.”
“I thought you were prepared for everything,” I teased.
“Not for this.” He leaned up, pressing our hands deeper into the pillows and looking into my eyes. “Not for you.”
I smiled. “It’s okay. I have some in my wallet.”
His brows shot up. “You have got to be kidding.”
“A woman should take charge of her sexuality.” I took a playful nip at his chin and missed. “And so I do. As long as you don’t mind chocolate-flavored condoms.”
He looked at me as if I’d broken some social taboo.
“They sounded fun,” I said in my defense. “Besides, if you brought your own instead of making me do all the work, they’d be more normal.”
“Point taken.” He pushed a strand of hair away from my face. “You are quite the surprise, Tru Palmer.”
“So are you, Griffin Sinclair.” I tried to bite him again, and this time succeeded in capturing his ear.
An hour later, the sun had gone down, and the only light in the room was the moonlight that made it through the shutters. I knew one thing for certain—Griffin had more control than any other man I’d ever been with. He’d touched me. Fondled me. Kissed me. Licked me.
I was so close to the brink of orgasm I had to either climax or kill him. “Damn it,” I whispered as he put his head between my legs, teasing my thighs. “Do something.”
The reply was a chuckle, and the mattress shifted as he scooted up until we were chest to chest. “Where are those condoms?”
“Here.” I grabbed my wallet from my backpack, pulled one out and handed it to Griffin.
He chuckled again, a dark, dangerous sound. “Back in a minute,” he whispered in my ear.
The mattress shifted again as he licked his way down my body, his tongue and teeth taking detours to torture my nipples and, I was sure, leave his mark on my hip.
Finally, his head was between my thighs again, his breath hot against my skin.
And nothing.
I nudged him with my foot. “What are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?”
He chuckled again and bit me.
I kicked and was rewarded with an, “Ow, damn it!”
“Then quit teasing me,” I said.
He did as I asked. His tongue licked me, and I tightened. I was close now, and all I wanted was release.
“Griffin,” I pleaded. “Please, don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
He pressed his fingers into me, pushing me over the edge.
I had the sense of mind to grab a pillow and hold it over my face as my climax washed over me, and then I was oblivious, lost in sensation and arching against his mouth while he held my hips, refusing to let me relax.
It seemed to last forever and not long enough.
Then he was leaning over me, flinging the pillow aside. Lifting my legs, he plunged inside of me, sending me over the edge again and then joining me in a few thrusts, groaning into my neck.
Finally, the room was silent except for our breathing.
“Oh my God,” I giggled, euphoria rushing through me. Were we insane? Part of me wanted to think so, but it had felt so good. So right.
He rolled over and off me, foil rustling as he disposed of the condom. “What’s so funny?”
I shook my head. “We just had sex.”
“Not just sex,” he said, pulling me into him, one arm over my waist. “Great sex.”
“Oh yeah.” Being wedged against Griffin’s chest was like lying next to my own personal heater, but I didn’t care, and snuggled closer. He threw his leg over me, pinning me down and holding me close.
His fingers skimmed my flesh, caressing me with a familiarity that I found comforting and as intimate as what had happened just a few minutes ago. When he reached my necklace, he rolled it in his fingers. “Do you ever take this off?”
I shrugged in answer, but the truth was, no. I never took it off.
“It’s pretty.” His voice was slow, and I knew he was going to sleep.
Such a man.
When I opened my eyes again, the sun was shining through the shutters and someone was trying to break down our door.
Chapter 10
“Move!” Griffin rolled away from me and to his feet, offering me his hand at the same time. I took it, flying up as he jerked me free from the covers.
The door rattled. I barely noticed, yet saw everything from the hinges shaking to a waft of dust falling from the lintel above.
It was an adrenaline-fueled moment that left me both detached and so involved that I was drowning in detail.
“Tru!” Griffin’s shout kicked me back into reality, and I grabbed my clothes from the floor. Yanking on my skirt, I stuffed my bra in my backpack, pulled my shirt over my head and grabbed my gun.
Griffin was already dressed.
“Out the window?” I asked, sliding my sneakers on while I tried to ignore the fact that my heart was crashing against the wall of my chest.
He gave a curt nod.
Once again, the door rattled as a body slammed against it. It wasn’t going to last much longer. I was surprised it hadn’t already been yanked off the hinges.
Another hit. The chair slid, and the door opened a few inches. Someone yelled something in Arabic. Griffin yelled back.
I hated not knowing what they said.
I looked out the half-open window. Below us, Black stood next to a dark red Capri parked at the curb.
I pulled myself back into the room before he could glance up and see me.
“They brought friends,” I said, weapon at the ready.
“Damn it.”
“Exactly.”
He yelled something else in Arabic.
“What’s going on?” I asked, watching the chair slide another quarter inch.
“I asked why they were chasing us.”
“And?”
“We’re wanted for questioning.”
Questioning? “Are they cops?” My heart beat harder, and I pressed a hand against my chest to hold it in. This was getting more and more complicated.
What was going on and how was Pauline involved? Did she own the police force?
That was a scary thought.
Maybe she isn’t involved, I assured myself. Maybe they wanted us for a reason I wasn’t aware of. Maybe this was coincidence.
Maybe I believed in fairies and flying pigs.
“Don’t know. Don’t care,” Griffin snapped. “How’s our friend outside?”
Black looked alert but so far, hadn’t looked up yet. “Bored but ready.”
The voice in the hall shouted something else, and Griffin’s eyes widened. “Time to go.”
“How? We’re surrounded.”
Behind Griffin, a small black object rolled through the crack in the door and into the middle of the floor. A white gas began filling the room. Instinctively, I backed away, but I was already against the wall.
Griffin followed my gaze until he spotted the gas grenade. When he turned back, his expression was blank. He was next to me in less than a beat. Another beat and he’d surveyed the sidewalk outside.
He threw the window open.
Black looked up, and before he had time to raise his weapon, Griffin shot him in a final, third beat.
I wanted to throw up and high-five Griffin at the same time. I did neither. He grabbed my arm and shoved me to the open window. “Hang on with your hands and drop. I’ll cover you.”
I coughed in the smoke, and my eyes started to tear. There wasn’t time to argue that I didn’t want special treatment or that I didn’t need him to tell me how to climb out of a window.
Dropping my backpack to the sidewalk, I followed it, and in seconds, was safe outside. At my feet, Black moaned, rolling on the cement, his blood staining the concrete.
I picked up his gun, pocketing it. “Hold still.” I grabbed him, looking at the wound. Griffin had shot him in the shoulder.
“He’ll live.” Griffin said behind me.
I hadn’t heard him land.
Quickly, he rummaged through the groaning man’s pockets until he found the car keys.
“Let’s go.”
The sidewalk exploded, and we dived for the car as bullets struck the concrete around us.
Griffin took the wheel, and the vehicle roared to life. With tires screeching like the special effects in a bad B movie, we raced away, crouching as bullets shattered the car windows.
When the bullets stopped, I raised my head. Warm wind blew through the broken windows. Frankly, the constant rush of adrenaline was starting to wear on me. “What was that about?” I said, my voice more shrill than I liked.
Griffin glanced at the rearview mirror, the road, and then me. “I have a few ideas.”
I picked tempered glass fragments from my hair. “Want to share?”
He shook his head. “You first. I’m sure you have some ideas of your own.”
As much as I hated to put the blame on Pauline, I didn’t see how I could not implicate her. “I think this has everything to do with Pauline.”
He didn’t argue.
I continued. “I’m sure she has the tiles, but I don’t understand why she took them. And why send men after us? That seems a little extreme.”
“Money,” he offered.
“Not unless she’s in trouble and doesn’t want the family to know,” I replied.
“Status?” he suggested.
I shrugged, at a loss as to what to believe.
I tossed a small handful of glass to the floorboard. This would all be so much easier if I could in confide in Griffin. Tell him the connection between myself and Pauline.
Picking more glass from my hair, I watched the side mirror, but didn’t see a tail.
“Call me crazy, but I don’t care what her reasons are,” Griffin said, breaking the silence and catching my attention. “I don’t expect my employer to hire people to shoot me.”
I realized then that he wasn’t angry. He was disappointed. “I don’t think that’s too much to ask,” I replied, wishing I could do more or say more. After a moment I added, “Where are we going?”
“The airport to have a chat with Pauline.”
“Airport?”
He turned onto a four-lane highway. “The private plane. She’s on her way to Paris. Her flight leaves at five.”
Right. That gave us more than enough time. I threw another handful of glass to the floor. “Sounds good,” I said, both eager and anxious to find out what was going on. Pulling my bra out of my backpack, I finished dressing in the car.
He drove into long-term parking. “Leave the weapons here,” he said, parking away from other vehicles and killing the engine.
I rolled my eyes. “Why do you keep assuming I don’t know what to do?”
His faced reddened. “It’s not you. I know what I’ll do in a given situation,” he explained. “I’m trained. I don’t know your reactions yet or what you know or how you’ll respond.”
“You seemed to know them last night,” I interrupted, changing the topic to stop his out-of-character babbling.
He laughed, relaxing. “That was good, wasn’t it?” He ran his free hand through his hair, managing a boyish cuteness that I hadn’t thought possible.
