They sat in Australia's Gibson Desert with Lake Disappointment at their backs, the Aussie Northern Territory before them, time moving like it was wounded while they waited on the diplomatic security check and escort - neither speaking, just tensely watching events unfold. It was as though they both knew that they'd hit a point of no return. Masters didn't visit each other without an expressed purpose, alliances were tense worldwide, and no one had ever jumped borders without an army at their back.
Carlos watched three Black Hawk helicopters land a hundred yards before the black stretch Hum-V limousine with diplomatic flags that had transported him and Damali with Hell's passport, wondering when he'd crossed the line to allow the woman beside him to talk him into the most off-the-hook game he'd ever played? He hated being rushed into play; could have waited another night to solidify his strategy. But she'd argued about catching their adversaries off guard and had won the point.
He glanced at the separation glass that kept his driver deaf to their conversation, and then up at the interior roof. "Stay," he muttered as the limo shifted with the weight of the dogs when they stood to snarl at the choppers.
"All right," he murmured. "It's on, now, baby. Remember, follow my lead."
Damali nodded, her eyes trained on the squad of six henchmen that cautiously disembarked from the dark choppers.
"The Isis stays in the luggage, you stay at my side at all times. This is deep cover - way underground. So deep there may not be a way out."
She stared at him, becoming annoyed. They'd discussed all of this before. Why was he beating a dead horse?
"Yeah, but like I was trying to tell you last night, I need to know the language, if - "
"No," he murmured. "We've been over that. I never want you to learn our language. How many times do I have to tell you that it's an ancient language of possession... and it's too complicated for a crash course?" He let his breath out hard and glanced out the window.
Damali softened her stance and touched Carlos's arm. The tension running through him was pure electricity. It unnerved her to see him this worried. Truthfully, she'd never seen this side of him before now. If he'd only let her help and stop being so stubborn!
"Baby, it'll be all right," she murmured.
No matter what she said, the risks were enormous. He could feel her resisting him, ready to tackle this alone. But she had to get it straight in her mind that on this mission she had to follow his lead if either of them were going to make it out alive.
"Its origins come out of Babylon," he said, focusing on the language issue, rather than give into the nervous energy roiling in his gut. "Fused with Sumerian, Aramaic, built upon for centuries, each line adding dialect, tones from Asia, Africa, Mongolia, India... has Romanian sentence structure from the old republics, with a Latin core syntax, and is written like Egyptian hieroglyphics - but read reverse like the old Chinese dynasties scribe... every time a new master is added it morphs, absorbs, and is always changing. Right now, Spanish is the most recent addition." He looked at her with a request to be cool in his eyes. He knew he was babbling, rehashing information he'd explained the night before, but he wanted her to be clear. She just didn't understand how dangerous this situation was, or that for the first time since he'd turned, she might witness him not being able to protect her.
Carlos clenched and unclenched his fist. "Baby, I can't teach you conversational phrases that won't have an effect. It bends wills."
When she sighed hard and looked out the window, he eyed the approaching men. "When we step out of this limo, head-of-state protocol will be in full effect. You remember what I told you, right?"
He didn't even wait for her silent nod of agreement. He simply glanced back at her and instantly changed his clothes into a black Armani suit, black silk shirt, black silk tie with deep, bloodred marbled veins in its pattern, dark glasses and black slip-ons. He adjusted the crimson handkerchief in his breast pocket so that only a quarter-inch of it showed. His council crest ring appeared on his left hand where a wedding band would have normally been, and he smoothed his hair back.
Damali looked down at her jeans then back up to him for assistance.
"Sexy," he muttered. "At all times."
"I know. You told me. Remember?"
While that was true, it still took him aback when she nodded and smiled and changed her clothes herself without his help.
"I think the underground passage gave me a little jump start on another timely fluctuation," she purred, leaning against him. "And you didn't think I was gonna let you pick out my gear for me, did you? Pullease. I never let Marlene do that for me on stage, why should I let you go there? I've been watching how you work, learned a thing or two. That's why I've been telling you not to worry - I got this."
That's exactly what concerned him most. He didn't answer her as his gaze took in her smooth transformation. She'd finessed it like a pro, and had conjured a butter-soft sheath that was the same color as her skin and damned near as supple. The dress gave the illusion at first glimpse that she was naked. It had no shoulders, dipped perilously low in the front to accentuate her cle**age, and was so short that it begged a man to look at her gorgeous legs. The simplistic creation hugged every voluptuous curve she owned, fit her like snakeskin had fit Eden's serpent, and he noted that her legs had been coated with a natural sheen... shea butter making them glisten, filling the vehicle with the sensual fragrance.
His gaze slid down her legs, which ended in a pair of monochrome, stiletto heels that tied at the ankles and were the same hue as the dress. Her hair was swept up and held in place by a long, gold, dagger-shaped barrette. Pendulous, smoky topaz and diamond teardrop earrings set off a shimmer right at the midpoint in her throat. Her hand took his in a soft caress, French manicure flawless and matching her pedicure, then he saw the ring - a thirteen-karat smoky topaz crusted with diamonds with his crest etched in the center of it, set high on her ring finger just as he'd always imagined.
She gazed up at him, her mouth moist, inviting, colored deep caramel, her eyes revealing a bit of chocolate-colored charcoal that made them mysterious, sensual, a sheer teasing sprinkle of gold dust along her collarbone leading him to study her cle**age one more time.
"El Excellency approves?" she murmured.
He nodded. "Most assuredly."
He gave her hand a brief squeeze as the limousine door opened and the international courier who drove them stood aside for him to exit. This was getting good to him, perhaps too good. The armed entities from the choppers lowered their weapons before him, gave him a bow of deference, and then motioned that he and his limo checked out. They had no eyes in their blackened sockets. Their pale faces were half hidden by hard black safari hats tipped low - their black-and-gray camouflage fatigues straining against their bulk. Carlos held out his hand, and Damali's filled it as she stepped from the vehicle to stand by his side.
The lead entity nodded, appreciation rippling through his silent assessment of her as he used the silver-shell-loaded crossbow to motion toward the Black Hawks. Carlos nodded to his driver, and the dogs dismounted from the top of the Hum-V limo and climbed inside, waiting until the driver locked them away.
Without discussion, they followed the somber retinue and entered the choppers. But he kept his eye on Damali. She looked totally fascinated as the swift uptake propelled the helicopters at supernatural speed to their destination - the Australian master's lair.
Below them, he could see his limo creating a long dusty trail in the night as it drove away and knew that even if his dogs were still mounted on the roof of it, they wouldn't have been able to dodge the highly maneuverable death choppers. He materialized and handed her a pair of black shades. "Don't look down without these."