Relentless - By Cherry Adair Page 0,106

sand. Even if he didn’t have a bum leg, Isis wouldn’t be able to scale that.

A barely perceptible track indicated where the thieves had driven their vehicles close to the tomb entrance. The track led to the tarred road that had, at one time, bisected the valley floor. But that was gone now, part of it already submerged in the deepest part of the valley. There was, of course, no vehicle standing by for them to help themselves to. The road up to the rim was at least a mile away. Not a bad walk all things considered.

“Let’s head that way. Once we’re up top we’ll find a vehicle.”

The dirt track—clearly recently in use—was a downhill trek and not too arduous, unless a person had already put in several hours of walking and a torturous stair climb on no food and little water. “Okay?” he asked as Isis trudged silently beside him, her fingers still tight around his. The few rocks were easy to avoid, and the hard-packed sand was a fucking cakewalk compared to the path they’d just traveled.

The paved road, running from north to south through the valley, was submerged, but at the north end it was still viable. A steep uphill grade, but doable.

“Where are we going to find a car?” Isis asked, between fast breaths, as they came to where the dirt met the paved road. The sky had lightened to a dirty gray pink, smudged with thick charcoal clouds. Would people start appearing to go to work? Or to see why the spillway had been opened early? The Minister of Water could easily account for the precipitous opening with any manner of reasons. No one would question him.

“No idea.” He walked a little faster, and Isis kept pace, even though her breathing quickened and sweat streaked the dirt on her face. He should be horsewhipped for not getting her on that flight back home before she was thrown into the middle of all this. Thorne, furious with himself for not protecting her properly, said, “We just will.”

“Okay. Just don’t expect any scintillating conversation, because I’m now officially pooped.”

And still no complaints. He lifted their joined hands to brush a kiss across her knuckles. Isis was more priceless than any artifact in that tomb. “Keep that shower and big bed in mind as we go.”

He could tell she was on her last legs. The farther they went, the slower her pace became. “You need to rest?”

She lifted her chin, a determined slant to her eyes. “No. But I want to know, what are we going to do with Dylan when we find him?”

“You mean besides stringing him up by his balls?”

She laughed a little, apparently cheered by the thought. “Well, that might improve his singing voice, but it’s not going to make him fess up to what he and Dr. Najid have done. My father is still getting screwed out of his life’s work.”

“What did you have in mind, then?”

“What if we bury him with the artifacts and come back in twenty years?”

Thorne kissed her forehead, the skin salty but soft to the touch. “And you say I’m harsh. Remind me never to give you a reason to hold a grudge against me, love.”

“Seriously, though.” She took a breath and tugged at him. “What are we going to do if he’s being protected by Yermalof?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Then perhaps we ought to turn them against each other and let them have at it.”

She twisted her mouth slightly in a way that begged to be kissed. “Do you really think we could do that?”

He winked, determined to be as upbeat as Isis, though his leg was killing him. “Bait and switch. One of the oldest tricks in the book. And I think Yermalof and Brengard are greedy enough to fall right into it. If they each think Dr. Najid intends to cut the other out by pinning the blame of our deaths on them, it just might work.”

“Can we do that?”

He kissed the back of her hand. “Together, my queen, we can do anything.”

The thought of besting their enemies brought a little more bounce to her step as she walked beside him, her hand in his. He’d never had anyone look up to him like that. A distinctive ache built in his chest. What would happen to them when this was all over? He shook his head. He couldn’t afford to think of tomorrow. All he could do was focus on the road that was growing

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