from behind and shoved into the car in front of them. The rear-end collision flung them violently into the front seats. Isis screamed. Thorne’s arms shot out—one to brace her, the other to prevent himself from being jettisoned into the front of the cab.
Horns honked, people yelled, metal crumpled, and glass shattered.
“Out! Get out!” Thorne yelled, grabbing her by the wrist and dragging her out of his side of the crippled vehicle. Five cars, including the white van, hemmed them in. The van had shoved a black Honda into them, collapsing the small car like a concertina. The Honda driver, a young man in overalls, was climbing out of the passenger-side window with the help of several bystanders who’d raced to the scene. There didn’t appear to be anyone in the white van, which was slewed across the road, blocking traffic in both ways—much to the ire of the drivers and passengers of a dozen vehicles backed up in each direction.
Their cabdriver, arms waving, demanded restitution from anyone who’d listen.
“Are you hurt anywhere?” Thorne demanded, tightening his grip on her wrist and dragging her away from the scene. Adrenaline surged through him as he saw the back door of the van slam open. A man jumped out, spun around, looked for—
Skin pale in the lights from a nearby fruit vendor’s stall, Isis straightened her angled glasses on her nose and shifted her camera bag strap, which had twisted around her neck. She blinked, trying to absorb what had just happened. “Wait, we can’t leave—”
A bullet whizzed over their heads.
“Go! Go! Go!” Thorne hoped to hell she didn’t have whiplash as he jerked her into a low, flat-out run.
THORNE’S FINGERS CLAMPED LIKE steel bands around Isis’s wrist as he dragged her through the labyrinth of small streets and dark side alleys of the souk at a full-out run. A few startled people jumped out of the way to eye them curiously as they ran by.
Isis had no idea if anyone was actually chasing them, and looking over her shoulder wasn’t an option. It took three of her strides to match one of his, and that was with his bad leg.
It required all her concentration to keep one foot in front of the other as she blindly followed his lead, her camera bag bouncing against her hip. Thank God she’d worn it across her body. Everything of value was in it. She figured anything left in the taxi would be long gone by the time—or if—they returned to the scene.
Intermittent pools of dirty yellow light helped illuminate the cobbled streets, but the winding alleys stayed black as the night. Thorne must have eyes like a cat, she thought as they passed a pile of discarded baskets, to avoid all the shadowed obstacles in their path.
“Why are we running?” She tried to pull back, to slow down, but he gave no quarter and just kept moving, almost pulling her arm from its socket in the process. Her chest heaved; her heart galloped painfully behind her ribs. Black spots danced in her vision and sweat caused her glasses to slide down her nose.
Her lungs were on fire by the time Thorne jerked her into a dark, narrow doorway. “Stay put.” He gave her the once-over, shoving her against the wall before her knees buckled. “I’m going back to see who’s following us.”
“No! Wai—” He melted into the shadows, something solid and dark in his hand. His cane? Her breath lurched. A gun? No… why would a Lodestone agent have a weapon? Where had it come from? And how in God’s name had he gotten it through customs?
Questions burned and she clutched the side of the doorway with trembling fingers. Guns upped the ante. Weapons meant serious business.
Did the accident have anything to do with her father’s find? “Oh. My. God.” Isis fell back against the wall. “No. That’s insane. It can’t be…” Rubbing her upper arms where sudden goose bumps of apprehension pebbled her skin, she took a shaky breath. Someone had been willing to kill her father’s entire crew, leaving him for dead. They wouldn’t stop there. But it seemed too far-fetched to think the traffic accident had anything to do with what had happened to her father more than three months ago.
The two couldn’t be related—could they? Wrapping her arms around her middle, she stayed in the shadows and told herself not to let her imagination run wild. It was highly unlikely the people who’d almost killed her father had somehow ascertained