to a full stop after the accident. Fortunately I had our papers and passports on me.”
Isis stared at his lips as he spoke. She was mesmerized. How could a man so controlled kiss like a bohemian? It was great news, but it still wasn’t an answer. “And a gun, apparently.” She gave him an even look. “How did you manage to get that through customs?”
“I have a permit.”
Connections and money—a life much different from hers.
“I know some little shops in the souk. When we go to see Beniti, I’ll take a quick detour to find something suitable.” And cheap. “I can’t believe this.” Isis put her hand to her belly. “I think I’m actually hungry.”
“Get dressed.” He jerked his chin toward the bathroom. “The dining room is open for another half hour.” Hot green eyes held hers. “Unless you’d rather stay in and order room service?”
SIX
The Israelis were just as eager as Thorne and MI5 to capture and prosecute the Russian tomb raider who for more than a decade had been stealing priceless antiquities and spiriting them out of Egypt and Israel to sell on the black market.
Thorne’s arrival in London must’ve alerted Yermalof’s people to his return from the dead.
Thirteen months earlier, Thorne and fellow MI5 operatives Lynn Maciej and Troy Ayers had followed Boris Yermalof’s trail through Cairo into Israel. It was on Israeli soil that the kidnapping of Maciej had occurred. Seven members of the Mossad were killed in the resulting bloodbath that night.
With the aid of the Israelis, Thorne and Ayers tracked Yermalof to an oasis just outside Cairo where he was holding their female partner. What the sick fuck had done to her still turned Thorne’s iron stomach. He’d seen a lot in his job, but that…
The Russian had extracted his pound of flesh for their audacity in hunting him down like a dog. Not to mention the sales he’d lost due to MI5’s months-long, relentless pursuit.
He’d committed atrocities on Maciej before Thorne and Ayers had arrived. The trap had slammed shut behind them. Gut shot, Thorne had been incapable of defending himself—although God only knows he’d tried. The bastard used his knife to slice him from knee to balls. Thorne’s stomach roiled. Experienced enough to know just how much pain to inflict and still keep a man alive, the Russian had kept them all in excruciating pain for hours. Yermalof enjoyed his work and had made it last. When he thought he’d ensured Thorne would die from blood loss, he’d turned to work on Ayers.
Bleeding like a sieve, Thorne had hung on to consciousness by a thread as he watched, through dazed, slitted eyes, the excruciating deaths of his partners. The memory of their screams, pleading with Yermalof to put an end to their agony, still fucked with his ability to sleep through the night. The Russian had laughed as he strolled out of the stifling warehouse, believing them all dead.
Three Mossad operatives had hauled Thorne’s arse out of there and carried him miles to medical help, then evaced him to a hospital in Tel Aviv before he was shipped back to London.
He’d put in a call to his field officer at Thames House in the early hours of this morning to read them in. MI5 was willing to step in if the connection to Yermalof was confirmed.
Suspected, not confirmed.
Thorne considered Isis’s confession that the incidents the day before had something to do with her father. Maybe. But most likely not. As far as he knew, no one was aware that she was in Egypt.
No. Yermalof had clearly followed him from London. Now he knew he had to get Isis back to Seattle with a minimum of fuss.
He was reminded by MI5 that he still had months left on his medical leave of absence, and that Yermalof had last been seen with his mistress across the globe in Argentina. In other words, basically, “Fuck you for your years of service to Her Majesty the Queen.”
With a second call to friends in high places, Thorne had procured a car and some extra muscle. Accompanying the armor-plated, bulletproof-glassed, four-wheel-drive vehicle was a well-armed Mossad driver. Both waited outside the hotel for them that morning. Doug Heustis, a big guy with white hair who looked like someone’s kindly grandfather, didn’t warrant a second look. But Thorne knew his sharp eyes missed nothing. A good man to have at his back. Professional.
“What happened?” Thorne asked him after a firm handshake. “You get demoted?” Heustis had been one of