This is the stuff from our suitcases that we left in the cab from the airport.”
“I suspected it might be. They’d want it to look as though we came prepared to stay for several days.”
Isis shuddered. “Dear God. They’ve set up a perfect crime scene.”
“Yes, well, the only thing missing will be the bodies.” He handed her a wad of fabric. “Layer. Put on what you can.”
“These bastards have been tracking us for days.” Her voice rose as she pulled a long-sleeved T-shirt over the short-sleeved one she was wearing. She wasn’t just surprised at the bad guys’ forethought. She was furious. Each incident had blended with the fright of the one before it, but now, in the quiet and darkness of the barren desert, the realization of the machinations that swirled around them put the fear of God in her. They hadn’t just been followed. They’d been relentlessly hunted.
“That certainly appears to be the case.” Thorne sounded calm, his voice strong and even.
She shot him an annoyed glance from where she knelt beside the bag of clothes. “I guess you’re used to people trying to kill you.”
“It never gets old.” His attempt at levity was replaced with concern. He crouched beside her, taking her in his arms. “Hey, you remember I’m a professional, right? We’ll figure this out and live to see another day.”
“It’s a good thing you’re a man of your word.”
“Depend on it. Isis, I—”
He was so close, his face etched in black-and-white. Starlight glinted in his eyes and cast a silver sheen on the stubble on his chin. Her heart clutched because Isis saw him in fifty years, and she wanted to be with him in that distant future when he was stooped, his hair silver. She brushed his jaw with her fingertip. The hair was springy and tickled her hand. “What is it?”
“I’ve had extensive wilderness training. I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.”
She was pretty sure that hadn’t been what he’d been about to say. But whatever it was, it could wait. Extensive wilderness training right this second was probably more important. When he started to rise, she placed her hand on his wrist. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you, either.”
He smiled, then pushed to his feet stiffly. The man’s leg was mangled. It must be painful to walk on the uneven, shifting sand, but he didn’t show it. How the hell did he think he could walk them out of the desert?
Upending a heavy bag, he said briskly, “Nice of them to give us a frying pan. Too bad they didn’t include anything we could cook in it.”
“Three bottles of water,” Isis said, relieved. Three bottles wasn’t enough, but it might mean the difference between life and death. Food they could do without, but not water. As soon as the sun came up and started baking the sand, dehydration would kill them. She’d heard of an archaeologist who’d been so excited by his find he’d forgotten to drink. He’d been dead within hours.
Three bottles of water was good.
“I found this.” He turned on a small flashlight, and a thin stream of yellow light illuminated the dancing sand blowing around them. He turned it off. “Anything in any of those packages?” Thorne asked, as Isis picked up a handful of candy and food wrappers.
“No, but people will wonder that we didn’t die of diabetic shock considering how much crap we’re supposed to have eaten. This is a pretty damned elaborate plan to kill us. They thought of everything.”
“It took a lot of planning and forethought, yeah.” He jerked his head, indicating the contents in her hand. “Put that pencil aside,” he said absently. “We can use it as a weapon.”
“To do what? Write a rude note? If someone is close enough to me that I could use a freaking pencil as a weapon, I’ll be in big trouble.”
He grinned. It was a confident, boyish grin that made heat reignite in her belly. If nothing else, he could take her mind off dying when they ran out of water by charming her to death. “Haven’t you heard? The pen is mightier than the sword.”
“Cute. We have a pencil and a small frying pan. What we need is an Uzi and a helicopter.” She glanced up. “At least it seems to be getting warmer, but the wind is picking up as well, which isn’t a good thing.”
“Too late in the year for khamsin.”
“God, I hope so.” The hot, dusty southwesterly winds