The Evolution of Fear (Claymore Straker #2) - Paul E. Hardisty Page 0,43

it, frowned, then picked up her bag and disappeared into the bathroom. Moments later, the sound of a bath being run, steam wisping from the half-closed door. He lay back on the bed, closed his eyes. He heard the taps squeak, the rush of water slow then stop, the lap as she stepped into the tub, sank in. Then water lifted in cupped hands, poured over bare shoulders, laving over breasts, dripping from nipples. He could feel the hormones swimming through his body, the echo of her touch, the adrenaline there too. He was hard again, aching. He stood, walked naked to the balcony, gripped the rail as if it were a lifeline and looked out over the city, all the distance there, a half-moon rising over the Sea of Marmara, big and red through the smog and the haze from the sea.

She called to him, her voice echoing off the bathroom tile.

She was lying in the tub, wet hair plastered over her skull, her chest. Her breasts bobbed on the surface. They were big. Bigger than he remembered.

‘Times like this I wish I still had two hands,’ he said, staring.

She smiled up at him, lowered her eyes. ‘You do well enough with one.’

He pulled up a stool and sat next to her.

She ran her hands through her hair, wrung out one of the tresses. ‘You should marry me,’ she said.

Clay ran his gaze from her eyes to her feet and back up again, slowly. He did not want to ask her about what she’d said on the phone, why she’d pushed him away. Not now.

‘I should,’ he said. ‘It’s late, now. How about tomorrow?’

‘Yes,’ she said, not smiling. ‘Let’s.’

‘And then we’ll ontrek, wife. Disappear.’

Rania crossed her arms across her chest. ‘After,’ she said.

‘After what?’

‘After I finish this story.’

Clay sat a moment staring into the water. ‘They burned your place down,’ he said, his tone flat.

She looked up, confusion in her eyes. ‘What did you say?’

‘I was in Champéry two days ago. Your chalet burned to the ground. It wasn’t a coincidence, Rania. I was trying to tell you on the phone, they’re on to you.’

Rania gasped, put her hand to her mouth. ‘Mon dieu. Heloïse. Madame Debret. Is she safe?’

‘The aubergiste said no one was home when it went up.’

‘Al hamdillulah,’ she muttered. ‘That explains why I have not been able to reach her. I hope she is alright. She must be very sad. It was her grandfather’s house.’

‘I looked everywhere for her. All over the village. No one has seen her since the fire.’

‘Hope warned me this would happen,’ she said.

‘Hope?’

‘Hope Bachmann. We have been working together in Cyprus. Or rather she has been providing me with information. We…’ she hesitated, crossed her legs under the water, ‘we have become friends.’ Rania reached for a towel. Clay passed one to her. She stood and wrapped herself, did the same with her hair.

‘University of California?’ he asked.

Rania nodded. ‘She said that sooner or later, if I wrote those stories, I would be threatened.’

Clay sat looking at her. Sooner, then. He didn’t say it.

‘She has had death threats, Clay, just for speaking out.’ Rania stood before the mirror, wiped away the condensation with a hand towel and considered her reflection.

Clay looked down at his feet, the steam beading on the marble floor. ‘It’s not because of what you’ve written, Rania. I’ve been trying to tell you. It’s Regina Medved. She wants revenge.’

Still staring at his feet, he told her about Eben, the threats delivered through his bank, about Crowbar’s betrayal, his escape across the Channel. ‘I think LeClerc sold us out.’

Rania turned. ‘Impossible,’ she said.

‘He told me you were here. His Istanbul station chief is the only one who knew about our rendezvous at the Seglik Merkezi Hotel.’

‘Hamour, yes. He passed on your message. Marcus Edward. He did exactly what you asked him, Claymore.’

‘And that thug arrives at the hotel moments after you.’

‘He was following me before I got the message from Hamour.’

‘Broad shoulders, pronounced widow’s peak?’

She nodded. ‘I thought I had lost him.’

‘LeClerc was the only person who knew I was coming to Istanbul. I was tailed all the way from the airport, for Christ’s sake.’

Rania scowled at him in the mirror. ‘Medved has informants everywhere, Clay, in the customs services, in the government, the airlines. It could have been anyone.’

There was a rap at the door. Clay turned, closed the bathroom door behind him, walked to the suite’s entrance and looked through the door lens. A liveried bellboy