Mission: Irresistible (11 page)

“Really?” Cassie’s heart warmed.

He motioned for her to follow. Happily, she sprang to her feet.

“Cassie has a metal fingernail file,” Harrison said when they reached Spanky and the coffin-shaped crate that was pulled out into the aisle.

Spanky frowned at Cassie. “I changed my mind. I don’t think we should be breaking into it. If you don’t have a key, you should come back when you get one.”

“We have the baggage claim ticket. It’s my brother’s freight. I have a right to open it.”

“Maybe so, but I don’t have to let you open it on airport property.”

“Spanky,” Harrison said in a wheedling voice.

Cassie suppressed a smile. It was fun watching him try to flirt his way out of a problem.

“Solen’s half of the star-crossed lovers exhibit is quite possibly in that crate,” Harrison cajoled. “You would be the very first person to see it outside of archaeologists, scientists, and academicians. Patrons of the arts were paying a thousand dollars a head for a private viewing at the Kimbell.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Okay,” she relented. “Go ahead and open it.”

Harrison knelt on the floor beside the crate and worked at the lock with the fingernail file. After several minutes, the cheesy lock finally clicked open.

He raised his head and met Cassie’s gaze. They exchanged a look. What would they find?

Slowly Harrison raised the lid and sucked in his breath. Cassie peered over his shoulder to see what was inside.

Except for some sawdust, the packing crate was empty.

“Well, that was a big buncha hoopla over nothing.” Spanky snorted.

Harrison was past the point of trying to get his needs met by charming the supervisor. He had to think. Kneading his brow with two fingers, he stared at the empty crate.

What was this all about? Had Adam screwed up with shipping? Had he somehow dropped the ball and lost Solen in transit? Was that why he hadn’t shown up at the museum? Was it because he was too embarrassed to admit his mistake? It wasn’t as if Adam was the most reliable person in the world.

And yet, in spite of his doubts, something told Harrison there was more going on here than met the eye.

“This sucks,” Spanky complained. “You promised me something cool, and it’s nothing but an empty box.”

“Hush,” he growled.

“Excuse me?” Spanky’s eyes flamed.

“He told you to hush,” Cassie said.

“Shut up.” Spanky made a face at her. “You’re not even supposed to be back here.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” Cassie challenged, thrusting out her chest.

“Call security.”

If their quarreling wasn’t getting on his nerves, Harrison would have found Cassie’s jealousy endearing. No matter how much she might deny it, she liked him. But as it was, he couldn’t hear himself postulate.

“Stop bickering, both of you,” he growled and glared up at them. “I’m trying to think.”

Women. Throw in a little envy, and poof, you had a catfight on your hands. Amusing thing was, he’d never been the object of a chick brawl before, and it was something of an ego stroke. Too bad he didn’t have time to enjoy being cock of the walk.

“But . . . ,” Spanky started to protest.

“This is serious,” Harrison said and pointed an index finger. “Not another word from either of you. Got it?”

Cassie and Spanky exchanged spiteful glances, but thankfully they fell silent.

Harrison ran his fingers along the crate. The outside of it was stickered with labels that proclaimed,
Fragile! Delicate! Don’t mutilate!
But the shipping box was cheap, and the lock on it was even cheaper.

The Egyptian government had shipped Kiya’s remains in an elaborate crate, escorted by Ahmose and an armed security guard.

Why hadn’t Adam or the Greek government taken the same precautions with Solen? It made no sense.

Unless Adam had shipped the wrong crate. Unless Solen had never been in there in the first place.

If that was the case, where
was
Solen and his half of the amulet? And if Adam had screwed up, why had he given Gabriel the envelope with the baggage claim ticket to give to Harrison?

There had to be something he was overlooking.

“Harry,” Cassie whispered. “Don’t get mad at me, but the clock is ticking and we’re running out of time. Maybe we should be on our way.”

“No, not yet.”

His gut told him there was a message in this box, and Harrison Jerome Standish was nothing if not methodical. He would not leave until he found the clue, and Adam knew that about him.

Damn you, Adam, and your silly games. If you’ve sent me on a wild-goose chase, I’ll wring your neck when I find you.

He plowed through the fine wood shavings. Maybe there was a small artifact, something, anything, buried inside. Sawdust sifted through his fingers. He tossed it from the box, littering the floor, but he didn’t care. He was frantic for evidence.

“Hey! Hey!” Spanky griped.

“It sweeps up,” he said.

“I’m seriously starting to regret letting you in here,” she muttered.

“See what happens when you let hormones do the thinking?” Cassie sassed.

“Oh, like you’re one to talk, skank.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Ladies!” Harrison shouted. “Shut up.”

Minutes later, when he had most of the sawdust in a pile beside the crate, he was almost ready to admit defeat. The box was empty. There were no hidden secrets.

He sighed and rocked back on his heels, perplexed.

And then he remembered one of Adam’s favorite possessions when he was a kid.

A box with a false bottom for hiding secrets.

CHAPTER 8

W
ithout warning, the base of Cassie’s skull started its precognitive burn. The freaky sensation always preceded some bizarre occurrence—say, for instance, a mummy stabbing. But she had never experienced it twice in one day. That fact by itself was disconcerting. And when the heat did not abate after a few seconds as it usually did, but actually blazed hotter, she got nervous.

She slapped a palm to the back of her neck and rose unsteadily to her feet. She’d been crouching beside Harrison, watching him dismantle the packing crate in the airport parking lot after Spanky had thrown them out of baggage claim for making too big of a mess.

“Harry,” she said.

“It’s Harrison,” he corrected without looking up. He was intently trying to pry nails out of the board with his car keys.

“We have to get out of here,” she said. “Something bad is about to happen.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Harrison.” She raised her voice. “We gotta go.”

“Look, look, Cassie!” He was so excited.

“Huh?” She wished she felt better so she could get into his enthusiasm. She’d never seen him looking so passionate about anything. But her head was so miserably hot that she longed to dunk it in a bucket of ice water.

“I was right.” He beamed. “There is a false bottom.”

“I’ve got a really bad feeling about this.”

But he wasn’t listening. He flung the strip of board across the parking lot and lifted something from the false bottom. It was bundled in sheepskin and tied with a cord bearing a wax seal. The seal depicted a Minotaur transposed over a double ring emblem.

“This is important.” Her head was burning so hot she could hardly see, much less think.

“So is this.” He carefully peeled away the sheepskin to reveal a papyrus scroll. The awe in his voice was perilously close to religious ecstasy. She had an artifact zealot on her hands.

“Dammit, man, listen to me!”

“What?” Finally Harrison raised his gaze and met her eyes.

“I know this is gonna sound crazy, but ever since I almost drowned when I was nine, I occasionally get these twinges.”

“Twinges?” He pushed his glasses up on his nose with the index finger of one hand, while the other hand cradled his discovery.

“Premonitions. My brain gets really hot.”

“You’re joking.” He was staring at her as if her mother had dropped her on her head one time too many when she was a baby.

“Nope, not kidding, and I’ve learned that if I ignore these twinges, it’s at my own peril. We gotta get out of here.”

“You’re talking about premonitions when I have the find of the century in my hands?”

“Your brother found it first,” she snapped, getting irritated with his one-track mind. “And if I don’t sit down in a cool place soon, I’m going to pass out and crack my head open on the pavement.”

“Okay, okay.” He finally seemed to snap out of his artifact-induced euphoria. “I’ll unlock the car door for you.”

“Thanks ever so much.” Feeling like a boiled jalapeño, Cassie sank into the passenger seat.

This will pass. Think of something pleasant. Think of your favorite things.

Like Kiss Me Scarlet lipstick and fusilli pasta and reruns of
Sex and the City
. Coffee ice cream and strolling the streets of Madrid and long soaks in the hot tub.

Oooh-no, not hot tubs. Don’t think hot.

Cassie took a deep breath and waved a hand in front of her face in a vain attempt to cool herself. This was getting scary. She’d never had one of these ESP-induced brain hot flashes last so long. What she wouldn’t give for a tall glass of sweet tea over crushed ice and an oscillating fan set to supersonic speed.

But the sense of urgency pushed at her, as overwhelming as the heat. “Get in the car, Harry,” she barked.

He looked at the crate.

“Leave the crate. It won’t fit in the car. You’ve got what you came for. Let’s go.”

“Okay.”

Her face was sweating and she was panting hard. If the guy ever thought about getting married and having kids, he was going to have to learn that when a woman got that particular tone in her voice she meant business.

“Now!”

He wrapped the papyrus scroll in the sheepskin and got in the car. He glanced over at her as he laid his newfound treasure on the backseat.

“You’re serious about this. You really are overheated.”

“Damn skippy. I’m melting like a box of chocolates, Forrest Gump. Get the air-conditioning cranked.”

They drove away from the terminal with the AC blasting as high as it would go. The nightmarish heat inside her head began to recede. By the time they were off airport property, Cassie was feeling almost human again.

“Take the next exit,” she said. “There’s a bunch of drive-through fast-food joints. I need a large Coke with extra extra ice.”

“So these premonitions of yours, what happens when you get them?” he asked as he pulled up to the speaker at a Jack in the Box.

“The back of my head burns, and then something weird always happens. Get me a couple of monster tacos along with the Coke. No, wait, monster tacos have hot sauce on them, and the last thing I want is something hot. Just get me a grilled chicken sandwich and an order of curly fries.”

He placed her order, plus he got a salad for himself and a glass of water.

“Sheesh, Harry, what’s with the salad? Live a little, willya?”

“It’s Harrison, and I prefer to watch my intake of fats and carbohydrates.”

“Hey, with the kind of precognitive heat I’ve been feeling, today could very well be your final day on the face of this earth. Don’t go out on lettuce and water.”

“I’m happy with my choice of last meals,” he said.

Cassie shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

While they waited in the drive-through line, Cassie called home to check her messages to see if Adam had called, but her machine never picked up. She must have forgotten to turn the thing on. Terrific.

They got their food and Cassie tore into the sack. She peeled the paper from her sandwich and took a big bite.

“Hey, you can’t eat in my car.”

“Watch me. I’m starving.”

“No one’s ever eaten in my car.”

“The old gal is like, what? Ten? I’d say it’s way past time to pop her cherry. Wanna french fry?” She dangled a fry in front of his face.

“No, I do not want a fry.”

“You might as well pull over and eat your salad. I’ve already contaminated your car by pigging out in it.”

He considered her a moment, then to Cassie’s surprise he pulled into the parking lot. With a resigned sigh he said, “Hand me the salad.”

She passed it over to him and watched him carefully open the container and cautiously squeeze the packet of Italian dressing over his veggies. They munched in silence for a few minutes.

“How’s your brain now?” Harrison asked in between bites. “Still fried?”

“Are you being a smartass?” She sized him up with a sidelong glance. “You don’t believe me about the premonitions, do you?”

“Sorry. I’m a seeing-is-believing kind of guy.”

“So tell me, Harry, what exactly
do
you believe in?”

“Harrison,” he said. “I believe in the power of the intellect. In scientific method. In reason and logic and common sense.”

“I take it you don’t buy into the legend of the star-crossed lovers.”

“I do believe that Kiya and Solen were lovers in real life. Hieroglyphic writing found in Ramses IV’s tomb supports the story. But I don’t believe that when the amulet pieces are brought back together Solen and Kiya will be reunited in some mythological afterworld.”

“That’s a shame,” she said wistfully.

“What?”

“That you don’t believe in magic.”

“And you do?”

“Oh, sure. I believe in romance and magic and love at first sight and . . .”

“Happily ever after,” he supplied.

“Oh, no, I don’t believe in
that
.”

“You believe in magic and in the legend of the star-crossed lovers, but you don’t believe that people can find permanent happiness together?”

“For some people, maybe,” she said. “But it’s not my thing.”

“Why not?”

“Because after a while things invariably get dull. The fire goes out. The passion dies down, and you’re stuck with someone who leaves their socks on the bathroom floor and expects you to pick them up.”

“Ah,” he said. “I understand.”

His smug expression irritated her. “What is it that you understand?”

“You’re a commitment-phobe.”

“I am not. I just don’t want to be locked down.”