Touch of Darkness (8 page)

"It's getting so tight." She was panting from exertion, but more than that—she was panicked.

Claustrophobia. What a hell of a time to find that out. "Let me get in front. If I can get through, you can."

"Yeah. Okay." The thought seemed to make her feel better.

Maybe it wasn't a good idea to add to her terror, but from what he knew of Tasya's character, she would rise to the occasion. As he squeezed past her, he said, "Keep up. The tomb is going to blow."

She kept up.

They rounded the corner. He could see the sunlight ahead. It was a small hole, but they could make it out. They were crawling, moving fast. The tunnel narrowed more, decaying to a mere burrow, and he
found himself wiggling along on his belly. "A few more yards. A few more!"

At first, the vibration was a hum in the earth. It grew to a rumble. The tremor came from behind, caught them. The ground lifted once, a huge shock. His hand grasped a stone on the wall outside.

Tasya screamed.

And in the violent shaking, the tunnel collapsed, burying them in the earth.

Chapter 6

Tasya couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe. There wasn't air. It was dark. The earth weighed her down. She had dirt in her mouth, in her lungs.

All her life, this had been her nightmare.

She was buried alive.

She flailed helplessly, disoriented, not knowing which way was
out.

Then some
thing
grabbed her. Pulled her by her shoulders. She fought, trying to help. Trying to get away.

She hit something hard with her head. Felt something frantically slither past her. Grabbed a metal rod and used it as an oar. Tried to scream, but she couldn't
breathe.

Oh, God. She was going to die. In the darkness. She was going to suffocate in the darkness.

And suddenly, her head was out. Out, in the open. She couldn't see; her eyes were caked with dirt. She couldn't breathe. Dirt filled her mouth and nose. But the weight was gone from her head. She could feel the air, and savored the impression of sunshine.

Some
thing
pulled her harder. Pulled her all the way out of the tunnel that had been her grave, and flung her on the ground.

Frantically, she brushed at her face, spit earth, still couldn't breathe. Her head was buzzing.

She was dying.

"Stop."
Rurik. Rurik is here. "I'll
help you."

He put his mouth to hers and gave her his breath.

Her lungs expanded. When he pulled away, she coughed. Coughed and coughed, spewing dirt, getting air, blowing her nose . . . she was alive. She felt like hell, but she was alive.

When she could open her eyes, she found herself propped up on a narrow rock ledge on the cliff over the sea. They were about ten feet below the level of the ground above, and about ninety feet above the ocean.

Rurik sat beside her, his arms resting on his upraised knees, his hands dangling. He stared out to sea. Dirt caked his hair, his eyebrows, his clothes, his skin. Dirt was in his ear. A cut on his forehead oozed blood.

He gave her an idea how horrible she must look.

She didn't care. She was alive.

She leaned her head back against the stone. The air smelled good, like the ocean . . . and the earth. The rocks dug into her back, and the discomfort told her she was alive. Dirt filled her boots, and pebbles had worked their way between her toes, and that was good, too.

"You afraid of heights?" Rurik asked.

"Nope." Far below, the waves pounded the rocks. "Just the dark."

He nodded. "I can't believe you made it out with that backpack."

She looked down. While she'd waited for Rurik at the entrance of the tunnel, she'd placed the backpack on her front, tightened the straps as much as she could. "Camera," she said.

He chuckled a little. "Figures." And, "Is it okay?"

She unzipped the main flap, pulled out the Nikon, and examined it. Her waterproof, dirt-proof, ripstop, padded backpack had come through. "Looks good."

"Good girl." He chuckled again.

Tenderly, she put her beloved camera back away.

Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, he opened it. Dirt showered out. "Shit." The screen was cracked.

He shook it, pushed talk, put it to his ear. "Shit," he said again. "It wasn't built for a cave-in." He put it back in his pocket. "Have you got one?"

"In my backpack," she said vaguely. "It's off, though. Who's going to call me?"

"I don't know. Your mother? Your father?"

She gazed across the ocean. A thin, pale gray line crept up from the horizon, swallowing the blue sky. "My parents are dead."

"Your other lover?"

"He's busy," she said without missing a beat.

"Are you trying to make me jealous?"

"No."

"No. Of course not. To do that, you would have to care."

Do you really want to talk about this now?
But she
didn't ask. He did want to talk, anytime, anywhere. And she wanted to avoid that confrontation at all costs. She started to unzip the backpack. "Do you want to call your family? Because when news of the explosion hits, they're going to worry."

He placed his hand over hers to stop her. "They won't worry, not for a few days, anyway. I have a way of landing smoothly. No, keep your phone off for now."

She knew why. Pointing up at the top of the cliff, she asked, "Are we in danger here?"

"No. Those boys never knew we were in the tomb. They certainly don't know we escaped."

"I knew the legend was overrated," she said with satisfaction.

He rolled his head toward her. "What legend?"

"I'll tell you when we're off this island."

His eyes narrowed. He started to speak. Changed his mind. Spoke anyway. "What are you holding?"

She would bet that wasn't what he'd been about to say.

She looked down at her hand. She gripped a piece of dirty, rust-encrusted metal about eight inches long and narrow as a blade. "I don't know. A knife of some kind. It sort of found me white you were pulling me out."

"Keep it. We'll examine it later."

She unzipped the pocket in her backpack, the one on the outside for the water bottle she never carried, and dropped the ancient thing inside.

Rurik watched her, and disappointment turned his mouth into a thin line. "That knife may be the only thing left from the excavation."

"I'm sorry." She put her hand on his arm. "I know what that tomb meant to you."

He considered her hand. Looked up at her. And his eyes were savage. Almost. . . frightening, with a red flame deep inside.

She caught her breath. She yanked her hand away.

"As long as you're alive, the tomb is nothing."

She'd expected him to hit on her, grab her, kiss her. Not say
that.
And to say it in such a serious tone . . . "I've been in danger before."

"Not like this. Not because of me."

He could be so irritating—and powerful, and se
ductive. He made her put up all her defenses, because he made her feel safe from the world—and in peril from him. If she gave in to him, leaned on him, trusted him, she would be the biggest fool in the history of the world. She kept her voice brisk and unwelcoming. "You give yourself too much credit. I'm afraid I'm the one who's put you in danger."

At first he started to deny it. Then he chuckled. "Yes. You could infuriate a saint. But no matter whose fault this is, I'm going to do everything in my power to keep you alive." He stood and extended his hand.

She let him pull her to her feet.

Sliding his arm around her waist, he pulled her close and leaned his forehead against hers. "I can't predict the future, but I know this has just begun."

His eyelashes were grainy with dirt, but his brown eyes were somber, calm, thoughtful—and he wasn't talking about the tomb or the explosion; he was talking about
them.

Scary. Rurik was scary when he was like this.

Not physically scary. She never thought he would hurt her. But relentless scary.

He wanted her, and he intended to have her. Maybe she could explain why that was impossible. Maybe she could confess her past, and explain the danger of being with her, and frighten him away.

But Rurik didn't seem to frighten easily, and if she
talked about the ghosts that haunted her—he'd know. He'd know the brave-reporter facade was a sham, that she was a frightened little girl who shivered in the night. He'd shine a light into the dark corners of her soul, and she'd be forced to face the memories and the fears.

Then . . . what if he hated what he saw? What if he laughed and told her to grow up? What if he used her fears to manipulate her?

What if he walked away?

No, she was better off keeping him at arm's length.

How's that going, Tasya?

Not too good, since he's holding me pressed against his body and looking into my eyes like he understands way, way too much.

Moving with slow deliberation, she untangled herself. "Look, we need to get back to the reporters and the archaeologists so I can upload the photos I took yesterday and today, and send them to my boss at National Antiquities. I'm not too happy about carrying around the only real record of your findings, and they'll be safe on the National Antiquities computer."

Rurik kept one hand on her as she stepped away. Maybe because the rock shelf where they stood was only three feet wide. Maybe because he didn't want to let her go. "I listened to the guys who blew up the tomb. Someone back there wants
all
the information
erased. These are well-funded, desperate men, possibly ecoterrorists, and as witnesses, we need to lie low and not be recognized until we can talk to the authorities."

She almost told him then. It would have been such an easy segue from his speech to an explanation of who those men were, and the real reason why they'd set their explosives.

But then she'd have to tell Rurik what she'd been up to, and that she had put him, and his beloved excavation, in danger.

She looked over the edge of the shelf.

It was a long drop to the ocean.

She'd tell him afterward.

Chapter 7

Rurik kept an eye on Tasya as she climbed the cliff behind him.

She wasn't lying. She had no fear of heights. No fear of anything that he could see—except the dark.

He'd love to know why, but now was not the time. Now they had to run. Run far and fast, protect those photos of the wall carvings, study them, and maybe, just maybe, find a way to save not only his father's life but also his father's soul.

"Here's the situation." Rurik reached the top of the cliff. He flopped onto the flat ground, and belly crawled away from the edge. "We've got to get off this island without being spotted, and I've prepared for such an eventuality."

On a cliff a hundred feet over the ocean, Tasya
stopped climbing. She ignored his hand, wiggling for her to grasp it, and looked at him as if he was nuts.