Evelyn Vaughn - Her Kind Of Trouble

Now Phil Stuart scowled at us from across the room, bodyguards instead of a date at his side. His fear of me, of what he couldn’t understand, made him dangerous. I looked from him to Lex again, noting how tight Lex’s jawline had gotten with the strain of his own secrets, and I consciously chose against fear.

“I trust you,” I vowed softly, hopefully. “I trust that you know what you’re doing, that it’s something honorable and right. I’ve got to believe that, for both our sakes….”

My voice faded, the closer his face leaned toward mine, the more intently his golden eyes focused on my lips. The nearer he came, the shorter my breath fell.

But again, not in a good way. I wasn’t ready.

The last time we’d been lovers, before his attack, I’d known nothing of his involvement with the Comitatus. Learning the truth had just about broken my heart. I did want to trust him…but maybe hearts are slower to heal than knife wounds.

He must have seen something in my eyes, in my posture. We’ve known each other since childhood, after all. He reads me pretty well.

Abruptly, he turned away. “I’ll get us another drink.”

And then I was alone in the crowd, feeling cold and foolish and more than a little frustrated…which is when I saw it.

It was another glass case, another small sculpture in blue faience, apparently the Egyptians’ earthenware of choice. This one wasn’t a cup but a tiny figurine, a woman on a throne with a child in her lap.

I could have looked away, if I’d wanted to. But, pulse accelerating, I did not want to.

The size of the figurine, perhaps six inches, in no way matched the scope of its subject. But from the headdress, I recognized her—or should I say, Her—all the same. Isis. Goddess of Ten Thousand Names. Oldest of the Old. Sitting there amid relics from her ancient, half-forgotten world, nursing the tiny god Horus on her lap.

This Grailkeeper business would be so much easier if she spoke to me, even in my head—if she flat out said Maggi, this is your next assignment. It didn’t work that way, of course. So far, a sore throat in the presence of danger was as tangible as the magic of the goddess got. Except…

Something vibrated against my fingertips. I nearly dropped my purse before remembering my cell phone, tucked inside it. I drew it out, saw an international exchange on its display.

I thumbed the On button. “Hello, Rhys,” I said softly, and not just out of politeness for the other museum patrons. The moment felt almost…holy. “Tell me you know where the Isis Grail is and I’ll believe in magic.”

“I do not know for certain,” came the lilting Welsh voice of my friend, an archeology student at the Sorbonne who was interning with an expedition to Egypt. “But someone seems to think I do.”

My sense of unease returned—and only partly because I’d just seen Lex, across the room, conversing with his cousin Phil.

“Why do you say that?” I deliberately turned my attention back to the statuette. I trust him, I trust him, I trust him.

The tiny blue Isis wore a crooked smile, as if to say, “Gotcha.”

“I say it,” said Rhys, “because somebody tried to kill me today.”

When we reached JFK, Lex turned the car into an open space at the far reaches of the Central Terminal Area lot and shifted into Park. August sunlight bounced off a stretch of windshields and rearview mirrors between us and the terminals. His engine idled almost imperceptibly, to keep the cool air blowing.

He unfastened his seat belt and turned to me.

Here it comes, I thought. Until this moment, Lex’s only reaction to my announcement that I was flying to Egypt had been three words: “I’ll drive you.”

I expected a protest.

I didn’t expect him to take my left hand in his.

“Mag,” he said. And he slid a gold band onto my ring finger! “Wear this?”

Gold band. On the finger reserved for engagement and wedding rings.

And I’d thought concern for Rhys and last-minute flight plans had been stressful? This sent the day’s pressure into heart-pumping overdrive.

Damn, I thought, staring at the ring. And we were just starting to get along again. Except for the panic attack at the thought of kissing him, that is. Still, I’d already refused to marry Lex Stuart, several times, even before this business about chalices and secret societies had come up.

The timing hadn’t exactly improved.

“It’s company policy,” Lex explained with his usual composure, drawing his thumb across the band. “Women wearing wedding rings invite less harassment in Arab countries than women who are recognizably single.”

“Policy,” I repeated numbly—and the world shifted back into place again. Policy. The ring meant nothing. Then the rest of his statement caught up with me, and I regained my full voice to challenge it. “Invite harassment?”

“Attract less harassment, then. Point being—”

“Point being you think I need the illusion of a man to protect me.” I started to tug the ring off.

He closed his hand around mine, stopping me. “I didn’t say that. God help any Egyptians who try to harass you.”

Appeased, I waited for him to explain himself.

“I just wish you weren’t going,” he said softly.

Which, as far as ways for him to explain himself went, sucked. “Well that’s not your call to make.”

“Did you hear me asking?”

Actually, no, I hadn’t.

Lex opened his hand enough to look at mine, at the ring that now loosely circled the top knuckle of my finger. “You’re the one who complains that we don’t talk enough.”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. I had to get rid of nervous energy somehow. “I complain that you’ve taken a vow of secrecy to an organization that’s tried to kill me. And you. More than once. That’s not the same as whining that you don’t tell me often enough that you love me.”

He said, “I love you.”

I sank back into the leather seat and closed my eyes, still anchored by his hand holding mine. My reaction to that really shouldn’t have been to think, Crap, should it?

I mean, this was Lex—my first date, first love, first time. My first, second, and third heartbreak.

But damn it, my plane was leaving soon, and I still had an international security check to get through. “Lex…”

“I love you, and I hate that you’re leaving. This is the Middle East you’re talking about, Mag.”

When I opened my eyes, there that ring sat, peeking loosely through our fingers, undecided. “Egypt isn’t the same as the Gaza Strip.”

“It’s not the same as Cleveland, either,” insisted Lex. “Less than a decade ago more than fifty tourists were massacred in the Valley of the Kings.”

“I’m not going to the Valley of the Kings, I’m going to Alexandria. It’s the other direction.”

Lex stared at me, unswayed.

I fisted my hand in his, ring and all. “I’ll be fine.”

“Like you were the last time you went after a chalice that certain people didn’t want found?”

“Certain people don’t know I’m going this time.” Or… Old suspicions settled in my chest. “Do they?”

Lex took his hand back and released the parking brake in an angry movement. “You’ve really got this not trusting me business down, haven’t you?”

Again—crap. I reached awkwardly across my lap to reengage the brake, since my left hand was still fisted to keep from losing the ring. “Hey. I wasn’t saying you told them. Did you hear me saying that?”

Then again, if they learned about my quest some other way, I wasn’t sure he could have told me, either.

When Lex turned back to me, his expression was impassive—and his eyes desperate. “We really don’t communicate well, do we?”