Mission: Irresistible Read online

  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

  Without 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.”

  He laughed. Really loud and long. “That’s the definition of a commitment-phobe. Be honest with yourself. You like the thrill of romance but a real, honest-to-God, mature relationship based on mutual respect scares the pants off you.”

  Cassie felt as if he’d just driven a push pin through the center of her forehead. Ouch. He’s got you bagged, tagged, and labeled, babe.

  “Oh, like you’re one to talk. When was the last time you even had a date, Harry? Much less a serious relationship?”

  “I’ve been too busy for a relationship.”

  “You’ve been too busy? Doing what? It’s been two years since you dug up Kiya.” Cassie polished off her last french fry and took a long sip of her Coke. “What’s been shaking since?”

  “I’ve been looking for Solen.”

  “Unsuccessfully.”

  “Yeah,” he said, sounding just a tad bitter. “Unsuccessfully. Thanks for reminding me. But I have also been working on the djed. I’m trying to figure out how it works and what the Egyptians used it for.”

  “You mean the dildo?”

  “It’s not a dildo!”

  “It looks like it could be one.”

  “Well, it isn’t,” he snapped. “It’s some kind of electromagnetic transformer.”

  “Hey, a dildo could transform me.”

  “You’re impossible,” he said.

  “That’s what they tell me.”

  He gathered up their empty food containers and stepped out of the car to deposit them in a nearby trash can. He got back inside, started the engine, and then motored toward the freeway entrance ramp without speaking.

  Okeydokey. Apparently she’d made him mad by belittling his djed thingy.

  “I apologize for the dildo comment,” she said. “I was just teasing.”

  “Unlike some people, I’m serious about my work,” Harrison grumbled.

  “So what’s this papyrus thing all about?” Cassie jerked a thumb at the backseat.

  “I don’t know. I recognized that seal, but is it a real artifact or something Adam’s concocted? I didn’t get to examine the writing on the scroll closely, but it looked like Minoan hieroglyphics, and no one has ever been able to translate them.”

  “Adam did.”

  He jerked his head around to stare at her. “What?”

  “Yep. It was supposed to be a surprise. Adam was going to reveal his achievement at the reunification ceremony.”

  “But that’s impossible. The Minoan hieroglyphics are untranslatable.”

  “Not according to your brother. He was very excited. Your name came up several times in our conversation, but he never let on that you were his brother.”

  “You’re certain that he said he’d translated the Minoan hieroglyphics?”

  “Positive.”

  “This changes everything. What else did he tell you?”

  “All Adam would say is that the translation could alter the face of history. But you know your brother better than I do. I gather he leans toward the dramatic.”

  “That he does, but this time he might be right. It all depends on that scroll.”

  A car was following close on their bumper. The headlights reflected off the rearview mirror. The base of her skull warmed again, and she reached up a hand to massage away the tingling. Maybe it was just stress. Being around Harry was certainly stressful. Hopefully there was nothing ominous in the offing.

  “I’m beginning to think this isn’t a publicity stunt,” Harrison said quietly. “I’m afraid Adam’s gotten himself in serious trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  Curiosity prompted her question, but it was more than casual interest that had her waiting for Harry’s answer with indrawn breath. Maybe the smoldering premonition at the top of her spine wasn’t for herself or Harry but for Adam.

  “You saw the seal on the cord binding the sheepskin?”

  Cassie nodded. “It was two circles with some Greek letters and a Minotaur on top.”

  “Not Greek letters. Minoan hieroglyphics.”

  “And?”

  “The Minotaur over the double circles is the sacred crest of a three-thousand-year-old secret brotherhood sect that supposedly had perfected both the art of alchemy and the ability to control the weather. Adam’s dad, Tom Grayfield, is something of an academic expert on the ancient order. I believe he even did his doctoral thesis on them.”

  “What were they called?”

  “The closest we’ve come to correctly pronouncing their Minoan name is by using a Cretan intonation.” Then he said something that sounded an awful lot like, “Wannamakemecomealot.”

  “Excuse me?” It wasn’t that she hadn’t heard him the first time. Cassie just couldn’t imagine that she was hearing the same phrase twice in one night.

  Harrison repeated himself.

  “Omigosh, Harry.” She splayed a hand over her mouth, then whispered, “That’s exactly what the mummy said to me before he collapsed.”

  “You’re certain?”

  Cassie inhaled sharply. “Do you think he was telling me that members of this cult were the ones who stabbed him? He said, ‘Beware Wannamakemecomealot.’ That was before I knew he’d been stabbed, and I just thought he was trying to be flirtatious.”

  “It seems a huge stretch, Cassie.”

  “Harry, the mummy was really weak. Barely breathing. I was so scared he was dying.”

  In the light from the headlamps of the car following close behind them, Cassie could see Harrison’s jaw tighten. “Let’s just hope you’re
wrong.”

  “Tell me more about this Wannamakemecomealot bunch,” she said, quickly changing the subject. She didn’t want Harrison dwelling on the fact that his brother might be dead. Best not freak out until there was something to freak out about. That was her motto. If you put off worrying long enough, maybe it would never happen.

  “Many people in the archaeological community believe Solen was a member of this cult. Most scholars now refer to it as the Minoan Order. Causes fewer giggles in the classroom than ‘Wannamakemecomealot.’”

  “I can imagine.” She snickered.

  She wished that stupid car would pass or drop back. Wasn’t the headlight glare bothering Harry? But he seemed totally wrapped up in his story, oblivious to what was going on around him. He had the most intense powers of concentration she had ever seen. It made her want to squirm.

  Settle down. This is important.

  Fighting her natural ADD tendencies, Cassie rested her elbow against her knee, propped her chin in her palm, and forced herself to really hear what he was saying.

  “Go on, sorry for laughing.”

  “When the Minoan Order was initially formed, they only used their metaphysical powers for good. ‘Do no harm’ was the foundation of their creed. Anyone discovered using their arcane knowledge for evil purposes was immediately stripped of their magic and exiled from Crete.”

  “Was that what happened to Solen? Is that how he ended up in Egypt? He did something bad and got banished?”

  “No. At least not according to the hieroglyphics we found in Ramses’s tomb, although we do know Solen was one of Ramses’s scribes. He could have written his own version of history.”

  “So fill me in. What’s the entire scoop?”

  “Supposedly, here’s what happened,” Harrison said. “The village where Solen lived was threatened by a rampaging Minotaur, and even the strongest, most talented warriors could not defeat the beast. Solen was young. He was only fourteen, but he’d been studying metaphysics under a grand master. With the power he derived from his magic amulet and the purity of his soul, Solen was able to slay the Minotaur.”

  “What happened then?”

  “The grateful villagers lauded him with praise and riches. But several young warriors in the Minoan Order were jealous of his triumph. They ambushed him one night, beating him until he was almost dead, but he refused to use his powers against them in anger. He would not violate the code, even to avenge himself. The men put him on a sailing ship to Egypt, where he was sold into slavery.”