Cleopatra's Necklace (Devlin Security Force Book 3) by Vaughan Susan

Author:Vaughan, Susan [Vaughan, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gullwood Press
Published: 2015-06-24T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

SHE STARED, THEN shook her head. “Only the rear door past the trash room.” So much for chipper. She squeaked like a scared chipmunk. She drew a breath, willing calm and the strength of the ancient Cleopatra. These Centaur bastards would not beat her down.

Thomas crossed from the window and wrapped his arms around her. “I can’t see the guy clearly but judging from his size it could be the big guy Nedik from the green boat.” His lips moved against her hair, his warm breath infusing her with his confidence. “There could be another one staking out the rear.”

“Many buildings don’t have a rear exit or even a fire escape other than a rope ladder because of the canals. The rear door here opens onto a narrow fondamenta along the rio. A few of the tenants tie boats there. Maneuvering on foot would be tough, especially at night.”

“Right. Then we watch for trouble inside the building.” He tipped up her chin. In the dark she could see only the shape of his head. “Promise me you’ll do what I say.”

She started to object to his presumption she’d rebel, but thought better of it. “In this case, I’ll follow orders. But don’t assume anything from that, mister.”

“With you, babe, I never assume anything.”

“Good idea. Then let’s roll.”

“You’ve watched too many disaster movies.” He brushed her lips with a kiss that blipped her pulse a couple of beats. “Move as quietly as possible. Staying on the balls of your feet helps. Tap my shoulder if you hear a sound that doesn’t belong.”

As he opened the door, she winced in the dim lighting. They waited a moment while their eyes adjusted. Then he signaled her to follow. At nearly eleven o’clock, the building’s tenants were settling for the night. Cooking aromas had dissipated, replaced by the spicy tobacco whiff of an after-dinner cigar.

Glad she’d worn soft-soled shoes, she descended each step as he had suggested. Her pulse clamored like a church bell and her palms went damp. If a thug waited downstairs, Thomas would—what? Jump him, fight him, yes, but his fists couldn’t stop bullets. She inhaled and tried to block the image from her mind and concentrate on listening.

No babies cried and no TV programs blared to mask alien sounds. She strained to listen, but heard only the familiar creaks and groans of the old structure and the ordinary shuffling and muted voices of her neighbors behind their doors.

As they neared the ground floor, the scrape of a leather sole on the entry tile scrambled her pulse. She tapped Thomas’s shoulder and he nodded, clearly also alerted. They halted. She lowered her heels silently and pressed her bag to her side.

When he turned, she saw his mask of vigilance, the aura of power he always carried, but honed to diamond sharpness. He held up a hand, a tacit order to wait where she was, on the fourth step from the bottom, concealed by the stairwell wall. Only after she nodded did he continue downward.

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