Copyright © 2006 Angela Chaney
All rights reserved, Freya's Bower.
By reading this excerpt, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are younger than 18 years old, you must exit this site at once.
“Audrey, sweetheart, long time no see.”
The man who’d spoken looked just plain scary—his nasty grin revealed sharp, pointed teeth. Tall, thin, and dressed in all black, an abundance of silver chains adorned his clothes. She tried not to show him how he unnerved her, even though the brass knuckles he wore like jewelry made her swallow hard against the bile that rose in her throat. He thinks I’m Audrey! Calm, just stay calm. She paid the clerk and grabbed her drinks. If she ran she could make it to the locksmith’s, to Lorenzo.
At the door, though, his wiry fingers bit into her shoulder. He turned her to face him. His angry grin and the smell of stale beer caused her to choke.
“I’m not Audrey,” she tried to explain. “I’m Helen, her sister.”
“Nice try, but no dice.” His hand on her shoulder shifted to the back of her neck. He squeezed painfully. “Where are the jars? And don’t play games with me.”
“Jars?” Helen stammered. “What jars?”
He squeezed her neck harder. Helen cried out against the pain.
“That hit was mine, and you knew it. Now I have a promised buyer and no merchandise, and you have a problem.” His brass-knuckled fist grazed her cheek in warning.
Her whole body shook with fear as the cold metal pressed against the line of her cheekbone.
“Let her go.”
Lorenzo! Helen nearly fainted with relief. The hand on her neck loosened. With a glare, the man released her and hurried down the sidewalk.
“Are you alright?” Lorenzo asked. He slipped the gun back under his jacket and met her gaze intently.
“Yeah, just a little shaken. Thanks.” She rubbed her neck briskly and looked around for the drinks she’d dropped. “What did you find out about the key?”
“It goes to a bank safety deposit box,” he said, ushering her back to the truck. “Let’s hurry. You’re not safe anywhere around here.”
“How will we know which bank?” Helen asked.
“There’s only one bank in town that offers that service.” He turned the truck onto the street and gave her a pulse-stopping smile.
“I wonder if Gino’s money is there,” Helen thought aloud. If it was, she’d be saying goodbye to Lorenzo before supper. She wasn’t altogether sure how she felt about that.
“That’s what we’re going to find out.”
At the bank, they showed a teller the key and followed him to a room out the back. A few minutes later, he returned with a box and the bank’s key. Handing them over, he left discretely.
“Are these what I think they are?” Lorenzo asked, staring into the box.
Helen gasped. “Canopic jars. These are the jars the man from the store was looking for.”
Audrey had stuffed the box full of packing material, and Helen smoothed some away to get a better look. The bottoms of the four jars were carved from wood, the tops gold covered in jewels. Helen picked up the one with the falcon-headed top and read the inscription. “Henbaaten.”
Lorenzo opened his satchel and reached for the human-headed jar. “I think we’re done here. We’ll take these back to your place.”
They placed the jars in his satchel along with the packaging material. In the truck, Helen used their extra clothes to add more padding around the jars.
“I’m not certain, but I think these are authentic,” Helen told him. “They’re centuries old and very fragile, not to mention priceless.”
Turning the truck toward the interstate, Lorenzo handed her his cell phone. “You’ll want to check on Matthew and let your friend know we’re headed back to town?”
She took the phone with a smile of gratitude. She began to dial Erica’s number. The truck lurched forward, forcing Helen to drop the phone and use both hands to keep her face from hitting the dash. Lorenzo swore, pushing her back against her seat. Helen glanced in the side mirror to see who'd hit them.
“Are you ok?” he asked.
“Yes. So much for heading back to my place.” Helen tried to hide her annoyance and reached for the phone on the floor. “There’s a gas station up on the right. Maybe we can just exchange insurance det—”
Two men in a faded green car behind them caught her attention, their shaved heads a stark contrast to their bright scarlet shirts.
“We’re not stopping,” Lorenzo said, punching the gas. “Sit back and put your seatbelt on.”
He took the curved on-ramp, heading north without slowing down.
“We’re going the wrong way,” Helen pointed out and slid across the leather seat, wrestling with the seatbelt. They reached the interstate. She stopped sliding and glanced in her side view mirror. The green car traveled close behind them.
“Yeah, let’s just hope they don’t figure that out.” His gaze darted from the road to the rear-view mirror and back again.
“Why are they still following us?” She glanced at the speedometer and cringed to see the needle steadily moving around the gauge.
“They’ve been with us since we left the bank. Possibly even before. Whoever they are, they were hoping we’d pull over when they hit us.” He darted around cars like he was playing an arcade racing game. “I think I can lose them on the interstate. Then we’ll take an alternate route home.”
She stopped watching the speedometer and concentrated on the distance increasing between them and the other car.
Helen turned in her seat and searched the road behind them. “I don’t see them anymore.”
“Me neither. I’ll pull off at the next exit. We need gas anyway, and a map.”
“Maybe they were the ones who left the package for Audrey?” Helen said.
“That would be my guess as well,” he replied. “Just out of curiosity, what makes you think that?”
“The way they looked and dressed makes me think they’re Egyptian. Oddly enough, they looked like some kind of… I don’t know…priests or something.”
The journey home took more than twice as long as the trip there. Avoiding the interstate, following back roads and getting lost, they pulled into Helen’s driveway around four in the morning, satisfied they hadn’t been followed.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have a guest room.” Helen stifled a yawn. “You can take my bed if you want. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
He grinned boyishly and raised his brows. “I never sleep in a woman’s bed alone.”
“Oh.” Her mouth formed a perfect ‘o’, and this time the yawn could not be held back.
“Good night, Helen.”