Flock of Wolves Read online

  "Yes, I know that. I'm just saying that people shouldn't have to give up their faith in God to believe that women are equal."

  He held my gaze, his honey brown eyes soft. "I understand that, Anita. I certainly haven't given up my faith. And I know that women are equal to me. Many of them are better." He smiled slightly, his chin dipping, as if to indicate that I was one of those better women.

  We said our goodbyes, agreeing to convene again soon, and then disconnected. Dan stood up and stretched, reaching his fingers toward the ceiling, his T-shirt rising up and exposing the waist of his jeans, a line of tan skin and a trickle of blond hair.

  I looked back down at my scarred hands.

  "Want to grab a bite?" Dan asked.

  I shook my head. "I think I'll work for a while longer." Looking up at him, I forced a smile.

  He left the office, and I sat in the silence, just listening to my own breath.

  Religion gives us power and takes it away.

  But which was this?

  Chapter Five

  Friend or Foe

  Robert

  I consciously unclenched my hands from the wheel of the Jeep. Sydney Rye sat in the passenger seat, my knife still in her grip. Fuck, I liked it when she threatened me.

  Blue sat at Sydney's feet, his ears perked forward and eyes on the road ahead. I'd gotten Mulberry onto a helicopter, and he was headed to Istanbul where I'd arranged for his care to continue at the best hospital in the city. I did it all for her. And she'd thanked me by threatening to cut me open…

  Still, I'd helped her leave the city, and now the open road lay before us.

  Sydney petted Blue's head, her eyes tracking the sparse traffic around us. She wanted to go to where I'd encountered her under the prophet's control. Sydney's silent dismissal at that time had felt like a blow to the chest.

  My ego forced me to turn away from her—I should have chased her down and made her look into my eyes.

  Should I take Sydney to that cave now? The chances of the prophet being there were slim to none, unless the woman was a total fool, which, judging from her actions so far, she wasn't.

  This prophet was a skilled surgeon and savvy marketer.

  The work she'd performed on Sydney narrowed down our list of suspects. There were only so many surgeons in the region who could perform the work done on Sydney, let alone not in an OR. And most of them were presumably male.

  It was thus only a matter of time before we figured out the woman's identity. Before we hunted her down, before she fell under my control.

  "How far is it?" Sydney asked.

  "Far," I answered, keeping my voice steady. "We have to fly…into dangerous, contested territory."

  I had to consciously unclench my hands again. Every cell in my body wanted to protect Sydney. Wanted to trick her, sneak her back to Miami, and get her the care she needed.

  Could I convince her to wait for Dale to arrive?

  "Look, I'll make you a deal." I felt Sydney's gaze land on me. She didn't trust me. "Let me take you to Istanbul, to the same hospital Mulberry will be at. You could be with him." Dangle the carrot. "Your doctor is on his way from Miami to check you out. We can make sure you are not on the verge of having an aneurysm or something similarly awful before we go back to find her."

  Silence stretched so long that I turned to look at her. Sydney's gaze had dropped to Blue. She played with one of his ears as he continued to stare out the front window.

  "I'm not going to have an aneurysm, Robert."

  "You've no idea." I bit off my words. Anger welled in me, and I battled it, wrestling the rage into calm, into control. Anger didn't work with Sydney Rye. Nothing did. She turned to look at me—those silver-gray eyes so strange, so unique, so intelligent. So brave. "I don't want you to die." The words left me with a sigh. A prayer. Stay with me.

  A small smile curled the edges of her lips. "Don't worry, Robert. I don't want to die either. Anymore. But I do need to find her. I do need to stop her."

  "Sydney, you can't stop what's already begun. You can't turn back time."

  "I'm not trying to turn back time, Robert. I'm just trying to make it right."

  My hands tightened on the steering wheel and I couldn't relax them. "Make it right? There is no such thing. Don't you get that yet? There is no making anything right. Everything is wrong and always has been. And always will be."

  I took a left, headed toward a place I knew we could land a helicopter—to get us lifted close to the cave, though it would still be a long hike. I was doing what she wanted me to…only Sydney could get me to do what she wanted.

  Dammit.

  "You're wrong, Robert. Things can be right."

  She said it like she believed it, like a Christian tells you that Jesus is the son of God, or a Muslim tells you Muhammad spoke the word of God, or an atheist tells you it's all a lie.

  Sydney Rye believed in right and wrong. She believed in black and white. You'd think the gray of her gaze might give her some hint at the subtle shades of morality.

  "Fine," I swallowed, rolling my shoulders. "I'll take you to the cave. She won't be there." But we'd be alone, in the wild, together.

  "Thank you." The quiet of her voice startled me. I took my eyes off the road to stare at her. She was looking right back at me, her gaze sharp and focused. The scars around her left eye, made by her brother’s murderer—from the first battle she ever faced—were faded now but still pulled at her sensitive flesh, the subtle flaws making her more beautiful.

  "You're welcome," I said.

  She nodded. "You've done a lot for me, Robert. I do appreciate it." I turned back to the road, feeling a lump in my throat—a sensation that didn't make any damn sense and was completely unacceptable.

  "You saved my life; I want you to know that I know that."

  All I could do was nod. She had me by the heart; she had me by the balls. Sydney Rye had me. And I'd never be free.

  Sydney

  Robert pulled up in front of a gate. The wall on either side stretched as far as I could see and was topped with barbed wire.

  He spoke into a voice box by the entrance. "It's Robert Maxim." The gate opened.

  "A friend of yours?" I asked.

  "Someone who owes me a debt. Be prepared, he might try to kill us."

  I looked over at him, expecting a smile or something. But his mouth was a determined line. "You’re serious?"

  "Yes, this is the fastest way to get out. Deacon can meet us with the helicopter. But we might be walking into a trap."

  "And you waited till now to tell me?"

  "What would you have done with more time to prepare?" That smile showed up.

  "You can be such an ass," I said, pulling my pistol.

  Robert placed his hand on top of mine, his thumb running the length of my index finger. "Keep your weapons hidden. If he does decide to kill us, it won't be obvious. He would be foolish to take me head-on. He knows I have…protocols in place." Protocols? Of course he did. Robert Maxim didn't walk into a vipers’ nest without the antidotes to viper poison. "Can I have my knife back?"

  I looked down at the shiny blade, catching my reflection: red-rimmed eyes, and a frown pulling at my lips…the same way my scars pulled at my skin. I passed the weapon to Robert, and he slipped it back into its holster.

  The driveway wound through manicured landscaping. The grass was an unnatural green for this desert area, and the elegantly placed trees shone with health and irrigation.

  The house came into view, a giant stone edifice. Three stories high, with tall windows, it looked like a French château that belonged on the outskirts of Paris, not on the border between Syria and Turkey.

  "What is this place?"

  "His wife makes the decorating choices," Robert said. There was something in his voice. "And she is particular."

  "His wife?"

  Robert nodded. "She used to be my wife."

  I laughed. "This guy is married to your ex-wife?"

  "Yes. Angie, my first
wife."

  "She's got great taste in men. Almost as good as her architectural ideas." I laughed again, my side hurting.

  "Angie is a beautiful woman."

  "I’m sure she is."

  A beautiful woman. He meant on the outside. That's where her value lay. In her hot ass, her high cheekbones, a set of glittering eyes and probably a rack as robust as her decorative hedges.

  Robert had been married three times. I'd met his third wife in New York. Pammy. A high-end stripper turned mistress turned wife.

  I'd never understood how he'd gone through three wives. Robert, so cold, so calculating. Why would he marry and divorce three different women?

  "Why do you marry them?" I asked him.

  "A wife can't be forced to testify against her husband." He paused. "Besides." A small smile stole over his lips. "I'm a traditionalist. I like marriage." He looked over at me as we pulled up to the entrance of the château.

  "You like marriage? That's why you do it so often?"

  "Yes," he answered with a tone in his voice I couldn't quite interpret.

  He asked me to marry him once. I saw the proposal for what it was: an attempt to control me.

  But I wasn't like his other wives…Pammy must have been easy enough to control with cash. Maybe he enjoyed the emotional games. Wanted to own a woman's heart, not just her ass.

  Robert shifted, and I saw him adjusting his pistol. "You ready?" He raised his eyebrows.

  I shrugged, a streak of lightning shooting across my vision. "Sure."

  A butler came down the stone steps and opened Robert’s door. I went to open my own, and Robert shot me a look. I shot one back and climbed out of the vehicle.

  The butler's eyebrows rose when he saw me. I guess I wasn't the kind of woman Robert Maxim usually traveled with.

  I had fresh, clean clothing on, and my hair had been washed and neatly tucked under a billed cap… so it's not like I was dripping in blood and brandishing a knife, but the way the butler looked at me, you'd think I was.

  Maybe it was Blue? The butler was eyeing him like he was a tiger.

  "Hello, Guc," Robert said to the Butler. "Hope you're doing well."

  The man recovered, swallowed and nodded. "Always a pleasure to see you, Mr. Maxim. I hope you'll be staying with us."

  His eyes ran over the Jeep, looking for bags.

  "Not today; we have a helicopter picking us up. Just wanted to stop by and see Mr. and Mrs. Kilicli."

  Guc nodded. I came around the car, and Robert offered me his arm. I looked at it for a moment, and he raised his brows at me, communicating I'm giving you what you want, play the fuck along.

  I wrapped my arm through his, and with Blue close to my hip we moved up the stone steps, Guc leading the way.

  The entryway was tiled in black and white. A fountain tinkled, and a chandelier above us glowed with sunlight that poured through the glass ceiling.

  A woman's laughter reached us, followed by a man's soft murmur.

  Robert and I waited in the hall while Guc went ahead and opened a library door. He spoke quietly with the occupants and then returned to usher us in. He bowed as we passed through.

  We entered a gigantic room, its floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto a manicured garden behind the house. Couches and chairs were grouped in intimate seating areas. On one couch, a man and woman sat close to each other, her hand in his as she smiled up at him.

  With skin the color of café mocha, glowing and unlined, shiny black hair cascading down her back, and eyes the bright gold of wheat under the blush of a setting sun—Robert Maxim's first wife stole my breath with her beauty. How could someone this young-looking be on her second marriage? Maybe people didn't age the same when they lived in faux chateaus. And had butlers.

  She blinked, thick black lashes caressing her high cheekbones. Her ruby lips spread into a wide and inviting smile then quickly tempered themselves, forming into something smaller, sultrier. She nodded at Robert as her husband stood.

  Shorter than me but far broader, the man who approached us was mustachioed and bald, wearing a tailored suit. He walked like he owned a faux chateau and laughed as he crossed the room, holding out a hand. "Robert Maxim. I thought I'd never get you back here again. Not after last time." He laughed harder.

  "When a man steals your wife, it's hard to return to his home." Robert shook the man's hand. I suppressed a smile.

  "Allow me to introduce my business partner, Sydney Rye. Sydney, this is Mustafa Kilicli and Angie."

  Angie followed in the wake of her husband, her long dress swiping behind her like a tail. She extended her hand to me. I looked at my own, making sure that it wasn't smudged with dirt or blood before extending it to her. Angie's soft and elegant palm met my calloused one—her hand looked like a trapped bird within the predatory grip of my fingers.

  "Pleasure to meet you," she said, her accent impossible to nail down. She could've been from anywhere…anywhere sexy and cosmopolitan, that is.

  "Come, we were just about to have lunch."

  "We can't stay," Robert said. "I appreciate the hospitality but we have a helicopter arriving soon." His eyes darted out to the expansive lawn beyond the gardens. "Unfortunately, we are in a hurry."

  "Don't be silly, you must join us," Mustafa said, slapping Robert on the back. A low, almost inaudible growl left Blue's chest. Angie's eyes darted down to him. "What a beautiful dog. I keep Afghans."

  I smiled at her. "How nice for you."

  She nodded; it was nice for her.

  Angie leaned forward and kissed Robert on the cheek. Did she linger? I couldn't tell. Mustafa's frown, the way his fists clenched and the color that stole over his cheeks, seemed to say she did.

  He wanted Robert Maxim dead.

  But did he have the balls to try and kill him?

  I guessed we'd find out soon enough.

  Chapter Six

  One Hell of a Lunch

  Sydney

  A long table draped in a fine white tablecloth, with multiple glasses, forks, spoons and knives at each setting, dominated the dining room.

  My stomach rumbled at the smells emanating from the nearby kitchen. Blue pushed his nose into my hand—we were both hungry.

  It would probably be inappropriate to feed him from the table here. Not that I'm Miss Manners or anything, but I didn't want to insult our hosts; after all, they already wanted to murder Robert Maxim.

  Robert pulled out a chair for me, and I sat. His fingers trailed over my shoulders as he stepped away, sending splinters of lightning spidering across my vision.

  Blue moved under the table and rested his chin on the toe of my boot.

  Mustafa pulled out Angie's seat across from me. Between us a silver candelabra shone in the sunshine that poured through the wall of windows behind her. As Angie sat, she flipped her long hair over her shoulder; it splayed out in an arc reminiscent of a shampoo commercial.

  The butler reappeared, and Angie nodded at him. He turned around and left through the door he had come in.

  A moment later a uniformed maid entered. Round and soft, her face lined with age and hard work, she appeared to be in her fifties. The huffing of her breath and rosy cheeks made the maid seem friendly—hardly like a poisoner.

  No one else looked at the woman as she placed a covered serving dish down near Angie. Our hostess continued to chat with Mustafa and Robert about God only knows what. They all acted as if there wasn't a fifth person in the room.

  She was real, though. Not like the thunder that blotted out the conversation twittering around me.

  The maid left, taking the silver top of the serving dish with her, and Angie's eyes glided over to the platter of poached salmon displayed on a bed of lettuce.

  Robert followed her gaze, and his expression twitched for just a moment.

  "Your favorite," Angie said, leaning over to serve Robert a slice of the salmon with a perfectly browned lemon on top.

  Robert nodded, not commenting on her intimate knowledge of his pref
erences.

  Angie glanced at me. "Have you and Robert known each other long?" She smiled softly, but her gaze was sharp. Angie wasn't a fool. Pammy hadn't been either.

  Robert was attracted to intelligent women who knew how to use their sexuality to gain themselves power. And then he enjoyed taking that power from them.

  "A few years," I answered. Angie nodded, standing slightly to place a slice of salmon on my plate. "But I'm not aware of his food preferences," I smiled at Angie. I'm not fucking him.

  Robert cleared his throat. "Are you enjoying it here, Angie? Last time we spoke the summers were a little hot for you." Mustafa's brow furrowed. Was it a revelation that Angie and Robert spoke?

  "That was over a year ago," Angie said with a smile. "We've had new air conditioners installed. And the indoor pool is finished. Also, we've air conditioned the riding ring, so my equestrian pursuits don't have to stop in any season."

  "Weren't the rains a bit much for you?" Robert asked, cocking his head, as if he was genuinely curious and not just trying to fuck with her.

  But I knew what he was doing. Angie had tried to put a wedge between us, to remind me that she knew him better. But all she had managed to do was make Robert expose her—expose the trust she continued to share in him to Mustafa, whose face was now turning a disturbing shade of purple.

  Was Robert trying to get himself killed? Did he need control so badly he was willing to risk his life to claim it?

  I'm not the only insane person at this table.

  Angie turned away from him, finished serving the salmon, and then began to pour the wine.

  "Your home is beautiful," I said, filling the tense silence that had settled over the room. Robert picked up his wine and muffled his laugh into it.

  Mustafa's gaze remained locked on his wife. His eyes were sparkling black—the Atlantic ocean on a cloud-covered night. But when Angie turned to him and laid her hand on his thigh, they softened—the Caribbean at midnight, before the moon has risen with the stars glowing brightly above.