The Serpent in the Stone - By Nicki Greenwood Page 0,3
go, then swept aside her door flap and entered her tent.
It smelled of old canvas. At the moment, it looked like a bomb had gone off. Crates, chairs, and her camp table had been scattered on the tent floor. Her cot stood waiting for setup in the corner. In a few hours, the disaster would be transformed into a tidy microcosm of sleep, study, and on-site labwork.
First things first, then. She’d need somewhere to sleep after the long day ahead. She pulled the cot open and locked it in place. She’d forgotten they were so small.
A flash of Ian’s eyes barged into her memory. Vivid. Intense. She’d never seen such a blue. Even now, the warmth of his hand seemed to linger on hers.
Damn it! Get out of my head! She tossed her sheets onto the cot to rub her palm on her jeans as if she could wipe away the remembered feel of his skin against hers. “You have no business being in there,” she said aloud.
“Are you talking to the cot, or someone invisible?”
She turned around. Thomas stood in the tent doorway, scratching his sandy-blond head.
She gave him a wan smile. “Sorry. A little internal argument. Too many things to do, and not enough caffeine in my system.”
“Equipment’s set up for survey, and Dustin’s working on preliminary photos. Anything else?”
“No, that should do it. I’ll be out after I tame the tent mess.”
When Thomas left, she went back to spreading the sheets out on her cot. Faith’s scolding rang in her ears. If she weren’t so cautious, they’d have been lab experiments by now. She hugged the wool blanket to her body, pressing her fingers into the rough fabric.
She’d never been on a dig alone. Teammates kept each other out of trouble, called for help when it was needed, and prevented injuries. What if something happened to Ian, with no one around to know it? She grimaced, not wanting that on her conscience no matter what his intentions were.
What the hell was he thinking, coming out here alone in the first place? Birds. Yeah, right. She pitched the blanket on her cot, and stalked out of the tent.
Faith met her before she’d gone more than a few steps in the direction of Ian’s camp. “Good, you’re out. Ready to start surveying?”
“I was going to... Never mind. What needs doing?”
“If you had something to do—” Grinning, Faith tilted her head toward the south end of the island.
Sara raised a hand to cut her off. When Faith wouldn’t stop grinning, Sara added a glare that she hoped Faith interpreted as Shut up and quit looking so smug. “It can wait.”
So could giving that man a piece of her mind. First chance she got tomorrow.
****
What in hell is this? Ian wondered. He was locked in a room he didn’t recognize, barely able to see and without a clue what was happening.
The small room’s murkiness closed in on him, coffinlike. He tried the door again, but the handle still wouldn’t budge. The air boiled with hissing voices that made his skin prickle. A sharp metallic scent stung his nose.
Blood.
“Okay, not liking this now.” Determined to escape, he crept forward into the space. His questing fingers landed on what felt like a bookshelf, littered with heaps of scattered volumes. As he paced along, he kicked a few more of them and they slid across the floor.
He groped blindly, and winced when he touched something sharp that sliced across his fingers. His hand fell upon a banker’s lamp. He switched it on, squinting as the room came into focus.
A scarred cherry desk stood before him, all its drawers ripped out and the contents tossed on the floor. Broken glass. Shredded paper. File drawers thrown open and kicked aside.
The surface of the desk bore a blackish stain. He reached out to touch it.
A hand slapped down on his shoulder in a vise grip. He whirled around.
A man loomed over him, his face stark-white, his blue eyes burning. Blood covered him from head to foot.
Ian swore and wrenched backward over the desk in a futile effort to escape.
The man gripped Ian’s shirt in both hands and hauled him closer. Ian’s heart thundered in his chest. His attacker’s eyes shone like knives in the gloom. “Hhhhelp her.”
Ian gasped and sat bolt upright on his cot. The nightmare faded, giving way to the soft pre-dawn gray of his tent interior. His heartbeat crashed in his ears. Panting, he raked a hand through sleep-tousled hair.