See Chapter One For Disclaimers

Chapter Two

Derek paced back and forth in the suite of rooms allocated for Cheri's use.  The sense of foreboding was heavier.  He stopped and looked at the clock.  Three a.m.  Where was she?  And would she explain when she arrived?  One of those nearly uncomfortable, somebody-is-fandangoing-on-my-grave, electric shudders shook him thoroughly.  He was just getting his breathing to settled down when the door opened and Cheri stalked in.  She closed the door behind her with a firm hand, cocked her head to regard him for a moment and then walked into the bathroom.  He followed her.

She waved him into the room, motioned for him to close the door and turned on the water.  She leaned back against the counter surrounding the sink and yawned before looking into his eyes deeply.  Her lips quirked up on one side in a half smile.  "Well, this is a fine development.  What are you doing here?"  Her accent was still slanted toward heavy Russian vowels and r's.

"I did not follow you."

"Didn't think you did.  Staying here?"

He nodded confirmation.  "Great.  Well, I'm afraid you're well and truly stuck as my -- uhm . . . boy toy, so to speak . . . until this is over."

He ignored the derogative term and cut to the chase.  "What?"

Cheri frowned.  "Oddly enough, a robbery.  There's an exhibit at the museum in which he's interested.  Seems to think something there can grant him major power."  She shrugged.  "I suspect he's gone over the edge.  Badly."

"You never know.  Relics have been known to surface from time to time."

She blinked at him.  Oh.  Yeah.   He believes.  The scowl told her he could almost read her mind on that.  She grinned.  "Well, you're stuck for the  moment, and since it's probable Yvyg's got the suite monitored on some level, you'll just have to stay put while I shower."

She didn't wait for his response before she checked the water temperature and started peeling out of her clothing.  Her skin was pale, seemingly untouched by the sun.  Odd for an archaeologist.  He could see faint lines, like scars, here and there, paler than her overall color.  Her breasts were small, firm, high placed; the curve of her belly was . . . he caught himself before he got too enthralled with the stimulating sights.  He found someplace else to look.  Was that a laugh?

Cheri stepped under the hot water and just stood letting it sluice down over her body.  She was tired.  She'd spent the day packing, talked to the man here with her for a couple of hours and then had headed home.  At the last moment, she had remembered that she needed to confirm her rooms at the hotel for two days and had returned to town to make certain they hadn't lost her reservation.  They hadn't, but Yvygny had been there and things had gone down hill from there.  Bleh.  Not that Derek wasn't attractive, in a sort of "been there, done it all" kind of way.  She wondered if those dark eyes ever did anything but look annoyed.

"Soap?" she called, holding out a dripping hand for the small hotel cake of Ivory <tm>, or whatever the hotel supplied.

He handed it to her, his fingers touching hers.  Mischief lit her eyes as she met his darkling gaze.  "Scrub my back?"

His look was resigned as he agreed.  Was that a startled look of her own as she handed him the soap lathered froth of plastic to do the job?  He rolled up his sleeves and proceeded to scrub her back for her.  He was right.  Those were scars.  Some looked very old, some newer.  They cris-crossed each other in places.  The scrubby moved lower, across the curve of her hip, the dimples of her ass, down her cheeks . . . was she purring?  He looked into those green, green eyes.  Their lips met.  Gently at first, then demanding.  He pulled her out of the shower and to him, his arms encircling the very wet, slippery body.

He felt her unbuttoning his shirt, his trousers, sliding him out of his clothes until her damp skin was against him.  He picked her up, his mouth never leaving hers, and sat her on the countertop.  He slid between her thighs, one hand diving between her lower lips to tease her swollen clit, to slide within.  She was warm and wet and full of desire.  He slid back across her clit, eliciting a deep throated moan.  She reached down between them to his erection, caressed it, caught it, guided him into her until they were as close together as two people can get.  Her mouth demanded more, her tongue darting into his mouth, tasting, teasing, touching.  He responded to her need.  Together they mounted to the peak and slid over, his hot seed spilling into her as she pulsated around him.

It was a wonder they didn't hit the floor abruptly as boneless as his knees seemed to become.  She held him tight and laughed.  What a joyous sound.  His own mouth curved upward in a smile.  He caught her up in his arms and took her to bed.  He traced scar patterns with his finger tips, questions in his eyes and mind, but never across his lips.  He lost track of how many times between back scrub and dawn they fulfilled each other.  Finally, they slept.

Elsewhere in the building, Yvygny and his men were plotting.

"Boss, you let her get away with shooting Tomas and Robert.  Why?"

"Because Tanya Kropotkin is not  just the finest assassin and thief I have ever known," the man growled back.  "And she is more expendable than the rest of you are," he added with a smile that sent shivers up the spines of the men with him.  "Now, these are the plans of the University Museum . . ."  he unrolled the floor plans and proceeded to outline the next two days.

Derek awoke near noon with a sense of immense well being offset by a sense of impending doom.  He really wished his senses would pick one or the other and have done with it.  He looked over at the empty side of the bed he had shared with Cheri.  He frowned.  He did not recall her moving from the satisfying cuddle they had fallen asleep in.  He slid out of bed and into the provided thick terry cloth robe.  He padded out into the living room.  Cheri looked up from the coffee table and grinned at him.

"Hi, sleepy head."

"You could have waked me."

"You obviously needed the sleep."

"What's this?"  He nodded to indicate the welter of what looked like floor plans spread out on the coffee table and the floor.

"Floor plans."

A knock at the door.  "Room Service."

Cheri went to the door and opened it.  Cart.  Hot food smells.  Gun . . . Gun!?  Before he could react, Cheri had disarmed the young man and had him in an arm lock on the floor.  Something about the grim look on her face told him this was not the first time she had used that move.  The young man was bucking like a rodeo bronc, but was getting no where.  Cheri let him exhaust himself.

"Through?"

He growled something foul.  She yanked his arm back farther.  "Ok.  Ok.  So you proved you can do anything you damn well please."

She tied his wrist together with a napkin and rolled him over to get a look at his face.  Sullen.  Not much over 18.  Familiar.  "Debra.  You're her brother."

"Yeah."

"This is your solution?  This is your way of keeping her memory?"  She gestured to the gun she was picking up.  "Did you really think a woman who had murdered 24 people would shy away from dealing with you?"

"Go ahead.  Bitch."

"Is that the best you can do?"  Cheri looked tired as she tossed the gun in the trash basket provided by the hotel.  "Look.  Your sister's death was a misfortune connected with an archaeological site dig.  I survived because I've had the plague before.  Twice.  Pneumonic plague is one of the fastest killers on the planet.  It was . . . it wasn't nice.  It wasn't an easy way to die, suffocating, drowning in her own fluids.  Unfortunately, the strain we encountered was fast, deadly and I was unconscious when they found us."

Derek could see the boy's face go through changes.  He wanted desperately to believe the woman's story, but he had lost his sister . . . "They didn't say anything about that in the papers.  Why didn't they tell us?"

"Because they wanted me out of the department.  With this, they figured they could let the pressure of the parents of the dead students do their dirty work for them.  Can I let you up now?"

"Yeah.  Please."  She released him.  He sat up.  He stared into her eyes for a long moment, seeing the regret, the sorrow, the frustration she had to feel.  "Look.  I'm sorry.  It just seemed . . . I mean . . ."

"It's all right.  Just, next time something really bad happens, think it through before you go around shooting people.  Or trying to do so."

He nodded, his face a dull red with embarrassment.  "Uh . . . could I  -- uhm . . . "

"Your father's?"

He nodded, his head hanging, unable to look her in the eye.  She retrieved the firearm, unloaded it and handed it to the young man.  "Go."

She retrieved the cart which actually had their breakfast on it and closed the door.  She met Derek's gaze across it.  Her color heightened slightly.  He thought he saw a tremor run through her frame.  She turned away suddenly and took a long shuddery breath.  She had fought so hard  not to react to what had happened, to be calm, in control.  What was it about this man that seemed capable of pushing all the emotional buttons at once.

She stiffened as his arms went around her.  Then she relaxed.  There was nothing to fear here.  She knew that as well as she knew her own name.   Which ever one she was currently using, of course.  She turned and buried her face against his shoulder.  She hiccoughed a giggle through the tears.  Good thing the robe was terry cloth.

Breakfast/brunch/lunch -- whatever  -- it was cold by the time she calmed down again.  "I hate being helpless," she grumbled as she blew her nose and wiped her eyes.  Even with reddened eyelids and a pink nose, he found her lovely.  He kissed her.

"I think we need more food."

"Let's go down."

He agreed.  "I might also want to visit my own room and get my clothing."

"Clothing?  Whatever for?" she asked with an impish lilt to her question.  He scowled at her.  The effect was marred by the grin curving his lips.

He also needed to get to a phone and let Alex know is was all right.

Half an hour, and a surreptitious phone call later, Derek and "Tanya" were having lunch when they were joined by Yvygney.  He pointedly ignored Derek as he spoke to the woman.  Derek was just as content to be ignored.  He was trying to sort out his feelings, both about Cheri/Tanya and about whatever was going on here.  And something to do with Yvygney was definitely "going on".

While Yvygney and Tanya talked, Alex was being interrogated, gently, and with humor, by Nick.  He had walked in to find her staring at the phone in bemused concern.

"What's up?"

"I'm not sure."

"Who called?"

"Derek."

"What did he say?"

"He's fine.  The problem that we suspected isn't, but there is another problem."

"Which is?"

"He wouldn't say."

"What  did he say?"  the ex-Navy Seal was getting tired of playing 20 questions with his colleague.

"That he was fine and something else had come up."  Alex finally looked up at the young man standing over her.  She laughed.  "He also said he didn't have much time to talk, he was late for breakfast.  It's past noon where he is."

Nick's eyebrows crept upward.  It wasn't that Derek didn't sleep late upon occasion.  But the occasions were generally coupled with tremendous expenditures of energy and major confrontations with ghosts who refused to leave, the consorts of demons or the demons themselves.  To their knowledge, he hadn't done any of the above.

"He's in love," Nick said with a laugh.

Alex gave him an old fashioned look.  "Right," she agreed skeptically, nodding and setting her curls bobbing.  "I'll believe that when  he tells me that."

Nick laughed again.  "Well, we'll ask when he checks in again."

"That we will."

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