Siren's Secret (37 page)

Finally, she took a deep breath and walked in front of the first symbol, the cone’s magnet facing out. She stood and waited. Then she did the same in front of the next two symbols. Finally she shrugged. “I thought perhaps there would be a magnetic pull near the correct option.”

Moreau snatched the artifact from her and did the same thing. Olivia waited to see if he noticed anything unique.

Moreau motioned a guard to the triangle insert. The man looked inside suspiciously, then slowly reached in nearly to his shoulder. When he touched the box, he nodded and started to draw back.

And then he screamed.

The other guards went on alert as the man babbled hysterically. They pushed him aside to hold a light to the problem. His arm was in a spiked vise. The spikes pierced his arm in one side and out the other. The arm was not coming out.

“Fascinating,” Moreau said. He stepped back and pulled the first lever next to the triangle symbol.

The guillotine-like blade slammed to the ground, severing the guard’s arm before her eyes.

She
and
the guard screamed with equal horror.

She screamed again when the man turned, released from his arm. A limb stuck in the wall, bone and flesh cut clean.

Blood spurted against the wall and splattered on their clothes. The guard lurched sideways, and his comrades ran to help him, trying to stop the blood and wrapping the stub of arm that remained.

Olivia began to choke. Stafford caught her and turned her away.

Two guards led the bleeding man out, but Olivia thought he would be dead before he saw daylight.

Stafford rubbed her icy hands until she could breathe again. She adjusted her leather bag and pouch, focusing on driving air in and out her nose. Losing consciousness would not be advisable in their present company.

The remaining guards shuffled nervously, staying near the small doorway, clearly ready to make a quick exit should they be volunteered.

“Which one next, my lady?” Moreau asked.

Olivia swallowed. “Please. Don’t make me do this.”

“Stafford. Your turn.”

Olivia nearly fainted. What if she was wrong? “No, please.”

“Which will it be, Lady Olivia?” Moreau insisted.

“I’m not sure. I think the third, but I could be wrong.”

“Why do you think it?”

“Instinct,” she answered.

Stafford froze. “Seriously?” He stared as if he didn’t believe her. “You don’t have some logical conclusion and evidence for why you picked this one?”

She shook her head. “It wouldn’t make sense if I tried to explain.”

“Do you need more time to think? Because we can wait. Can’t we, Moreau?” he said. “Because, maybe since we’re in the middle room, it’s the middle one?” he offered. “Or go with the hole that is most like a star shape. We’ve been having luck with that.”

A guard pushed him.

“Can I at least have a kiss before I risk my arm and can never touch her again with two hands?”

“Oh, Samuel!” Olivia threw herself at him and squeezed with all her might before lifting her face for his kiss. He touched her lips only briefly, while his hands—his big, beautiful hands—cradled her cheeks and he bent again to brush her lips and take one last taste before regretfully stepping away. Olivia opened her eyes as he released her.

“I believe in you, Olivia. No matter what happens, don’t ever doubt that,” Stafford said.

A guard grabbed Olivia’s arm and pulled her away.

Stafford was taller than the wall insert and had to bend to reach in. He took a final look at his fingers, flexed his arm, and went in nearly to his shoulder, as the other man had done. Her heart pounding, Olivia couldn’t take her eyes from him. He put his other hand against the wall, as if ready to fight if necessary.

“I feel it,” he said. “A box. Not too big.”

“Get it free, Stafford, and you’ll walk away from all this,” Moreau said.

“Right,” Stafford said. He took a deep breath.

Then he gasped and breathed in sharply before a cry broke free. His face colored red with panic as a string of curses flooded from his lips.

Tears and confusion hit her simultaneously. She’d been wrong.

And she’d just made the most prodigious mistake of her life.

“Stafford! Oh, Stafford!” Olivia grabbed his body to hold him up. “No.” She began to cry. “No. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She sobbed violently, her horror and failure complete.

“It seems, Stafford,” Moreau commented, “that since you activated this lever yesterday, you’ll have to gnaw your way free.”

“Go to hell, Moreau.” He tried to pull his arm free and thundered from the pain and impossibility of it.

Olivia touched him, trying to comfort, but he pushed her away.

“Leave me.”

“Stafford, I thought for sure I was right. The story made sense, and—”

She turned to the middle slot, about to reach in, but Moreau pushed her away.

“Process of elimination, my dear. As good a solution as any.” He motioned to a guard, who hesitated before reaching in. The man touched the object, but instead of freeing it he was paralyzed by a gripping force that made him howl in panic and fury.

Olivia and Moreau stepped back in shock.

“Gads! It was all a trick! There is no treasure!” Olivia said.

Moreau slapped her in fury, causing Olivia to stumble backward into the sarcophagus. “You lying bitch. I’ve had it.” He took the cone and seized her. “Let’s go.”

“No! We can’t leave them!”

Moreau showed the guard his options. “The lever is right here.” The guard froze, horrified, then shuddered against the wall.

“I’m staying!” Olivia cried. “I won’t leave you, Stafford. We’ll find a way out of this. I promise. I’m not leaving you!” She clung to him, her nails digging into his clothes to hold firm against the hands pulling her away.

“Olivia, go,” Samuel said. “Get away from here. Enjoy your life, I only hope—” His voice struggled. “I only hope your life will be better for knowing me.” With his free hand he pulled her head to him and ravished her lips.

It was a hungry, desperate kiss that plundered every part of her being, right through to her soul. When he released her she cried again.

“I’m sorry I failed you, Olivia.”

She wept harder, soaking his shirt. “You didn’t. It was me. I failed you. And Elizabeth. Nathan is gone because of me. I’m the one who deserves to die.” She clung to him. “Not you.”

“Stop, my love.” Stafford’s voice was soft. He was losing his strength. With his free hand he touched her cheek. “I love you, Olivia.”

“Oh, Samuel.” Olivia felt fresh tears begin. How could he possibly love her now?

“Promise me you will believe in yourself no matter what,” Stafford said.

“How can I?”

“Promise me,” he insisted. “Most especially now.” He pressed her face into his chest, and squeezed her arm
hard.

Olivia stood back, uncertain. Then Moreau took the cone and called to some guards. “I’ll check on you two later. In the meantime,” he said, his voice cold, “let’s see if those snakes are interested in company. I’m certain I can get that door open again.”

Two guards grabbed her arms, and Olivia struggled furiously. “They’re asps! And they’d be bloody better company than you!”

Olivia fought as she was forced through the small entrance to the lock room.

With a final glance back, she saw Stafford fall against the wall in a bloodless faint.

Samuel opened his eyes and adjusted his body into a more comfortable position. The last guard had just scrambled out of the main chamber.

He loved Olivia. And he trusted her. He wished she could say the same.

Carefully he turned his head to the exit. The guards had taken all the torches except two installed nearest the doorway.

Granted he was a little disappointed Olivia hadn’t proclaimed her love, but she really had no experience with these things. It would take a bit more work. Jewelry, perhaps.

The unfortunate guard near him still squirmed, attempting to free himself, sweat on his face as he struggled. None of the guards had seemed sympathetic to their plight … still, he pitied the man.

Samuel watched the man in the dimming light, waiting, making sure no one else remained.

Finally, Samuel straightened, pulling his arm free.

The guard was dumbfounded. His eyes widened, and he started to shout in Arabic.

Samuel drilled his left fist through the man’s face, and he bounced into the wall, his arm stretching back, his feet staggering until he fell unconscious.

Samuel would not risk Olivia’s life with cries of warning.

In his hand he held an ancient wood and metal box. “I sure as hell hope this is worth it.” He opened it, taking the objects out for study. “All right. This makes no sense to me.” Likely only a woman would understand.

He secured the small box in his pocket and went to rescue his love.

The last of the guards were climbing the explorers’ makeshift steps to the door of the maze room. He hid behind the giant turn wheel and made a light howling sound. The men startled. One of them said something about evil spirits and hurried up the steps. The last one looked around. Samuel caught him unawares and snapped his neck, snatching his weapon. The next guard came to investigate. Samuel drove the other man’s bayonet through his throat.

Leaping up the stairs, he saw the group halfway across the maze floor carefully following the marked path to avoid the shooting spears from above. A guard led the procession, followed by Moreau, then Olivia, then several more guards behind her. She turned instinctively and stopped in her tracks, spotting him the same time as the guard next to her did.

The guard raised his gun and Olivia pushed him off the path, then distracted the group with her most bloodcurdling scream.

“A mummy! A mummy! We’ve awakened the dead! Run! Run!” Another scream.

Samuel startled as much as the other men, looking over his shoulder—just in case. The woman was either crazy or brilliant.

Guards scrambled to get across the maze. Gunshots hit the walls near him. One guard stumbled to his death.

Even Moreau tripped, caught in the rush.

Samuel watched, momentarily bemused.

Brilliant.

Then he spotted Olivia crouched into a ball, men jumping over her. One made it. She started to stand and Samuel shouted in dread until she adeptly knocked another guard off balance.

Definitely brilliant.

Four guards remained with Moreau. Using the musket he’d acquired, Samuel aimed at the guard near the door and shot. The man fell. There would be no escape. He took the other gun and aimed for Moreau.

Just as he fired, Moreau ducked into the dart chamber.

Damn.

He turned to Olivia. Still curled in a ball, she inched around on her safe square and stood. He didn’t like the looks of things. The remaining three guards scrambled to escape and were getting closer to her.

Olivia assessed her options.

She would fight. Remembering Alex’s maneuver, she pressed her foot quickly to her left and activated a spear.

She reached and pulled.

Then pulled again.

The guard drawing near laughed. She swore, yanking more urgently with two hands. No luck. The spear was stuck.

She stepped carefully backward while opening her poison pouch. Grounding herself, she waited … and waited. Then,
squirt!

The guard flailed in pain, yelping, making her feel like an expert marksman.

The injured guard blindly turned toward his comrade, taking cover as she advanced, spraying until empty.

Samuel watched, alarmed. Hell. He was trying to save her, and she’d become a one-woman army. Granted, she gave him easy targets. “Olivia! Get down.”

She didn’t.

One man swung and knocked her sideways. “Olivia!” Terror engulfed him as she fell off her tile, twisted, and reached for another safe square.

She missed.

He thundered an oath that reverberated about the chamber. The guards knew they were in danger. They were right. Samuel activated spears and skewered the bastards.

Olivia didn’t move.

Thank God.

A wooden spear grazed the tip of her nose, its arrow lodged against her hand.

“Moreau!” Olivia shouted from her twisted position. “We have the disc!”

Moreau called off the guards.

“You do have it, don’t you?” she whispered to him.

He held up the box. Moreau gave him time to get across to Olivia. He hurried to the center of the maze, leapt over squirming bodies, and grasped her free hand. “I’ve got you.” He helped her straighten into a standing position, while she touched her nose repeatedly as if to make sure it was still there. The she grabbed him around the waist and squeezed.

“The treasure, Moreau. Come and get it,” Samuel said.

“Open it and show me.”

Damn. It’s already empty.

“Sorry.” Samuel shook his head, holding the box.

“Very well,” Moreau said. “I think you’ll be more amenable after a few days in the dark with no food. Or better … a few weeks.” He held up the funerary cone and waved good-bye as several guards pushed the large stone door back into place, leaving them utterly alone in the tomb—save for deadly asps and a soon-to-be one-armed guard.

Olivia didn’t say a word. He had to give her credit for that. She just stared at their only way out as the light dimmed around them.

“Indeed. A grave end.” Then she turned and slugged him in the gut. Not hard. Just enough. “That’s for torturing me the way you did.”

“Aren’t you happy now?”

“At being trapped with you for eternity?”

“Hardly that long.”

“You’re right. The lights will be out in a few hours, and the smell of dead flesh will put a damper on my appetite. Probably the asps will find their way to us.” She laughed.

“Are you all right, Olivia?”

She nodded. “Just glad you’re not really going to die or have to walk around with one arm. The image would have plagued me terribly.” She grabbed the hand in question and brought it to her lips. “You were very brave, Stafford. Thank you for trusting me.”

She released his hand before he could appreciate the moment.