Jewel Of Atlantis. Gena Showalter

Bitterness hardened her tone. You’re after the Jewel of Dunamis.

      The moment she spoke, the muscles in his shoulder tensed. Oh, he wasn’t surprised she did, in fact, know—she could read his thoughts, after all. But hearing her say the words…He didn’t want to have to find her and silence her (permanently) because she knew something she wasn’t supposed to. Could tell someone she wasn’t supposed to.

      He drew in a breath and slowly released it. “What I’m doing here isn’t relevant to you.”

       I can take you to the jewel, Gray. That’s why I picked the name Jewel for myself. I am the only one who can lead you to it.

      “Please. I can find anything, anywhere. That’s why my boss chose me for this mission. Besides that, I work alone.” He enunciated each word, wanting no misunderstanding of his refusal. “Always.”

      Still she persisted. You’ll never find it without me. This I swear to you.

      He shook his head and his bandana fell askew. He shoved the material back into place. “This little baby says I can,” he said, patting the GPS system he’d hooked to his belt, the quiet, steady rhythm of its beep soothing.

      She snorted. So that little baby helped you out of the jungle, did, it? That little baby helped you defeat a demon? Let me tell you something. You will not successfully navigate or survive Atlantis without me.

      His fists clenched at the reminder—and the threat, veiled though it was. “You’d say anything to get your way.”

      Yes, she replied truthfully, surprising him. I would. In this case, however, I’m not dancing around the truth. We need each other.

      His teeth bared in a scowl, and he kicked a large rock with the steel toe of his boot, sending the white stone skidding down the path. Jewel might have proven herself trustworthy, but he preferred to rely only on himself. People got scared, did stupid things. The last partner OBI had given him abandoned him in a weapons compound at the first sign of trouble, leaving him at the mercy of an infuriated alien warlord. Only Gray’s long-standing seduction of Lady Luck helped him escape alive. That, and a two-pound package of C4 explosives.

      But if Jewel was the only way to reach the gemstone, he needed her. Period. He’d be wasting valuable time by not going after her. And Gray hated wasted time almost as much as he hated feeling helplessness.

       I feel the same.

      “I can do without the commentary,” he told her dryly.

       Don’t forget I saved your life. Twice.

      “That’s debatable,” he said, even though he’d thought the same thing only moments before.

      If she were with him, he could make sure she didn’t tell anyone about his mission and compromise him. But if he rescued her and she conveniently “forgot” to help him find Dunamis, if she tried to harm or stop him…He sighed.

       I would never harm you.

      He was going to liberate her, and he knew it. No use trying to talk himself out of it. He’d save her and force her to help him, if need be. And he’d do it for reasons that had nothing to do with that I’m-waiting-for-you-to-find-and-fuck-me voice.

       I am not!

      At her outrage, he lost some of his anger. To be honest, he was looking forward to seeing Jewel and hearing her voice in person, to coming face-to-face with the woman who could read his mind.

      The cobbled path twisted sharply to the left, scattering his shadowy cover. He quickened his pace until he maneuvered back into the deepest darkness. Up ahead, the road stretched for miles.

      Maybe he’d get lucky and stumble upon a massage parlor. “Do I have to walk this entire road to get to you?”

      At first, she said nothing. Then, You’re going to help me?

      “We’re going to help each other. Isn’t that the deal?”

       Yes. Yes! Oh, thank you. You won’t be sorry.

      Joy and shock and excitement radiated from her words, and he imagined her dancing…wherever the hell she was, wearing nothing but a skimpy black leather halter top and a smile.

      Another bout of silence erupted, before she humphed and said, I’m wearing a long white robe that covers me from head to toe, if you must know.

      “Way to ruin the fantasy and cause Private Happy to hide.” He tried to sound stern, but his amusement seeped through. He’d never had this much fun teasing a woman. “I think we picked the wrong name for you. I think I should call you Prudence.”

       Do it and your Private Happy will receive a proper introduction to my knee.

      A rich, husky laugh escaped him. “Ah, Pru, we’ve got to loosen you up a bit. Show you the advantages of being wicked. I’ll add that to my ‘To Do’ list.”

       Yes, well, you can be here in two days, she said, changing the subject.

      “Two days?” He so did not want to endure another two days in this hellhole.

       Just go around the far hill, past the sheep farm—

      “Over the river and through the woods, then down the yellow brick road. I know.” He exhaled. “One thing at a time, babe. One thing at a time.” Maybe two days wasn’t such a bad thing. It would give him a chance to rest up, rebuild his strength. “I’m still needing that hot meal, bath, and soft bed.”

       Oh, yes. Of course. The sheep farm has everything you need.

      Three hours later, the darkness waned and Gray reached the farm. He performed a perimeter check and discovered the owner asleep in his bed. The man/thing possessed the top half of a human, and the bottom half of a chestnut horse, complete with tail and hooves. Dear God.

       Don’t hurt him. Please.

      Silently Gray withdrew a tranq-filled gun from his backpack and with a quick shot to the horse-man’s neck, injected him. The creature jerked, then stilled completely. This was the only tranquilizer Gray had brought, and he hated to use it now. At this point, however, he would have injected his own father if it meant eating a hot meal without interruption.

      When Gray was assured the creature wouldn’t awaken for hours yet, he strode into the kitchen and dropped his backpack on the freshly polished wood floor. The place reminded him of a country cottage, complete with straw beds, wood-burning stove, and fresh, home-cooked scents.

      He filled a clay basin with water, stripped to the skin, and washed himself as best he could, taking care around his wounds. He slathered those with antibiotic ointment before slapping bandages over them.

       Be gentler, please. You’re making me cringe.

      He arched a brow. “Can you see me?”

       Only through your eyes.

      How prim she sounded, he thought, smiling, just before he looked down.

      She gasped.

      He chuckled. “I think General Happy likes you.”

       Yes, well…I thought his—its—name was Private Happy.

      “He seems to be the one in command lately, so he’s come up in the ranks. Got a nice promotion.” His throat clenched as he fought to contain his guffaws of laughter. “Wishing I’d look down again?”

      She remained silent, and his smile grew.

      Clean at last, he redressed in his mud-caked fatigues. He hated wearing dirty clothes, especially now that he was clean, but he wouldn’t leave them behind. After he devoured a bowl of fruit and nuts and a plate of some sort of meat pie, he pilfered a royal blue