“Hello?”
“Leila?”
“It’s me.”
“I—” He fell silent again.
Her throat ached. Xander being at a loss for words was something she’d never experienced.
Somehow she managed to rasp out, “Xander, I’m at the Saint Catherine Monastery.”
It took a few moments for him to finally answer. “I’m at the police station. In Saint Catherine. I can be at the monastery in ten minutes.”
It was too good to be true. He was here. In ten minutes, she’d finally be home. “So you got my message?”
“What? You sent a message?”
Leila cringed. It would figure that hadn’t worked out. But what did it matter? Somehow he’d figured it out anyway. “Yes, but who cares? You’re here. I’m here.”
“I lost my phone. I’ll explain later. I’m on my way. Is there anything you need that I should bring with me?”
“Um. I need a shower. And a toothbrush. And Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Right. I’ll see what I can do.”
She bit down on her lip, tasting blood from the deep cracks as she tried to stop herself from grinning. This was really happening.
“Okay. I’ll wait for you here.”
“Don’t move. Whatever you do. Don’t. Move. Give me ten minutes.”
“I won’t. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
They hung up simultaneously. She leaned back in her seat, staring at the phone that had carried Xander’s voice moments ago. These were going to be the longest ten minutes of her life. She made a final glance around the library, soaking it all in. Hopefully she’d get another chance to come back, for longer, taking her time with the ancient scrolls and manuscripts.
She tore her gaze from the shelves of books and smiled. Xander was coming. She just had to let Father Marcus know she would be picked up, and somehow get the map back. He probably already had his boots on, ready to go to the tomb himself. She reached across the table to grab the journal pages and her notes—a swooshing noise came from behind her. With a loud thwack, the point of a curved blade pierced the table between her fingers.
CHAPTER 38
Leila stared at the hand, its veins bulging from its tight grip around the knife handle. Ice-cold blood pounded through her frozen body. Her gaze slowly followed the arm up, until she reached the face.
Two narrowed eyes, like the dark slits of a cobra’s pupils, glared at her from beneath a black headscarf. Even though the lower-half of the face was covered, she would recognize that baneful stare anywhere. She’d only had to look at it every day for the past week.
“Abdullah,” Leila said, still trying to catch her breath. “What are you doing?” Stupid question. She knew why he was here. Her gaze shot to the gun barrel peeking over his shoulder and she swallowed. How on earth did he get that past security?
Without a word, he ripped the knife from the table, then grabbed the front of her garment with his free hand.
Growling, she grabbed his wrist and pushed back, but it was useless against his iron grasp. Not once taking his eyes off her, he dragged her across the room and slammed her against the end of a bookshelf.
“Where’s the journal?” he hissed, rage gleaming in his bottomless eyes.
The point of the knife pressed into her side, enough to be painful without slicing through her skin. She flattened herself against the shelf and sucked in her gut, trying to get as far away from the tip of the knife as possible.
“It’s… around.” Her voice shook. She’d expected him to be angry. But not so furious he would demand it back by knife-point.
When he didn’t lessen the pressure of the blade, she went on, “It was an accident. I got the bags mixed up. I was going to find you and give it back.” If only he’d see she’d just been trying to help.
“You have no idea what you’ve done,” he said with a quiet wrath.
Leila swallowed back a retort. Of course she didn’t know. He refused to tell her anything.
With a shove, he released her. She stumbled away and crossed her arms, her fingertips rubbing beneath her neck where he had held his fist against her. Xander couldn’t get here fast enough. She glanced up at the analog clock hanging over the door. Nine minutes.
Abdullah turned his attention to the table and flipped through the documents still on it. He slipped out her final translation from the back of the pile, the document that described the exact location of the tomb.
Holding the sheets of paper in both hands, he tore them apart. Ripping sounds filled the air as the shredded pieces fluttered to the floor.
Her mouth dropped open. The translation, the journal pages—everything was ruined. “Have you lost your mind?”
His gaze flicked to her, then he lunged. She turned to run, then screamed as his arms clamped around her. With all her strength she tried to pull away, but he pushed her toward the table. One hand behind her neck, he forced her to bend at her waist until she was pinned to the tabletop. He forced her arm in front of her, keeping it flat against the table, then placed the blade at her wrist.
“Who helped you?” he snarled.
Cold sweat glazed her skin. She couldn’t risk bringing Father Marcus into this. Who knew what Abdullah would do to him. Her heart thudded against her chest as he applied more pressure to the blade.
“Tell me who.”
