Caridad Pineiro – Nocturnal Whispers (страница 2)

A fine layer of dust covered it, a testament to how long it had been since anyone had touched the carton. The yellowed cardboard was another sign of age for the roughly two-and-a-half-foot-long package. Kneeling before it, Kate peered at the handwritten note on top.

“Do not open.”

There was no signature or date on the warning, and the writing was rather erratic, as if the words had been scratched in haste, or by someone not in full possession of his faculties.

Kate didn’t need a knife to cut the tape sealing the top; it was so old it had long ago lost its ability to stick.

She hesitated as she grabbed hold of the box flaps, a combination of nervous excitement and trepidation gripping her. A chill erupted at her core from that mix of emotions, but she pushed aside her fear and opened the box.

Inside was a small but carefully preserved sarcophagus. The human features painted on it were not quite realistic, as if the artist had been struggling to capture the youth of whoever lay within. Judging from the size, it had to be a rather young child, possibly even a toddler. Despite the age of the inhabitant, green eye makeup enhanced the face depicted on the coffin. Kate recalled that several historical texts and hieroglyphics showed Egyptian children wearing such makeup. It hinted at the fact that ancient Egyptians had thought certain colors possessed sacred energy.

Kate sat back on her haunches, examining other details on the sarcophagus. Gilding covered a good portion of the burial piece, and at its center, a series of small green amulet stones had been set into the surface.

It was in such pristine shape and so unusual due to its size that for a moment Kate wondered if this wasn’t some miniature replica created for display purposes.

Reaching out, she laid her hand on the sarcophagus in the hopes of determining if it was of modern origin. But as she did so a shock snaked up her arm and traveled to her center.

Longing arose, so sharp and powerful that Kate cried out and fell back, breathing heavily. Physical need had her wet and aching, but that response was twisted together with a yearning so deep it made her want to weep.

This is no replica, she thought, sucking in deep, measured breaths to control the emotions that had seized control of her at the first touch.

Because it was an antiquity, she knew she couldn’t open the sarcophagus and attempt to either x-ray or scan whatever was inside without being in one of the museum’s clean rooms, to safeguard the relic.

How about protecting yourself? a little voice in her head warned, and Kate couldn’t deny that a major dose of fear lurked within her.

If just a touch could create such sensations, what would happen if she opened the container? Would she be like Pandora, opening the proverbial box and unleashing untold horrors?

Totally illogical, she scolded herself. The relic was just another piece of the past. But even as she said that, she couldn’t deny that she had experienced some kind of power when she’d touched the sarcophagus.

She rose shakily to her feet and snapped a few photos of the antiquity. Then, careful not to make contact with the item, she slipped the box back into its hiding space on the shelf and replaced the other items around it.

Kate didn’t want any of her colleagues at risk handling the relic until she’d had a chance to explore its provenance and better understand the power she had sensed hidden within it.

But even as she walked away, the emotions that single touch had unleashed remained within her, threatening to swamp her with their physical demands.

Clenching her teeth against the need that had her insides quivering and wanting release, she rushed away, determined to satisfy both her curiosity and her desire.

Chapter Three

Alec waited in a chair before the museum director’s desk, confident that his plan was perfectly designed.

It had taken him days to reach out to various sources who owed him an assortment of favors. After all, the curse had made him virtually immortal, and in the nearly two hundred years since he had discovered the mummies, he had amassed quite a lot of information on some very influential people and their families.

Thanks to that, he had a letter of introduction from someone on the board of a top British museum whose grandfather had engaged in more than one indiscretion the family wanted to keep secret. Alec was a major benefactor of that particular museum, which happened to hold the remains of his tormentor. He hoped his influence there might make the return of her child easier. He had no doubt the board member he had come to see could assist in a number of ways.

If Alex was forced to steal back the child, the board member would assist in covering up the sudden appearance of a mummified baby within the museum’s inventory. But Alec was hoping to find some other way to secure the child’s remains. Preferably a more legal way, since he now had means that he had not had a century and a half earlier.

Ironically, his brother had died just a few scant months after Alec had sold the mummy’s child. His brother’s death had made Alec the sole heir to their family fortune. Alec had built up those assets over the course of his long existence, but had also spent considerable sums searching for the mummy’s baby. Often, he had come close to finding it, though it had slipped from his grasp time and time again.

But not this time, Alec thought, certain that he would soon have the mummy child in his possession. He had enough funds to purchase an item from the New York museum’s vast collection, but likely not enough for something as rare as what he sought. Such an item was so unusual as to be virtually priceless, and it was unlikely that any museum would willingly part with such a treasure.

Not that that would deter him, Alec thought, as the director laid down the letter and narrowed his eyes as he considered Alec. When the man spoke, a slight chill laced his voice.

“I’m not sure what our institute has to offer, Lord Wright.”

Alec smiled slyly. “A museum as magnificent as this must have some small item stored away with which it might part. Or possibly you would consider a loan of some pieces for an exhibit, if the price was right.”

At the mention of money, the administrator’s eyes glittered with interest. Tight budgets were regularly an issue at many institutions.

“What kind of price are you envisioning?” the director asked, in a friendlier voice.

“That depends. Possibly a cut of the ticket sales, if we’re talking about a loan for an exhibit.”

All earlier frostiness melted away, and the director rose and held out his hand.

As Alec stood and shook it firmly, the man said, “I think that’s a definite maybe. In the meantime, I’ll take you to meet Dr. Morton.”

Alec smiled at the mention of the pretty curator. “Kate Morton? She did a stint at the British Museum, didn’t she?”

“You’ve heard of her?” the director asked as he stepped around his desk and motioned toward his office door.

Alec ambled beside him to the entrance. “I’ve read some of her publications and seen her work on various exhibits. We considered trying to woo her, but when we heard your museum was offering, we knew we couldn’t compete with such a prestigious organization.”

The director nearly preened as he took the lead. Vanity always responded well to praise, a lesson Alec had learned painfully over the decades. In his brash youth, he had misunderstood such insincerity, considering it to be true respect. Now he knew better, but he wasn’t averse to using it for his own gains, or in this case, to right the wrong he had done.

They reached Dr. Morton’s office in just a few minutes. When she came to the door, a flush on her cheeks and looking rather flustered, he felt gobsmacked.

Kate Morton wasn’t just pretty. She was gorgeous.

The various photos he had seen of her on the museum’s website and in an assortment of scholarly journals had seriously not done her justice.

She was tall for a woman, but with the kind of full figure that was sadly no longer in style. Women were meant to have curves, and Kate had them in dangerous abundance. He fisted his hands to keep from reaching for them and exploring their generous contours.

As she turned her dark cocoa gaze on him, intelligence radiated in the depths of her eyes, but it was also impossible to miss the look of instant distrust. He wondered what man had instilled it within her.

“Lord Wright,” she said, as she held out her hand after shooting a nervous glance at the director.

Alec stumbled, realizing that he had clearly missed the introduction because of his perusal of the sexy curator. He took her hand in both of his, and a blast of desire slammed through him. Apparently, given the trembling of her fingers and the gasp she barely contained, she felt it, too.

The mummy’s desire or something else? he wondered, but drove that thought immediately away. He had stopped believing in the possibility of anything real for himself. Kate Morton’s reaction, the smidgen of want she had revealed at his touch, had to mean that she had been in recent contact with what the mummy wanted.