Watching.
Waiting.
“Causes tissue damage, burning pain, and if inhaled, respiratory distress. It starts with arsenic trichloride, so prolonged or significant exposure can lead to arsenic poisoning.”
“You’re doing great, Brooke.”
I held another breath, like he’d told me to, then let it out slowly. “And it smells like geraniums.”
“Lead—stand down,” came the all-clear from the lead vehicle. “Local farmer, two pax, no weapons observed. They’re turning away.”
Rav patted my knee, and I looked up. “Not our problem today, Doc. I got you. You remember?”
The intensity in his eyes sent a rush of heat through me that had nothing to do with fear. Hecouldhave me if he wanted me. Goddammit, he was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.
“Three copies. Convoy clear. Resuming pace,” the rear MRAP radioed.
Conversation gradually returned to the vehicle, Dr. Norris resuming his discussion of soil sampling techniques.
But my entire brain remained focused on Rav’s hand, still resting lightly on my knee. When he finally withdrew it to returnto his observation pattern, some part of me felt empty. Like I’d lost a part of myself.
I exhaled slowly, and my heart rate gradually return to normal. What wasn’t returning to normal was my heightened awareness of Rav—the breadth of his shoulders filling the front seat, the easy precision of his movements, and the way his CADPAT camo emphasized rather than concealed his physical strength.
“You okay?” he asked quietly, eyes meeting mine over his shoulder again.
I nodded, finding my voice. “Yes. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For…” I hesitated, not entirely sure what I meant. For the steadying touch? For the silent reassurance? For being someone whose mere presence made me feel safer? “For being good at your job.”
“Anytime.” He smiled, a tiny one almost hidden by his beard. Then he tipped his sunglasses down to wink at me and said, “Just make sure you always stay close.”
Chapter 17
Brooke
The wooden laddercreaked as I descended into the darkness, guided by the light from a headlamp attached to my yellow safety helmet. Mario had provided us with coveralls and helmets from the archaeological park’s maintenance team. We also carried small packs with the equipment we might need.
“Watch the third rung from the bottom,” Mario called up from where he waited below. “It’s loose.”
I navigated carefully as the wood flexed beneath my weight. My boots touched the packed earth of Pompeii’s ancient drainage system, and I stepped aside, making room for Percival, who was coming down after me.
“How did you convince the staff to let us down here?” I asked, adjusting my coveralls. The underground space was larger than I’d expected—tall enough that the men only needed to stoop slightly, but we’d still have to walk single file.
Mario’s smile flashed in the beam of my headlamp. “I told them you were American scientists studying ancient water management systems. The superintendent gave me grief about the paperwork not being filed, but I reminded him of the tour he forced me to give to Stefano Martinelli last year. He’s one ofour major donors, so I suggested your team might also donate to one of the non-profits associated with the park.” He winked. “Amazing how quickly bureaucracy dissolves when you mention money.”
“Smooth,” Percival said, landing beside us with a soft thud.
Mario gave a modest shrug that was anything but. “I have my moments.”
Rav descended last. “Let’s keep the timeline tight. The team is expecting us back at the villa by five.”
“The archaeologist and the soldier.” Mario chuckled. “One thinks in millennia, the other in minutes.”
“Minutes keep you alive.”
“Millennia make life worth living,” Mario countered.
