Riddle Me Wicked

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Lucas refused to let Ian see a single frayed nerve. The guy had been through hell already today, and all because of him. The last thing he was going to do was make it worse by letting him down. Especially since if there was one person in this arrangement he wanted to impress, it was Ian Tunbridge.

He accepted Ian’s fear. Even more, though, he recognized his strong will. Though blond hair hung half in Ian’s eyes, and he leaned to one side to keep the weight off his sprained ankle, his shoulders were straight, his chin high. His sweater had been torn like tissue paper, yet he hadn’t complained about anything but his friends’ fates and Lucas’s lack of foresight. Oh, and the fact that he considered the Blood of Sheol a foolhardy myth, but as soon as they got free of Sultis, Lucas had every intention of proving him wrong there.

Seconds ticked by. With each one, the urge to prod Ian to move grew harder to resist. Lucas had to bite the inside of his cheek and keep his hand steady, to better show Ian they could do this.

When Ian sighed and shook his head, Lucas nearly shouted in relief.

“I’ve clearly gone around the bend,” Ian muttered as he approached the wall. “Or this is all one horrific dream and I’ll wake up any moment to berate myself for drinking that awful herbal tea last night.”

Lucas grinned. “It’s not a dream. Do you think you could have made up somebody like me?”

He was rewarded with a wry smile, though it was quickly hidden when Ian ducked his head. “I’m fairly sure I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Mr. Arpini.”

“Lucas.” He would correct him all day if that was what it took. “And I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

That earned him a glance upward, through one of the thickest fringes of lashes he had ever seen. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”

Ian started to reach for the wall, to try the same trek upward Lucas had taken, only to pause in mid-stretch. He still held the flashlight. The obvious question was, what was he going to do with it so he had use of both hands without losing the advantage of the light?

“Tuck it into your waistband,” Lucas suggested.

“And if it slips and falls down the leg of my trousers?”

“Wear tighter pants next time.”

Ian snorted without looking up. He examined his khaki pants, as if he planned on taking the advice, but tucked the flashlight beneath his chin instead. Lucas opened his mouth to argue against the fragile hold, only to hold his tongue when Ian unbuckled and pulled off his belt. He cinched the leather behind the wider lamp. Then, he slid the belt back through two pants loops, tying the ends together so the flashlight hung from his waistband like a utility pack.

“Not bad,” Lucas said with an admiring nod.

“I have been on digs before.” He grasped the same thick root Lucas had used, his arms tense. “Even if I don’t look it.”

I know. Only he didn’t say it. It would freak Ian out even more, and they had a ways to go before Lucas thought the other man would get past this initial distrust. He couldn’t blame him. He’d had a hell of a morning. And if Lucas ever got his hands on Sultis, he’d make sure the bastard Hungarian regretted ever lifting a finger against Ian and his team.

Ian’s progress up the wall wasn’t nearly as fast as Lucas’s had been. For all his protestations about his experience, the vast majority of Ian’s time was spent at the museum or in libraries. He didn’t spend hours trekking across rough terrain like Lucas had been known to do, or days lost out in the middle of nowhere with just his camera and a backpack of rations. His explorations were all intellectual, Lucas had discovered. The man made brilliance look like child’s play. Lucas had meant it when he said Ian’s talents were wasted at the British Museum. If nothing else, he planned on finding out why exactly he’d squander his talent that way when he could be so much more.

After only a few feet, Ian paused, gulping for breath. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can.” He scooted a few more inches out, angling his body to redistribute his weight so he didn’t go toppling over the edge. “Look at how close we are. Just a little bit more, and I’ve got you.”

“You expect me to be able to help. I can’t.”

“You can.” Ian’s bowed head wasn’t helping. “Look at me, damn it.”

He waited, hand outstretched, for Ian to comply. It took longer than made him comfortable for that to happen. He didn’t know how much Ian could actually see now; the flashlight aimed downward and at the wall, rather than up at Lucas. But he pretended Ian could read every intent on his face, that it made a difference for their eyes to meet, because he was not going to lose this now, not when they were so close.

“You give up, and Sultis wins.” He kept his voice low and even, as soothing as he could make it. Ian was too skittish as it was. “He took everything from you and forced you to conform to his world view. Everything he and his men did to your team this morning, everything he would have done to you if he’d had the chance, he’s going to get away with all of it if you don’t climb that few more inches and grab my hand. I have never had any doubt in you, Ian. Not in your brain, not right now. Don’t start doubting yourself, or all of this will have been for nothing.” On impulse, he added, “You want to stick it to Sultis for what he did, don’t you? That requires getting out of here and finding the Blood of Sheol before he figures out what we’re doing. And don’t tell me it’s a myth. I didn’t come into this completely blind. I’ve got the proof for you stashed someplace else. Just as long as we get out of here alive.”

Another disadvantage to the flashlight’s new trajectory? He couldn’t read Ian. He couldn’t tell if his little speech had actually made an impact, or if the man was rolling his eyes, or worse, was about to turn around and go back the way he had come. He was gambling that everything he’d surmised about Ian Tunbridge in the past two weeks would prove true. That the man was a fighter. That he couldn’t back down from a challenge. That he had a serious problem with powerful men outside his sphere of control, dictating the whys and wherefores of his life.

Ian’s breathing was growing quieter. More under his control. Scattered light made portions of his face gleam from the sweat shining his skin, but his grip on the root remained steady.

“If you drop me, I reserve the right to say I told you so.”

Lucas couldn’t help his wide grin. “If I drop you, I’ll even tell myself you told me so.”

His heart started beating again when Ian resumed his climb. His pace was actually slower than it had been before, but it was upward, which was all that mattered. As soon as he was within reach, he took a deep breath and looked up.

Lucas didn’t need a beacon to see what was so clearly etched there now.

Don’t let me down.

Their hands met and slid past the other, each man reaching a firmer grip around a strong wrist. Lucas felt the burn immediately, the sharp yank of added weight against muscles that might have been ready but not quite as prepared as he’d hoped. He slid precious inches, the friction sliding his coat along his waist, scraping across bare skin. He caught a glimpse of panic in Ian’s eyes. That certainty he was about to plummet to a bone-crushing death.

Not if Lucas had anything to do about it.

He dug his toes in, stopping his forward momentum. His hand tightened until he felt bones move beneath his fingers, and he tensed his shoulder to start the difficult pull back. Ian’s height was the hardest part. The first time Lucas had seen a picture of him, he’d been reminded of a colt on the brink of adulthood, long limbs still slightly gangly and awkward as the grace of maturity set in. Now, it meant Lucas had to keep hauling him upward, longer than he might normally, and worry about Ian flailing about to try and keep some kind of balance.

The sudden slap of fingers along the edge eased some of the immediate weight. Lucas grunted and tugged harder, ignoring the sting on his belly as Ian’s blond head popped into view. Offhandedly, he realized Ian’s cuticles were bleeding, too, smearing along already dirty hands as they scrabbled the last couple feet. The guy was never going to get out of the shower, once they got back to civilization.

They were both panting for breath when Ian collapsed onto the ledge. Lucas was very glad it seemed to hold both of them effortlessly, but darkness had once again enveloped them. Only the glimmer from the exit to freedom gave them any illumination at all.

He poked Ian in the side. “You’re lying on the flashlight.”

Ian’s voice was muffled from where his face was buried in the crook of his arm. “Trust me. I’m well aware of that.”

More gasping. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the best hotel he’d ever stayed in, with the most gorgeous date he’d ever had, but the cold cavern and Ian’s square jaw refused to leave his head.

“I told you, you could do it.”

“I’m not so sure I haven’t died and gone to hell.”

“Hell would be warmer.”

“In that case, I’m not so sure I don’t want to be there.”

“Come on.” Lucas nudged him again, carefully sliding up to stand without putting either one of them in danger. “I can do us better than hell.”

Ian groaned, but rolled to his feet, using the wall as a brace to stay off his hurt ankle. He hopped behind Lucas toward the opening, which made the flashlight bob around in erratic arcs.

The first bite of fresh air cut into his lungs, welcome and heady. Lucas had to blink against the brightness of the morning sun, but Ian had it worse, shielding his hand along his brow to block out the worst of it. His face was flushed, his appearance much more disheveled in the light of day, but to Lucas, he had never looked so good, mostly because they were out, they were alive, and in a very short while, they would be safely ensconced beyond anybody’s murderous reach.

“How familiar are you with this area?” Ian asked.

“Only a little,” he conceded. “You probably know more than I do because of the dig.”

Ian shook his head. “We only arrived yesterday. I didn’t even have time to get much of my stuff unpacked before Sultis charged the camp.” He squinted, scanning the distance. “I do know there was a town about ten miles away.”

“Little Red.”

“Yes. Absolute rubbish name.”

“If we get down to the road, we can hitch our way into town. I can get us somewhere safe after that.”

Ian stared at him in disbelief. “Do you honestly believe anybody in their right mind would pick us up? Look at us. We look like ax murderers.”

“No, you look like a guy who’s been beaten up pretty bad, and I’m your buddy who scared off the robbers looting our camp.” He’d made the story up on the fly, but he actually kind of liked it. “That’s the main road through here. There’s got to be at least one trucker that comes through that’ll feel sorry for us.”

Ian still didn’t seem convinced. “This might seem simple to you, Mr. Arpini—”

“Lucas.”

“—but with the luck I’ve been having today, it’ll likely be Mr. Sultis who finds us on the side of the road, not some nearsighted lorry driver with a savior complex.”

“Hey.” Lucas caught Ian’s arm and forced him around again. “I got you out of there, didn’t I? And I’ll get you somewhere safe. I owe you that much.”

Ian’s lips pressed tight. He had a wide mouth, with a thin upper lip and a lower one more than full enough to make up the difference. In spite of his obvious pain, his gaze was clear and shrewd, the fighter Lucas had hoped to provoke inside the cavern.

“According to your promises, you also owe me this so-called proof the Blood of Sheol isn’t a myth,” he said. “Or did you plan on conveniently forgetting that part of our bargain?”

Lucas maintained a calm front, though he felt nothing of the kind. “I thought you’d probably want to call the cops on Sultis or something.”

“One doesn’t preclude the other.” His mouth twitched. “It could slow Mr. Sultis down and give us more time to get away.”

It was a brilliant suggestion. Lucas was a little annoyed he hadn’t thought of it himself. “That would almost be worth sticking around just to watch.” At Ian’s double take, he laughed and added, “I said almost.”

He didn’t give Ian time to ask for help. Looping his arm behind the other man’s waist, Lucas offered silent support as he crept along the least steep part of the hill. Tumbling head over heels would fit the karma of Ian’s day, but Lucas wasn’t going to let it happen. They hadn’t gotten this far to fail now.

Though Ian falling onto Lucas wouldn’t necessarily be bad.

Their progress was slow, but the forest was dead silent, the only noise the occasional bird overhead and their footsteps through the dense undergrowth. The tension in Ian’s body couldn’t be helped, though Lucas wished he’d stop looking everywhere but where they were going. He knew Ian was worried about being found by Sultis, but Lucas had been around the man enough by this point to know that if he’d left a mess at the dig site, he had gone back to clean it up. As far as he could tell, that was in the opposite direction, with the hill from which they’d emerged between them. Add in the time it would take for them to discover their hostages were no longer where they were supposed to be, and they should be perfectly safe, long on their way to Little Red.

The possibility that some of Sultis’s men might actually be in the small town when they got there wasn’t something he was going to think about. Those were odds he’d have to take. He just hoped Ian didn’t think of it, too, or at least, didn’t think of it until it was too late to turn back.

Ian never uttered another word. When they reached the edge of the road, Lucas got a good look at his face and realized why. He’d gone white beneath the sweat coating his skin, his mouth pinched. His breathing was more labored than it had been scaling the wall. Speech would have wasted what little he had.

“I don’t think we’re going to have any trouble convincing someone you got attacked.” Lucas shifted his gaze to the road, straining to listen for any sign of an engine.

“Mr. Arpini—”

“Lucas.”

Ian sighed. Lucas refused to look back at him and feel even guiltier than he already did.

“I’d prefer if you were honest with me, above everything else,” Ian said.

“I haven’t lied to you. Not once.”

“But if you were working with Sultis, why should I believe you?”

“I wasn’t working with him by choice.”

“You hardly seem to be under duress.”

A faint rumble had him tilting his head, trying to see around the bend in the road. “Sultis convinced me it was worth my while to cooperate.”

“How?”

“How did he convince me, or how is it worth my while?”

“Both. And how exactly does he think you can contribute to finding something nobody in two thousand years has managed to even convince the world exists?”

The rumble was punctuated with a horn blast. A semi, at the very least. He didn’t have much time, if this proved to be their ride.

“It wasn’t hard for him to get me to buy his sell. I’m almost thirty. My savings account is solid, but if I hit one bad month, or all of a sudden fall off the photography radar, I’m wiped out. I could always hit the nine-to-five, get a mortgage, pack all of the travel in for something safe, something conservative, but I’d be dead within a year if I did that.”

“So you’d rather tilt after windmills? The Blood of Sheol isn’t going to make you rich.”

“Maybe not, but finding something nobody else has? Pulling off the impossible, barely breaking a sweat? That’s worth its weight in gold.”

Ian didn’t speak. He was already leaning pretty heavily against Lucas’s arm, getting heavier with each passing second. Lucas finally risked glancing back, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Now, he couldn’t look away.

Ian wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t frowning, either, but instead, watching Lucas with more than a little bit of quiet contemplation. When their eyes locked, he didn’t blink, holding Lucas in his grasp without ever uttering a word.

“The Blood of Sheol will get you the recognition you deserve,” Lucas said. “Yes, I did my research on you. I memorized your records, your resume. Call it stalking if you want, though that wasn’t what it was. But the one thing I learned is that you’ve gone too long bending to other people’s whims. It’s time you started thinking of number one. We find this, and you can write your own ticket. You can tell everybody who tried pushing you into some little box you didn’t want to be in, to f**k off.”

A hint of a smile appeared at the last. “Aren’t you trying to bend me to your whims?”

“No, because I’m willing to let you walk away. If that’s what you want. You’ve been through hell. You can stop it all just sticking with the police.” He let his own smile come out to play. “But I’ll bet that if you do, if you turned your back on me, and the proof, and the potential of such a huge discovery, you will always wonder what if. What if I’d been right? What if the Blood of Sheol really does exist? And you’ll be a hell of a lot unhappier than if you’d agreed to partner up and find it together.”

The truck was fast approaching. Lucas didn’t have to turn around to hear the engine grind to a halt, its roar softening as it coasted up behind them. Ian broke the spell between them by glancing past Lucas’s shoulder at it, waiting several moments before answering him.

“I suppose the least I could do is see this proof you’re so rabid about,” he mused.

Though he wanted to shout in excitement, Lucas settled for a bright laugh. “The very least.”