Read Heather Graham for Free Online Page B

had taken a taxi straight to the Hilton and had inquired studiously at the desk. But Jim had not checked out of his room when he had left for the UAE, and none of the desk clerks could remember exactly when they had seen him last.
    She had tried to reach D’Alesio. And tried, and tried and tried, inquiring at the Cairo museum and the antique shops and anywhere else she could think of while she awaited a response that never came. When she heard that D’Alesio had traveled on down the Nile, she had followed, but when she reached Luxor, he was touring the Valley of the Kings, and when she reached the Valley of the Kings, he had gone back to Luxor. He had managed to elude her all the way up and down the Nile, the son of a—
    Calm down, she warned herself. You are now taking positive action.
    Alex held her father’s letter, her long fingers uncreasing the worn folds that were becoming fragile. Her eyes became like uniquely colored crystals as the turmoil of her mind shone through them in the privacy of her seat. She read Jim’s words again. “… If anything should go wrong, get hold of Sheikh Sheriff … A few things are making me a little nervous. …”
    A few things are making me a little nervous, she thought.
    What had Jim known when he wrote the letter? She had to believe that he knew something, that he was missing because he was in hiding.
    He isn’t—dead, he isn’t dead, he isn’t dead. She hadn’t even realized she recognized that possibility until she started repeating the rebuttal in her mind. But he wasn’t dead! He couldn’t be!
    Tears began to form in her eyes, and she quickly blinked them away. Get mad, she told herself. If you get mad, you won’t cry.
    It would be easy to get mad, she told herself. All she had to do was think of that man D’Alesio again.
    D’Alesio. How had her father ever gotten involved with such a man? Jim had never craved publicity. He loved discovery for discovery’s sake; his thirst for knowledge was unshakable. He had never before consented to an interview, much less the filming of an expedition!
    Maybe Jim hadn’t realized just what an insolent, arrogant, insufferable bastard D’Alesio was. Alex had seen a number of the man’s documentaries over the years, as had most people. D’Alesio owned his own production company and chose his own work. But whether he filmed in the Middle East or the Antarctic, about historical treasures or contemporary hot spots, he could sell his films to any major network. Because he was good. He had the ability to get to the crux of a matter and present it in a smooth, objective, comprehensible light. And on television, Alex thought bitterly, he appeared civil, intelligent and reasonable.
    The anger she needed to take away her anxiety suddenly ripped through her like a bolt of lightning. She could almost feel her blood begin to boil, and she wondered if she had turned a steamy red from head to toe.
    “Insufferable bastard!” and a few other even less complimentary descriptions filtered in a flash fire through her mind when she remembered how he had thrown her out of his room bodily without even listening to her. She was red, she knew it; she could feel the color fill her face. She squirmed slightly, remembering his nude form, rising like Atlas from the water, the water running over his firm and agile muscles.
    She hadn’t realized that he was so tall. Or dangerous-looking. In the bathtub he had looked a bit like a cave man with his shadowed cheeks, dripping black hair and menacingly masculine form.
    The man was a menace—to society. Totally deceptive. He had the manners of a barbarian, a chauvinistic monster. He was the type of man who thought he was a law unto himself simply because he had biceps the size of bowling balls and a sinewed physique that allowed him to brutalize those weaker than himself.
    Well, Mr. Dan D’Alesio, she thought with bitter vengeance, you are not dealing with a simpering rose! And you are not a law unto yourself.