Читать книгу Dangerous Entanglement - SUSANNE MCCARTHY - Страница 6

‘ALL right, I give up—I’m lost.’

Alex Marshall grinned wryly—half an hour alone in the Egyptian desert, and already he was reduced to talking to himself! He wasn’t a man who was given to conceding defeat easily, but the road that was quite clearly marked on the map as a single, straightforward route now divided into two, and there was no clue to tell him which one he should take.

Standing up behind the wheel of the dusty Land Rover, he lifted his binoculars and scanned the surrounding landscape. The morning sun was rising rapidly into the hot blue sky, baking the yellow hills and tumbled scree to oven temperatures. Neither man nor beast could survive out here for long…

So it came as quite a shock to realise that he wasn’t alone; he was being watched, from close quarters. She had risen like a mirage out of the rocks at the side of the road, the very last thing he would have expected to see in this God-forsaken wilderness—a cool English blonde.

His first thought was that she had a great pair of legs— they started somewhere down in the desert, and ended in paradise, and were clad in a pair of faded, dusty denim jeans that fitted their slender length so well she looked as if she’d been born in them. He couldn’t wait to get a look from the back.

The T-shirt that topped them was just as nicely filled, but the eyes that glittered at him from beneath the brim of a floppy cotton sun-hat were the sort that could flash and turn you to ice, even if the thermometer—as now— was climbing way into the hundreds. Apparently she didn’t welcome his appreciative survey.

‘Hello.’ He tried a smile, but somewhat to his surprise it didn’t seem to have its usual effect. She had put her sunglasses on again, but he could still feel the frost from that steady gaze. ‘I…seem to be having some difficulty with my map. Could you tell me how far I am from Taqato al qabrin?’

‘You’re there.’

‘Here?’ He glanced around in surprise. There seemed to be nothing but a jumble of rocky outcrop. ‘Where? I don’t see any village?’

‘It isn’t a village. In Arabic, Taqato al qabrin means Crossroads of the Tombs.’

‘Oh…’ He looked up at her, a little puzzled by the frigid hostility in her tone. Granted, his initial appraisal had been rather too obvious, but with a shape like that she must surely be used to an occasional crass male reaction. But apparently she was the type who didn’t much care for the male reaction, he reflected, studying her more discreetly. Pity—she could have been quite a looker if she made the effort.

He’d put her in her late twenties, five-ten in her stockinged feet, and certainly not above a hundred and twenty pounds. She wasn’t wearing a scrap of make-up, and the strands of hair straggling from beneath her battered hat had been bleached to straw by the sun.

And the way she was standing there, feet aggressively apart, hands on hips, was positively masculine. But the impression created by the strong brow and determined chin was somewhat belied by a very pretty nose, and a hint of soft vulnerability about her mouth.

Alex frowned. Just what was a lone Englishwoman doing out here in the middle of nowhere anyway? In all his discussions with the Ministry of Industry and Resources in Cairo she hadn’t been mentioned—he had been given to understand that the area was completely unpopulated.

‘Are you living out here?’ he enquired quizzically.

She shook her head. ‘Working,’ was her terse response. He lifted one dark eyebrow. ‘I’m an archaeologist.’

Ah—that might explain a number of things! It appeared that she was better informed than he was. ‘I didn’t know there were any archaeological sites in the area,’ he remarked, trying hard to win even just the shadow of a smile.

‘Well, there is,’ she retorted, not unfreezing by one degree.

‘I see.’ He switched off the ignition of the Land Rover, and climbed out. ‘Mind if I take a look?’

As he moved towards her, she stepped quickly back, defences bristling. He slanted her a look of sardonic humour; if she was worried about him, what was she going to make of a mining-camp housing upwards of fifty men plonked right on her doorstep? Mind, she looked more than capable of taking care of herself, he reflected drily—he’d back her against a bunch of sexstarved quarry-men any day of the week!

But as she turned her back on him and began to climb up over the scree, that rear view, lovingly hugged by the fading denim, was everything he had anticipated. It was fortunate, perhaps, that he was going to be rather too busy to think about women while he was here—he found the challenge in those blue eyes really quite intriguing.

Which was really slightly crazy, he told himself with a hint of self-mocking amusement—he had never been attracted to that prickly, aggressive type; he liked his women sweet and soft and feminine. The heat must be getting to his brain!

He was a week early; April, the Department of Antiquities had told her, and it was still only March. Joanna felt a knot of angry frustration twist in her stomach. There was still months of work to do to excavate the tombs properly, and soon it would be too hot to work at all—and by the time the weather began to cool again, in September or October, the whole side of the valley would have been reduced to rubble, ripped apart for the extraction of the valuable mineral ore in the rocks.

They would never have done this to her father, she reflected bitterly. Maybe she should swallow her pride after all, and ask him to pull strings for her, while there was still time. He would do it, of course; naturally he had been ready to offer any help she needed with her ‘little project’.

Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. Maybe he couldn’t help it, but his attitudes were as ancient and dusty as the mummies he was such an expert on. The illustrious Professor Julian Holloway, reknowned Egyptologist and Fellow of the Royal Society, was a plain old-fashioned chauvinist, and just couldn’t imagine why his only daughter might want to establish a name for herself in her own right.

To be honest, it wasn’t the most important dig in the world. There were hundreds—thousands—of ancient tomb-sites scattered along the banks of the Nile, and there was no reason to suppose this one would have escaped the attentions of grave-robbers when even most of the those in the Valley of the Kings, a little way further downriver, had been comprehensively stripped of all their treasures. The only reason she’d been granted permission to excavate them was that they were about to be destroyed.

She hadn’t expected Alexander Marshall himself to show up, especially alone and in a battered old Land Rover. She had recognised him at once, of course—he was rarely out of the news, if not for his ruthless business dealings then for his outrageous private life. He had even been prepared to shove his own father and elder brother aside to gain control of his company—and the scandal of his divorce, and his numerous affairs, had been a staple of the tabloid front pages for years.

It was obvious how he had earned his reputation, she mused, slanting him a covert glance from behind the useful defence of her dark sunglasses. He had put his own sunglasses on now, but the way he had looked at her before had made her feel…as if she wasn’t wearing any clothes.

He was perhaps even better-looking in the flesh than in those fuzzy black and white newspaper pictures, she acknowledged with some reluctance—the camera couldn’t really do justice to those strong-boned, aquiline features, or catch the crisp curl of his dark hair.

But there was no mistaking his arrogance, nor his ruthlessness—it was written into every cynical line of that hard mouth. And though he was a good many years younger than her father—the newspapers had him down as thirty-five—she would guess that he was just as much of an obdurate chauvinist.

They reached the top of the low rise that hid the tombs from the road. The dark, gaping tomb-entrances were in two rows, six on the lower level, three above, carved deep into the weathered yellow limestone of the hill. She gazed at them with a sharp twinge of regret; three and a half thousand years they had been here, and now in a few more weeks they would be gone.

Alex glanced around the bleak site, one dark eyebrow lifted in faint surprise. ‘Who’s in charge of the dig?’ he enquired.

Joanna’s eyes glittered with icy anger; she might have known he would assume that it would be a man in charge. ‘I am,’ she ground out.

He smiled in wry apology. ‘I see. Have you found anything interesting?’

She shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘No spectacular caches of gold, if that’s what you mean,’ she conceded reluctantly. ‘This site is nothing like as grand as the ones up in the Valley of the Kings. But it’s telling us a great deal about the day-to-day lives of the ordinary people— what they ate, how they prepared their food, how they organised their households. We could probably find out a lot more…’ She slanted him a look of bitter resentment. ‘But of course, now that you’ve arrived, we won’t get the chance.’

He lifted one dark eyebrow in quizzical enquiry. ‘I gather from that remark that you know who I am?’

‘Of course.’ She injected her voice with several degrees of frost. ‘Mr Makram from the D of A warned me you’d be coming—though I wasn’t expecting you until next month.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he responded on an inflection of sardonic humour.

Joanna felt her palm itch to slap that arrogant face. He was just mocking her; he knew full well that there was nothing she could do to prevent him starting work on his contract whenever he liked.

‘Well, if you’ve seen enough, please excuse me,’ she rapped tautly, turning him an aloof shoulder. ‘I’m afraid I have a great deal of work to do.’

Unfortunately the dignity of the effect was somewhat marred when she missed her footing on the rough ground, and slipped. A strong hand caught her instantly, like a vice around her arm.

‘Careful,’ he advised smoothly. ‘If you broke your ankle out here you could be in big trouble.’

A sudden rush of heat flowed through her, and she felt her heartbeat skip oddly. ‘Th…thank you,’ she managed, her voice a little unsteady. ‘I’m perfectly well able to take care of myself.’

‘Really? I’m glad to hear it.’ He let go of her arm. ‘I’d like to take a look at these tombs of yours—if you’d be so kind as to show me?’

She slanted him a look of wary suspicion, sceptical of the interest he was showing. But if there was the slightest chance…She would very much have preferred not to have had to spend any more time in his company, but if she could persuade him to delay starting his quarrying, even for just a few weeks, it would be worth it.

‘All right,’ she conceded somewhat ungraciously. ‘This way. You’ll have to mind your head—the roof’s quite low.’

She led him down the slope, and into the second tomb on the lower level—the best one they had found so far. Picking up her torch, she shone the beam to light the way down the narrow passage carved into the living rock. Every time she came here, she felt again that sense of awe for all the timeless ages that had passed since men had first hewn out this place; just touching the rough walls, she felt as though she was making some kind of tenuous link with those long-past generations.

‘Careful,’ she warned. ‘It’s a steep slope, but it’s not far to the bottom. We’ve put in a rope hand-grip to help. Wait here till I get down, then I’ll shine the torch for you.’

She clambered carefully down, and then called up for him to follow, playing the torch-beam on the rough-hewn ground underfoot as he edged his way after her. He was so tall that he had to bend almost double to avoid hitting his head on the roof. As he reached the bottom and straightened beside her, Joanna found herself suddenly a little breathless—but then it was always rather hot and airless down here.

She flashed the torch around the walls, showing him the paintings, thousands of years old but so incredibly well-preserved that they could have been painted only yesterday. ‘This is the first chamber,’ she explained, a hint of proprietorial pride in her voice. ‘We think it was built for a local viceroy of the eighteenth dynasty—that would put it at about the fourteenth-century BC. The decoration is typical of the period.’

‘Very nice.’ He sounded genuinely impressed. He reached out his hand to touch the hieroglyphics carved into the rock. ‘I wonder what these mean?’

‘“Behold Osiris, the scribe of the holy offerings of all the gods. Worship to thee who has come as Khepera, as the creator of the gods,”’ she read fluently. ‘“Thou risest, thou shinest, making bright thy mother, crowned as king of the gods.”

He glanced down at her in astonishment. ‘You can read it?’

She felt a stab of annoyance; did he think she was some kind of amateur? ‘Of course,’ she responded coolly. ‘It’s an inscription from the opening chapter of the Book of the Dead. The painting is of the funerary procession; the mourners are bringing offerings of food and spices to sustain the spirit on its journey to heaven.’

‘I see.’ He studied the mural, a faint smile curving his mouth, and Joanna felt suddenly uncomfortable as she guessed what he was thinking; most of the figures were draped in a white cloth that had been painted to appear almost transparent. ‘Rum lot, those ancient Egyptians,’ he remarked; he had removed his sunglasses, and in the glimmer of the torchlight she could see the glint of mocking humour in his dark eyes. ‘Did they dress like that all the time?’

She forced herself to return him a long, cool look— it was rather disconcerting to have him standing so close, so tall and wide-shouldered and so…uncompromisingly male. ‘Most of the murals of that particular period appear to show a similar style of clothing,’ she responded with frosty dignity. ‘Would you like to see the burial-chamber?’ He nodded, and she shone the torch-beam across the floor. ‘Be careful here—there’s a robbertrap. I’ll cross first, and then hold the torch for you.’

The trap was a deep pit that opened right across the passage. Investigation had revealed it to be about twenty feet deep, but as a deterrent to grave-robbers it clearly hadn’t been too successful—the burial-chamber, when they had reached it, had long ago been looted of its treasures.

They had placed a plank across it, weighed down with sandbags, to make a bridge, and she skipped nimbly across, and then waited for him to follow her. The beam of the torchlight threw his shadow against the far wall, huge and menacing, and she felt her mouth go suddenly dry. They were all alone down here, and the nearest village was five miles away…

She stepped back quickly as he reached her side of the plank-bridge, hoping he wouldn’t hear her heartbeat pounding. ‘This is the burial-chamber,’ she announced, her voice sounding oddly unsteady to her own ears. ‘We found the remains of the sarcophagus, and a few bits of the canopic jars, but all the rest had been stolen.’

‘A pity.’

Was it just her imagination, the way he was looking at her? She retreated a little further into the chamber. ‘Unfortunately, all the other tombs we’ve found so far have been in the same state,’ she rushed on. ‘We were hoping to at least find something that would identify the occupants, but unless we can find a sarcophagus still intact it doesn’t seem very likely.’

‘How many more tombs are there?’ he enquired. His tone was quite neutral, but the way he was standing there, his wide shoulder propped against the wall, gave her the uncomfortable feeling that he was barring her way out.

‘I…I don’t know for sure. We’ve found nine so far, but there could be more.’

‘We…?’

She hesitated, wondering if it was quite wise to let him know how unprotected she was out here. But he would find out anyway soon enough. ‘Just…myself and my assistant, Annette.’

He arched one dark eyebrow in surprised question. ‘Just two women?’

‘Yes.’ She felt a flood of heat rush through her. ‘We’re perfectly capable of undertaking a project like this.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you are.’ There was no mistaking that faint hint of mockery. ‘But isn’t it rather heavy work?’

‘Not with modern equipment.’ She was beginning to find his proximity a little too much to cope with. Mustering as much dignity as she could, she moved past him, back towards the plank-bridge. ‘Well, that’s all there is to see, I’m afraid…’ And if he so much as tried to touch her, he would find out just how strong six months of humping great big stones around had made her.

But he made no untoward move, merely following behind her as she stepped across the plank-bridge and scrambled up the slope to emerge into the bright glare of the Egyptian sun. She drew in a long, deep breath, feeling a little foolish now for letting him unsettle her like that for what had really been no reason.

‘Well…As I said, all the others we’ve found so far are in much the same condition.’ She felt much calmer now—it must have just been an unexpected attack of claustrophobia. ‘But we’ve started to dig lower down— we think there may be another level below this one.’

‘And how long would it take you to find out?’

She glanced up hopefully, searching his face, but all she could see was her own reflection in his sunglasses. ‘Oh, about…three months,’ she suggested tentatively. ‘We’d have to finish by the end of June anyway—it would be much too hot to carry on by then.’

‘I see.’ He shook his head with what she could almost have taken for genuine regret. ‘Well, I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to give you that long. We’ve a contract to meet. We start blasting in three weeks.’

She stared at him in startled horror. ‘Blasting? You mean you’re going to use dynamite!’

That oddly intriguing mouth quirked into a mocking smile. ‘Well, what did you think we were going to use?’ he taunted. Picks and shovels?’

She returned him an angry glare, not amused by his humour. ‘You’re just going to blow everything up?’ she demanded, blazing.

‘Well, not quite as drastic as that,’ he conceded. ‘But modern quarrying methods are pretty efficient.’

‘It’s nothing but licensed vandalism!’ she flared. ‘You’re just going to destroy all that history…’

‘The decision isn’t mine,’ he pointed out drily. ‘It’s the Egyptian government’s. The country needs the foreign exchange that exporting the ore will bring in. You can’t eat history, or put it on your kid’s feet instead of a pair of shoes.’

She felt her fist clench. He was perfectly right, of course—but she’d be damned if she was going to admit it. ‘Well, since I have so little time, I’d better not waste any more of it,’ she rapped, a bite in her voice. ‘Good morning, Mr Marshall.’

That cynical mouth curved into a mocking smile. ‘Thank you for showing me around,’ he drawled. ‘I shall probably be seeing you again, Miss…? Or is it Mrs?’ he added, deliberately provocative.

‘Ms.’ Why, three years after her divorce, was she still so defensive? ‘Holloway.’

He acknowledged the stilted introduction with a slight inclination of his head. ‘I see. Well, Ms Holloway, it’s been very pleasant meeting you. I’m sorry my arrival signals the end of your work here—I can imagine how frustrating that is for you.’

She found that he was holding out his hand, expecting her to shake it, but with a sudden rush of embarrassment she remembered how rough her own hands were from all the work and neglect she had been subjecting them to for the past six months, how damaged her nails.

‘Yes, well…’ Instinctively she tucked her hands out of sight behind her back. ‘There’s nothing much I can do about it, is there?’

‘No, I’m afraid there isn’t.’ Again that mocking smile. ‘Goodbye, then.’

‘Goodbye.’

She watched him go, her mind a tangle of confusion. Why had she acted like that down in the tomb—like some prim little schoolroom miss? Had she been too long out here in the desert, that she had forgotten how to respond when a man showed her even a spark of admiration? He must have thought she was crazy.

Or more likely, she reflected ruefully, that she wasn’t accustomed to it. She twined one finger around the strand of hair that had slipped from beneath her hat, feeling the rough, dry ends; she had neglected it terribly these past couple of months—out here in this hot, dusty climate she really ought to take better care of it. And her hands were just awful—she couldn’t remember the last time she had given herself a manicure.

Not that she cared a damn what he thought of her, she reminded herself forcefully. She didn’t want him here. Unfortunately there was nothing much she could do about it—Mr Makram had made it clear, when he had arranged for her to be granted the licence to explore the tombs, that she couldn’t be allowed to hold up the mining of the mineral ores, so essential to the country’s economy.

Well, if she only had a short time, she had better get on, she scolded herself, dismissing all thoughts of Alex Marshall with a shrug of her slim shoulders. She had no intention of letting any man—least of all one with a reputation like the boss of Marshall Mining and Marine—distract her from her objective.

‘Oh, just my luck, that he should come while I wasn’t here!’ Annette protested, gurgling with laughter. ‘It isn’t fair.’

Joanna grunted, her attention all on rigging a tripod for her camera, to photograph the wall-decoration in the last burial-chamber they had found. ‘You didn’t miss much,’ she commented dismissively. ‘Did you manage to get everything we needed?’

‘Almost. The hypo-crystals haven’t arrived yet—he said to try tomorrow.’

Joanna frowned impatiently. ‘He said that yesterday,’ she complained. ‘We’re nearly out, and we can’t afford to wait—we’ve got to get everything finished before they start quarrying.’

Annette’s brown pansy eyes sparkled with mischievous speculation. ‘I wonder…Maybe we could persuade him to give us a few more weeks?’

‘I very much doubt it.’ Joanna responded a little too forcefully. ‘He can’t get in here quick enough with his bulldozers, and start smashing everything up. The only thing he cares about is his profits—he’s not going to let anyone stand in his way.’

Annette looked a little startled by the venom of her reaction. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked innocently. ‘Didn’t you like him?’

Joanna slanted her young assistant a sardonic smile. Still of the age to believe in romantic dreams, Annette had been drooling for weeks over the prospect of meeting the celebrated Alex Marshall in the flesh. And if anyone could succeed in melting that rock-hard heart, she reflected with an odd twinge of an emotion she didn’t care to explore too deeply, it could well be Annette. Small and extremely pretty, with a cloud of dark curly hair and huge brown eyes, fringed by the longest, silkiest lashes, she could wind almost any man around her little finger.

But Joanna felt a certain responsibility for her; after all, she wasn’t even twenty-one yet, and she was here to complete the field-course portion of her degree, not to flirt with a man as dangerous as Alex Marshall. ‘I…hardly had time to form an opinion,’ she responded, taking a slightly flexible approach to the truth. ‘He was only here for a few minutes.’

‘Yes, but what was your first impression?’ Annette persisted eagerly.

Joanna shrugged her slender shoulders, hoping to convey the most supreme indifference. ‘He seemed rather too full of himself for my taste,’ she dismissed casualty.

Annette regarded her with naïve sympathy. ‘You’ve never really fancied anyone much, though, since your divorce, have you? Oh, I’m sorry…’ she rushed on anxiously as Joanna’s jaw tensed. ‘I shouldn’t have mentioned it…I…’

Joanna laughed drily. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she assured her, all her attention on checking the focus of the camera. ‘I certainly don’t. I was very well rid of the rat, and I have no intention of falling into the same trap ever again.’

‘You mean…you don’t ever want to get married again?’ the younger girl protested, aghast at such a prospect.

‘No, thank you,’ Joanna asserted with calm certainty. ‘Marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, I’m afraid. I much prefer being single.’

‘You can see the strata the ores are in.’ Alex pointed out, sweeping his powerful binoculars along the ridge of yellow hills on the far side of the valley. ‘It runs right along—that line of slightly darker rock.’

His young companion nodded. ‘I see it. What were the final results of the drilling tests?’

‘Most of the ore is very high grade.’ Alex confirmed, rolling out the large-scale map on the bonnet of the Land Rover. ‘We’ll start blasting here, beneath that outcrop to the left, and work our way along this way.’

Greg bent his fair head over the map, checking the contours of the hills against the area Alex had marked. ‘I see. Where do you intend setting up the work-camp?’

‘Where would you suggest?’ Alex returned to him.

Greg frowned, concentrating. Newly qualified with an engineering degree, he felt it was important to make a good impression; Alex wasn’t the sort to do him any favours just because he was his cousin. ‘I’d say…just there.’ He pointed to an area closest to the river, at the opposite end of the ridge from where blasting was to begin, and lifted his binoculars to check that it was as suitable as it appeared from the map.

It looked a pretty inhospitable place—a rough, rocky, sun-baked hillside, with just a few straggling thorn bushes and some parched grass for vegetation. The back door of hell. He swung the glasses along the ridge, and then back again abruptly. ‘What’s going on down there?’ he asked, focusing in to take a better look.

Alex felt himself tense with unreasoning annoyance. So the damned girl was proving a distraction already!

‘I forgot to mention it,’ he remarked dismissively. ‘I just found out about it last week. There’s some female doing an archaeological dig. Don’t worry—it won’t be a problem to us. I checked with Makram—she’s only got permission to stay until we’re ready to start blasting.’

‘You forgot to mention it?’ Greg slanted him a quizzical glance. ‘You run into an angel like that out here in this God-forsaken place, and then forget all about it? Pull the other one.’

Alex raised one dark eyebrow in surprise; ‘angel’ was hardly the word he would have chosen. He lifted his own binoculars, sweeping along the ridge to find the half-hidden hollow where the tombs were clustered. But there was no sign of the aggravating Ms Holloway—just one of Greg’s pint-sized brunettes, squatting on the ground, mending the handle of an old shovel. He vaguely recalled that there had been some mention of an assistant, but he couldn’t remember her name.

‘That’s not her…’

At that moment she emerged from the entrance of the tomb. As he watched, she reached up for a rope suspended from a block and tackle, and began to haul on it. God, she must have muscles on her like a navvy, he reflected in horror—a man could get quite a shock trying to cuddle up to that at night!

‘There she is,’ he told Greg. ‘The one in the yellow T-shirt.’

Greg looked, but didn’t seem impressed. ‘You can keep that one,’ he accorded generously. ‘I’ll take the brunette.’ He let his gaze linger for a long time. ‘Mmmvery nice indeed.’

Alex laughed with sardonic humour. ‘You’re supposed to be here to work, not admire the scenery,’ he reminded him drily.

Greg grinned sheepishly. ‘Sorry. But there’s no harm in getting to know our neighbours, is there? After all, I’m the one that’s going to be stuck out here doing all the hard work—you’ll just be buzzing in and out in your little toy helicopter, looking important.’

Alex snorted at that friendly dig at his pride and joy, his Bell Jetranger, which he piloted himself. ‘The privilege of rank,’ he returned loftily. ‘Besides, they won’t be here much longer—once we start blasting, they’ll have to clear out.’

He lifted his binoculars again, watching the girl as she finished hauling up a trolley-load of rubble, and tipped it into a wheelbarrow. All that heavy work certainly kept her in good trim, he reflected, somewhat revising his earlier opinion. Most of the women he knew dieted to the point of tedium, and spent hours working out in aerobics classes, but any one of them would have killed for a shape like that.

But he had an unpleasant suspicion that she was going to prove herself to be a damned nuisance—she seemed perfectly capable of launching a campaign to delay him until she had finished excavating her piecious tombs. He lowered the binoculars, and swung himself behind the wheel of the Land Rover.

‘Come on—if you’ve seen all you need to see out here we might as well be getting back to town,’ he grunted impatiently. ‘I’ve got some calls to make.’

Greg glanced at him faint surprise, but climbed into the passenger seat beside him. ‘Right-ho,’ he agreed easily. ‘Although…it wouldn’t hurt just to stop on the way and take a closer look at the bottom of that ridge,’ he added with a wolfish grin.

Alex slanted him a look of ironic amusement. ‘Strictly business, of course?’

‘Oh, of course.’