forward, his jaw set.
The bitter taste of fear lingered on her tongue, but the darkness inside her eased, as if gathered up and buried away. She noticed a table along the side of the room where there were bottles of water lined up in a row.
She touched Tahir's arm. 'I'm suddenly feeling a little faint. I got too much sun yesterday, I think I'm still feeling the effects. Could I bother you to get me a bottle of water?'
'No bother at all.' he assured her as he rose. He headed across the room to the refreshment table.
Iris turned to Maddox. 'What are you doing here?'
'Crashed the party.'
'Yes. I see that. What if you get caught?'
'I know the bouncer.' He nodded toward the entrance, where a burly man with dreadlocks manned the door in a black suit.
'Reginald Samuels, head of hotel security. Hell of a shindig to warrant guard duty by the head honcho.'
'You know everybody.' She glanced toward the refreshment table, where Tahir was selecting a couple of water bottles. 'Why don't you tell me what you know about Tahir Mahmoud?'
'I told you, I don't know anything about him.' Maddox's tone was casual, but some of the anger she'd felt from him earlier seeped into his soul from wherever he'd hidden it.
'No, you know him.' she said softly, watching as Tahir turned from the table and headed back toward her.
'Silly. Can't talk now, sugar Just pretend I'm not here.'
Impossible, she thought, even if she weren't feeling everything black, he was thinking about Tahir Mahmoud. Maddox knew Tahir. Hostility oozed from his pores. Who was he? Why was Maddox denying knowledge of him?
Tahir reached her side and handed her a bottle of water. 'Are you unwell? I could try to find a doctor-'
'No, I'm fine. Just thirsty, thank you.'
Tahir sat beside her, his expression full of concern. But she didn't get concern from him. He wasn't a blank to her, exactly. She felt something coming from inside him. But it was sly and elusive. Impossible to pin down.
The seminar began a moment later, with a frizzy-haired woman dressed in a flowing black dress introducing her topic, the juxtaposition of science and historical myths such as vampirism, lycanthropy and angelic visitations.
Iris might have found the lecture mildly interesting, especially the section on herbology and its place in both science and myth, but she found herself too distracted by the tangle of sensations coming from Maddox to pay full attention.
She stole a glance at him and found him still staring at the scar on Tahir's wrist, his brow creased and his body tense. What did the scar mean to him? It enraged him on some level-that much was clear-but it scared him, too. To her relief, the lecture ended within an hour and the conference director gave them a thirty-minute break before the next session.
Tahir turned to her. 'It has been a pleasure seeing you again. Iris. I hope we will see each other later.' He gave a slight, formal bow and headed toward the exit.
As Iris started in the same direction, Maddox caught her by the wrist. 'You're not following him.'
She looked up at him. 'What?'
'Tahir Mahmoud.' Maddox said. 'You're going to stay the hell away from him.'
Chapter Seven
Iris pulled her arm away from Maddox's grasp. 'I wasn't following him. But if I wanted to, I wouldn't let you stop me.' She started walking toward the restrooms again.
Maddox caught up with her. 'I don't trust him.'
'Yeah, get that.' she said, not slowing down. 'But I don't usually let other people tell me who I can be around.'
He closed his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her to face him. 'I know you don't really know me. I know I don't look like someone you'd want advice from. But I know trouble, and that dude's trouble. Stay the hell away from him.'
'Funny. Someone told me the same thing about you.'
She felt an old, dark pain pouring into her. Maddox dropped his hand from her neck, and the pain began to fade.
His eyes narrowed slightly. 'Also good advice.' He abruptly stalled toward the exit.
She let him go, despite a strange, pulling sensation in the center of her heart telling her to go after him and apologize. She'd hurt him with her careless words, hurt him in a way she hadn't been aware was possible.
Still, she shouldn't leave the seminar, should she? She had too many questions about Sandrine's disappearance, and the people in this room might be able to answer the. She started at Maddox's retreating back, unsure what to do.
So much for playing knight in shining armor, Maddox thought blackly, striding through the hotel lobby toward the exit. He'd gone above and beyond for Iris Browning. Fat lot of good it had done him.
And now, thanks to the scar on Tahir Mahmoud's wrist, he couldn't walk away from Iris Browning, no matter how much she might want him to.
Three years and a whole lot of nasty water under a rickety bridge had passed since that August day when Kaziristani rebels with a group called al-Adarhad laid siege to the American embassy in Tablis. Maddox had been off duty at the time, sleeping off a night shift guarding the embassy gate. It had gone down so fast, nobody had been prepared.
The aftermath had changed his life forever. A lot of his memories of the day were painted in water-color hues, blurred by time and adrenaline and fear. But the one thing he remembered with crystalline clarity was watching an al-Adar terrorist with a black kaffiyeh wrapped around his face slit the throat of translator Teresa Miles.
He dreamed about that moment almost every' night. The sounds, the smells, the colors and the sensations were as vivid now as they had been three years ago. The quicksilver glint of the knife. The crimson thread bisecting Teresa's long, slender neck. The iron smell of her blood as it flowed from the wound. The pale half-dollar-sized patch of scarred flesh on the wrist of her assassin.
Part of him wanted to believe it was coincidence, that the man who'd killed Teresa hadn't been sitting mere feet away from him today, alive and well and living free. Another part of him hoped Tahir Malirnoud really was the al-Adar assassin who'd killed Teresa Miles. Because Maddox wanted nothing more in this life than to mete out justice to the bastard his own way.
'Mr. Heller.'
Maddox gave a start, sucked out of his black thoughts by the sound of his name. He turned to find Charles Kipler near the front desk, looking uncomfortable in an Italian silk suit the color of a stormy sky.
Maddox took a deep breath, shaking off the ghosts of the past, and pasted on a smile as he crossed to the front desk. 'Chuck! Did you know it's ninety degrees outside?' He flicked Kipler's lapel. 'You're in the middle of paradise, man, but you look like you're going to a funeral. Lighten up.'
'Thank you for the sartorial commentary.'
Maddox laughed. 'Sartorial commentary? I like that. You're a funny guy. Chuck. Here's a little tip-there's a gift shop just down the hall. I bet they've got a nice 'Mariposa is for Suck-Ups' T-shirt in your size-'
'Actually I'm here to see Iris Browning.' Kipler cut him off. 'She's not answering her room phone. Have you seen her?'
So Celia Shore and her lackey knew Iris's name now. How had that happened? 'Sorry, man. I'm not her social secretary.'
'Maddox,.-'
Maddox turned at the sound of Iris's voice. She faltered to a stop, looking from him to Charles Kipler. A little crinkle appeared in her forehead. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt.'
'No problem. What is it?'
'Miss Browning?' Kipler asked.
Iris's frown deepened, 'I'm Iris Browning'
