The Belial Stone (The Belial Series #1)(31)

Tom noticed that during the night a number of large objects, about six feet by four, had been unearthed. Each was still covered in a thick layer of dirt. He and Seeley were given smaller shovels and a brush. They were told to carefully remove the dirt from the side of one of the objects. Other two-man teams were set up with the other objects.

Two hours later, Tom’s back and neck were screaming at him. But he knew better than to complain. One of the guys who’d been here a while warned him, that if he got hurt, not to let them see it. There was no med tent. If he couldn’t work, his usefulness would be at an end, as well as his life. So he continued working, ignoring the pain, unveiling the side of the monolith in front of him.

Almost put in a trance by the mind-numbing task, he was surprised when he saw rock peaking through. He’d reached the edge. And there seemed to be something carved into it.

Intrigued, in spite of his pain, Tom worked faster and shortly uncovered a full carving about twelve inches long. It was some sort of figure – a man-eagle hybrid.

Tom sat back, dumbfounded. It looked like some sort of Egyptian hieroglyph. He’d seen them once in a book he’d borrowed from the prison library.

Confused, Tom looked around the enclosure at all the other dig sites. He could make out a bunch of other rock towers sticking out of them as well. There were dozens of the things.

Although Tom hadn’t traveled much in his life, he knew that this sure as hell wasn’t Egypt. He supposed they could be in Canada. But he didn’t think so. For some reason, he thought they were still in the States. All the guards were American, all the cars.

Tom took a quick glance at a monolith directly behind him. It depicted humans farming and some flying in some sort of hot air balloon.

These things had been buried here for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. A chill ran through him. But what were they doing here and who had buried them? And why the hell were a bunch of ex-cons digging them out?





CHAPTER 25



Baltimore, Maryland



Her hands in front of her, Laney backed away. “No. You can’t be here. You’re dead. I saw you. You’re dead.”

The light from the bright morning sun acted as a spotlight, highlighting Paul as he moved across the floor towards her. A trail of blood followed him, his chest wounds oozing.

He let out a laugh that sent shivers of fear racing through her system. “Dead? I told you. You can't kill me.”

She sprinted from the room and up the stairs. Rounding the banister, she ran to the only door on the floor, Drew’s door. She threw herself at it. It swung open and she managed to catch herself before she hit the floor.

Stumbling, she vaulted forward and got caught in a pair of legs. With a scream, she leapt away from the dangling form.

“Drew,” she cried.

His eyes stared down at her, pinning her in place. His arms reached out for her. She turned and ran. But now the door was shut. Fumbling with the handle, the desperate urge to escape clawed at her.

Two cold, grey arms pulled her into an embrace from behind.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. “No, no.”

She looked at the being that held her. Its grey skin had already begun to sag and its eyes had turned a milky white. A horrific caricature of the man she knew.

It leaned down. From its dry, cracked lips, rasped two single words. “Avenge me.”

Laney jolted awake, her breath coming in gasps, her heart trying to pound its way out her chest. She clutched the blankets to her chest and looked wildly around the room. Her terror increased. Where the hell was she?

She swallowed and breathed out as her memories returned. Right. They were in Baltimore.

They’d flown in last night. She’d passed out almost as soon as she’d buckled herself in on the Chandler private jet. She vaguely recalled waking as the plane landed and stumbling to a waiting SUV. She’d fallen asleep again in the car and couldn’t remember waking after that.

The blanket was still clutched in a death grip to her chest. She forced herself to relax her hands, and smooth out the blankets. Images of Drew and Paul, Rocky and Mike, clashed in her head, dredging up a mixture of sadness and fear.

“You will not cry,” she ordered herself, feeling the familiar tightening of her chest.

She inspected the room, looking for something, anything, to take her attention from her thoughts. White plantation furniture highlighted the pale yellow of the walls and pristine white of the moldings. Splashes of color came in the shape of bright blue accents. The morning light shone through a set of French doors opposite the bed that led to a little patio, overlooking a garden in full bloom. And a giant bouquet of hydrangeas, freesia, and tulips in a crystal vase brought some of that garden inside.

She smiled. Nothing bad should be allowed in a room like this.

She inhaled, the peaceful surroundings chasing away the last aftertastes of fear. But an ache in her ribs reminded her of the last twenty-four hours. She stretched her arms above her head. Wincing, she held back a cry of pain. It felt like she’d been hit by a truck.

“Or attacked by a superhuman,” she mumbled. She needed a shower and then she could face the world.

Stifling a groan, she threw off the blankets. But please, God, let today be less exciting.

Thirty minutes later, she felt better. It was amazing what a really hot shower and fresh clothes could do for a person. She’d found new clothes, all in her size, waiting for her in the attached bath. She chose jeans, soft brown leather boots, and a pale lilac sweater.