Trouble With Harry Read Free Page A

“What the hell are you talking about? And why would I want to rape you?”
    “Don’t play dumb. I’ve heard about your type. Preying on lone females. I have a good set of lungs on me. I’ll scream if you try anything.”
    Harry’s head spun, his mind grasping for answers. “Let me get this straight, I’m not in Iraq? I’m back in America?”
    The woman rolled her light green eyes. She’d almost be pretty if her hair wasn’t pulled back so severely. And her skin was translucent white sprinkled with a dusting of freckles, complimenting the amber tint of her eyebrows and the thin wisps curling around her ears. “No and yes.”
    “How the hell did I get here?”
    “That’s my question.”
    He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the fog. “One moment, Will and I were opening the sarcophagus—”
    “Who’s Will?” The woman darted a glance around her.
    “My assistant on the dig.” Harry looked around too. “And apparently not here.”
    “So you’re one of the men from the Iraq dig?” Her hand wavered for a moment, then she shifted the stick to the other. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re here and without clothing.”
    “I told you, I don’t know.” His head ached, and the damp of the warehouse seeped through his bare skin into his bones. He shivered. “I don’t suppose you have something more substantial than this apron for me to wear?”
    “You’re the one running around without clothes in the middle of a cool snap.”
    “Nevertheless, I am a bit cold.” He reached behind him to try to close the edges of the apron to stop the breeze cooling his backside.
    She didn’t budge. “So you’re telling me you were at the archeological dig in Iraq, and you don’t know how you got here?”
    He scrubbed his hand through his hair and smiled sheepishly. How strange he must look. “All I can remember is touching the stone of Azhi and the rest is a blur.”
    “Huh?” Her eyes narrowed. “What’s the stone of Azhi?”
    How much should he tell a complete stranger? He’d spent so much time searching. “Does it matter?”
    “You really don’t know what happened?”
    “Honest.”
    “And you were at the dig in Iraq?” The stick bobbed and lowered an inch.
    “Yes.” How could he make her believe? “I’d been working on that site since nineteen.”
    Her head tilted to the side. “Nineteen what?”
    “
Nineteen nineteen
.”
    “You didn’t answer my question. Nineteen what? Since you were nineteen?”
    “No.” What was her problem? Didn’t she understand English? He spoke in slow, deliberate words. “The year
nineteen nineteen
.”
    “You mean nineteen ninety-nine.”
    She’d accused him of being a lunatic only now, Harry could swear she was the crazy one. “No, I meant
nineteen nineteen
.”
    “The next thing you’ll tell me you’re, what…” Her eyes tipped toward the ceiling. “…one hundred years old.”
    “No, I just turned thirty.”
    The stick leveled off, chest high. “What year were you born?” She shot the question at him, her words brisk and clear.
    “1894,” he answered without hesitation.
    Her mouth dropped slightly, her eyes widening for a brief moment. Then she glanced around the warehouse. “Oh, I get it, this is a joke.” She laughed out loud, a smile curving her lips, softening the tight lines of her face. When she allowed her features to relax, she could almost be considered pretty.
    “What’s so funny?”
    “You. This situation. Whoever put you up to this charade? Which one of my colleagues? Who was it?”
    “What charade?”
    “You either have a really bad memory, can’t add or are pulling the hell out of my leg.” She shook the fractured board at him. “Which one is it?”
    Feeling more confused by the moment, he snapped, “I’ve always been very good with my numbers, and I have an exceptional memory.”
    “That leaves pulling my leg.” She poked his chest. “I’m calling the police.”
    “Why, what year were you