his dire mutterings to himself, since you seem to have taken them so much to heart. He also said it could have been damaged in transport.”
“Mahmoud’s gas tank didn’t get sugar in it by accident.”
“Mahmoud isn’t exactly Mr. Congeniality. The man collects enemies the way dogs collect fleas. Look, Tim, there are times when I appreciate your stubbornness—”
“You ought to. You could teach a camel the meaning of the word. Hey!” he said as they rounded the outcropping. “Looks like our timing is right on the money.”
They had come out on a rise just above the camp, which was located in one of the larger wadis—a much wider channel than the one where she liked to run. A cloud of dust was moving slowly along the dry watercourse, nearly obscuring the truck that caused it.
“If we hurry, we can get there about the same time as Mahmoud,” she said, picking up the pace.
“About your morning run—”
“Tim,” she said warningly.
“Nora, even if terrorists aren’t lurking nearby, it isn’t safe for you to go running alone. You could turn an ankle or get bitten by something nasty.”
“That’s why I always run in the same place. If I’m late getting back, you’ll know where to come looking for me.”
“I don’t want to have to come looking for you. Why can’t you exercise in camp?”
“Aside from the fact that I enjoy running?”
“Yeah, aside from that.”
She shrugged. Her reasons were too private to speak aloud. Wildness calls to wildness, she thought. When she was running along a twisting wadi, away from everyone, she could allow herself to dream. Weren’t dreams as important to life as safety? Yet maybe…maybe she’d been dreaming too much lately. Dreaming about one thing, the same thing, over and over. The man. The one she would never see again.
The truck pulled up in a cloud of dust just as Nora reached level ground, and every member of her small crew descended upon it. The small crowd wasn’t enough to block her view, but the truck itself kept her from seeing who climbed out of the passenger side. She lengthened her stride, as curious as the others were about their visitor.
Mahmoud headed straight for the cookstove in front of the main tent, where a pot of coffee was perfuming the air. Nora greeted him briefly.
Their guest was speaking to Gamal in fluent Arabic, his back to her, when she rounded the front of the truck. He’s Egyptian, then, she thought. Not surprising, if he came from the museum. His clothing, however, spoke of the West—khaki shorts much like her own, a plain pullover shirt and Nikes. A lot of Egyptians did wear western clothing, though the more devout would have disapproved of his shorts.
He wore no hat, which made her frown, but she would hold off on the lecture until she saw if he was foolish enough to do that in the heat of the day. His short hair was as black as her own, and his body told her he was younger than she’d expected—young and attractive, with a lean, muscular body.
The sight of those masculine shoulders, slim hips and strong legs made her hormones kick in with a pleasant little rush, but Nora didn’t doubt her ability to keep any tickle of desire under control. She’d been doing it for years.
DeLaney, however, was another story. The youthful college student might start mooning after their guest instead of Tim.
Of course, Tim would probably be relieved if she did. Nora was smiling when she spoke. “Welcome to the dig. I’m Dr. Nora Lowe.”
“Yes,” he said, in a low, pleasant voice as he turned to face her. “I know.”
His eyes met hers. Amber eyes. Clear as sunlight trapped in time, smiling down at her.
Chapter 2
Alex looked at the astonished face of the woman he’d crossed an ocean to deceive, and his mind emptied of all but scattered impressions. Smooth skin, tanned to honey. Unpainted lips. Eyes the color of the dawn sky overhead, startling pale in that tanned face…soft blue eyes that looked as dazed as he felt.
A single thought appeared from nowhere: It couldn’t really happen like this, could it?
Immediately, he was irritated, and the irritation cleared his mind. What kind of question was that? What couldn’t happen? Because the question made no sense, he shoved it away.
Long habit had him smoothing his features into an amused grin. “We weren’t properly introduced the last time we met, were we? I’m Alex Bok.” He held out his hand.
The dazed look hadn’t cleared from her eyes. “Alex.” She took his hand and he felt a second shock, but this one was purely sensual. Understandable, and distinctly pleasant. “Alex Bok?” Her gaze sharpened, and he knew she’d recognized the name. “Any relation to Franklin and Elizabeth Bok?”
He smiled crookedly. “You could say that. They’re my parents.”
She laughed. “Good heavens, you’re an archaeologist! If you knew what all I had imagined…”
He hadn’t released her hand after shaking it. Nora Lowe had narrow palms, with the callouses of a woman who works with her hands. She wore no rings. Her skin was warm…and she smelled of lilacs. “Why, what did you think I was?”
“Oh, all sorts of things—a smuggler, a reporter, a pilgrim. Archaeologist never made the list.” She tilted her head. “I think we have a friend in common. Myrna Lancaster.”
It took him a moment to place the name. “Myrna. Of course. We got to know each other on a dig in the Eastern Desert two years ago.” He’d been on the trail of a particularly bloody assassin, and Myrna had provided welcome relief from the grim hunt. A delightfully energetic young woman, he recalled, and no more interested in permanent entanglements than he had been.
A short, curvy young woman with glasses that wouldn’t stay up on her dot of a nose tugged at Nora’s sleeve to get her attention. “So who is he?”
“The son of the couple who wrote the book on Old Kingdom pottery. Literally.” That came from the man Alex had seen returning to camp with Nora when he arrived. “You must have studied it in one of your classes.” He didn’t sound excited. More like suspicious.
Or jealous?
“He’s also the man I found in the Negev,” Nora said. Then, apparently realizing Alex still held her hand, she flushed and pulled it away.
“The one who was stabbed?” The young woman’s eyes widened behind her glasses in delicious horror. “By bandits? The one you stumbled over when you were visiting your old professor?”
Nora glanced at Alex apologetically. “The story was too good not to share.”
He’d counted on it. “That was inevitable, I suppose.” He reached back inside the truck, taking out an olive-colored duffel bag, and bent to pull an envelope from its side pocket. “This is from Dr. Ibrahim. I gather it introduces me and explains why he sent me.”
She took
