on the bus with her. But there were a million cats in Egypt, and a lot of them were black. Surely it wasn’t the same one.
“Meow.”
The cat didn’t seem in an apologetic mood, but then, cats never apologized.
“You could at least pretend,” she said, taking the seat the cat had vacated.
To her surprise, the cat flopped over on his back at her feet, a low, pleading meow escaping his throat.
“Well, okay, you’re forgiven,” she said, feeling only a little foolish for talking to the cat.
As if he understood, the cat jumped onto her lap with a quickness and agility that was truly amazing. She stroked his head and was rewarded with a purr.
“I guess cats aren’t so bad,” she said, tickling him under the chin. “But don’t you belong to someone?”
He continued to purr, settling on her lap as she stroked him. Beyond the wall of the garden were the sounds of a large city.
Beth settled back into the chair. Having the cat on her lap gave her a sense of contentment. She was completely in darkness while around her the city pulsed with life. This was the role she knew so well, the one she’d played most of her life, that of observer. In her work she examined the artifacts of the past and from them wove the pattern of daily life. She knew the routine of the Indian women of the Southwest, the day-today struggle to feed a family and maintain life in an arid climate.
By examining those ancient remains, she could reconstruct a world that no longer existed. And it was a world often richer and more real than her own world. In the shards of pottery, she found evidence of wedding feasts and the celebration of everyday life. The long-dead people she studied were filled with emotion and the visible bonds of family. So far, other than the Corbets, she hadn’t found any of those emotional links.
She knew she should go back to bed, but the remnants of the bad dream kept her from attempting to go back to sleep.
She heard the outer gate of the garden creak open, and she leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the person coming in so late at night. A lone man walked into the garden with purpose and caught her attention even when she didn’t intend to stare. Halfway across the garden, he stopped.
He wore the flowing robes of the desert, and even in the semidarkness she could see that he stood tall and proud. Something about him was vaguely familiar, and she felt a strange increase in her pulse.
She couldn’t see his features, but she was certain she’d seen him before.
The guide! It was Omar Dukhan. He was standing in the garden looking up at her room.
Beth eased back into the chair so that she would be completely hidden from his view. The cat slipped from her lap and walked to the balcony railing. He stood with his tail twitching slightly, as if he, too, knew the identity of the man in the garden.
Beth watched in fascination as Omar continued toward the hotel, disappearing beneath her balcony as he approached the entrance. He was obviously staying in the hotel, too.
She started to call the cat to her when she heard a noise on the balcony next to her. The sound came from John Gilmore’s room, and she leaned out over the balcony to see what was going on.
John stood at the railing, watching as Omar entered the hotel. He remained a moment longer and then went back inside his room.
The cat ran into her room and began scratching at the door to the hall. She moved to the door and listened carefully before opening it a crack. John stepped from his room into the hallway, turned his head in both directions and then hurried toward the stairs that led to the first floor.
Even though she wore her nightgown and robe, Beth slipped into the hallway and began to follow John. The cat was at her side and gave her a sense of security that she knew was silly. He was only a cat, but his presence did help.
The hotel hallway was empty, filled with the silence of early morning. She started down the stairs and felt something tug at her gown. Surprised, she turned around to find the cat hooking his right paw into the lace of her nightshirt and holding firm.
As soon as she stopped, he darted in front of her and took the lead, stopping at the bottom of the stairs and peeking around the corner. He was acting as if he knew what they were doing—spying on John Gilmore and the intense Omar Dukhan.
The cat gave a low growl, which Beth took to mean that she should be very quiet. She eased up beside him and immediately saw the two men in conversation in the empty lobby.
The look on Omar’s face was inscrutable. He listened as John talked with great passion. Beth was too far away from the men to hear what they were saying. She glanced around the room, searching for a place that would conceal her while still allowing her to eavesdrop. There was nothing except a sofa near the men. She’d have to cross fifty feet of open floor to get to it. Impossible.
The cat patted her knee once with his paw and then darted across the room. He made a beeline for the sofa and slipped beneath it without either man noticing him.
Great! The cat could hear the conversation, but since he didn’t talk, he couldn’t relay what had been said. Beth fumed as she hid at the foot of the stairs. She didn’t like the idea of John Gilmore and Omar Dukhan meeting in secret.
Well, not exactly in secret, but pretty darn close. It was three in the morning. John had obviously been waiting on the balcony for Omar to return. Their meeting appeared to have had been prearranged. And that didn’t sit well with Beth.
Watching the two men, she saw that whatever Omar Dukhan might be feeling, he didn’t show a thing. He only listened and gave the occasional monosyllabic reply.
John, on the other hand, was red-faced, his hands gesticulating wildly. John’s temper was one of his most serious drawbacks as a leader. When a crew member messed up, that was the time he or she needed the most support. John’s response was always biting anger and cruel remarks, which destroyed a crew’s desire to work.
It seemed that John was angry with Omar, but about what? Beth felt her skin tingle and dance. The idea that there was some sort of pact between the two was unnerving. She didn’t trust either of them. That was what it boiled down to. A total lack of trust.
John abruptly turned away from Omar and started toward the stairs. Beth, caught unprepared, scampered back up the stairs and barely made it into her room before she heard John’s step in the second-floor hallway. But she was panting more with emotion than exertion as she sat down on her bed.
John walked past her room, entered his own and closed the door. Beth heard a faint scratching at her door and opened it. The black cat stood there, tail twitching. He brushed past her and leaped onto the bed, settling in among the pillows.
“Meow,” he said softly, curling around again in an invitation for her to come to bed.
“Okay,” she said. There was nothing else she could do. As much as she wanted to charge into John’s room and demand to know what he was up to, she knew he wouldn’t tell her. The only thing to do was bide her time and figure it out later. But figure it out she would. Until then, she’d double-check every arrangement Omar Dukhan made on her behalf.
And search for another guide.
I
