He was a very sexy man. But desire had no place on this expedition.
“Omar’s going on the dive with us,” Beth said. “He knows how to dive and he’s interested in the sunken cities.”
“Terrific,” Mauve said. “I’m very interested in seeing what he’s hiding under those flowing robes.”
Beth laughed despite herself. “You are a wicked girl,” she said to her friend.
“Wicked but honest. You’re curious, too, aren’t you? Unless you’ve already had a little preview,” Mauve teased.
“Get your mind out of the bedroom and onto your work,” Beth said, finishing her roll and rising from the table. “I’ll meet everyone at the boat. I want to make sure all the equipment is loaded.”
WELL, I’VE LEARNED two valuable lessons today. The hard rolls served for breakfast may satisfy the humanoids, but not me. I want sausage or bacon or an omelet with shrimp and Parmesan cheese. Hard roll—yuck. Not even butter can make it palatable.
Probably of more importance is the second thing I’ve learned by hiding under Miss Explorer’s table. Omar Dukhan hedged the truth. He and John Gilmore were not talking about the airport incident. John was actually accusing our fearless guide of tampering with the air tanks. Now that’s interesting. Why would Gilmore jump to the conclusion that Omar had gone into his room and done that?
Diving tank. Boat. Water. I’d rather face lions and tigers and bears. I’d rather face the Wicked Witch of the West and all her flying monkeys. I’d even rather face the Munchkins, though I don’t want to hear them sing, than get on another boat. But I’ll be on the Memphis or my name isn’t Familiar.
I don’t trust Omar the desert guide, and I don’t like John Gilmore. I think Miss Explorer has put herself behind the eight ball in this entire adventure. It’s up to me to see that nothing bad happens to her.
OMAR HEFTED his diving tanks onto the deck of the Memphis and then began to go over the other gear that was already loaded. The expedition was professional and expensive. He could only wonder again where Beth Bradshaw had gotten the funding.
He had to hand it to her; she was not only smart, she was prepared.
She was right on target, going to Herakleion, one of the sunken cities, to look for specific directions to the City of Con. It was in the coastal city that Con had performed many of her most impressive feats. She had predicted the coming of the Romans and the romance between Cleopatra and Mark Antony. Con had warned of the dangers of the liaison, but her warnings had gone unheeded. Queen Cleopatra, the last of the Ptolemies, had died by her own hand, a snake clutched to her bosom. Alexandria, jewel of the Mediterranean, and Egypt, the center of culture for the past century, were forever changed.
And Con and her followers had taken to the desert, hunted like dogs.
But Con and her followers had not been destroyed. They had built a village where the world leaders often sent emissaries to have dreams foretold and to buy a glimpse of the future.
Taking her gift of seeing the future, Con had gone into exile, but she was still very much a presence. So much so that legends began to spring up about her. Her name was whispered in all the halls of power. Assassins were sent to destroy her.
None succeeded.
Omar knew all this. He knew it was not just legend, but truth. He knew because he was descended from the lineage of Con. And he was the protector of her palace.
“Dukhan!”
Omar was pulled out of his reverie by the shout from the dock. He stood up and saw Beth Bradshaw and her party as they approached the boat. The man who’d hailed him was in the lead, John Gilmore.
“What are you doing here?” John asked him angrily.
Omar didn’t bother to answer. He knew his lack of courtesy would infuriate the scientist, and he was right.
“Are you deaf, as well as stubborn?” John asked.
“John!” Beth’s voice was sharp. “What do you think you’re doing? Mr. Dukhan is my guest on this trip.”
“Guest? He’s hired help. And he went into my room last night and—”
“Choose your words carefully,” Omar said in a deadly voice. “In my country, a man’s honor is worth dying for.”
John stared at Omar with open dislike.
“What’s this about?” Beth demanded.
“Nothing,” John said, looking away.
“John, Omar is a hired hand, but so are you,” Beth said pointedly. “Now put aside whatever it is that’s eating you or go back to the hotel. I don’t have time for temper fits and rudeness.”
She glanced once at Omar, and he saw the embarrassment in her eyes. She was ashamed of her countryman, and Omar felt a twinge of guilt for deliberately provoking the scientist. John Gilmore was such an easy mark, though.
John brushed past him, and Omar assisted the other members of Beth’s party aboard. The site of the sunken city was fifteen miles off the coast, still in the Bay of Aboukir. Omar knew the craft Beth had rented would get them there in good time, and he looked out at the water, a beautiful aqua that promised adventure and a cool break from the heat that was already building.
As the boat left the dock, Omar kept his distance, aware of the surreptitious glances that the members of the crew cast his way. One of the women, a vibrant redhead, winked at him, and he flashed her a smile. But his gaze kept drifting back to Beth.
She wore a blue, one-piece swimsuit, which though conservative, showed off her figure. Her waist was tiny, and her hips swelled beneath it. Though she was short, her legs were tapered and beautifully proportioned. She was a lovely woman, with her dark hair sparkling in the sun.
He was watching her when he noticed the black cat sit down at her feet. There were thousands of black cats in Alexandria, but this one was…unique. He felt the cat’s golden gaze on him, and he examined the feline. To his amusement the cat stood up and walked right to him. It jumped up on the seat beside him and with a deliberate action, hooked both front claws into the flesh of his thigh.
“Hey!” He was more startled than injured.
Everyone around stopped what they were doing and stared at him as he gently tried to disengage the cat. Unfortunately the animal only hooked his claws in farther and gave a low, warning growl.
Beth saw what was happening and hurried over. She carefully picked up the cat, unhooking the claws. The black devil began to purr in her arms and licked her chin.
“My goodness,” Beth said, cradling the cat. “Are you okay?” she asked Omar.
“Fine,” he said, rubbing his leg. He eyed the cat. “Is he yours?”
“He’s been following me.” Beth laughed when she realized how sinister that sounded. “Really, he has.”
Omar found that he was smiling in amusement at her. There were many things about Beth Bradshaw that surprised and delighted him. She was supposed to be a cool,
