returned, but he left his chilled glass on the bar.
“I think you know,” she said, but when he gave no indication that he did, she added, “A certain artifact has recently been transported here. An artifact that belongs to me.”
“To you?” He raised a brow.
“My father and I were the ones who found it.”
Lucas had been under the impression that he was the one who had found it. “So that means you own it?”
“It means that it belongs to the Egyptian people.”
“That might not be how everyone sees it.”
“You mean the Third Reich?” she said, dismissively. “Well, they wouldn’t, would they?”
“I mean the United States.”
“But do you intend to keep it?”
Lucas did not know the answer to that one, nor was he immune to the issues inherent in cultural appropriation—no Greek who had ever seen the Elgin Marbles adorning a wing of the British Museum instead of the Parthenon from which they had been stripped was unfamiliar with the feeling. But he still had no idea who this woman really was.
“Conceding absolutely nothing,” he said, even his empty eye socket throbbing now, “I still don’t know what you’re getting at. Are you here to reclaim the artifact in question?”
“Eventually,” she said, “yes. But given the state of the world right now, it is probably for the best that it’s here right now. For safekeeping.”
“Safekeeping,” he repeated.
“And further study.”
She sipped her drink, and he took a slug from his own. He liked this bar, but it looked like he’d have to find a new place.
“I doubt you even know what you have,” she said.
“And you do?”
“Yes.”
“Then why don’t you tell me.”
“In good time, once you’ve learned to trust me.”
She was spot-on there.
“Right now, it’s essential that you understand just one thing.”
He waited.
“It’s more than what it seems. Much more.”
“What isn’t?”
“Now you’re being glib. Don’t be. That box holds secrets you can’t even guess at.”
Whoever she was, he was beginning to think she was unhinged. And for that matter, what proof had she shown that she worked for the Egyptian ministry? For all he knew, she was an Axis spy. Throwing back the last of his drink, he tossed a couple of bills on the bar and slipped off his stool.
“Look, Mrs. Rashid—”
“Miss Rashid, not that it’s of any consequence.”
“Miss Rashid. I’m just a lowly professor, and the work I do is nowhere near as glamorous as you seem to think.”
“You need my help,” she said, pinning him with her gaze.
And God help him, but that look prodded awake something in him that had lain dormant for a long time. Something that had nothing whatsoever to do with ancient artifacts.
“You can find me at the Nassau Inn,” she said. “You will want to.”
Picking up his briefcase, he headed for the door.
“If you open that sarcophagus without me,” he heard her call out as the door was easing shut behind him, “you will live to regret it.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Well, Simone thought, swiveling her stool back toward the bar, that didn’t go as well as she’d hoped. She should have relied more upon her feminine wiles—she had noted a certain glimmer in his one good eye, and, truth be told, she might have responded to it under different circumstances than these—but it was too late now.
She took a hearty swallow of her Campari and smoothed her skirt over her lap.
The bartender studiously attended to wiping some glasses clean.
She knew she had no one but herself to blame. Despite her intelligence and vast erudition, she had never mastered the gentle art of persuasion. While there might be some people who were natural diplomats, she wasn’t one of them. She was forever butting heads with people, challenging them when she should have been convincing them, raising hackles where she should have been raising support. She had always been in a hurry, without always knowing where she wanted to go; she was too
“I think you know,” she said, but when he gave no indication that he did, she added, “A certain artifact has recently been transported here. An artifact that belongs to me.”
“To you?” He raised a brow.
“My father and I were the ones who found it.”
Lucas had been under the impression that he was the one who had found it. “So that means you own it?”
“It means that it belongs to the Egyptian people.”
“That might not be how everyone sees it.”
“You mean the Third Reich?” she said, dismissively. “Well, they wouldn’t, would they?”
“I mean the United States.”
“But do you intend to keep it?”
Lucas did not know the answer to that one, nor was he immune to the issues inherent in cultural appropriation—no Greek who had ever seen the Elgin Marbles adorning a wing of the British Museum instead of the Parthenon from which they had been stripped was unfamiliar with the feeling. But he still had no idea who this woman really was.
“Conceding absolutely nothing,” he said, even his empty eye socket throbbing now, “I still don’t know what you’re getting at. Are you here to reclaim the artifact in question?”
“Eventually,” she said, “yes. But given the state of the world right now, it is probably for the best that it’s here right now. For safekeeping.”
“Safekeeping,” he repeated.
“And further study.”
She sipped her drink, and he took a slug from his own. He liked this bar, but it looked like he’d have to find a new place.
“I doubt you even know what you have,” she said.
“And you do?”
“Yes.”
“Then why don’t you tell me.”
“In good time, once you’ve learned to trust me.”
She was spot-on there.
“Right now, it’s essential that you understand just one thing.”
He waited.
“It’s more than what it seems. Much more.”
“What isn’t?”
“Now you’re being glib. Don’t be. That box holds secrets you can’t even guess at.”
Whoever she was, he was beginning to think she was unhinged. And for that matter, what proof had she shown that she worked for the Egyptian ministry? For all he knew, she was an Axis spy. Throwing back the last of his drink, he tossed a couple of bills on the bar and slipped off his stool.
“Look, Mrs. Rashid—”
“Miss Rashid, not that it’s of any consequence.”
“Miss Rashid. I’m just a lowly professor, and the work I do is nowhere near as glamorous as you seem to think.”
“You need my help,” she said, pinning him with her gaze.
And God help him, but that look prodded awake something in him that had lain dormant for a long time. Something that had nothing whatsoever to do with ancient artifacts.
“You can find me at the Nassau Inn,” she said. “You will want to.”
Picking up his briefcase, he headed for the door.
“If you open that sarcophagus without me,” he heard her call out as the door was easing shut behind him, “you will live to regret it.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Well, Simone thought, swiveling her stool back toward the bar, that didn’t go as well as she’d hoped. She should have relied more upon her feminine wiles—she had noted a certain glimmer in his one good eye, and, truth be told, she might have responded to it under different circumstances than these—but it was too late now.
She took a hearty swallow of her Campari and smoothed her skirt over her lap.
The bartender studiously attended to wiping some glasses clean.
She knew she had no one but herself to blame. Despite her intelligence and vast erudition, she had never mastered the gentle art of persuasion. While there might be some people who were natural diplomats, she wasn’t one of them. She was forever butting heads with people, challenging them when she should have been convincing them, raising hackles where she should have been raising support. She had always been in a hurry, without always knowing where she wanted to go; she was too
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