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 ONLY CAUGHT the tail end of the conversation between Desert Hawk and John Gilmore, but it wasn’t a happy exchange. Obviously John had accused Hawk of something, Hawk had denied it, and then hot words had flown. All from the mouth of John. Hawkman hardly said a word.
I’m wondering if John was huffy about Omar’s failing to meet them in the airport, or if he’s already discovered that his air tank has been tampered with. Or maybe there’s something else going on. How did John know that Omar would be coming in through the garden gate? Did they have a rendezvous time arranged?
There are many questions to be answered, but right now this kitty needs some shut-eye. Dinner at the Abbula was a little too rich. Eleanor ordered for me, and then allowed me to sample all the goodies they had left over. Women! They know that the way to a cat’s heart is through his stomach. But mine is a little bloated. Ah, I remember the good old days when I could eat five platefuls of food and never have a moment of regret.
This aging business is getting to be a little annoying. If I’m going to keep my svelte feline figure, I’m going to have to cut down on the rich food or beef up the old exercise regime.
For now, though, I’m in bed with a very sexy little anthropologist. I’ll bet she would be excellent at some under-the-sheet explorations. Ah, some man is going to be very, very lucky when she finally settles on him.
Until tomorrow!
Chapter Three
Beth sat at the breakfast table, a fresh crusty roll and a cup of coffee in front of her, when she saw Omar walk into the room.
His gaze sought hers instantly and he came toward her.
“Shall I accompany you on this part of your exploration?” he asked.
Beth hadn’t anticipated that the desert guide would be interested in diving.
“You’re welcome to come if you want,” she said, studying him for any reaction. “It isn’t necessary, you know.”
His dark eyes held hers. “The sunken cities are relatively unexplored. I’ve read about them, and I’d like to see them.”
“Do you dive?” Beth was surprised and couldn’t hide it.
Omar’s smile was cool and amused. “Is it so hard to believe that a man of the desert might be accomplished in scuba diving?”
“Well, yes,” Beth said. “There isn’t a whole lot of opportunity to dive in the desert. I didn’t mean it as a slight. I wouldn’t expect someone who grew up in New York City to know how to water-ski, either.”
“Point taken,” he said, the hardness of his face relaxing a little.
The waiter came and set a cup of coffee in front of Omar.
“Do you mind?” Omar asked.
“Please, join me,” Beth said. She hadn’t expected to see Omar so early, and she certainly hadn’t expected to have breakfast with him. “How are the plans for the overland trip going? Did you secure more camels?”
“Everything is in order,” he assured her. “Please, don’t worry. I’ve led many Americans into the desert and brought all of them back safely.”
“Have you ever been on an archaeological exploration before?” Beth asked.
Omar hesitated, his dark eyes steady as he stared at her. “Yes.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“No.” He sipped his coffee, finally breaking eye contact.
“Why not?”
He hesitated. “Perhaps you can’t understand this, but I’ll tell you, anyway. When foreigners come into my land to examine and explore, it’s like locusts coming to rob my people of their heritage. Foreign scientists discover valuable artifacts, and they steal them for foreign museums or worse, private collections. Egypt is robbed of her past.”
“I’m not interested in taking anything out of Egypt,” Beth said quickly. “Everything will remain here.”
“Perhaps you mean that when you say it, but you have no control over the people who will follow you. You cannot guarantee there won’t be political deals made by the leaders of my country and others. Many men believe that trading the past for the future is acceptable. I don’t happen to share that belief.”
Beth’s hand clenched around her butter knife. “Omar, if we can find the City of Con, it would bring a lot of worldwide attention to Egypt. Con, I believe, was a flesh-and-blood woman and a seer who ruled with as much power as any of the pharaohs. It would change history.”
His dark eyes were bright with emotion. “Perhaps Egypt doesn’t want the world’s attention. Perhaps we wish to keep our history to ourselves. I’m not so certain that it’s our responsibility to