Until now.
Xander rubbed his chin. An ancient Egyptian organization. Interesting. He made a mental note to ask Leila if she had any research on this. He’d heard of the Medjay—the elite paramilitary police force of ancient Egypt but had never studied up on them.
All that could wait. He refocused his attention on the file. More specifically, on the wall painting that had been left behind. The photograph showed a sloppy cluster of hieroglyphs, the black paint running down the brick walls. Beneath it, words had been painted in bold letters: LONDON ONE WEEK.
His stomach twisted. They were planning another strike.
Heart pounding, he scrolled farther down to see the main suspect. Whoever this trash was was going down. The image slowly loaded on the screen, and his jaw dropped.
No. There had to be some mistake…
His chest tightened as he scrolled up and down, willing the image to change, praying that it was some technical error.
The bedroom door handle clicked, and the door swung open. Xander snapped the laptop shut and tossed it to the middle of the couch.
Leila shuffled into the room, her shoulders still slumped. She leaned against the doorframe, one hand tugging at a strand of hair. “You don’t need the car, do you? I think I’m going to drive down to Nur’s. It’ll be easier than calling back and forth all day.” Her gaze landed on the laptop. “Is everything okay?”
“Just reading the news,” he said, trying to keep his voice normal. That wasn’t exactly a lie, was it? He held out his arms and she slid into them. He swallowed to get rid of the tightness in his throat. “The damage looks pretty bad.”
She nestled her face between his neck and shoulder. “I know.”
Hoping she wouldn’t notice his racing pulse, he held her tightly. How had it come to this?
He was going to kill Dr. Adel Soliman.
CHAPTER 3
The three-inch tall wooden camel had been hand-carved by a deadly janbiya knife much too large for the job. The crudely cut figure held its proud head high on top of a long, curved neck. Protruding from the body were four long, knobbly legs. The camel had crossed the Sahara, survived an explosion that brought down a mountain, and now hung from Leila’s rearview mirror. She’d hung it in an obvious place as a reminder—a reminder of struggle, of endurance, of life.
But it didn’t bring her any hope this time. At this moment, she couldn’t feel anything at all. Every emotion had already been emptied in useless tears. She tore her gaze from the figure and focused on the Egyptian Museum through the bug-speckled windshield.
Her aunt had told her not to go, that it would only upset her more. But she couldn’t get close now. The grounds were taped off, police cars crowding the street out front. They’d released the list of casualties a few minutes ago. In addition to her mother and Sami, she knew four of the workers who perished. The others had been tourists. There was nothing she could do; no other questions to ask.
She swallowed down the hard lump in her throat, dried her cheeks with the back of her hand, then got out of her boxy Suzuki Jimny. Oncoming vehicles honked as she dashed to the safety of the sidewalk. She found a spot next to a lamppost across the street from the museum and stood for a moment, her arms dangling at her side. It couldn’t hurt to ask one more time. Or would it be better to do that at the police station? Drive to every hospital until she found them? Or should she just drive to Nur’s house so they could wait for the news together?
But she was here, at the scene. A part of her couldn’t accept that her mother and brother were really gone. Either they were buried under the rubble, or they had somehow made it out. But why was her mother’s phone off? Why hadn’t she contacted anyone?
Leila watched the sliver of smoke rise from the gaping hole. She’d been separated from her mother for twenty years, believed her to be dead. It had only been two years since Leila found out that Faris had been behind it all, holding Aisha captive the entire time.
The moment she saw her mother’s face for the first time in twenty years—and to find out she even had a brother—had been the most exhilarating, confusing, wonderful moment in her life. They couldn’t be ripped away like this again. They had to still be here. And Leila needed to know.
Her mind made up, she stepped off the curb and started across the street. Halfway there, her phone buzzed in her shoulder bag. Heart pounding, she hurried back on the sidewalk and dug through her bag. Was her mom finally calling? Or was it Nur, wondering what was taking her so long? Maybe it was the police?
Please let it be good news. She found her phone and fumbled to turn on the display. There were no new notifications. Something in her bag buzzed again.
Then it hit her. The burner.
She rummaged through her bag again until she found the slim black phone in a side pocket. Disappointment coursed through her as she pulled the phone from her bag. Sure enough, a number lit up the screen.
The timing couldn’t have been worse. She licked her lips, debating whether she should answer or not. But with one more look at the museum, she remembered why she’d wanted to join the Medjay. While her oath had been to protect and rescue artifacts under complete secrecy, her heart was set on justice. It was a way to get back at the looters, the thieves, and the black-market traders like Faris. While it was dangerous, and illegal, a part of her felt like it was what she was meant to do… just like her father. He’d never told her, but he’d also been a part of it. He kept that secret until his dying breath.
She pressed answer and put the phone to her ear.
No greeting came. Just Drake’s voice, deep-toned and sharp, that rasped, “Get away from the museum.”
Leila jolted and scanned the area. A small crowd had gathered at the crime scene tape. A few cars turned at the corner to follow the detour. There was no sign of Drake.
“What? Why?”
“Meet me on the Sixth of October Bridge in ten minutes.”
“In ten minutes?”
Drake never answered, so Leila hit the end call button and tossed the phone into her bag.
Get away from the museum. What was that all about?
A chill trickled down her spine as she threw another glance at the building. The smoke had faded, police went in and out, reporters and curious onlookers craned their necks to see more. As much as she wanted to find her mother and brother, something about Drake’s warning didn’t sit right in her gut. Get away. As if she shouldn’t be seen—or caught—near it.
Leila stepped backwards, putting distance between herself and the museum. Who knew what was going on behind the scenes? Did this somehow put the Medjay in danger?
She chewed on her bottom lip. Her family could still be so close, maybe just beyond that crumbling brick wall. But maybe Drake had some insider info… Tearing her gaze from the museum, she turned and walked toward the Nile, her pace brisk. Before the museum vanished from sight, she threw one last glance at it over her shoulder.
Her mind whirled as she walked. Just that morning, she’d been blissfully unaware of the horrors that would follow. Why did she have to yell at her mother like that? What she wouldn’t give to have that moment back, to know her mother and little brother were safe.
As if of their own accord, her feet carried her down the sidewalk until she reached the Nile. She followed the river, allowing her gaze to wander to the boats floating with the current. If only she could be on one, just letting the water carry her to some unknown destination and away from the grim reality she would have to face.
The scent of tobacco smoke hung in the air, growing stronger as she walked. She tore her gaze from the river’s waves.
