A dozen feet ahead, Drake leaned against a lamppost. As usual, she was dressed in all black from her dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail to her black jeans and black T-shirt that hung loose over her frame, hiding her well-built muscles underneath. Leila only knew of them because she’d been on Drake’s wrong side before. The woman was a machine, even in her middle age.
Despite Drake’s botched effort to rescue Leila from a stalker—which included kidnapping, sedation drugs, and Leila waking up stranded in the middle of the desert—Soliman thought it was a good idea for Drake to be Leila’s personal trainer. It was as if he were intentionally making Leila uncomfortable.
Leila stopped, keeping a distance of at least three strides between her and Drake. Even after all these months of training together, she still couldn’t shake the image of Drake coming at her with a syringe in a dark alley like she did that night she kidnapped her.
“We’re doing a break-in tonight,” Drake said in a lazy drawl, raising her cigarette to her lips.
Leila didn’t respond, half-tempted to back out. She was too distracted, wouldn’t be able to give the mission her full attention. Not a good idea. Unfortunately, Drake wasn’t the most understanding person on the planet. Leila swallowed. She was going to have to be firm. Make her own demands for once.
“It took the police about fifteen minutes to respond to the bombing,” Drake continued before Leila could speak, “which allowed time for a few looters to rush in and grab whatever they could stuff into their pockets. We’ve tracked some of them down and we’ll make our first hit at a villa in Palm Hills.”
Leila raised her eyebrows. What would someone from a ritzy neighborhood like Palm Hills be doing looting a museum? She gritted her teeth and tightened her grip around the railing. This would be a chance to hit back at someone taking advantage of a tragic situation to line their own pockets while people like her mother and brother lay in the rubble. The more Leila thought about it, the more she wanted to find the thieves and throttle them instead of tormenting this innocent fence. Maybe the mission would be a good distraction. She would just have to figure out a good alibi to tell Xander.
“Tell me more.”
A puff of smoke curled from Drake’s lips as she observed Leila, her expression unreadable. Leila didn’t think she’d ever be able to read Drake—something that made her approach the woman with caution. Despite spending a few afternoons each week together over the last four months training in kickboxing and jujitsu, Drake never got personal.
“If you could break into the Weston Manor as a teenager, then this is right up your alley,” she said, holding her cigarette between two fingers. “They have a smart home system I can hack into. Should allow me to open a few doors. With a bit of luck, they’ll never know we were there.”
“The owners aren’t going to be home, are they?” Leila cringed. The Weston Manor wasn’t the best example.
Drake shrugged. “Probably.”
“Wait.” Leila sucked in her breath sharply. “You want us to break in while people are inside?”
“We have to hurry before these things vanish into some money launderer’s basement.”
Leila swallowed. Drake was right. But she’d done this countless times before, and Leila hadn’t. She’d only done her first Medjay mission two weeks ago, and even then, she’d ended up accidentally cutting off two fingers from one of the other Medjays’ hands.
“I… I can’t. I’m terrible at this. Montu will never forgive me about his fingers. He would have killed me if you hadn’t stopped him.” She rubbed her neck, although it no longer hurt.
“His fingers will be fine. It was just the tips.”
“It was more than the tips.”
“He’ll get over it. You’re new, you just need time and practice. Give it eighteen months and you’ll be at the top. You’re only four months in, so stick with me and you’ll be okay.” Drake shrugged. “Anyway, the smart system lets me turn lights on and off. There are even speakers around the house. It’s pretty neat. And if you do run into someone, don’t be nice. It’s your biggest weakness.” Drake glanced down, her gaze locked on the ashes floating from the tip of her cigarette. “Some of the people we deal with will put a bullet through your head without a second thought. You have to be willing to do the same. Sometimes it’s either them or you.”
Leila nodded, though her stomach twisted at the thought. Maybe Montu would get over the loss of his fingers, but she wouldn’t. It had been an accident, one she didn’t want to repeat. “I wouldn’t be able to shoot anyone if I wanted to, though.” She flashed a half-smile, then turned toward the Nile and leaned against the railing. “I don’t have a gun.”
Drake tossed her cigarette butt onto the concrete and grounded it with the toe of her black boot. She then reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a lump of brown paper.
Leila stared. Drake lifted it higher, urging her to take it. The paper crinkled as she wrapped her fingers around the package. Immediately, she knew what it was.
She lifted a flap on one end and peeked inside to see the handle of a gun. Her pulse quickened.
“You better hang on to that, then.”
Leila’s eyes shot up at Drake, wondering if this was another warning, like the museum. “Is there something going on?”
Drake pushed away from the lamppost. “There are a lot of people out there who don’t like us.”
“What about the bombing?” Leila asked quickly before Drake decided the conversation was over. Leila stuffed the gun into her bag, eager to get it out of her hands. “Do the police have any idea who did it? Why should I stay away from the museum?”
Drake took a moment to answer as she adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “The investigation is being kept quiet.”
Leila nodded to hide her disappointment. If Drake knew where all the stolen artifacts were going, then Leila had expected her to know more about the bombing.
“We’ll keep hunting down as many artifacts as we can and get them to Soliman as usual,” Drake went on. “But we need to avoid drawing any police attention to ourselves. My suggestion is to get out of town if we’re successful tonight. Keep your head low for a while.”
Leila frowned. What in the world was going on?
Before she could ask, Drake continued, “I’m going to go scuba diving myself. There’s a place in Sharm El-Sheikh that’s nice. Can’t keep your head any lower than at the bottom of the sea, right?”
“Um… I guess so.” Leila gave her a quizzical look. Scuba diving?
“Right.” Drake shoved her hands into her pockets and sauntered down the sidewalk. “I’ll meet you in Palm Hills at one.”
Leila watched her leave for a moment, then turned to face the direction of the museum. A gray wisp of smoke rose above the buildings that blocked it from view. As helpless as she was, and as weird as that conversation had been, she could at least do this. For her mother. For Sami.
CHAPTER 4
Leila spent the rest of the day at her aunt’s house in Beni Suef. As the night went on, she couldn’t stop herself from throwing glances at the clock that hung over the couch. It was a long drive back to Cairo.
Nur wiped her cheeks with a tissue. There hadn’t been any news on Aisha or Sami. No bodies, no remains, no traces. It was as if they had vanished in a puff.
“You can stay here tonight, dear.” Nur sniffed, pulling her black hair away from her face. A face similar to Aisha’s but with a more angular chin. “No need to exhaust yourself with a drive you can make in the morning.”
“That’s okay. It’s only two hours.” It wasn’t the drive Leila was worried about.
