The woman growled in surprise. Leila spun around and yanked, keeping a death grip on her arm. Her antagonist landed with a satisfying thud on the ground.
Now focused on getting the gun out of the woman’s hands, Leila wasn’t prepared for the boot that swung. The sole smacked her jaw and her head whipped to the side.
Her ears rang, and her knees buckled. When her body crumpled to the ground, another kick knocked the air from her lungs.
“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” the woman sneered as Leila looked up at her from the grimy cobblestone, clutching at her chest.
The gun was now trained on her, the assassin’s finger on the trigger. This couldn’t be happening. Leila scooted backward, away from the woman, though she knew it was hopeless. There was no way out.
These were going to be her last moments, stuck in an alley in downtown Cairo. If she hadn’t canceled the call with Xander, she wouldn’t be here. What she wouldn’t give to hear his voice one more time.
“Why are you doing this?” Leila croaked.
“I have to kill you.” The woman took a deliberate step toward her, now so close Leila could smell the cigarette smoke that saturated her clothing. “Someone sent me to do it. Any idea who? Or why?”
Faris had to be behind this but Leila couldn’t bring herself to say it. Her eyes burned as she held back the tears. She swallowed the painful lump in her throat and raised her chin defiantly. Her heart felt like it would burst. Why did this have to happen now, only hours before she’d see Xander again? Slowly, she rose to her feet. She wouldn’t go down like a mouse.
The woman squared her shoulders, taking in a deep, agitated breath. “I don’t like to kill innocents.”
An assassin with a conscience? That had to be a first. Leila swallowed, and unable to help herself, she managed to rasp out, “Then don’t.”
The woman’s lips curved downward and she tilted her head studiously. After a moment, she lowered her arm.
Leila watched her in disbelief. She was going to let her go? Just like that?
In one swift movement, the woman swung her arm around, striking Leila across the face with the gun.
She stumbled back, her hand flying to her cheek. As the shock wore off, her face began to burn with pain. She glanced at her fingers, red and wet, and her stomach hardened with dread.
The assassin swung again. Leila leaned away, arms flailing, unable to avoid the blow to her neck.
The woman held her against the wall, her fist pressing on her neck. Leila squirmed but it was useless. A sting pricked at her skin, growing in intensity and rooting her to the spot until the woman finally backed away.
Weary darkness overcoming her, Leila’s knees scraped the pavement and her vision blurred. The last thing she saw was the empty syringe in the woman’s hand, before everything went black.
CHAPTER 5
The headache woke Leila up. She squeezed her eyes shut against the pressure. Droplets of sweat trickled down her back and legs while she roasted in a merciless heat. With a groan, she rolled onto her stomach. Her arms shook uncontrollably as she propped herself on one elbow, then the other.
She opened her eyes and waited a moment until her vision came into focus, revealing coarse sand underneath her shadow.
Sand? Why am I lying in the sand?
The question swirled in her mind. Where was she even supposed to be right now? It certainly wasn’t lying here in a sandbox.
With a gasp, she pushed herself upright. She was supposed to be working at the excavation today. Professor Soliman wanted some scans done.
Was that today? Or did she have the day off?
Squinting, she studied her surroundings, the dry terrain full of jagged rocks. A watery haze danced between them and the cloudless sky.
Where am I? Despite the urge to stand up and get a better look at her whereabouts, her legs sat like lead on the ground. She held her head in her hands and tried to recall the last thing she could remember. She hadn’t been drinking, had she? It had been ages since she’d touched any alcohol. Then she remembered. She’d worked late at the lab.
But she couldn’t remember going home.
She rubbed the grogginess from her eyes. She should get out of the sun and do something about the sweat and dirt. A long, cold shower would do wonders. She skimmed her tongue over her cracked lips. Her mouth ached for water. Time to go home and have a drink—she could figure out what happened later.
Her legs wobbled as she stood and her body swayed. She stumbled to the nearest boulder, leaned against the hot, scratchy surface, and closed her eyes until the dizziness went away.
She shifted her weight from foot to foot until her legs steadied, then opened her eyes again and squinted at the horizon. The spot wasn’t familiar, but it couldn’t be far from Saqqara.
With a palm against the side of her pounding temple, she staggered across sand and rocks, then inched her way up an incline. The city should be visible from the top.
The toe of her canvas shoe smashed against a rock and a sharp pain burst through her foot. Growling, she tumbled to the ground. She bit back a curse and lifted her arm. Dirt and blood scraped across her elbow. With a groan, she crawled up the rest of the incline. Upon reaching the top, she plopped herself into the sand and peered into the distance.
Her mouth dropped open.
The desert continued for miles. The wind whistled a lonely song across the ground, puffs of dust blowing along to the tune. She blinked. She must be looking in the wrong direction. Her throat constricted as she scooted in a circle. The same scene greeted her from all angles. Miles and miles of sandy wasteland.
Her stomach turned to a block of lead. Saqqara had to be there. The flat roofed houses. The step pyramids. The Nile. A hot tear ran down her cheek.
“No!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, her voice lost in the dunes.
She dug her fingers into her ratty hair. Maybe Saqqara was near. Maybe she had wandered a bit too far and needed to go back the other way. Except which way was the right way? What had she been thinking coming out here in the first place?
An image flashed before her eyes: cowering, cornered in a dark alley. A strange woman grinned at her and held the barrel of a gun to her forehead. Framed by straight, black hair, the woman’s cold, dark eyes locked on hers.
Memories from the night before flooded back. Leaving the lab, the weird texts from Emma, the crash, running through the market, being trapped in the alley.
