Familiar Mirage. Caroline Burnes

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СКАЧАТЬ A little trip down the hall, and the other three rooms are good. Silent as tombs, no pun intended.

      Now back to John’s room, right beside Beth’s. I’ll creep in for just a moment. I’m a little curious about him, too. If he’s such a worrywart, why’d he come on this trip?

      Wait. What’s that? Someone is in his room. Listen. What’s that noise? It sounds like a gas valve or air or—someone is letting the air out of his diving tank.

      I’ll put an end to this. Wham! My body slamming into the door has frightened him. He’s running across the room and out the window into the night. He’s fast, whoever he is. Before I can even get to the window, he’s cleared the wall around the hotel garden and disappeared.

      Now why would someone break into a room to let the air out of a diving tank?

      Maybe Miss Explorer could use a few more hours of watching. I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I’m getting a really bad feeling. Cats have always had psychic abilities. That, too, is a little-known fact. We’re very attuned to use of the sixth sense. In all the best ways, of course. And my intuition is telling me to stay close to Miss Explorer tonight.

      Criminy. I guess I’ll have to rush over to the Abbula Hotel, eat a bite with Peter and Eleanor, and then get back over here to make sure no one bothers Beth.

      OMAR FOUND HIMSELF standing in front of the high-rise building that contained his brother’s development firm. Dukhan Enterprises was one of Egypt’s most prestigious firms. Known for innovative architecture and global outlook, the company was a big part of the changing face of Egypt.

      Omar thought of his brother, and his mouth tightened. Harad Dukhan insisted he was leading Egypt forward into the future. A brighter future. Omar wasn’t so sure.

      He looked up at the high rise. It was a beautiful building, all white limestone and glass. In any other city it would have been a marvel.

      In Alexandria, it was an eyesore.

      He squared his shoulders and went to the main door, where an armed security guard looked at him with a wary eye.

      “Can I help you, sir?”

      Omar knew that his desert robes had aroused the guard’s suspicions. Many of the nomadic desert people in Egypt were opposed to what they considered westernization. Like Omar, some viewed Harad Dukhan as a man who’d climbed into bed with the capitalists. Unlike Omar, these people didn’t love Harad Dukhan. Some of them wanted to kill him.

      “Is Harad still at work? I’m his brother.”

      The guard spoke into a telephone, and in a moment pushed buttons to open the door electronically. “Tenth floor,” he said.

      Omar nodded. It had been at least five years since he’d stepped foot on his brother’s property. Five years since he’d seen his brother. He rode the elevator up and stepped into an elaborate office. Against the wall, backlit by the beauty of the city, his brother sat at a desk. Very slowly he leaned forward.

      “Omar,” Harad said with some surprise. “You haven’t been to Alexandria in over five years. What’s wrong?”

      “I need a favor,” Omar said. He gave no indication how glad he was to see his brother or how much it cost him to ask for help. They had parted bitterly, with harsh words on both sides. To his relief, he saw that Harad was not going to mention the argument that had caused such a rift between them.

      “What can I do?” Harad asked.

      “There’s an expedition set up to search for the City of Con.” He saw his brother flinch. So Harad still, at least, had some affection for his desert roots, for the things his nomadic people held close. For the place where their mother had been buried.

      “There have been other expeditions. None of them have succeeded,” Harad said carefully.

      “This woman, Beth Bradshaw, she’s different.”

      Instead of questioning Omar, Harad simply nodded. “What can I do to help my brother?”

      “Find out who’s backing her. If we can get the money withdrawn, she’ll have no choice but to go home.” Omar held on to his composure, but it was hard. Like old times, Harad was there for him.

      “I can try to find that information.” Harad got to his feet slowly. “Will you have dinner with me?”

      Omar almost said no, then he hesitated. “We’re as different as the lion and the camel. Can we share a meal without one getting eaten by the other?”

      Harad’s smile was amused but sad. “Perhaps for one meal the lion can put aside his claws and teeth. I’ve missed you, brother.” He stepped forward and took his brother’s elbow. “You’ve lost weight, gotten hard, like the desert people.”

      “Like our people, Harad.” Omar looked around the elegantly appointed office. “This is not where you belong. We’re free people. Nomads of the desert.”

      Harad only squeezed Omar’s arm more tightly. “You’ve made your choice, brother. I don’t intend to try and talk you into putting your university education to use. Please, don’t try to talk me out of my chosen life.”

      Omar nodded. “For tonight,” he said.

      Harad smiled. “Shall we go someplace quiet where we can talk, or noisy where we can laugh?”

      Omar’s lean face broke into a grin. “Noisy. With good food and beautiful women.” There was one woman he definitely wanted out of his mind, and the distractions of some of his brother’s beautiful friends would be the perfect way to erase Beth Bradshaw.

      “Done,” Harad said, and picked up his neatly folded suit jacket. “I’m glad to see you, Omar. Very glad.”

      They walked out of the building together and headed toward the waterfront, where the restaurants were busy and the sound of laughter rang out over the water.

      BETH SAT UP in bed, her heart pounding. It took several seconds for her to realize that her terror came from a nightmare, not from any real threat. In the time it took her to calm her fears, she recognized the hotel room, felt again the thrill of actually being in Egypt.

      Taking deep breaths, she got out of bed and walked to the French doors that opened to the balcony. They were slightly open, allowing the breeze to flutter the sheer curtains. She was on the second floor of the old hotel, and her room looked out over a beautiful garden.

      Slipping a robe over her short cotton nightshirt, she walked out onto the balcony and into a night that smelled of saltwater and unfamiliar spices. She’d asked the concierge in the hotel about the scent, and he’d told her it was tumeric and cumin, spices that had once been like gold in the East-West trade market.

      She went to the railing and placed her hands on it, allowing her eyes to close and her body to fill with the scents and sounds around her. Alexandria. Jewel of the Mediterranean. The city had been a cultural and trading center of the Greek and Roman empires. Cleopatra had reigned from here, and had loved both Julius Caesar and Mark Antony.

      She walked to the end of the balcony and almost screamed when a black shadow darted out of a chair. “Cat,” she said, a hand at her throat. “You frightened СКАЧАТЬ