Her tone, she knew, was heavy with sarcasm.
They were alone in the temple area—or so she believed. Still, she looked around and repeated, “I’m sorry. I tried... I do believe he was murdered. They did find bacteria, but not enough. Henry was murdered. And I couldn’t do a damned thing to prove it.”
Micah nodded at her. She liked his face. Hard-jawed, somewhat sharp-boned. His eyes, she saw now, were actually blue—sky blue—and they seemed to see a great deal.
“Remember, I was a student of his, too. And now I’m an FBI agent. And I couldn’t do anything, either. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He paused. “I should explain. I knew about you through Craig, of course. And also through Henry. We kept in touch when we could—he’d let me know what was up, what was going on. I went into law enforcement, but I still love Egyptology. Henry thought the world of you.” He shook his head. “I can only imagine what it was like that last night. I hope you’re okay now. Time...heals, so they say.”
“So they say.”
“It heals when you’re at peace with the past.”
“And I’m not,” she said grimly, and added, “And neither are you.”
“No. Anyway, I’d like to find out about the last time you saw him. If you don’t mind.”
“There won’t be a chance tonight,” she said.
“I know. At a later date.”
Harley nodded. “I’ll be happy to speak with you. I’m not sure what I can tell you, though.”
“You found him.”
“Yes.”
“I’d just like you to go over it with me. I realize it’s painful, but...”
“The verdict was ridiculous! You know what the ME said! That he killed himself.”
“An Egyptian ME, who wanted out of there as quickly as possible, with armed insurrectionists about to attack the place.”
True!
But then...
“The company, Alchemy, brought in a medical examiner, too. He agreed with the Egyptian ME’s findings.”
“I’m sure that all happened in about two minutes in Cairo or Rome. And as soon as they made their decision, Henry was shot through with preservatives and packed into a box. So anything that could be construed as evidence was compromised. I could be way off base. We could be way off base. Thing is, I’d feel better if we could talk.”
“Yes, of course,” she said.
Of course?
She didn’t want to remember that night!
And yet, here was someone—someone in law enforcement—who agreed with her, the only person who did. Like her, Fox believed there was a truth out there that everyone else had denied.
They looked at each other awkwardly for a moment.
“Well, a pleasure to meet you in person. I guess I’m going to head over to the party area,” Micah said. His voice softened. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you. You might want more time here. On your own. By the way, as I said, I really do know your cousin fairly well. We worked together years ago on a case in DC. He’s a great guy.”
“Yes. Craig’s great,” Harley agreed.
She sensed that he wanted to say more.
Like maybe when or where they could meet again?
But he didn’t speak. They weren’t alone anymore.
Jensen Morrow came striding through the temple area. He apparently saw Harley, but not Micah Fox, probably because he stood in the shadow of a carved obelisk.
“I knew I’d find you here!” Jensen told Harley, heading toward her for a huge hug.
He’d written his thesis, gotten his graduate degree and taken a job here as an assistant curator, making use of his doctorate in Egyptology. He’d been her friend through her suspicions, her anger, her demands—and her final defeat, when she’d realized that nothing was going to be done.
No one was ever going to make her believe that Henry Tomlinson had been convinced that a mummy was attacking him—while strangling himself with his own belt.
Jensen, she was certain, had just given up. He’d been told the lie so many times that to him, it had become truth.
Harley accepted Jensen’s hug; she still cared about him. When they’d first met, they’d hit it off as friends. They might have become more at one time; he was fun, energetic and thoughtful, not to mention tall, dark and handsome. But everything had changed the night Henry Tomlinson died.
Even though she didn’t see the friends she’d made in Egypt very often—they were all busy working, getting on with their lives—they had all stayed friends. They were, in fact, oddly close; they had shared the experience of the dig, Henry Tomlinson’s death and the escape from the desert under dire circumstances in the middle of the night. All of that meant they had an emotional bond few people shared.
And yet it was a closeness stained with the loss of the man they’d all adored. Stained, too, by the way they’d fled on the very night he died, swept up in a reign of terror.
She’d gone on to finish her own graduate work, head bent to her studies, and had taken part-time work with a prestigious investigation firm in the city so that she could still take classes when she chose while deciding what path to take for her future. It felt right, for the time being. But she had to make some real decisions soon. And yet, even as she’d worked toward her educational and career goals, she had felt that she was waiting. A temporary post—with flexible hours!—was all she’d been willing to accept at the moment.
“They’re about to start,” Jensen said, pulling away from her to study her face. That was when he rather awkwardly noticed there was someone else in the temple exhibit.
He offered Micah Fox a hand. “I’m sorry. How rude. I didn’t see you. I’m Jensen Morrow.”
“Micah Fox,” the other man returned. “And actually, we’ve spoken. Over the phone.”
“Oh! Hey, that was you?” Jensen said. “Wow. Was I vague when I talked to you? Or worse, rude? If I was, I didn’t mean to be. It’s just that...well, you had to be there that night. We found Henry—or, I should say, Harley found Henry—and by the time the medical examiner arrived, they were screaming that the insurgents were a few miles out and we had to break camp ASAP! I know Harley and I were going crazy with concern and disbelief and...well...hey,” he finished lamely.
“There wasn’t anything you could have done to change the situation,” Micah said.
“Well, you’re FBI, right? I guess if you couldn’t prove anything different from what was said or get anything done, Harley and I, who had no law enforcement power, couldn’t have done more than complain and question. Which we did. Who knows? The thing is—thing that got me, anyway—we weren’t in a closed or confined space. I mean if bacteria were going to get him, you might’ve thought someone else would’ve had a reaction or... Anyway, had you been assigned to the case—officially? The FBI works in Egypt? Or does it?”
“The FBI works all over the world, as necessary,” Micah replied. “But...I was there because of Henry.”
“Special Agent Fox was another of Henry’s grad students, but years ago,” Harley quickly explained.
“Ah,” Jensen murmured. That was obviously enough of an explanation. “I guess you were crazy about him, too.”
“I