“I ran. I could hear the other man behind me. Yelling. But I couldn’t hear Sawil. I didn’t know what had happened to him, and I knew I couldn’t wait for him. When I reached the collection room, I remembered the camera. I…I grabbed it, just in case, and slipped it into my pocket.
“I couldn’t go home. I was afraid they’d find me. So I left a message for Shannon. Told her to get out of the apartment and wait to hear from me. By the time I got hold of Marty hours later to ask him what I should do, someone had already found Sawil’s body. They killed him in that tomb. Because I’d dragged him into the whole mess.”
Pete’s jaw tightened, but otherwise he showed no emotion.
Refusing to be hurt by that, she went back to her story. And this time had to close her eyes because the pain she felt at just saying the words was as awful as it had been the day she’d heard the news. “Shannon never got my message. She’d been out with friends that night. When she got home, they were waiting for her.”
Silence settled between them. A silence Kat couldn’t read and didn’t want to. Marty had told her he’d make sure Shannon was safe. Ultimately, he’d been too late. They both had.
She pushed the emotions aside as best she could and finally said, “I mailed you the pendant with the camera card hidden inside because I knew it would be safe with you. I never looked at it, so I don’t even know if there’s anything useable on it, but I figured if I ever needed to get it, I could.”
“Why didn’t you just turn it in then? Why the theatrics?”
What could she tell him that wouldn’t sound insane? “After they killed Shannon, I knew I was screwed. Two dead bodies, linked to each other and me. My involvement with you. People knew there was tension between me and Sawil. All the evidence was pointing my way, and I had no solid alibi. Then I heard from them. They’d gotten a hold of my cell phone. They threatened my…family, and I didn’t know who or how many were involved. I was scared. I thought disappearing was the safest thing I could do. Marty agreed. After the car bomb, though, and after everything died down,” she shrugged, “there really wasn’t any reason to go after it again.”
“Until I put it up for auction.”
“Yes.” She finally looked up. “I couldn’t let it fall into the wrong hands, and I couldn’t afford to lose track of it.”
He studied her with stormy eyes she just couldn’t read. And she waited for the inevitable questions: Why did you send it to me instead of Marty? And why didn’t you come for it sooner? But he never asked.
Instead, he said, “Well, go ahead. Open it. Show me this precious card you risked my life for.”
Here? She stared at him in utter shock, then finally realized he was serious. He wasn’t moving until she did just that. She glanced nervously up and down the road again. While there was no one around that she could see, it wouldn’t be long before some nosy neighbor took notice of two strangers arguing on the corner of a quiet residential area.
She perched the backpack on her knee, leaned over and pawed through the bag until she found the pendant. Light from the streetlamp above highlighted the crouching pharaoh. She turned the statue over and looked at the flat bottom.
It was just as she remembered. With just enough pressure the false bottom would slide forward to reveal the hidden compartment inside. Only when she pushed, nothing happened.
A chill slid down her spine as she lifted the pendant for a closer look. No, not a false bottom. This thing was solid.
Dread started at the top of her head and rushed down her body like a tidal wave.
“Nice going, Kit-Kat,” Pete purred in a mocking tone. “You stole the wrong necklace.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
He was being a complete jackass, and he knew it. But as soon as he’d seen her step off that city bus, all those rational thoughts about playing it cool went sailing out the window.
“I…” Kat’s wide eyes darted up to his. “Where is it?”
“I gave it away.”
“What?” Disbelief pushed her voice higher.
“To a friend,” he said casually. “A thanks, if you will, for convincing me to finally auction off all that Egyptian crap I’d been collecting over the years that was eating up room in my storage facility.”
“You…you gave it to someone? Just like that?”
Was she upset because he’d given away her precious evidence or because she thought the necklace held some kind of sentimental value for him since it had come from her?
He couldn’t quite tell. And he wasn’t about to admit the reason he’d given that particular piece away was because it did hold a trace of sentimentality. It was the last thing she’d given him. The last thing she’d touched before—he thought, mistakenly—she’d died.
“Where?” she asked. “Where is it?”
“Someplace safer than your backpack.”
He could see her wheels turning as she glanced around the empty street. Dusk was quickly fading to dark, but her worried features were clearly highlighted by the streetlamps above. “We have to get it back. You don’t understand. If the wrong person finds it—”
“They won’t. I’m more than confident it’s locked up safe and sound. So tell me about Charles Latham.”
Obviously resigned to the fact she wasn’t getting rid of him, she dropped to the bench. “He was the director of our site in The Valley of the Kings.”
“I already know that much.”
“He…” She rubbed a hand over her brow. “I think he might have been in on the whole smuggling operation somehow. Sawil said he’d talked to Latham about what he suspected, but nothing ever happened. Latham never took Sawil’s concerns to the SCA like he said he would. I know, because I checked with the SCA after Sawil’s death.”
“Maybe he was scared people were on to him.”
“Maybe. Looking back now, Latham was acting strange those last few days. Watching Sawil, sneaking around almost. I didn’t think much of it at the time, you know? I mean, I was distracted by what was happening with…us. But yeah, after, I knew something just wasn’t right with Latham.”
“So you came here to talk to him? If he’s in on this, he could call Busir and this Minyawi freak and let him know where you are.”
“Yeah,” she nodded. “That’s a possibility, but I wasn’t intending to give him a chance to do that.”
He thought of the gun he’d seen in her backpack. Just what the hell was this woman willing to do to save her own skin?
“Besides,” she said before he could ask, “I don’t really care what happens to me anymore. I just want it over.”
Something unsettling rippled through him. If she didn’t care about what happened to her, why was she going through all this in the first place?
“Then come on,” he said, trying to push that thought aside. “Let’s go find out.”
The Latham house was a sprawling two story on the corner of a quiet street. A porch light shone through the darkness. Pumpkins left over from the fall holiday were still sitting on the front steps.
Pete grasped Kat’s elbow before she could ring the bell. “Just so we’re clear. Anything funny happens, you stick with me. None of this running-off-on-your-own crap again.”
She nodded, and he knew she’d obey because he had the one thing she wanted: the necklace.
They waited thirty seconds, and when there was no answer, Kat rang the bell again. Just when Pete thought it was a dead end, he heard footsteps from inside the house.
The door pulled open a crack, and a middle-aged woman peered through the space. “Can I help you?”
Kat moved to the side so the woman could see her better. “My name’s Katherine Meyer. I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I used to work with Charles Latham. This is my colleague, Peter Kauffman. We were wondering if we could speak with Charles for a moment about a project he was involved with several years ago.”
“You used to work with Charles?”
Kat nodded. “Yes. A long time ago.”
The w
oman’s eyes darkened, and she pulled the door open farther. She was dressed in jeans and a black sweater, and though she looked tired, Pete had the impression of a striking woman in her midfifties. “In that case you must not have heard. Charles passed about a week ago.”
Kat darted a look Pete’s direction, and he didn’t miss the how-convenient flash in her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she said to the woman. “I didn’t know.”
“Katherine Meyer,” the woman said as if trying the name on for size. “Charles spoke about you.” Her brow wrinkled, drawing a lock of salt-and-pepper hair forward to brush her cheek. “That would have been years ago, when he worked in Egypt.”
“Yes,” Kat said. “In the Valley of the Kings.”
Pain, or maybe worry, crossed her face as the woman pulled the door open wider. “Why don’t you come in? It’s freezing outside.”
Pete and Kat exchanged glances before stepping into the house. The entry opened into a sunken living room decorated in dark woods and burgundy furnishings.
“My name’s Ann, by the way. Charles and I were married for twenty-two years.” She gestured toward the sofa for them to sit. “I don’t think we ever met, but I do remember Charles speaking about you after he came home.”
“I heard he was sick. I’m sorry.”
“Yes.” Ann folded her hands in her lap. “It was a long illness. Cancer. In the end…” Pain etched her face as she looked toward a photo on the shelf across the room. “In the end he went peacefully, and I guess that’s all I could ask for.”
For a moment, Pete was transported back. To sitting on Lauren’s patio. To flying up to Washington to see Kat’s mother. To suffering through a memorial service he hadn’t wanted to attend. He knew exactly what this widow was going through, because he’d lived it.
“Has anyone else Charles worked with in Egypt come by to see him in the past few weeks?” he asked.
“No, I don’t believe that they have. Our daughter’s here, visiting from Atlanta. She might know, but I’m sure she would have told me.”
“You said he mentioned me,” Kat said. “Can you tell me what that was about?”
“Not specifically, no. It was a long time ago. I do remember your name, though. A problem with the excavation, though he never elaborated.” She ran a hand over her shoulder-length hair. “Those were some tough times. After he came home from the project in Egypt, he was withdrawn. We went through a rough patch, marriagewise. I always knew something had happened there, but he didn’t speak of it, and after a while I stopped trying to figure it out. He went back to work for the university after that, started teaching once more. He never went into the field again.”
Kat looked Pete’s way, and he knew she was thinking the same thing he was.
He glanced back at Ann Latham. “He didn’t happen to save any of his research from the tomb he was working in, did he?”
Ann pursed her lips. “He might have. I’m pretty sure there’s a box out in the garage with some of his work from that time. Would you like to look at it?”
Pete fought from jumping up and saying, hell yeah!
Kat, thankfully, was more tactful. Her smile was warm and sympathetic. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Actually,” Ann said, rising, “you’d be doing me a favor. I wasn’t sure what to do with it all, and I just can’t look at it anymore. It brings back way too many memories.”
She gestured for them to follow her. They passed through a sparkling kitchen with cherry cabinets and granite countertops, then through a door that led to the garage. Ann reached around the corner and flipped on the light. The two-bay garage was filled with boxes, some open, many closed and labeled in red marker. A chair was stacked on a desk. An old, ratty couch was pushed off to the side.
“My daughter and her husband spent all day emptying Charles’s office at the university.” Unshed tears filled her eyes. “I just don’t know what I’m going to do with all of it. I swear I can still smell him in here.”
Before either of them could answer, she turned to her left. “It’s right over here. Some of these have been sitting out here for years. This particular box,” she pushed a carton around, wove between a stack of cardboard until she found what she wanted, “was one he never took to the school. Ah, there it is.”
“Here, let me.” Pete stepped up to help her. The box she pointed to was labeled Luxor.
Pete pulled the box down so Kat could flip through it. Most of the contents were of little interest, but a small notebook caught Kat’s eye. She lifted it, and when she glanced at Pete he saw the spark of excitement.
“You’re more than welcome to take that with you,” Ann said. “I don’t know if it will help you with your continued research, but Charles was a stickler for details. If you’re looking for some specific documentation, I’m sure it’s in that journal.”
“Thank you,” Kat said. “That’s what we’re hoping for.”
Ann Latham walked them to the front door. Pete handed the woman a business card as Kat stuck the journal in her backpack. “My private number’s on the back. If you think of anything else, we’d appreciate if you’d call us. Anytime.”
Ann Latham looked down at the card. “I will.”
Before they left, Kat gave the woman a quick hug. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. Charles was a good man deep down. Oh, he wasn’t perfect, and he had his demons, just like we all do, but he tried to live a decent life. And whatever wrongs he did, I forgave him for them a long time ago. It doesn’t do any good to hold grudges. Life is too precious.”
Kat smiled sadly. “I wish everyone were as wise as you, Mrs. Latham.”
“It’s not being wise. It’s facing the loss of something you didn’t realize you couldn’t live without that makes you reevaluate your priorities.”
Ann’s words stuck in Pete’s head as the door closed at their backs and they headed down the dark sidewalk. Kat was quiet as they moved, and Pete wasn’t sure what was going through her head.
He pointed toward his rental two blocks down. When they reached the sedan, he unlocked the passenger door and waited while Kat climbed inside. He slid in next to her and sat staring out at the darkness, while Kat flipped on the overhead light and opened the notebook.
Thing was, he wasn’t sure what was going through his own head at that moment either. Somewhere between ringing Ann Latham’s doorbell and right now, all that anger he’d been stoking since she’d run out on him this morning had slowly seeped away until he just felt…empty.
“Oh, my God,” Kat said at his side. “Look at this.”
Pulled from his thoughts, Pete glanced over to where she was pointing to a list of dates and numbers. No, not numbers, he realized. Amounts. In Egyptian gineih, or pounds. Hundreds of thousands of pounds. And corresponding dates that referenced what looked like payments. “He kept a log of his take?”
“No.” Kat shook her head, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “You were right.”
“About what?”
His eyes followed her finger as it ran up to the top of the page and the letters P-A-N-E-K.
“What’s ‘Panek’?” Pete asked.
Kat closed her eyes and tipped her head back against the headrest. “It’s Egyptian. It means serpent in the old language. It was a joke, or so he said.” Her face paled “Because he was tall and slim and could slink into caverns Latham and the others couldn’t.”
“Who?”
She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Sawil. Everyone called him Panek on the dig.” She pressed her hand against her temple. “He really was in on it with Latham, like you suspected.”
Pete looked over the multitude of numbers in her lap. No, not just in on it. From the dates, it looked like Ramirez had been filtering relics from the site long before Kat had even arrived in the Valley of the Kings. “That’s why your accusations went unsubstantiated.”
Kat nodded.
Pete thought back to Busir and that very well-timed call that had sealed
Pete’s fate and ruined his relationship with Kat. “Ramirez knew we were a couple. If he was working with Latham, then he knew Busir.” And Ramirez had probably been adding fuel to Kat’s paranoia over Pete and his possible involvement. “They set us up.” When her eyes darted his way, he added, “You blew the whistle, and you weren’t going away. They had to get rid of you.”
And Pete could see two ways to do that. One, set her up to take the fall if the SCA did get involved and started sniffing around, or two, kill her. Busir had known Pete would take the bait that day, and that explained how they’d gotten the relics into her apartment. Then Ramirez had lured her to the tomb that night when Pete had walked out, to finish the job. He suspected they’d planned to kill Shannon all along, because of her involvement with Kat, but kept that little gem to himself.
“I don’t…” Kat shook her head. “I can’t believe that. If Sawil was involved, if what you’re insinuating is even remotely true, then he had to have changed his mind. They killed him.”
“How do you know?”
“What do you mean how do I know? I was there!”
“Did you see his body?” When she opened her mouth to protest he added, “Because trust me, dead doesn’t always mean dead.”
She stared at him. Closed her mouth. Then slowly shut the notebook in her lap and looked down at her hands. “He was declared dead. It was all over the news the next day. And he…he was my friend,” she whispered.
“He wasn’t your friend, Kat. He was using you.”
Pete’s words hung in the air between them, and he realized in the silence, she was thinking the same thing about him. That he’d used her, lied to her. That when it came right down to it, he was no better than Sawil Ramirez.
Stolen Heat Page 22
