by Ann Gimpel
How the hell would he get through several hours of small talk? Doctors Without Borders was looking better and better, but the reality was he’d still be here, front and center on Seattle’s East Side, four nights hence.
He inhaled deeply, blew it out, and did it a few more times. He’d figure things out. It was bound to be awkward, but there’d be enough people milling about to smooth things over.
He hoped.
After a stern lecture to man up, he cut the lights and crawled into bed, propping his pager on a bedside table. The call schedule would be another agenda item at January’s practice meeting. He’d taken all the extra call duty he planned to, and the other docs would have to suck it up and get used to it.
He shut his eyes, willing sleep to shut off his restless mind, but it was a long time coming. Julie, a naked Julie, teased him. Bouncing breasts, slick labia, the scent of her, the feel of her silky skin beneath his fingers. The tug of the sheets against his painfully erect cock created a cascade of sensation every time he turned over. His determination not to jack off again vanished when a particularly erotic image of Julie, fingers buried in her pussy, rubbing herself, drove him onto his belly thrusting against the mattress.
So close to release he couldn’t stand not to come, he moved a pillow beneath his restless hips. The added stimulation of foam gripping him pushed him into a climax so intense he lay panting and gasping afterward, but at least he felt the tightness leaving his body.
Damn. Damn. Damn. What the holy hell am I going to do to fix this?
Telling himself he’d come up with something first thing in the morning, he finally fell asleep.
Chapter Sixteen
Juliana waited, phone clutched so tightly her fingers began to cramp.
“’Wanted to check in,” Mike said. “’Fraid it’s not the best news, but not the worst, either.”
“You saved me a call,” she murmured. “You were next up on my list.”
“Mmph. You might want to look into connections back to Cairo.” He cleared his throat. “Don’t leave yet, I’m still working a few angles, but the Smithwick fellow got hold of my boss—”
Julie groaned. “Crap on a cracker. That old bastard.”
“He is, indeed. Does U.W. have an ethics committee? If so, have you spoken with them?”
“Yes to the first question. No one to talk with until after the first. I did file a written complaint with my field notes as backup.”
“Apparently, your colleague is claiming they’re his notes. That you stole them and ran back to the States.”
She slumped against a nearby wall. “I ‘ran back to the States’ because my twin sister nearly died. She has cystic fibrosis, and this last flareup was really, really close.”
“I suppose that’s something that could be verified.”
“Of course. Her name is Sarah Wray, and she’s in the ICU at Overlake Hospital in Bellevue, Washington.”
“I’m sorry about Sarah. How’s she doing?” Mike’s rich baritone reflected genuine concern.
“Better. They tried immune modulators as a last-ditch effort, and she’s improving. Her lungs have significant scarring, though. And now her pancreas is involved. The next step will be gene remodeling to give her body a boost, so it can do some healing.”
“You must be relieved. Uh, no PC way to say this, but isn’t she kind of old to...”
“Yes, she is,” Julie replied. “We never expected her to live past her twenties, and she’s given us a bunch of scares over the years. Hell, I spent something like thirty hours on planes and in airports between Cairo and London and Seattle expecting to turn on my phone at the Seattle end and find out she was gone.”
“Does Dr. Conom know about your sister?”
“You bet he does. So does Smithwick.”
Mike blew out an annoyed-sounding breath. “I’ll be back in touch. Like I said, don’t pack a bag quite yet.” He paused a beat. “When you do return to the dig site, though, I get an exclusive, right?”
“You bet, Mike. Anything I find is always yours first. You’re a genius at showcasing my work for the public.”
“That’s my girl. If I wasn’t already married, I’d want a wife just like you.”
Julie swallowed a snort. “Thanks. I think.”
“Signing off for now.”
Julie dropped the phone back in her pocket and covered the remaining distance to her 4Runner. Given the latest developments, why hadn’t Katie called her? A marathoner, Katie Johnson was lean and strong and fit. More than capable of taking care of herself. Maybe she had no idea Orestes was claiming Juliana’s field notes belonged to him.
Or maybe she kicked up a huge fuss, and Orestes removed her from the dig site. As senior researcher in situ, he had the final say on everything including personnel decisions.
When she got home, she’d figure something out. It was the middle of the night in Cairo, given the ten-hour time difference. Even if she did ping the dig’s satellite station, no one would be awake to answer.
She made an effort to clear her mind of everything except the endless stream of cars leaving Bellevue and driving across the bridge. Getting into an accident was an additional layer of complication she didn’t need. Between clutching the phone and squeezing the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were white, her hands ached by the time she pulled into her driveway.
A car she didn’t recognize was parked across the street, and a tall, lanky man emerged. He had the easy, fluid build of an athlete. She pegged him as a runner or a climber. Julie got out and stood next to her car, waiting while the man caught up with her.
“Yes?” She angled her head to one side, watching him.
He extended a hand. “Dr. Wray. I’m Doug Johnson, Katie’s husband. Nice to meet you.”
“Please, call me Julie.”
“I’m afraid this isn’t a social call. Kate would kill me if she knew I was here, but I don’t know where else to go. I tried the U.S. Embassy in Cairo—”
“Hold up.” Juliana cut him off because she had a bad feeling about what was coming next. “Come inside. I suspect you’ll be here for a while. At least until it’s six in Cairo and we have a prayer of trying to reach the dig site.”
She reached back inside the car to collect her things, locked it, and led the way up her front steps. “Would you like some coffee or tea?” she asked.
He made a gruff noise, somewhere between a snarl and a growl. “What I’d really like is a stiff drink, followed by about five more, but it’s not a good idea. If I’m drunk, I won’t be any good to anyone.”
Julie set her things on a small bench in the front hall and turned to face Doug. At least six feet six, he had a mane of straight blond hair that fell to shoulder level, keen blue eyes, and the angular facial structure that screamed Scandinavian. His chin and cheeks were dusted with a couple days’ beard growth.
“Tell you what,” she said. “I’m putting on the electric kettle, and I’m going to brew some nice strong black tea. You can have it straight or with cream, sugar, or whiskey.”
He smiled, displaying straight, white teeth. “Tea and sugar sounds wonderful. I haven’t had much of anything these past two days.”
“Can I make you a sandwich to go with it? Or maybe crackers and cheese? Or tea biscuits?”
His smile widened. “I can see why Kate thinks so highly of you. Biscuits would be perfect, and they’re easier for you. Can I do anything?”
She shook her head. “Make yourself at home. I’ll join you in the living room once the tea’s ready.”
He nodded his thanks, and she moved across the open downstairs to the kitchen side of things. After she’d piled butter biscuits on a plate, she took them to where he’d settled in an old Adirondack chair that had been one of her father’s favorites.
“Thank you.”
“Back in a flash with our tea.”
She settled across from him, fingers cradling the warm ceramic of her handmade mug. She’d brought the set of six mugs back from a d
ig site in central Bolivia. The rug gracing the floor had come from the textile market in Otavalo, a small town outside Quito, Ecuador.
Doug sipped his tea. “I’m not sure where to begin, but I’m worried about Kate. Really worried, and equally helpless. It’s not a good combination. I’d hop on a plane, but I’d be worse than useless once I got to Cairo. Even if I could find your dig site, what would I do once I got here—?”
“Whoa. Back up. Start at the beginning. When did you first start feeling worried about Katie?”
He took a deep, steadying breath. “I’ve been worried about her for at least a week. Ever since you left, and she told me the shenanigans that dickwad— Oops, excuse me, I wasn’t very respectful.”
“Go on. Orestes Conom is the worst kind of scum-sucker.”
“Kate and I are close. Really close. Some of it is probably because we haven’t been married very long, but we’ve known one another since we were five years old. She’s always been the only one for me, and vice versa. Anyway, we talk every day, and—”
“When’s the last time you spoke with her?” Anxiety twisted Juliana’s stomach into a tight, painful knot.
“Day before yesterday.”
“Hmmm. Same time she reached out to me. I think. The days have been flowing together since I got here.”
“She said she was scared. She stood up to that Conom dude when he claimed you’d absconded with his field notes. She sang out loud and clear that they were your notes, and her own documentation would bear it out.”
“Oh-oh.” Julie closed her teeth over her lower lip. “She said she was scared. Then what?”
“I told her to call a cab and leave.”
A corner of Julie’s mouth twisted downward. “She refused. Not that it would have mattered. Getting a taxi that far out in the bush is damn near impossible.”
He grunted derisively. “Aw hell, she was like a goddamned lion sitting over a litter of kits, convinced if she left for ten seconds some other predator would move in and eat them.”
“Not far off the mark.” Julie pinched the bridge of her nose between a thumb and forefinger.
“Anyway,” Doug went on. “Nine at night is our normal time to talk—except it’s seven in the morning where she is. She didn’t call last night. I waited until nine thirty and called the dig site.” He clenched his jaw into a tense line. “A man who barely spoke English answered. Luckily, I’m finishing my Ph.D. in linguistics with a focus on ancient languages, so we had a conversation in the Egyptian dialect of Arabic.”
“And?” Julie set the tea down, afraid if she held onto it she’d crush the mug between her hands, and leaned closer.
“He said Kate must have left during the night. She wasn’t in her tent this morning, and all her things were gone.” Doug twisted his hands together and said, “What can we do? Is there a government agency we can get hold of? I tried the American embassy in Cairo. They were very politically correct and absolutely not helpful.”
Julie held up both hands. “Hold up. I need to think. And there’s someone I need to call.”
“Can I stay here, or is it private and I need to wait outside?” He set his mug down gently, gaze never leaving her face.
“You can stay,” she said. “I’m calling my dad. He’s a retired Marine general, but he still has connections. I figure we could use his advice. They have boots on the ground in the region, and they’re much closer than we are. Even if I left for the airport this second and took whatever flights I could grab, it would still take me two days to get back to Cairo and another couple hours to locate transportation and travel to the dig.”
She stood on legs that felt shaky and went to get her phone. One thing was certain, if anything happened to her graduate student, she wouldn’t rest until Orestes Conom was stripped of his university appointment and warming a cell in a federal prison.
She tapped her father’s number into the display. He picked up on the first ring. “Princess, what a pleasant—”
“No. It’s not,” she spoke over him. “I’ve got problems, and I’m hoping you have ideas.”
“Shoot. I’m listening.”
She could visualize him, iron-gray brows drawn into a thick, intense line over his blue eyes. “Remember that professor who was trying to take credit for my dig?”
“Sure do. What’s the bastard done now?”
“Two things. He’s claiming I left Egypt with his field notes and that my supporting documentation I filed with the ethics committee aren’t my notes at all, but the far bigger problem is one of my grad students seems to be missing. She spoke up in support of me when he said I’d stolen his field notes, and now she’s gone.”
Chris Wray whistled long and low. “Oh honey, that’s not good. Those North African countries can be real snake pits.”
“The woman’s name is Katherine Johnson,” Julie went on. She’s twenty-eight years old. I can get you her passport number and other ID data if it will help. Her husband is with me right now. He was waiting for me when I came home. Last time he talked with his wife was two days ago. When they missed their daily phone call yesterday and he contacted the dig site, they told him she’d left.”
“Any chance it might be true?” Chris used his calming tone, the one he’d soothed her with since she was a baby.
“No. She’d never have left a find like that. It was her dissertation. Hell, I wouldn’t have left if I wasn’t certain Sarah might not make it.”
“Okay. I need copies of her driver’s license, passport, recent photos, everything you can send me.”
“Hang on. I’m going to switch to speaker. I have a feeling Doug has all that, and he can scan and email or fax them to you.” She clicked a button and centered the phone between herself and Doug.
“Hello, sir,” Doug said. “Doug Johnson here, and I’d be very grateful for any assistance.”
“Marine General Christopher Wray,” her father responded. “Retired, but I worked intelligence, and I still know folk. Get me copies of her ID documents pronto, son. Can you do that?”
“Sure can. I have them in my phone. Where do I send them?”
Julie jotted her father’s cell number down for Doug and he went to work tapping his phone’s display.
“Got ’em,” Chris said. “Okay. I’ll let you know how things are unfolding.”
“What are you going to do, sir?” Doug asked.
Juliana anticipated her father’s reply. Chris said, “Better if you don’t know. I have your number, I’ll be in touch.” He disconnected.
Doug swallowed the last of his tea and got to his feet. “You’ve been more than kind. I’ll get out of your hair. I won’t be much good for anything until I hear something. Not even fit company for myself.”
Julie stood as well. “I’m worried about her too.”
“I’m more than worried.” His voice cracked, but he kept talking. “I can’t imagine my life without her. I—”
Julie patted his arm, feeling helpless. She wanted to tell him everything would be all right, but she wasn’t at all sure it was the truth. Women disappeared every day from the hinterlands of non-Westernized countries. She might have been sold or traded or shot, her body dumped where no one would ever find it.
She swallowed around a thick place in her throat. “Let’s keep the faith, huh?”
“Yeah. It’s pretty much the only avenue open to us.” Dragging a hand through his hair, he shambled out the door, pulling it shut behind him.
Because she didn’t know what else to do, she ferried the mugs and plate back into the kitchen and washed them, keeping an anxious eye on her phone, but it remained stubbornly silent.
She’d just decided to go out for a walk to burn off a bad case of nerves when her phone trilled. Snatching it up, she saw Ariel’s number. “Yes, Mom?”
“Your dad doesn’t know anything yet,” Ariel said. “I’m calling to see how you’re holding up.”
“Not well. Katie is a wonderful person, a talented athlete, and a gifted researcher.
She—”
“It’s never fair,” her mother interrupted. “Dad is doing all he can. We have...friends not far from your dig site.”
“How do you even know where it is? We kept it secret for a reason.”
“Oh, honey, nothing is secret from satellite surveillance. Your dad’s been keeping tabs on you ever since you started working there.”
As bad as things were, Julie smiled softly. “God but I love you both.”
“We love you too. Try to get some rest tonight.”
“Do you suppose I should alert the media about Katie being MIA?”
“Media as in? I’m not sure the Egyptian press would care,” her mother replied.
“National Geographic. I’ve been in touch with a photojournalist there, but he’ll know folk at NBC, CNN, and the other networks.”
“Let me ask your dad. Hang on.”
Julie waited as one minute ticked past, followed by two or three more. She could picture her parents, their heads bent together, as they debated the pros and cons of Katie’s disappearance hitting the national news.
“All right. I’m back.” Ariel’s crisp, no-nonsense military voice blasted though the phone. “Dad says hold off for now. We’re working a covert angle, and if the girl’s disappearance expands into something huge, whoever has her might panic and kill her.”
“You believe she’s been kidnapped?” Julie’s stomach clenched until she was afraid she was going to vomit.
“We’re not sure,” her mother replied in a carefully neutral tone. “We’ll be back in touch with you when we know more.”
The call ended icon danced across her screen.
Julie considered jumping in her car, driving to her parents’ house, and peppering them with questions, but it wouldn’t do any good. They wouldn’t tell her anything until they had solid intel.
Back to Plan A, which was a brisk walk. She dropped her phone into a pocket, put on a jacket, and left her cottage. As she executed one of her many loops around the neighborhood, Doug’s haunted eyes kept forming in her mind.
That poor, poor man. He’d have a hard road ahead if Katie never came home. Julie fisted both hands. This was her fault. She should have anticipated something like this. She’d seen the desperation—and avarice—sheeting off Orestes. He needed a find—a big one—or the university would drop him from the faculty.
