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“As far as we can tell,” Rhys said, crossing his arms.
Sir Rupert pressed his knees and rose to take his leave. As he passed Fiona, his gaze dropped to her pendant on its thin chain. “That’s an interesting piece you have, Mrs. Foster. A souvenir from your time in Cairo, I take it?”
“Yes,” Fiona said, reaching up to touch the amulet. “What could be more reminiscent of our travels here than a scarab?”
“Hmm. Well, the governor has issued a number of decrees to restrict the unsanctioned movement of artifacts. It’s silly, truly, when every man, woman and child eagerly sells every bit that’s dug up, but that’s the way of it now. Where did you say you found it?”
Fiona frowned. “It’s merely a trifle I bought off a boy in Old Cairo. It’s charming, but I’m sure it’s not but a bit of paste and paint.” Rhys cocked a brow at that, but his sister avoided his gaze.
“Yes, well, a thief might mistake it for something more. You can’t be too careful. If you’d like, I can secure your valuables—including your paste pendant—at the consulate until you’re ready to return to England.”
Fiona’s hand tightened on the pendant, and Rhys replied for them. “I’m sure that’s not necessary, Sir Rupert. Mr. Shepheard keeps a safe in his office if it comes to it.”
Sir Rupert sucked his teeth once more then gave them a short nod. “Very well then. Let me know if you change your mind.”
——
The next day,Rhys and Fiona navigated the shops of Old Cairo where sunlight threaded through the canopy of crowded balconies and overhanging rooftops. As they moved through the narrow lanes, unease settled in Rhys’s chest. He couldn’t lose the feeling that they were being watched. Followed, even. Perhaps it was only his imagination. He and Fiona had both been on edge since the incident at the hotel.
Rhys had taken a closer look at her pendant the night before, and now he wasn’t so certain it was merely paste. But even if it were authentic, it was no different from the artifacts being dug up by the dozens every day. He’d not been able to make out anything special about the thing.
All of that was beside the point, though, as he’d sold it not more than an hour past to an antiquities dealer near the port. A fact for which his sister was still upbraiding him.
“You had no right to sell my pendant,” she said again with a firm set to her jaw that he knew well. “I dare say, you become more and more like Father every day.”
“I’m nothing like him,” Rhys said with heat, though he knew Fiona only meant to provoke him. She had a special talent for it.
Their father had been the second son of a second son, who’d enjoyed some success as an officer in His Majesty’s Army. After resigning his commission, he’d used his talent for trading information to grow a tidy income. And on discovering his boy’s skill with all things mechanical, and locks in particular, he’d grown his enterprise further,pressing a young Rhys into service securing the odd letter or incriminating missive from unsuspecting gentlemen’s safes. The man had been an autocratic scoundrel, and his sister’s comparison was hardly a flattering one.
“It’s better this way,” Rhys continued, his voice low. “I secured a good price for it, and you can buy something else with the funds. Something pretty.”
“You can’t truly think someone is looking for my scarab,” she said irritably, her wide blue skirts narrowly missing a young boy with a pair of goats. “You yourself said there must be thousands like it in the bazaar.”
“I believe I said, ‘a hundred.’ Don’t exaggerate. But as none of your jewelry was taken, or any of the other artifacts from your box, this is the only thing that makes sense. It’s the only reason someone would have searched our rooms.”
“You still had no right to make this decision without discussing it with me.”
Rhys stopped and turned to face his sister squarely. The day was hot, and his temper had grown short. Fiona’s fair skin was flushed, whether from the sun or the heat of her own emotions, he couldn’t say. “I’ll buy you another bauble,” he bit out. “Ten more if you wish.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I fail to see how selling the amulet will—”
Rhys threw his hands up, knowing it was pointless to argue with his sister when she was set on her course. “Fiona, it’s done,” he said, turning. He strode ahead, forging a path through the crowd.
He turned at the spice seller’s stall to gauge her temper, but his sister was nowhere to be seen. He stopped and crossed his arms to wait for her. When she didn’t appear, he narrowed his gaze over the crowd as it flowed around him. Had she ducked into one of the shops out of pique? That wasn’t like Fiona. She was more direct in her obstinacy until the wind left her sails.
She’d forgive him in short order, and they’d resume their pleasant accord, although a tiny bit of guilt pinched at him for the way he’d handled the matter with her pendant. He probably should have discussed it with her first, but the end result would have been the same.
His gaze raked the crowd before him once more and then, at the far end of the lane, he spied it: a flash of blue as a woman was ushered through a dark doorway.
“Fiona!”
——
Rhys paced hissuite atShepheard’s and dragged a hand through his hair once more. The hour was late, nearing midnight. The traffic below his balcony was still loud, the air still hot, the smells of the city still present, but his mind was wrapped in a surreal fog.
He could scarcely believe it, but Fiona had simply… disappeared. One moment she’d been there, arguing with him, and the next she’d been swallowed by the shadows. He’d called out and run after her, frustrated with the crowds that impeded his progress, only to find the building where she’d gone empty.
Only, Fiona wasn’t simply gone. She’d been taken. Thoughts of what she must be going through, of the terror she must be feeling, nearly choked the breath from him.
