THE ARTIFACT GUARDIANS - BOOK 2
THE LOST SEPULCHER
CATE M. TURNER
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CHAPTER ONE
THE LOST SEPULCHER
CATE M. TURNER
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CHAPTER ONE
He had never hired a hitman before. The thrill of putting his scheme in motion outweighed his fears of it all going wrong. He’d planned this for months, detail by detail, until he was certain it was foolproof.
From his seat at a corner table near the back of a teahouse, he cast a glance toward the front. It was a typical scene one would find anywhere in Cairo. Groups of men sat on couches, sharing a smoke from long, flexible pipes attached to a tall, thin metal shisha instrument. Tourists congregated at tables, laughing and smoking between sips of tea. Vapor from the pipes filled the air with sweet, fruity aromas.
Through the haze, he focused on the arched doorway at the front. Still no sign of her.
When a waiter stopped at his table, he ordered tea, the local kind—a clear red liquid served cold in a glass cup. After a few sips, he pushed the glass away. It was much too sweet.
He took out his phone, typed a few messages, until movement from the front of the teahouse drew his attention. There she stood, a short woman with broad shoulders, dark hair, and calculating eyes. A few curious glances shot her way as she wound around the tables and chairs. Her eyes flickered back and forth until they fixed on him. They were cold and dark, like the shaft of a tomb, sending an icy breath down his back despite the warmth of the tea house. His carefully vetted killer stood before him in the flesh. His stomach twisted.
“Is this seat available?” she asked, her contralto voice monotone.
With a curt nod, he slipped his phone into his pocket and sat up. He gestured at the chair across from him.
Without taking her hands out of her pockets, the woman sat down. She stared at him pointedly, her lips pressed into a thin line.
“How’s the karkadé?” She jerked her head at the cup.
“Delightful.” He broke eye contact and placed his backpack on the chair next to him, and sifted through its contents until he found a slip of paper. Using the tip of one finger, he slid it across the table’s glossy tiled surface.
She stared at the newspaper clipping, but her stony features revealed nothing. Eventually, she took it in her right hand. Her eyes darted left and right as she read through the article, then focused on the photograph at the end. No blink, no twitch, nothing to hint what she might be thinking. The woman’s gaze shot back up to meet his.
“She your ex?” the woman asked with a flash of amusement in her eyes. She dropped the clipping onto the table.
“No.”
“She owe you money?”
“She owes me nothing,” he said with a clipped voice, one corner of his mouth tugging upward. Hopefully that would end the questions.
“Right.” The woman leaned forward, setting her elbows on the table. “Quick and painless?”
“That would be fine. But I want photographic proof.”
“No problem. You’ll have pictures by midnight tomorrow.”
He smiled, lips tight. If it weren’t for months of searching the darknet, long flights, and thousands withdrawn from his bank account, it was almost too easy.
“I have half of the payment with me.” He put his backpack on the table and pushed it toward her. “The rest you will receive once I’ve seen the photos.”
She opened the flap, nodded, closed it, and placed the bag on the chair beside her. “I will contact you as soon as the job is done.”
Eager to leave, he pushed his chair back and stood. He didn’t want to be seen with this woman longer than necessary. It was only at her insistence he agreed to meet in public. Without another glance, he started for the door.
“One more thing,” the woman called.
He stopped and glared over his shoulder. She watched him from her seat, her eyes narrowed. Reluctantly, he trudged closer to the table.
“What did she do wrong?”
His face grew hot. Why did his motives matter to her? “That’s completely irrelevant,” he spat, fingernails digging into his moist palms.
“Tell me, or forget about it.”
His heart raced. She was ruining his perfect plan. He couldn’t take his money and walk away now. It had taken him a year of preparation to get this far. He breathed in deeply through his nose.
“Why do you want to know? Are you police?”
“No.” She crossed her arms and leaned back. “This is how I do things.”
Jaw clenched, face burning, he snatched the bag from the chair. The woman’s eyes followed his movements, anchoring on the bag in his arms. And then he understood her game. He slowly released a breath through his nostrils.
“One thousand on top if you stop asking questions.”
She drummed her fingers on her upper arm, turned her head, and gazed into the crowded room. After a moment, she refocused on him, her dark eyes empty. “Ten.”
He ran his tongue over his teeth. “Five.”
She leaned back in her chair, watching him pensively. Then she shrugged. “All right.”
“Done. Another five. Pictures by midnight tomorrow.”
With a lingering glare, he shoved the bag into her arms and left the teahouse. Once in the narrow street, he rolled his shoulders. It was done. He strode in the direction of a main road, his shoes clacking against the cobblestone. A closed-lip smile crept across his face. If everything went the way he’d planned, by tomorrow night, Leila Sterling would be dead.
From his seat at a corner table near the back of a teahouse, he cast a glance toward the front. It was a typical scene one would find anywhere in Cairo. Groups of men sat on couches, sharing a smoke from long, flexible pipes attached to a tall, thin metal shisha instrument. Tourists congregated at tables, laughing and smoking between sips of tea. Vapor from the pipes filled the air with sweet, fruity aromas.
Through the haze, he focused on the arched doorway at the front. Still no sign of her.
When a waiter stopped at his table, he ordered tea, the local kind—a clear red liquid served cold in a glass cup. After a few sips, he pushed the glass away. It was much too sweet.
He took out his phone, typed a few messages, until movement from the front of the teahouse drew his attention. There she stood, a short woman with broad shoulders, dark hair, and calculating eyes. A few curious glances shot her way as she wound around the tables and chairs. Her eyes flickered back and forth until they fixed on him. They were cold and dark, like the shaft of a tomb, sending an icy breath down his back despite the warmth of the tea house. His carefully vetted killer stood before him in the flesh. His stomach twisted.
“Is this seat available?” she asked, her contralto voice monotone.
With a curt nod, he slipped his phone into his pocket and sat up. He gestured at the chair across from him.
Without taking her hands out of her pockets, the woman sat down. She stared at him pointedly, her lips pressed into a thin line.
“How’s the karkadé?” She jerked her head at the cup.
“Delightful.” He broke eye contact and placed his backpack on the chair next to him, and sifted through its contents until he found a slip of paper. Using the tip of one finger, he slid it across the table’s glossy tiled surface.
She stared at the newspaper clipping, but her stony features revealed nothing. Eventually, she took it in her right hand. Her eyes darted left and right as she read through the article, then focused on the photograph at the end. No blink, no twitch, nothing to hint what she might be thinking. The woman’s gaze shot back up to meet his.
“She your ex?” the woman asked with a flash of amusement in her eyes. She dropped the clipping onto the table.
“No.”
“She owe you money?”
“She owes me nothing,” he said with a clipped voice, one corner of his mouth tugging upward. Hopefully that would end the questions.
“Right.” The woman leaned forward, setting her elbows on the table. “Quick and painless?”
“That would be fine. But I want photographic proof.”
“No problem. You’ll have pictures by midnight tomorrow.”
He smiled, lips tight. If it weren’t for months of searching the darknet, long flights, and thousands withdrawn from his bank account, it was almost too easy.
“I have half of the payment with me.” He put his backpack on the table and pushed it toward her. “The rest you will receive once I’ve seen the photos.”
She opened the flap, nodded, closed it, and placed the bag on the chair beside her. “I will contact you as soon as the job is done.”
Eager to leave, he pushed his chair back and stood. He didn’t want to be seen with this woman longer than necessary. It was only at her insistence he agreed to meet in public. Without another glance, he started for the door.
“One more thing,” the woman called.
He stopped and glared over his shoulder. She watched him from her seat, her eyes narrowed. Reluctantly, he trudged closer to the table.
“What did she do wrong?”
His face grew hot. Why did his motives matter to her? “That’s completely irrelevant,” he spat, fingernails digging into his moist palms.
“Tell me, or forget about it.”
His heart raced. She was ruining his perfect plan. He couldn’t take his money and walk away now. It had taken him a year of preparation to get this far. He breathed in deeply through his nose.
“Why do you want to know? Are you police?”
“No.” She crossed her arms and leaned back. “This is how I do things.”
Jaw clenched, face burning, he snatched the bag from the chair. The woman’s eyes followed his movements, anchoring on the bag in his arms. And then he understood her game. He slowly released a breath through his nostrils.
“One thousand on top if you stop asking questions.”
She drummed her fingers on her upper arm, turned her head, and gazed into the crowded room. After a moment, she refocused on him, her dark eyes empty. “Ten.”
He ran his tongue over his teeth. “Five.”
She leaned back in her chair, watching him pensively. Then she shrugged. “All right.”
“Done. Another five. Pictures by midnight tomorrow.”
With a lingering glare, he shoved the bag into her arms and left the teahouse. Once in the narrow street, he rolled his shoulders. It was done. He strode in the direction of a main road, his shoes clacking against the cobblestone. A closed-lip smile crept across his face. If everything went the way he’d planned, by tomorrow night, Leila Sterling would be dead.
***
Glass shattered, the crash reverberating down the empty hall. Leila lifted her head, the chalice in her hands momentarily forgotten. Silence followed. She placed the artifact onto the plastic tray on her desk and stood, holding her breath. Tip-toeing so as not to make any noise, she peeled off her latex gloves and slunk past tables dotted with pottery shards and microscopes, to the door that opened into the dark hallway.
It was hard to tell which room the noise had come from, but it sounded as if it happened down the hall. Either from the excavation leader’s office or the classroom. As far as she knew, Professor Soliman had gone home at lunch time. Maybe he'd forgotten something and returned without her noticing.
Or what if it was him? The thought was almost laughable. Faris Al-Rashid wouldn’t come after her himself. He’d send some goon to do the dirty work.
Her pulse accelerating, her gaze darted to the chair where her purse sat.
Grab the phone, turn on all the lights.
But if someone was trying to break in, she didn’t have anything to scare them off with if turning on the lights didn’t do the job. Her gaze fell on a fire extinguisher hanging on the wall next to the door. That would work.
She grabbed the red canister, slipped her phone from her bag, then peered into the dark hallway, studying the shadows in the corners. Empty.
Once she determined it was safe, she flipped the hallway light on and left the cover of the workroom. She crept down the corridor, listening for any other noises. A gentle hum of fluorescent lights came from the lab.
This is what I get for working late at the one place on the entire continent of Africa too cheap to pay a security guard. Leila chewed on her lower lip, her breaths coming out in short bursts through her nostrils.
She stopped at a door midway down the hall, tucked her phone into her pocket, and dug out her keys. After finding the one she needed, she unlocked the door and eased it open. A strip of light fell across the stony face of an ancient Egyptian Queen, ceramic vases filling the shelves above and below the statue. She nudged the door all the way open, making sure nothing had fallen from a shelf and shattered. The pottery and alabaster statues all stood in place.
She closed and locked the door again, then resumed her walk to the end of the hall. Her churning stomach warned her to retreat to the lab. Both doors were closed.
“Soliman?” she called, leaning one ear toward the door on the right. Silence greeted her. Dread hardened in her chest as she eyed the classroom door across the hall.
She wrapped her fingers around the rough metal handle. One. She took in a deep breath, adjusting her grip on the fire extinguisher. Two….
A door slammed down the hall.
With a yelp, Leila whirled around. The fire extinguisher hit the floor with a clang. Soliman shuffled down the hallway toward her, the overhead lights glinting off the top of his head.
“Masa’ al-khair,” he called, keys jingling as he walked. He frowned at the red canister rolling on the floor. “Everything all right? I’ve forgotten my sketch maps.”
“Good evening to you too, Professor.” Leila swallowed, her heart still running a marathon. “There’s something we need to check. I heard some glass breaking.”
“Glass?” Soliman stopped. “What glass?”
“I don’t know.” She tilted her head toward the classroom door. “I was about to go in and see.”
Soliman pushed his glasses up his nose and stepped forward. “Well then, let’s have a look.”
Leila grabbed the handle again and pushed the door open. The room was dark, the chairs and desks empty, white scrawls from the last lecture still covered the blackboard. Not seeing any movement, she took a step inside. Her gaze darted toward the windows on the far end of the room.
“There,” she whispered, pointing at the jagged hole in one corner.
Soliman strode across the room, grumbling under his breath. Glass crunched under his shoes as he neared the window.
Leila joined him, surveying the mess on the floor. There was no object anywhere that could have been thrown through the glass. She walked up to the window and squinted, peering out into the darkness.
Palm trees swayed in the gentle breeze, filtering the moonlight into strange patterns on the ground.
“I suppose I should get this cleaned up,” Soliman said from behind her. “I’ll have to check the security cameras. There aren’t any on this side of the building, but maybe they caught footage of someone coming and going on the street.”
Leila half-turned. “I’ll go find a broom.” Something moved outside—a shadow flitted across the lawn. She whirled back around, just in time to catch a retreating form disappearing behind the trees.
“Someone’s out there.”
Soliman looked over her shoulder and they both scanned the grassy area. Nothing moved. Even the breeze had stopped teasing the branches.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“I saw something. Should we check outside?”
Soliman nodded, and Leila picked up the fire extinguisher again. They took the back door, going down the three steps that led to the lawn. After a few minutes of peering into bushes and around corners, Leila caught Soliman’s eye and shrugged. There was no sign that anyone had been there.
“Well, it could have been an accident,” Soliman suggested as they trudged back inside. “Or a child causing trouble. I’ll make sure that window gets patched up for tonight and check the CCTV.”
Leila nodded. “What should we put over the window? There’s a wooden pallet in the storage room that hasn’t been used in months. I could take it apart and—”
“No, no, no. I’ll give the janitor a call. He’ll come around and take care of it.” Soliman waved a hand. “Why don’t you go home? Aren’t you on vacation tomorrow?”
“Two whole weeks.”
“I thought so. Don’t worry about any mess. Enjoy your break.”
Leila couldn’t bring herself to argue with him. She was tired and hungry. She’d never patched up a window before and would probably only get in the way. Plus, she had a date with Xander. A video-call date, but still a date.
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll finish up and head out.”
Back in the lab, she boxed up the chalice she had been categorizing, briefly admiring the lotus leaf pattern sweeping up the sides of the cup. Clutching the box, she paused, closed her eyes, and took in a deep breath.
It was nothing. Probably just some kid.
Satisfied, she glanced over her notes on the chalice to double check her work. It was the first time she’d seen the artifact since they began to empty the tomb. The chalice had been listed in the database, only to be marked as stolen. Yet there she’d found it that morning, in a box at the bottom of a stack in a cobwebby corner.
It wasn’t unheard of for artifacts to be misplaced, lost, or stolen from a dig, so it was a relief that it was now accounted for. She took the box into the storage room and placed it back in an empty space on the shelf.
Her thoughts wandered to the video-call, making a mental note not to tell Xander about the broken window. He would only worry. But with her crazy hours at work and school, she would probably forget about it by the time she got home and saw his face on the screen.
Two more days. Two more days and he’d be there.
Before leaving the storage room, she stopped at the doorway and glanced over her shoulder. Vases of different sizes filled half the floor. The shelving unit was stuffed with boxes where some of the more delicate artifacts rested. Statues stood in the spaces in between, all waiting for categorizing and a museum to put them on display. Leaving them in a dark storage room would be a pity.
She clicked off the storage room light and closed the door, humming while she cleared her work station. Once finished, Leila grabbed her purse and stepped into the hallway. She paused to lock the lab door and test the handle to make sure it was secure. After a farewell to Soliman, who waved to her from behind his computer with a phone tucked between his ear and shoulder, she slipped her phone from her bag and headed for the exit.
Outside, the January evening was dry and cool enough for a sweater. Comfortable after another day of scorching Sahara sun. Leila looked up and down the sidewalk. Whoever had broken the window could still be around. Dusty lamps hanging from crooked telephone poles lit the street and the cars parked on the curb. A handful of pedestrians ambled down both sides, none of them interested in her passing.
Hoping to get her mind off the broken window while she walked home, she pulled out her phone. The little green light in the corner blinked. She turned on the screen to see a message from Xander, sent a few hours ago.
Xander: Two more days and I get to see your beautiful face in person. Video call for 8 is a go xx
She grinned like an idiot. He was the best. Before responding, she glanced over her other messages, making sure she wasn’t forgetting anything. Another unread text waited for her, sent by her friend, Emma.
Emma: I need to talk. I think I’m in trouble. Meet me for dinner at Casa Della Pasta at 7.
Leila came to a halt on the sidewalk, chewing the inside of her lip. Her mind whirled with possibilities. Another bad date? No, Emma would have mentioned she had one. A family crisis? Maybe the family drama surrounding her sister’s wedding was finally getting to her, and she desperately needed to vent. Or maybe she’d made a life-altering decision. Or she was sick. Or in legal trouble. It could be anything.
But Leila would have to cancel the call with Xander. She tapped back and forth between the texts. Go to Emma’s rescue, or chat with Xander for a couple hours? Emma seemed desperate. Xander would arrive the day after tomorrow. Leila released a huff. What could be so important that Emma would have to meet up immediately?
But if they had dinner at seven, and the video call was at eight, maybe she could still make both work. She would have to give Xander a head’s up.
Having made up her mind, she searched the street until her eyes landed on a taxi idling at the curb. Her arm shot up and a moment later, the taxi’s headlights flickered on.
She let out a puff of air and recorded a quick message to Xander while the vehicle headed her way.
“Hey, sweet cheeks,” she started, trying to sound cheerful. “I need to meet up with Emma in a few. Something’s come up and she’s
freaking out, so I might be late. Well, knowing Emma, very late. So don’t wait around for me or anything. I’ll still call you tomorrow before your flight. Love ya.”
She hit send. It wasn’t much of a solution, but she’d make sure Emma didn’t keep her too long. It was still possible to drive to Cairo and back before nine, at least. If she couldn’t talk to Xander tonight, she would make up for her lateness the second she met him at arrivals.
The car pulled up and she slid into the back.
“Cairo, please,” she said to the driver. The woman nodded and they merged into traffic. Leila stared at the driver’s brown ponytail for a moment, surprised to see a woman in the driver’s seat. Although not unheard of, female taxi drivers were a rarity in Egypt.
With a shrug, she leaned back in her seat and tapped a message to Emma.
Leila: Hey Emz, I’m on my way xoxo
It was hard to tell which room the noise had come from, but it sounded as if it happened down the hall. Either from the excavation leader’s office or the classroom. As far as she knew, Professor Soliman had gone home at lunch time. Maybe he'd forgotten something and returned without her noticing.
Or what if it was him? The thought was almost laughable. Faris Al-Rashid wouldn’t come after her himself. He’d send some goon to do the dirty work.
Her pulse accelerating, her gaze darted to the chair where her purse sat.
Grab the phone, turn on all the lights.
But if someone was trying to break in, she didn’t have anything to scare them off with if turning on the lights didn’t do the job. Her gaze fell on a fire extinguisher hanging on the wall next to the door. That would work.
She grabbed the red canister, slipped her phone from her bag, then peered into the dark hallway, studying the shadows in the corners. Empty.
Once she determined it was safe, she flipped the hallway light on and left the cover of the workroom. She crept down the corridor, listening for any other noises. A gentle hum of fluorescent lights came from the lab.
This is what I get for working late at the one place on the entire continent of Africa too cheap to pay a security guard. Leila chewed on her lower lip, her breaths coming out in short bursts through her nostrils.
She stopped at a door midway down the hall, tucked her phone into her pocket, and dug out her keys. After finding the one she needed, she unlocked the door and eased it open. A strip of light fell across the stony face of an ancient Egyptian Queen, ceramic vases filling the shelves above and below the statue. She nudged the door all the way open, making sure nothing had fallen from a shelf and shattered. The pottery and alabaster statues all stood in place.
She closed and locked the door again, then resumed her walk to the end of the hall. Her churning stomach warned her to retreat to the lab. Both doors were closed.
“Soliman?” she called, leaning one ear toward the door on the right. Silence greeted her. Dread hardened in her chest as she eyed the classroom door across the hall.
She wrapped her fingers around the rough metal handle. One. She took in a deep breath, adjusting her grip on the fire extinguisher. Two….
A door slammed down the hall.
With a yelp, Leila whirled around. The fire extinguisher hit the floor with a clang. Soliman shuffled down the hallway toward her, the overhead lights glinting off the top of his head.
“Masa’ al-khair,” he called, keys jingling as he walked. He frowned at the red canister rolling on the floor. “Everything all right? I’ve forgotten my sketch maps.”
“Good evening to you too, Professor.” Leila swallowed, her heart still running a marathon. “There’s something we need to check. I heard some glass breaking.”
“Glass?” Soliman stopped. “What glass?”
“I don’t know.” She tilted her head toward the classroom door. “I was about to go in and see.”
Soliman pushed his glasses up his nose and stepped forward. “Well then, let’s have a look.”
Leila grabbed the handle again and pushed the door open. The room was dark, the chairs and desks empty, white scrawls from the last lecture still covered the blackboard. Not seeing any movement, she took a step inside. Her gaze darted toward the windows on the far end of the room.
“There,” she whispered, pointing at the jagged hole in one corner.
Soliman strode across the room, grumbling under his breath. Glass crunched under his shoes as he neared the window.
Leila joined him, surveying the mess on the floor. There was no object anywhere that could have been thrown through the glass. She walked up to the window and squinted, peering out into the darkness.
Palm trees swayed in the gentle breeze, filtering the moonlight into strange patterns on the ground.
“I suppose I should get this cleaned up,” Soliman said from behind her. “I’ll have to check the security cameras. There aren’t any on this side of the building, but maybe they caught footage of someone coming and going on the street.”
Leila half-turned. “I’ll go find a broom.” Something moved outside—a shadow flitted across the lawn. She whirled back around, just in time to catch a retreating form disappearing behind the trees.
“Someone’s out there.”
Soliman looked over her shoulder and they both scanned the grassy area. Nothing moved. Even the breeze had stopped teasing the branches.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“I saw something. Should we check outside?”
Soliman nodded, and Leila picked up the fire extinguisher again. They took the back door, going down the three steps that led to the lawn. After a few minutes of peering into bushes and around corners, Leila caught Soliman’s eye and shrugged. There was no sign that anyone had been there.
“Well, it could have been an accident,” Soliman suggested as they trudged back inside. “Or a child causing trouble. I’ll make sure that window gets patched up for tonight and check the CCTV.”
Leila nodded. “What should we put over the window? There’s a wooden pallet in the storage room that hasn’t been used in months. I could take it apart and—”
“No, no, no. I’ll give the janitor a call. He’ll come around and take care of it.” Soliman waved a hand. “Why don’t you go home? Aren’t you on vacation tomorrow?”
“Two whole weeks.”
“I thought so. Don’t worry about any mess. Enjoy your break.”
Leila couldn’t bring herself to argue with him. She was tired and hungry. She’d never patched up a window before and would probably only get in the way. Plus, she had a date with Xander. A video-call date, but still a date.
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll finish up and head out.”
Back in the lab, she boxed up the chalice she had been categorizing, briefly admiring the lotus leaf pattern sweeping up the sides of the cup. Clutching the box, she paused, closed her eyes, and took in a deep breath.
It was nothing. Probably just some kid.
Satisfied, she glanced over her notes on the chalice to double check her work. It was the first time she’d seen the artifact since they began to empty the tomb. The chalice had been listed in the database, only to be marked as stolen. Yet there she’d found it that morning, in a box at the bottom of a stack in a cobwebby corner.
It wasn’t unheard of for artifacts to be misplaced, lost, or stolen from a dig, so it was a relief that it was now accounted for. She took the box into the storage room and placed it back in an empty space on the shelf.
Her thoughts wandered to the video-call, making a mental note not to tell Xander about the broken window. He would only worry. But with her crazy hours at work and school, she would probably forget about it by the time she got home and saw his face on the screen.
Two more days. Two more days and he’d be there.
Before leaving the storage room, she stopped at the doorway and glanced over her shoulder. Vases of different sizes filled half the floor. The shelving unit was stuffed with boxes where some of the more delicate artifacts rested. Statues stood in the spaces in between, all waiting for categorizing and a museum to put them on display. Leaving them in a dark storage room would be a pity.
She clicked off the storage room light and closed the door, humming while she cleared her work station. Once finished, Leila grabbed her purse and stepped into the hallway. She paused to lock the lab door and test the handle to make sure it was secure. After a farewell to Soliman, who waved to her from behind his computer with a phone tucked between his ear and shoulder, she slipped her phone from her bag and headed for the exit.
Outside, the January evening was dry and cool enough for a sweater. Comfortable after another day of scorching Sahara sun. Leila looked up and down the sidewalk. Whoever had broken the window could still be around. Dusty lamps hanging from crooked telephone poles lit the street and the cars parked on the curb. A handful of pedestrians ambled down both sides, none of them interested in her passing.
Hoping to get her mind off the broken window while she walked home, she pulled out her phone. The little green light in the corner blinked. She turned on the screen to see a message from Xander, sent a few hours ago.
Xander: Two more days and I get to see your beautiful face in person. Video call for 8 is a go xx
She grinned like an idiot. He was the best. Before responding, she glanced over her other messages, making sure she wasn’t forgetting anything. Another unread text waited for her, sent by her friend, Emma.
Emma: I need to talk. I think I’m in trouble. Meet me for dinner at Casa Della Pasta at 7.
Leila came to a halt on the sidewalk, chewing the inside of her lip. Her mind whirled with possibilities. Another bad date? No, Emma would have mentioned she had one. A family crisis? Maybe the family drama surrounding her sister’s wedding was finally getting to her, and she desperately needed to vent. Or maybe she’d made a life-altering decision. Or she was sick. Or in legal trouble. It could be anything.
But Leila would have to cancel the call with Xander. She tapped back and forth between the texts. Go to Emma’s rescue, or chat with Xander for a couple hours? Emma seemed desperate. Xander would arrive the day after tomorrow. Leila released a huff. What could be so important that Emma would have to meet up immediately?
But if they had dinner at seven, and the video call was at eight, maybe she could still make both work. She would have to give Xander a head’s up.
Having made up her mind, she searched the street until her eyes landed on a taxi idling at the curb. Her arm shot up and a moment later, the taxi’s headlights flickered on.
She let out a puff of air and recorded a quick message to Xander while the vehicle headed her way.
“Hey, sweet cheeks,” she started, trying to sound cheerful. “I need to meet up with Emma in a few. Something’s come up and she’s
freaking out, so I might be late. Well, knowing Emma, very late. So don’t wait around for me or anything. I’ll still call you tomorrow before your flight. Love ya.”
She hit send. It wasn’t much of a solution, but she’d make sure Emma didn’t keep her too long. It was still possible to drive to Cairo and back before nine, at least. If she couldn’t talk to Xander tonight, she would make up for her lateness the second she met him at arrivals.
The car pulled up and she slid into the back.
“Cairo, please,” she said to the driver. The woman nodded and they merged into traffic. Leila stared at the driver’s brown ponytail for a moment, surprised to see a woman in the driver’s seat. Although not unheard of, female taxi drivers were a rarity in Egypt.
With a shrug, she leaned back in her seat and tapped a message to Emma.
Leila: Hey Emz, I’m on my way xoxo
