Shadows in the Night

  “We have to give it time and thought.”

  “I wasn’t thinking everlasting commitment. I’m not FBI, but I can help a great deal and we’re going to...be together. Differently. I—”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Micah said.

  “Yes, okay. I guess I know what you mean. I believe... I believe we’ll see each other tomorrow and the next day, and if...”

  “Yes,” Micah said. Then, neither spoke; they looked at each other.

  “We’re adults,” Harley whispered.

  “Yes, and so... I’m heading out.”

  He walked to the door. Harley followed him, ready to lock up when he left. She stayed a short distance behind him. She felt as if her flesh and blood, muscle and bone, had come alive, as if neurons or atoms or other chemical entities were flashing through her system with tiny sparks of red-hot fire. He had to leave; otherwise, she’d embarrass herself.

  But she didn’t really care.

  Still, he was right. They needed time. Just because they could hook up didn’t mean they should forget that there were consequences to any deed, even if neither had any expectations.

  At the door, he turned to her.

  It could have all ended there—as it should have.

  She could’ve stayed where she was.

  But she didn’t. She walked forward, her eyes on his, until she was touching him, and when she did, he backed into the door. At the same time, his arms came around her.

  She touched his face. Stroked his cheek, felt the power in his arms as he drew her close. She let herself shudder with a delicious abandon as she felt the heat of his body, the texture and strength in his muscles. And then she felt his mouth, crushing hers, and she returned the kiss with equal open-mouthed passion. They stood in the doorway, fumbling with each other’s clothing. Micah pulled away for a second, removing his holster and Glock from the back of his waistband, setting them down on the occasional table.

  Then he paused, breathing heavily. “Wait. Is there...someone else? Is there that kind of reason?”

  She shook her head. “No. No one else. There hasn’t been anyone else in well over a year.” She felt her cheeks turn a dozen shades of red. “But it’s all right. I’m on the pill.”

  He drew her back into his arms for a very long, very wet, hot kiss.

  Then they moved through the apartment, half disrobing themselves, half helping each other.

  They stood in the center of the loft, next to the plate glass windows looking out on the night, on the gothic structure of Grace Church. They both hesitated a minute.

  Not that anything was wrong; rather she felt blessed.

  The light that came in and bathed them together was beautiful and romantic. Micah smiled and said, “I have this great image of me sweeping you into my arms and carrying you up the stairway...but it’s winding and it’s iron and...”

  Harley laughed. She turned and ran up the winding stairway to the loft. He quickly joined her.

  The loft seemed to be aglow with light in the most glorious colors—pastels with bursts of darker blue and mauve, probably from some vehicle moving down on the street. They found each other’s mouths again, kissed forever, and then Harley rolled over and straddled him. They twined their fingers together and looked at each other again, and she couldn’t help wondering if it was possible to not really know someone—but to believe that you did.

  You could be fooling yourself! a voice nagged.

  But she didn’t care. She’d been spending the year since Henry’s death biding time, waiting...

  For what, she hadn’t known.

  Until now? Until this? And maybe it was just sex...

  But at this point in her life, that was fine, too!

  She felt his hands moving over her body, touching and teasing, exploring and giving. They turned on the bed, facing each other, laughing, kissing, their lips roaming, intimate. They shared kisses that caused sensation to soar, cries to escape into the night...

  Then at last they were together, moving with the brilliant colors of the night. She caught his eyes and they were beautiful.

  His hands were electric, his movement fierce and erotic, and it seemed that they’d joined in something wonderful that captured the pulse and beat of the city...agonizing in its wonder, lasting too long, and yet over too quickly.

  She lay beside him, breathing desperately. She could hear her own heartbeat as if it shook the very foundations of the building.

  And she felt his knuckles, gentle on her cheek. He pulled her to him. She prayed her heartbeat would slow...

  “What are you thinking?” he asked her quietly.

  For some reason, she couldn’t resist being honest.

  “That you’re very, very good. Or that everyone else in my life of the boyfriend variety has been bad. Disappointing, anyway. I mean, as a lover...”

  He laughed. “I’m going to take the ‘very, very good.’” He hesitated, drawing a line gently from her face to her collarbone. “Why?” he asked.

  “Why are you good at this?” she murmured, perfectly aware that wasn’t what he meant.

  “Why have you been...alone?” he asked her.

  She shook her head. “I haven’t been alone. My world is very rich with family and friends. I’m lucky. I’ve been out there. I’ve even waited tables a few times at Finnegan’s when they were short on people. And I actually like working for Fillmore Investigations. I’m not out on the street much. I like to think I’m kind of a little like Sherlock Holmes. Field agents with the company bring me information and I figure things out from the bits and pieces. I often talk to Kieran, and discuss my people with her, put them in hypothetical situations.”

  “That’s work. Not personal.”

  “Yes, true. I’ve been to Florida to visit my family. And I’ve gone to tons of shows with Kieran’s family. Her twin brother, Kevin, is an actor and—”

  “I know. So why did you suddenly need me so badly?” he asked her.

  She turned toward him, drawing the sheets to her shoulders as she answered the question. “Why are you here—needed or just as needy?” she asked.

  He laughed softly. “Ouch. Hmm.”

  “It’s a fair question. I was in criminology, probably because of Craig. I’ve lost family members, but I hadn’t ever seen anyone die the way Henry did. And I was so crazy about him, as if he’d been a relative. You know...yeah, you know what he was like. Anyway, I tried to do something about his death. I failed. I never expected this, though!”

  “You mean me?”

  “No, sorry! No, I meant Thursday night, at the gala. Vivian! Why kill Henry and wait all this time to attack Vivian?” Harley asked.

  He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “Maybe the killer’s triggered by events.”

  “You mean—”

  “Henry died the day your team made the discovery. Vivian was attacked the day you were all about to celebrate that discovery.”

  “The mummy’s curse?”

  He groaned.

  “No! I don’t believe it, but... Micah, there were Egyptian workers who told us we were going to be cursed.”

  “None of the Egyptian workers were here at the gala,” Micah reminded her.

  “Yolanda. Yolanda Akeem,” Harley said.

  “Ah, Yolanda.”

  “You know her?”

  “I do. I met her in Cairo.”

  “So...would you say you’re friends?”

  “Oh, I don’t think that word describes our brief time together. No, she got me out of Egypt, helped me chase after you guys,” Micah said. “We’re having some problems reaching her, although I assume she’s still in the country. McGrady tried to get her to stick around after the night of the celebration, and he managed to talk to her for a few minutes, but in
my mind, she hadn’t been properly questioned yet.”

  “What? Why?”

  “She has some kind of diplomatic immunity. And, of course, she had nothing to do with what happened to Vivian.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “She was always within range of cameras,” Micah said. He smiled. “The FBI’s taken the lead, so we have footage, prints, you name it. Sadly, even with all the crime scene evidence that was collected, we don’t have answers. But as far as Yolanda goes, we’re almost positive she wasn’t anywhere near the museum before the gala. She arrived just in time for the party, and she was on camera the entire time. She didn’t even take a trip to the ladies’ room.”

  “Why do you think she doesn’t want to talk to police?”

  “Apparently, she believes that the entire expedition was run by a bunch of idiots, and she’s tired of all the bad press involving archeological work in her country.” He grinned suddenly, and ran a finger from her collarbone to her abdomen. “There’s something wrong with this picture. I’m lying here, next to you, seeing you, feeling you and...”

  “And we’re talking about work. But with your kind of job, it’s what you do all the time, right? Is that what you mean?”

  “No,” he said, laughing. “What I meant is that I’m obviously not so good or you’d be more intrigued by us being together here—naked in bed!—than by the puzzles that will return in the morning.”

  “Morning, evening...”

  Harley felt almost giddy and worried about herself all at once. It was too natural to be here with him. Too easy, too sweet.

  She crawled on top of him, her breasts just teasing his chest. “Don’t worry. I’m not at all distracted. Like I said, you’re very, very good. Of course, feel free to reinforce such a notion at any time.”

  “Of course!”

  He drew her to him. They were locked in a hot, wet kiss again, then disengaged to shower each other with featherlight touches, brushing with their lips and fingertips, delicate brushes that turned urgent and became fierce, passionate lovemaking that left them both breathless, hearts pounding once again.

  It was incredible. Being together was incredible. She lay curled next to him as he held her. They were both silent for a few minutes.

  “Okay, we know that while Yolanda Akeem might conceivably have had something to do with Henry’s death, she couldn’t have had anything to do with what happened to Vivian,” Micah murmured.

  Harley laughed softly. “So, I’m not that good, eh?”

  He turned to her. “Good? Good? ‘Good’ is a total understatement. You are spectacular. And beyond.”

  They both went on to prove just how much they appreciated each other.

  * * *

  WHEN MORNING CAME, and they’d both showered and dressed, he sat on the bed next to her, adjusting his sleeves while she buttoned her blouse.

  “Amazing, huh?” he said. “And that’s not a word I use lightly.”

  “What is?” She grinned; she couldn’t help herself. “‘Very, very, very good’? Now, as to amazing...”

  “Hey!”

  “Okay...amazing.”

  “I meant that it was special to have a night like this, to be focused entirely on another person, without losing focus on the rest of your life.”

  “But remember, neither of us has a hold on the other. How awkward! What I mean is...you didn’t become forever committed.”

  He gently kissed her lips.

  “No hold. I have to meet up with Craig at the office. I’ll see you later, right?”

  Harley nodded. “I’ll be at Finnegan’s this evening. I’ve gotten together with Kieran and Craig for Sunday roast the last few weeks. I imagine that if you’re going to be with Craig, you’ll end up there, as well.”

  “Excellent.”

  At the door, he lingered, kissing her goodbye.

  He left and she leaned against the door.

  Then she reminded herself that he’d been nothing but a forgotten voice until two nights ago. That she’d wanted to believe she’d be happy with just one night.

  Except that now...

  She wanted far more than a night.

  * * *

  MICAH SAT IN the New York office with Craig and one of the computer techs.

  He stared at the security footage from the museum over and over again.

  It didn’t matter how long he studied the footage, it didn’t change. He saw everyone involved with the exhibit as they arrived that day. Administrators and other key people got there early, heading straight over to the area that was about to be unveiled.

  He saw the coming and going of visitors to the main part of the museum during the day.

  The caterers arrived. Everything looked just as it should for the evening that would welcome a special group for the official opening of the Henry Tomlinson Collection.

  “Whatever went on with Vivian, it was planned way before the event. There are security cameras just about everywhere except for the offices, and they reveal nothing and no one out of the ordinary. Of course, there are the subterranean so-called ‘secret access’ areas that Arlo showed Harley and me,” Micah said. “There’s no question in my mind that whoever did this planned it well ahead of time. The linens would’ve been on hand in the prep room. Even before the Amenmose exhibit, the museum offered Egyptology and they have classes for high school kids in which the religious and funerary rituals are demonstrated. As to the nicotine poisoning, it’s easy enough to get hold of insecticide.”

  “We’ll need warrants,” Craig said, “if we want to check out credit card purchases. Although I sincerely doubt we’d find what we’re looking for. And I’m not sure we can even get warrants unless we have information or evidence we can use to designate suspects.”

  “Whoever bought the poison didn’t use a credit card. And he or she didn’t buy it all at the same place,” Micah said. “It’s one of them,” he added. “I know that one of them killed Henry. The same person apparently tried to kill Vivian. Either that or...”

  “Or?”

  “We’ve been chasing the wrong dog,” Micah said thoughtfully. He looked at Craig. “Everyone involved in that exhibit and in the expedition knows that a lot of people didn’t believe a verdict of death by accident—that Henry killed himself in a state of delirium—no matter what official reports said. I realize that most eventually gave up and accepted the verdict, or pretended to.”

  “What if someone was trying to kill Vivian, and trying to make it appear that it was Henry’s killer coming after her?” Craig suggested.

  “I don’t know,” Micah said with a long sigh. “Maybe that’s far-fetched. I’m still suspicious about the entire thing that went on in the desert. The insurgency—the supposedly violent insurgency that killed no one and led to nothing but a few demonstrators being arrested. Also, there’s another name that keeps coming up, that of Satima Mahmoud. The translator.”

  “She’s in Egypt.”

  “I’d like to talk to her. If we can reach someone in our Cairo office, perhaps they can arrange a meeting.”

  “All right. I’ll give tech a call. We’ll see if they can get through to our people over there now. And if so, if the staff can bring Satima in and set up a satellite call.”

  “That’s great. Either a video meeting or, if I have to, I’ll fly back over.”

  “Alone?” Craig asked him.

  “You’re welcome to join me.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about me. To be honest, I don’t like the idea of Harley going back there—not now, and not in relation to this case.”

  “I wouldn’t bring Harley,” Micah said quickly.

  “You’re going to make damned sure you keep her out of danger, right? I know she’d say she can look after herself, and of course, that’s true. But she??
?s my cousin and I love her, so I can’t help feeling this way. You understand?”

  Micah nodded. He understood.

  Craig was still looking at him. “Yeah, you do understand. Thank you,” he said quietly.

  And once again, Micah nodded.

  Chapter Six

  Edward Fillmore was an exceptional boss.

  In many ways—although he was less on the slightly crazy academic side—he reminded her of Henry Tomlinson.

  They were both decent men. Not on-a-pedestal wonderful; they had their moments. But they were both good people. Or, rather, Henry had been good until his unfair and untimely end.

  Edward had founded his company years earlier. They handled private investigations, such as finding lost family members, searching for missing children and were certainly happy to participate in any “silver” alert, as well. He seldom took on divorce cases in which one spouse was trying to trap the other. In fact, he’d only take on such a case if he met with someone he saw as an injured party first, and then only if it meant getting suitable support for any children who might be affected.

  When Harley had first gone to work for him, he’d told her to feel free to use her own time and whatever resources the company had to look into Henry’s death. She’d never used work hours—say, when she was tracking down a credit card report or some lead on a missing person—to pursue her own investigation. But she’d accepted his offer, although she hadn’t come up with anything yet. Henry was gone, had been cremated. And there was no lead to follow; it was all a stone wall. It was somewhat comforting to know that the FBI had encountered the same stone wall. No one had been able to crack the defenses established when the Amenmose expedition had ended, Henry had died and they’d all left the site.

  Now, of course, she had a new crime to pursue—the poisoning of Vivian Richter.

  She called Edward Fillmore and asked if she might have his blessing to head into the offices and search through info on various people.

  Edward was quick to allow her access to his computers and databases.

  So Harley spent her Sunday morning going through everything she could find on everyone she knew—including her colleagues on the expedition, the people she’d never suspected. Her search yielded little.