“Calm down. We know that, Jess.”
“No, I’m not sure you do. I can’t just jump into your mission without knowing anything about the situation or the city or what you expect me to do, and I certainly can’t relax until I have a plan of action.” Once she got started, concerns piled on top of each other, faster than she could say them. “For instance, where did my father go when he was there, and who did he talk to? Do you know? Because that might help me figure out what he was thinking.”
Behind her, Avery punched a pillow and turned over in her seat, an obvious hint that they were making too much noise. Jess lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. “Also, is it safe to eat the fresh fruits and vegetables? I grabbed a jar of peanut butter from the kitchen, but I didn’t bring any vitamin supplements and I don’t want to compromise my health by not eating properly, and who knows what strange bacteria might be in the local produce?”
“Jess.” He said it firmly, cutting off her next comment. “You can ask everything later, and I’ll do my best to answer. Some things you’ll just have to figure out as you go.”
That was exactly what she didn’t want to hear. As her eyes widened in alarm, he held up one hand while rubbing his forehead with the other. “Forget that. I’ll find an answer for everything if it kills me.”
That was only marginally better since she wasn’t sure he took her fears seriously. “I don’t like being unprepared,” she said defensively. “As a professional whatever-you-are, you should appreciate that.”
“I understand. But the first and best preparation is to get some sleep.” When she started to protest that simplistic answer, he shushed her forcefully. “No arguments. Pretend you’re at home in bed. Close your eyes and go to sleep. It’s that simple.”
“Not if you have insomnia.” And a few hundred anxieties to go with it.
He looked like he might like to choke her to sleep, but asked with strained patience, “What exactly do you need to relax you enough to fall asleep?”
For one second she recalled the bone-melting languor that had hit her when he’d backed her into the dresser and kissed her until her head spun. That might work. But she couldn’t say that. “Ambien?”
“Sorry.”
She sighed. He sighed. Finally, he said, “Look, if you’re going to be awake, I want you to do something for me. Think about that ancient vase Wally mentioned. What era would it be from? What would it look like? What shape, what size? There must be typical styles from different dynasties, or whatever they’re called.”
“Not so much. Just a different pharaoh’s cartouche.”
“There you go. Think about that. Whose name might be on it? I want you to work on that problem, even if it takes hours. The vase is important.”
“Then I should make notes.”
“No, no writing. Do it in your head. It’s an exercise in freethinking. It helps you tap into the subconscious to get answers.”
Bullshit, she thought. But she did enjoy a mental challenge. It had been a long time since the good days she and her dad had shared, back before he’d been taken hostage, when her mother’s psychoses were under control and her world had been a simple, happy place. She laid her chair back and, to humor him, closed her eyes. It wouldn’t cause her to fall asleep, but it would give her something soothing to occupy her mind for the six hours or so until she was allowed to pepper Donovan with the more important questions.
Making herself comfortable, she imagined her father’s small study at home, redolent of cigar smoke and musty, old books. And her father’s kind smile as he listened to her questions and wove stories for her of the ancient pharaohs and their queens. Time fell away and she was ten years old again, entranced by stories of people who’d lived four thousand years ago.
She woke to brilliant sunlight pouring through the window and the smell of jet fuel. Amazed, she sat up and leaned forward, blinking at the busy sight outside the window of planes taxiing and baggage cars weaving past them.
Paris. Time for her crash course in Egyptian culture.
…
“It’s simple,” Donovan insisted. “You wear the appropriate clothes, and you only have to talk to me.”
He pushed aside the remains of the breakfast the ultraefficient Brian had served them once they were back in the air, en route for Cairo. Brian had even slipped her another Dramamine with a mimosa and a wink. She had an immediate crush on him.
“The scenario is, you’re spending a couple days sightseeing and shopping while your rich, important husband takes care of business in Cairo. No one will question that. I’ll do the talking to anyone else, and take you wherever you need to go, whether it’s a museum or a bookstore or a tour of the tombs.”