“Aren’t there tourists all over the place out there?” Avery asked. “Someone must have seen something.”
“Not necessarily. The tomb is closed to the public right now. Apparently they rotate which ones they open.”
Jess had grown up on stories of the royal tombs and the pharaohs whose mummies and possessions they’d once housed. She’d devoured her father’s stories the way other children were enraptured by Disney movies and Grimm’s fairy tales. Walter Shikovski had made kings and queens, dead for four thousand years, come alive in her young mind. She’d never imagined being close enough to actually visit their tombs. Her long-buried fascination tingled to life. “Which tomb were they working in?” she asked.
“King Tut’s.”
“Oh, cool,” Avery exclaimed. “That one must be awesome to see.”
“Not really,” Jess told her. At their surprised looks, she added, “I mean, any of them would be, but KV62 is about as unpretentious as they come. It’s thought to have been a private tomb for a commoner that was rushed into service for the nineteen-year-old king when he died unexpectedly. It’s small, and only the burial chamber has murals. Almost any other tomb has more impressive artwork.”
“She’s right,” Mitch said. “I got a crash course today from the good professor. Too bad you didn’t come with me, Jess, you’d have enjoyed it.”
Damn, she would have. She hadn’t wanted any part of coming here, but since she had, it seemed a waste not to see the places she’d imagined since childhood.
“Jess.” Donovan brought her back to reality. “Are you saying there’s something odd about them studying that particular tomb? Maybe even threatening to someone?”
“Oh, no. There would be plenty to study. I just wouldn’t call the murals awesome. Tutankhamun’s tomb was only extraordinary because it’s the only one discovered so far that hadn’t been completely plundered. But there are plenty of reasons why graduate students might find the paintings worth studying.”
He looked disappointed. She couldn’t blame him. They were desperate for clues to the two students’ disappearances, and finding out why they were taken would have been a good start.
“I know Evan checked out the story, but how does the professor know his students didn’t fall off a cliff and die, or run off to get married and ditch the whole grad-student thing?” Kyle asked.
Mitch dug into the baklava as he answered. “He got a note. Just one, delivered to the house the day after they disappeared. The two Americans are our hostages. You will be contacted when we are ready to negotiate. The prof freaked out, called the administrators back home, and they called Omega. They’ve had no word since. They’re even more concerned because they’re all supposed to go home this week, and none of them were able to get extensions on their study visas.”
She wasn’t a crime investigator, but it seemed they were leaving out some important steps. “Shouldn’t someone check the students’ research notes and photographs, pull their phone records, anything that might provide a clue to their activities? I mean, just in case they pissed off someone important, or told someone where they were going.”
“Evan got all that and more when we accepted the assignment,” Donovan told her.
“Oh.” Of course they would have covered that before sending a rescue team.
He laid a hand on her leg, a casual gesture of reassurance. “That’s okay, you didn’t know and those are good insights. We want to hear any thoughts you have.”
She appreciated that, but right now all her thoughts centered around his warm hand on her bare knee where it poked out from beneath her skirt. Who knew the knee was an erogenous zone? It never had been for her in the past, but it certainly seemed to be now, as heat streaked up her thigh and she mentally encouraged his hand to follow.
As if he’d read her thoughts, Donovan hastily removed his hand. Too late. She reached out for the nearest piece of food to cover her flustered blush and popped a fried fava bean patty into her mouth. To her surprise, it wasn’t bad.
“So,” Mitch said, “the prof knows nothing and the islands in the Nile don’t look like good hiding places for hostages. What’s our next step?” They all looked at Donovan.
He rubbed a hand over his forehead and through his hair, clearly frustrated by the lack of information. “The only new info we have is Wally’s message indicating he found better merchandise at a small shop. That leaves us where we started, tracking down a vase.”
Kyle barked out a laugh. “There’re what, half a million small shops in Luxor? Everyone and his brother has a shop here.”