Unknown Enemy. Michelle Karl

just happened.”

      Colin reached into the passenger side of the car, unhooked the bag she’d been carrying and placed it on the driver’s seat. She didn’t protest as he guided her to sit inside the car, her tremble growing to a full-body shake as the seconds passed. She regarded him with wide, frightened eyes. “Take deep breaths, Ginny. This will pass, but what I need you to do right now is visualize everything that happened. Grab on to details, any small details that you can. Anything at all will help the police find and catch them, got it? I know you want to forget, but the more you can capture in your memory right after this incident, the more accurately you’ll be able to tell them what happened.”

      She nodded, swallowing hard before leaning back against the beige car seat. “Guess I should have taken the day off after all.”

      “Better to have this happen here than at your home, though.”

      She sat up in surprise. “At home? You don’t think this was random? I guess not, considering.”

      Colin glanced around the area, staying watchful in case the van had circled around and come back. He didn’t see anything aside from a few startled museum visitors who’d likely witnessed the incident. The familiar wail of emergency sirens rose in the distance. “I think we can rule out random at this point.” His gaze was drawn to the bag she’d been carrying. “I’d say now is a better time than ever to finish the conversation we started earlier. What’s in the bag?”

      Ginny laughed without humor. “Nothing worth kidnapping over, that’s for sure. They’re a bunch of old clay tablets from one of the Kingdom of Amar’s archaeological sites. They’ve been sitting in the basement of a museum in England for decades, waiting to be translated. It’s part of a project I’ve been working on for a while. I’m planning to decipher them in hopes that they reveal some more information about the location of the summer palace of King Ramesh.”

      Kidnapping and ancient tablets? It sounded more like a movie than real life. “Is there, I don’t know, treasure there?”

      Ginny rolled her eyes. “It’s not like that at all. Anyone with a modicum of interest in this stuff knows that all the ancient historical sites were looted centuries ago, and many of them were actually looted in ancient times. The more important thing is the location of the summer palace and proving that it actually exists. It’s been a point of contention because it would prove the royal lineage of the Amaran desert people. It’s a discovery that could change Amar’s accepted history and view of their society for the better. It would be a massive find for history, archaeology and the Kingdom of Amar—but nothing worth kidnapping over. There’s no financial gain in these tablets themselves, even translated. And selling them untranslated is worth nothing.”

      “Would they know that?”

      “That’s kind of an important detail if you’re kidnapping someone, isn’t it? You think some bad guys would kidnap me for a bag full of old, dried clay? If they were gold statues or even Egyptian faience figurines, it’d be another story. Plus, it doesn’t explain the grenade last night. I didn’t even know I would have these in my possession until about an hour ago.”

      Colin had to agree with her, but they’d need to talk about it later. An ambulance arrived along with several police cars. Even if Ginny didn’t know why she’d been targeted, Colin felt sure of one thing—the woman was in danger, and he might be the only one with the necessary ability to protect her.

      * * *

      Ginny’s hands shook as she sprinkled fish food into Tigris’s tank. Her little orange-and-blue betta fish swam upward and eagerly picked out pieces of dried shrimp as Ginny put the container away. She clasped her hands, trying to still their tremor.

      “You need anything?” Colin leaned against the door frame, standing half in her office and half in the department’s main thoroughfare. She appreciated his thoughtfulness in driving her car back to the college and seeing her safely back to the Daviau Center, but for whatever reason, he hadn’t left her alone yet. It had started to feel a bit stifling. They were still strangers, after all.

      “You don’t need to hang around,” she said, hoping he’d take the hint. “I know you probably have other things to do.”

      “We’re both off from teaching classes for the week, Professor. We should both be at our respective homes, getting some rest.”

      “I’m not stopping you.”

      He grunted and folded his arms. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you vulnerable. Two attacks in less than twenty-four hours. That’s no prank.”

      “There’s also no proof they’re related,” Ginny muttered, slumping into her desk chair. She took a deep, slow breath to shove away the wave of anxiety hovering around the edge of her consciousness. “And last I checked, you’re not Secret Service anymore, so I’m not obligated to accept any kind of protection from you. I don’t appreciate the insinuation that I can’t handle myself.” She paused, the words catching in her throat because she had needed him there. If Colin hadn’t been present last night or this morning, she’d be having a very different conversation. Possibly with an abductor. Or a nurse.

      Colin grunted again and stared out into the departmental office. “Never said you’re not capable. Everyone needs help sometimes, and while you’re right—you’re not obligated—I’d consider myself responsible if anything happened to you that was in my power to prevent.”

      Ginny breathed deeply as she watched Tigris swim laps in his wide, plastic fishbowl. She did appreciate Colin’s help. He’d come to her rescue without hesitation, the kind of attractive and strong hero whom plenty of girls would love to be saved by, but he’d already told her it came down to instinctive response born through training. Not because he had any kind of personal investment in her well-being. Of course, she should have expected that from someone who’d seen her scar.

      “I’ll think about it, Colin.” With her heart finally beating at a more normal pace, Ginny picked up the satchel of tablets and set them on her desk. Even the events of today couldn’t dislodge the excitement of physically having in her hands a set of ancient tablets she’d only dreamed of seeing. Anxiety followed close behind, too—at best, she’d thought that Mr. Wehbe might find someone to dig the tablets out of crates in the Ashmore Museum’s basement where they’d spent the past sixty or so years, then take updated photos and send those over. But to have entrusted her with the physical objects?

      They were valuable from a historical point of view. Potential evidence to support her theory. But while the knowledge that might be gained from them was priceless, the tablets themselves were not. No one would try to abduct her over a bunch of old tablets.

      She picked up a sand-colored oblong tablet about the width and length of two candy bars, then ran her fingers lightly over the inscription. The surface felt rough and grainy, though environmental factors had smoothed some of its edges.

      “Not much to look at, is it?” Colin regarded the object she held with cool detachment. “Wonder if the original tablets with the Ten Commandments looked anything like that?”

      Ginny smiled to herself, used to these kinds of questions. “Actually, those tablets—”

      “Professor Anderson?” A voice from the hallway was followed by a face peering around the corner of her office door. Colin stepped aside to allow Sam, a teaching assistant for her Introduction to Near Eastern Studies class, inside. The student was covering the front reception desk for Mrs. McCall, the departmental secretary, who’d stayed home this morning to nurse her sick toddler.

      He waved a large, flat yellow mailing envelope in his hand. “I meant to catch you when you came back, but this arrived for you a half hour or so ago. Right before you got back from the museum.”

      “Thanks, Sam.” She took it and frowned at the front. The envelope was nondescript, completely unremarkable, with no stamp or return address. Only her name had been affixed to the envelope with a printed label, neglecting to mention her box number or even the name of her department. It had obviously