City of Jasmine. Deanna Raybourn

mouthpiece, with its terrible yellow teeth, and shoved it into his pocket before taking out a small tin and his handkerchief.

      “You might not want to watch this part.”

      “I’m not squeamish,” I told him, which we both knew was a lie. But I was curious, and I watched the process with fascinated horror.

      Slowly, carefully, he reached up to his eyes and levered out a pair of almond-shaped lenses that covered the whole eyeball. I put out my hand and he gave me one to inspect. I held it to the light, marveling at the thinness of the glass and the delicacy of the painted brown iris. “Clever,” I told him as I handed it back. “It’s the one thing I couldn’t figure out about the disguise.”

      “They’re hideously uncomfortable and most of the time I wear coloured spectacles, but in close company I take the precaution of covering up my own,” he said blandly, batting his lashes. He was entirely correct about that. They were remarkable eyes, and no one, having once seen them, would forget them.

      “The beard is appalling,” I pointed out.

      “Quite disgusting. I’m always getting bits of food stuck in it, but it’s entirely my own, I assure you,” he said, tugging at the hairs on his chin.

      I got out of bed and went to him, standing so close I could see the first tiny lines just beginning to etch themselves at the corners of his eyes, lines he had not had the last time I had seen him. Slowly, deliberately, I drew back my hand and slapped him as hard as I could across the face.

      He rocked back on his heels, turning his head back slowly. He was smiling.

      “I entirely deserved that.”

      “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t a figment of my imagination.”

      “Satisfied now? I am flesh and blood, as you can see,” he added, daubing the blood away from his lip.

      I went to the bed and sat with my back against the pillows.

      “When did you figure it all out?” he asked in a conversational tone.

      “I knew you’d sent the photograph yourself when I found the banknotes. REAPERS HOME. It’s an anagram of the inscription on my wedding ring—hora e sempre. Really, Gabriel, a child could have cracked that. I hope you haven’t been spending your time composing codes for an international spy ring. You’d be something worse than useless.”

      He gave me a ghost of a smile, the same buccaneer smile that had gotten him into and out of more trouble than most men see in a lifetime. “Have a heart, love. I was in a hurry. Besides, I thought you’d enjoy a little cloak-and-dagger stuff.”

      He swayed a little on his feet. “Are you still intoxicated?” I asked pleasantly.

      “Not much. I vomited most of it as soon as I could get to my bottle of ipecacuanha. Nasty stuff, but it does the trick. Got rid of what was left in my stomach, but there was a fair bit of it already in my blood. God, I loathe arak.”

      “You did a tremendous job convincing me otherwise.”

      “I wasn’t trying to convince you. But it seemed a good idea to persuade your associates that I was precisely what I claimed to be.”

      He swayed again, and I drew up my feet. “Oh, for God’s sake, sit down before you fall over and hurt yourself.”

      “You always were thoughtful,” he said, giving me that small smile again as he settled himself at the foot of the bed. His shadow still loomed on the wall behind him, larger than life and inky black.

      “It’s not kindness. I just don’t fancy mopping up your blood. Now, where should we begin?”

      Gabriel hesitated. “I know I owe you the whole story. But now isn’t exactly a good time.”

      “I think I deserve more than evasions, Gabriel.”

      His jaw tightened. “As I said, I am aware of what I owe you, Evie. Believe me when I tell you I am not in a position to explain, at least not yet.”

      “Believe you? Veracity isn’t precisely your strong suit. You faked your own death,” I reminded him.

      “I had no choice.”

      “So you say.” My voice was pleasantly neutral and a good deal calmer than I felt. “I should so like the chance to make up my own mind about that.”

      He sighed. “I can’t discuss it just yet. I’m still making sense of it all myself. The less I involve you the better.”

      I rolled my eyes heavenward. “Then what am I doing in Damascus, Gabriel? Sending me that photograph to lure me here was your doing. The banknotes and the song at the restaurant were arranged to show me I was on the right track. And now you won’t explain why?”

      “I can’t,” he said simply. “I know it’s too much to ask you to take my word for it, but I can’t explain any of it yet.”

      “Then why am I here? And perhaps more to the point, why are you here?”

      He had the grace to look uncomfortable. “I want to make amends.”

      “Amends? Gabriel, you make amends when you play the wrong suit in a game of bridge. You cannot possibly make amends for faking your own death.”

      “Fine,” he growled. “Call it atonement, then. Penance. I did a terrible thing to you and it’s in my power to make it right, or—” he hurried on as I opened my mouth “—as right as I can. Look here, I’m not asking for forgiveness. What I did is so far beyond that it would be laughable to suggest you could ever find it in your heart, and God knows, I don’t deserve it. But I want the chance to do something for you.”

      “There is nothing on earth you could possibly—”

      He held up a hand. “Yes, there is. I’ve acquired something...valuable. But you’ll have to take my word for it.”

      “Take your word for it? Not bloody likely! Besides, if you have something for me, why not bring it here—” I broke off. “Oh, my God. You can’t bring it because you’re involved in something illegal. And that’s why you faked your own death five years ago, isn’t it? You’re a criminal.”

      He winced. “Criminal is such an ugly word. And a subjective one.”

      I opened my mouth to blast him, but he held up a hand. “Let’s not quarrel, pet. I haven’t the stamina for it just now.” He gave me an appraising look. “I must say, you’re taking this all much better than I expected,” he said, his tone mildly amused.

      “What did you expect? Hysterics? Violence?”

      “I don’t know what I expected,” he said quietly. “But you were a flighty girl when I saw you last, not this cool, composed woman who travels with a loaded pistol and plans for midnight visitors.”

      I set my chin mulishly. “I’ve grown up, Gabriel. I had to.”

      “Another sin to drop at my door,” he said lightly. But his eyes were bleak and he looked away. When he spoke again, his tone was brisk. “I can’t stay long. Matters are...complicated. I have to get back to the dig site and sort a few things out.”

      He reached into the breast pocket of his filthy khaki shirt. He drew out a small tin tobacco box and opened it, rifling through an assortment of oddities until he unearthed a grubby bit of paper. He handed it over, but I hardly liked to touch the thing it was so disgusting. “That’s the man you’ll need to see in London after I’ve brought you what it is I have to give. He will give you the money—and it will be a substantial amount,” he added.

      I placed the dirty paper carefully on the bedside table and gave him a level look. “Why me?”

      It might have been easier for him if he’d looked away, but that sharp blue gaze never wavered. “Because I hurt you. As I said, this will make amends.”

      “And you can scrape