Familiar Mirage. Caroline Burnes

Mauve put a hand on Beth’s knee.

      “Sure.”

      “You never said where you got the financial backing for this trip. It’s not like you to keep secrets, Beth. Is there a reason you’re not telling?”

      There was a very good reason. The man who’d agreed to pick up the tab for the expedition had insisted on absolute privacy. He had made it very clear that he would withdraw all funding if he were ever linked to the project.

      “Competition.” Beth finally said as her gaze strayed to John Gilmore.

      “Gilmore? He can’t hold a candle to you,” Mauve said. “He’s an excellent detail man and he’s good at interpreting the minutiae, but John can’t see the big picture. He’s always going to be second-in-command. If not to you, then to someone else.”

      “He doesn’t see it that way,” Beth said.

      “He wouldn’t. We’re just lucky to have him on the diving end of it. Hard to believe someone who counts rubber bands and paper clips like an accountant is so fearless underwater.”

      “True.” Beth had learned long ago that conflicting character traits couldn’t always be explained. She’d given up trying.

      “What do you think you’ll find in the submerged cities in the Mediterranean?”

      “The clues that will lead us to the City of Con.” She spoke so matter-of-factly that her friend was apparently shocked.

      “Beth, you’re staking your career on this.”

      “I know,” Beth said a lot more calmly than she felt.

      “What if we don’t find the city?”

      “I can always go back to the States and continue my research in Arizona.”

      “But—”

      “But everyone will know I failed?” Beth said. She’d rehearsed this answer a million times. “I guess I finally decided that it was better for people to know I’d failed than for me to know I’d never tried.”

      Mauve’s eyebrows arched. “You’ve really changed. You used to play it so safe. Now you’re this bold adventurer.”

      Beth’s laughter was soft and pleasant. “Hardly. I’m thirty-two, Mauve. We both are. If we’re going to make our mark, we have to do it now. In another ten years, we may not be able to hold up physically to the rigors of this kind of search.”

      “So true,” Mauve said.

      Beth knew they were both thinking of several of their colleagues who’d had to retire from the field and assume teaching positions. The grueling life of living in tents in heat and freezing temperatures, and the physical labor required eventually took a toll on everyone in the field.

      “When do we head out on the water?” Mauve asked eagerly.

      “First thing tomorrow. I want to do the underwater exploration in no more than three days and then head into the desert.”

      Mauve nodded. “Your will is my command,” she said jokingly, then stood up as the bus stopped in front of an elegant and ancient hotel.

      OMAR DUKHAN watched the arrival of the archaeologists from the lobby of the hotel. He knew who he was looking for—he’d seen them in the airport. And he didn’t like what he saw.

      Beth Bradshaw certainly wasn’t the woman he thought she’d be. First of all, she was petite, with shiny mahogany hair and brown eyes, and she looked far too delicate to be leading a major dig. At first glance, he’d assumed she was someone’s daughter!

      He’d also noted the equipment that had come with the crew. It was state-of-the-art and brand-new. Someone had spent a lot of money on this trip. This was a serious effort, not some college adventure funded by grants.

      It all added up to trouble for him.

      He watched as Beth organized the unloading of the equipment, and took in the different attitudes of her crew members. He noted immediately the stiff spine of the man. He also saw the friendship in the eyes of the woman with the bangs. She would be Beth’s ally.

      Omar made sure that he stayed out of sight as the crew registered and had the bellman load up their bags. It was only when Beth stepped into the center of the lobby and began to slowly scan the vast room that he stepped out from behind the palm tree where he’d remained secluded.

      “Miss Bradshaw,” he said, walking forward and extending his hand. “I was delayed earlier. A problem with arranging for the camels.”

      “Not a serious problem, I hope,” she said, worry evident in her eyes.

      He took her hand and felt the smallest pulse of…something. She was a vital woman—he could feel it in her handshake. She was very much like Leah, a mare he’d chosen for his own. Leah was deceptive, standing patiently outside his tent for hours. But once he was on her back, she was the wind. She had a spirit she felt no need to demonstrate—until it was needed.

      “No, not a serious problem. Everything has been taken care of.” He held her hand a fraction of a moment longer than necessary. She withdrew her own hand slowly, her gaze locked with his.

      “Mr. Dukhan,” she said, a slight flush touching her fair skin. “I was a little worried.”

      “I apologize,” he said, picking up her hand again and bringing it to his lips. He lowered his head in respect as he kissed the back of her hand lightly in the European style.

      When he looked up, he saw that his gesture had done little to reassure Beth Bradshaw. The flush had deepened and her eyes were huge.

      “It’s okay,” she said, again pulling her hand out of his grasp. “Everything is fine now?”

      “Absolutely. Your expedition will go off without a hitch. Are you still planning on following the original path?” He saw that she was instantly more comfortable once she was talking about her work.

      “Tomorrow morning we’re diving into the ruined cities that were recently discovered off the coast.”

      “Ah, the scientists believe that an earthquake may have sent the cities tumbling into the sea,” he said, watching the surprise cross her face at his knowledge.

      “Yes. I guess it was a big story in all the newspapers.”

      “Egypt is a land where the past is often of more interest than the present. Or the future,” he said, unable to keep a hint of harshness out of his voice. “Most of my countrymen pay attention to archaeological finds. They will bring more tourists into our country. The economy will grow.”

      “I see,” Beth said.

      “Do you?” he asked, stepping closer to her. Did she have any idea what would really happen to his land, his people, if she should make a major archaeological find? He doubted it, and he also doubted that she would care.

      “Tomorrow we’ll make the dives,” Beth said, faltering only slightly. “Once we conclude that, we’ll begin the overland trek. From the clues I’ve discovered, I think we’ll be heading somewhere close to the oasis, as I said in my correspondence to you.”

      “Fine,” Omar said. “Then I will meet you here tomorrow evening.”

      “Thank you,” Beth said.

      Omar turned quickly, his desert robe flowing around his legs, and walked into the night. He had gone several blocks before he realized he wasn’t certain of his destination. More than anything he wanted to get back to the desert, back to his people, his way of life. He hated the city. And he hated the chaos that Beth Bradshaw and her colleagues were so determined to bring to his people.

      She would never find the City of Con. For centuries he and his tribe had protected the secret. It was their heritage, their place to worship and to revere their ancestors. The secrets of Con were theirs to protect against the prying