Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Jack
Twilight fell like silk over the desert, cooling the stone beneath the colonnades of the Mena House Hotel as Jack made his way toward the outside terrace.
Lanterns swayed in the breeze, carrying the heady scents of jasmine and sand.
Their warm light fell across the mosaic tiles that held the echo of footsteps of so many who had come and gone—adventurers, diplomats, royals who’d once used this as their hunting lodge—and yet the feeling here remained the same.
And in the distance the pyramids kept watch like silent sentinels who took in all secrets and buried them deeply.
Egypt had been “independent” for over a decade now, and yet Cairo still served as the empire’s living room.
Diplomats and British officers still took their tea on the verandah of Shepheard’s Hotel or ruled the interior of the exclusive Gezira Club.
The resentment of the nationalists was understandable at this point.
Jack sighed as he slipped into a chair, scanning the exterior.
He didn’t have the heart to worry about any of that right now.
Alain Roche had directed him to meet him here tonight.
It was a start, at least. But he was sure he’d seen Prescott’s man pick up his tail again after he’d checked into Shepheard’s.
Not that he hadn’t expected that. If he looked hard enough, he was sure he’d find someone watching right now.
He tugged at the collar of his shirt, which he’d bought in the afternoon.
Alastair had directed him to a shop to buy ready-made clothes that would be suitable for the upper-class settings of Anglo Cairo.
But he felt uncomfortable and awkward in his clothes, which was a new development, since he’d never struggled in a suit before.
A young Egyptian man in a galabeyah came by his table, bowing as he filled a glass of water. Jack pulled out his bifold wallet, making a deliberate show of plucking a bill from a thick stack. He slid it across the table. “Alain Roche?” he asked in a low murmur.
The Egyptian paused for a moment, eyeing the money. A regretful look came into his face. He shook his head, ever so slightly. “He’s not here yet, effendi. I will tell you when he arrives.”
Jack thanked him, then ordered a whisky. Damn. He’d hoped to observe the man first. Size him up. From what he’d heard at Shepheard’s, Roche spent most of his time in Cairo at the lounge here. They were meant to meet in the smoking lounge in a half hour.
So much for that.
Jack sat back in the rattan chair, which squeaked under his weight, and removed his hat, then set it on the table. Fact of the matter was, he felt old and out of practice with anything that involved stealth and secrets. What his wild youth hadn’t done to kill his sense of adventure, the war had.
He was forty-one and had all the money he could want but not a single thing to show for his time on this planet. Nothing that really mattered, anyway.
What would he say to Kit if she was alive?
To Alice?
The last time he’d seen his sister, they’d argued and said the worst things to each other.
How could Prescott think he really knew her now?
A shadow fell over his table and he looked up, expecting his drink. Instead, a pretty young woman stood there, blond hair swept back and under a bucket hat. Her blue eyes sparkled as she took the seat across from his without bothering to introduce herself, a hint of a smirk under her red lipstick.
Jack gave her a bold stare, his lips twitching. She had an unusual fire in her eyes, a look of determination that intrigued him. After what felt like an eternity, she leaned forward. “Roche is nine tables over, next to the oud player,” she murmured silkily.
His eyes darted in the direction she’d mentioned.
“No. Don’t look. You don’t want to give me away, do you?”
Jack frowned, then gave her a closer look. The hint of dimples showed under her high cheekbones. Who was she? Her accent was clearly English. “What’s it to you?”
She grinned, then leaned back in her seat as the waiter arrived with his whisky. “Thanks, sweetheart,” she said, taking the whisky. “Can you get one more?”
As the waiter hurried away, she tilted her head. “Ruby Wilkerson,” she said with a grin. “Journalist.”
He might have known.
She motioned to a nearby table, where a young man that resembled her closely was seated. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I was having drinks with my brother Theo when I heard you ask for Roche.” She winked at Theo, who shook his head, then looked down at the book in front of him.
“I didn’t ask that loudly.”
“For the terrace? You may as well have been shouting.” She sipped the whisky. “What do you want with Roche?”
Jack chuckled. “You think I’d tell a journalist anything? This isn’t my first time in Cairo.”
She bit her lip. “I’m just curious—”
“What do you want with Roche?” Jack asked, giving her a suspicious look.
“I don’t care about Roche. I’m interested in the man who followed you in here tonight.” Ruby took another sip of whisky, but this time Jack noticed a slight tremor to her fingertips. Not of fear. Excitement, maybe? “Six tables back. Don’t look.”
Jack didn’t have to. She had to mean Prescott’s man.
He sighed. “So I can’t look this way or that.
Guess I’m stuck looking at you.” The waiter arrived again and Jack accepted the drink, then gave her a tight-lipped smile and swallowed some back.
It burned the back of his throat, the warmth of it welcome.
He rarely had fine English spirits in the desert.
He adjusted his collar again, and Ruby’s perceptive gaze went to his throat. “New clothes?” She leaned forward on the table a bit. “Let me guess. You’re fresh off the boat. Come to Egypt for adventure and treasure hunting—a little late in the season, though.”
He repressed a chuckle. Though she’d guessed about his clothes well enough. He must look like new money on the prowl. Not exactly Alastair’s intent when he’d suggested Jack blend in. Though it didn’t help that he was being followed.
Why did Ruby want to know about Prescott’s man?
“You know the man following me?” he asked, flicking a glance in the direction she’d said Alain Roche was seated. Sure enough, a well-dressed man in a Panama hat was there, smoking a cigarette and drinking a glass of red wine.
“Gerard Bailey?” Then she frowned, a cautious look coming into her face. “Friend of yours, Mr. …?”
“Not exactly.” He cleared his throat. “Darby. But you can call me Jack.”
Her light eyebrows drew together for a moment. “Darby … why do I know—” Then she stopped, her eyes widening. She stared at him, blinking. “Oh!” Then she finished her drink and stood. “Well, it was a pleasure, Mr. Darby. Thanks for the drink.”
What the hell?
“Wait.” Jack’s hand shot out, and he grabbed her by the wrist.
She turned, a panicked expression on her face.
“I—”
Jack stood, stepping closer to her.
What about his name had made her react that way?
This whole introduction had been beyond baffling, raising dozens of questions—none of them coherent enough for Jack to verbalize.
“You know, usually when I buy a woman a drink, I like to pretend she won’t take off at the sound of my name. What the hell is going on?”
She winced, pulling her wrist out of his grasp. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“You shouldn’t have what?” He searched her eyes. Why was there genuine fear there?
She held his gaze for another moment, pupils dark and wide, then she turned, hurrying back to her table.
Other guests were watching him now.
Jack’s breath deepened as he considered storming over to Ruby’s table and demanding an explanation. But he’d already drawn too much attention to himself.
He glanced back toward Roche.
The table was empty.
As he felt the energy drain from his limbs, he frowned and searched the terrace. Then he saw the glimpse of a man in a Panama hat, going around the corner.
Roche.
If Jack had been aiming for discretion, Ruby had blown that plan to shreds.
She also appeared to be leaving the terrace …
but he couldn’t worry about that or her right now.
Roche had specified that he wanted their meeting to be discreet, and if he was heading out into the lawn rather than the lounge, he might be irritated.
Jack moved quickly, tossing some money onto the table, and hurrying after Roche.
Stepping off the terrace onto the lawn, he scanned the horizon.
Dusk was falling rapidly. While limited light came from the terrace and the interior of the hotel, most of the exterior was quickly fading into shadow that Roche could disappear into.
For a moment, Jack thought he had lost him but then he saw Roche’s silhouette in the light near the stables. Even from here the scent of the animals carried in the wind, and Jack hastened his steps, tempted to call out to Roche as he slipped into the stables.
He was clearly leaving.
Dammit.
He never should have entertained Ruby for even a moment. He knew better than to let pretty girls distract him when he was in the middle of something serious and clandestine. But he was rusty, and being rude to women when necessary didn’t come naturally to him anymore.
Jack entered the building using the same entrance that Roche had used. The stables held on to the heat of the day, the air staler being trapped under the warm wood that surrounded him. He peered into the darkness, his senses more alert in the relative silence here.
The soft sound of his rapid breath marked the stillness as he moved further in.
Not even footsteps.
“Roche?” he asked softly.
The soft groan of a gate came, not too far from where Jack squinted, his heartbeat slowing.
He turned toward the noise in time to see the man in the Panama hat emerge from the darkness, a pistol in his hand.
Jack held his hands up, reflexively, but relaxed. “I didn’t mean to alarm you.”
The corner of the man’s smile, dim in the limited light, turned up. “I don’t think you understand the situation, my good fellow.”
Then the shuffle of a step in the darkness.
Jack whirled around to see Ruby and her brother only a few feet behind him. Her brother also held a pistol. “Hi, sugar,” Ruby said with a wink. She came closer. “Empty your pockets. Now.”
Seriously?
The hard dig of the barrel of the pistol into his back made it clear just how serious the situation was. Jack drew in a breath through clenched teeth, his body going rigid. “And here I thought you were a respectable journalist.”
Ruby smirked, her bright-red lips showing off perfectly straight teeth. “Who says I’m not?” She edged even closer, then set her hands on his chest. She slid her hand into his breast pocket and pulled out the slim leather bifold located there.
He hadn’t really known what to think of her—but petty thief hadn’t been the first thing that crossed his mind.
You’re a damn fool, Darby. One day back in Cairo and this? Walked right into it.
Jack held her gaze as she handed it back toward her brother.
“Anything else?” she asked. “I’ll want that wristwatch too.
” The English accent was gone, but he couldn’t quite make out what accent she used now.
Something American Southern? Her fingertips ran over his shirt and then felt around his waist.
“Normally I save that for after the second drink together,” he said with a scowl.
Her hand landed on the butt of his pistol tucked into his waistband, and she raised a finely arched brow. Pulling out the pistol, she lifted her chin calmly. “And here I thought you were excited to see me.”
He almost laughed. “I take it the fellow behind me isn’t Roche. What about the other one? That your brother?”
“Quite the detective, aren’t you? Sadly, I don’t like sharing details on the first date.” She held her hand out. “Wristwatch.”
He gritted his teeth, then removed it and handed it over to her. “Takes a bold woman to stalk the Mena House Hotel for victims. I’ll make sure you’ll never be able to show your face here again.”
“Sure you will.” She winked and stepped back, handing his pistol to the man behind her. “Pleasure doing business with you, Jack.”
She turned to go, the man behind her following her lead. The pressure of the pistol at his back didn’t abate, and Jack watched her through narrowed eyes as she kept moving, her svelte body swaying with a confidence he envied.
As soon as she and her companion had slipped back outside, Jack cleared his throat. “I get to walk out of here free, right?” They hadn’t bothered to try to hide their faces, which worried Jack.
“Yeah, mate. Whatever you say,” the man behind him said gruffly. The gun lowered a few inches.
That was enough.
Jack might have been robbed blind, but he wasn’t about to let them all walk away—nor did he trust the man behind him not to shoot.
Jack pivoted sharply and struck, slamming the heel of his hand against the man’s windpipe. As the man fell back, choking and gagging, Jack kicked the pistol from his hand, and it went clattering against the dusty ground. He dove for it, snatching it seconds later.
As Jack steadied himself, he aimed the gun toward his assailant, who tore into the darkness, still coughing and rasping. Jack cocked his head to the side. Huh. With a frown, he spun the barrel of the pistol, then stopped and shook his head.
Empty.
He’d been robbed with an unloaded pistol.
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
How could I have been so foolish? Something about him had clearly screamed “easy target” to these thieves.
Maybe coming back to the world wasn’t as easy as dressing the part and pretending he fit in.
He checked his bare wrist then gritted his teeth, remembering how Ruby had taken his watch. If that’s even her name. It probably wasn’t. He should go, though. By now, the real Roche was probably waiting in the lounge.
And this time he wouldn’t let himself fall prey to any pretty faces.