didn’t have the stomach for premed to become a proctologist,” she said with a grin, showing her crooked eyeteeth and dancing lights in her big brown eyes as she secured her camera in the small bag on her hip. “There’s Beniti’s stall; come on.” Grabbing his hand, she pulled him along. Thorne had never met a woman so touchy-feely. Isis Magee was vibrant and full of life. She woke his dulled senses when he was fairly certain he liked them just the way they were.
A tall man, wearing loose-fitting dark pants and an olive drab T-shirt, stood with his back to them. Isis went up behind him and wrapped her arms around the man’s waist. “Sabah el-kheir, Uncle.”
The man turned swiftly, anger written all over his face. The guy was barely a few inches over her five four, and to Thorne’s eye, supremely unattractive, with a pronounced nose and black eyes. He couldn’t be more than thirty. The moment he saw who’d grabbed him, his expression lightened, but he took Isis firmly by her upper arm and hissed. “Isis, little bird, what are you doing here?”
“I came to see your—”
“Come with me.” He propelled her in front of him and Thorne’s pulse jumped a notch.
She turned to look over her shoulder. “I’m with a friend—”
The man’s black eyes sized up Thorne as he asked Isis, “You trust this man?”
“Trust him—of course.”
“Then come. Both of you. Quickly.”
Thorne indicated to Heustis to wait outside and stay alert. The warning was unnecessary.
The guy, clearly not the older man he’d expected, was holding Isis’s arm in a death grip, and she practically had to run to keep up with him. Thorne followed hard on her heels, right behind her through the densely crowded shop filled with small carpets and a hundred statues of cats, pyramids, and sphinxes.
They reached a dimly lit back room. No sunlight reached this far inside, and the small space was hung with carpets and bolts of cloth. The oppressive heat wasn’t helped by the brass brazier with a pot of shay bi na’na in the middle of the room. The strong smell of the mint tea permeated the humid air.
“Husani al-Atrash, this is Connor Thorne. He’s helping m—”
“Today is a day for visitors from the past.” The urgency left Husani’s voice as he gave Isis an inquiring look. Thorne read tension in the guy’s body language and rested his hand on the Glock in the small of his back under his black T-shirt.
“What can I do for you, little bird?”
“I actually came to see your father.”
While wondering who the other visitor had been, Thorne looked for exits. There were several. Possible weapons were all over the place, not to mention Isis’s being in too close proximity to the man who’d taught her to kiss like a favorite royal concubine. Six feet. Casually he stepped between them as he looked around. For all he knew the guy was going for a fucking weapon.
“He was attacked in his home early this morning.” Husani started moving small closed baskets from a large pile in the far corner. He turned to glance from Isis to Thorne, then went back to his housekeeping. “He is now in the hospital.”
Isis blanched. “Oh no! Is he all right?”
“Like the professor, my father, too, has a hard head.” He turned with a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Concussion, scrapes, and bruises. They’re keeping him for observation.”
“Which hospital? I’ll go and see him.”
“Kasr El Aini, in Garden City—I am sorry to tell you that we believe the attack had something to do with Professor Magee.”
Isis leaned against a waist-high pile of carpets, then took a deep breath as she met Thorne’s eyes. See? her eyes telegraphed. It was about my father. She looked back at her friend. “Why do you say that?”
“Two men came yesterday asking for a papyrus for Cleopatra’s tomb.”
“There was a papyrus?” Isis’s brows lifted. If there really was such a thing it would be all that was needed to prove her father’s claim.
“Not that I know of. But we have not heard this name since the professor’s accident in the spring. Then my father’s attack in his home. Two men asked when last my father had communications with the professor. It has been months since your father was here last.”
“He’s in a… He has Alzheimer’s. He doesn’t remember what happened that night at the tomb.”
Husani frowned, stroking his bearded chin. “Your arrival has apparently set off an unfortunate chain of events, little sister.