the front pockets of his loose khaki pants. “The professor had thirty years to find the tomb. Now it’s my turn.”
“Using everything he taught you, and stealing his claims and maps?”
Dylan picked the fly off his sweaty chin, dropping it to the ground, then stepped on it. “How—Don’t start accusing me just because your father is washed-up. It’s early days, yet, but I believe I’ve found Queen Cleopatra’s tomb. I’m sorry, Isis. I was going to call and let you know as a courtesy to your father.”
“Were you?” Her fingers ached, and she realized she was holding so tightly to Thorne’s hand that her fingers had gone bloodless and numb. She loosened her grip a little. “What made you decide to revisit the site?” He was a moron. There was absolutely nothing in those tombs. She’d been with her father when he and Dylan had discovered them. Empty, nada. Not a scarab.
The fact that Dylan was back in that location was odd. He was an opportunist, not a fool. Digs were expensive, the red tape extensive. If he was there it was because he believed he would discover something of value—which meant that when he’d worked for her father, he’d discovered something and not passed on the knowledge.
“Radar survey identified three underground sites, not just the one. The area was untouched, ripe for excavation.”
Ripe to rape and pillage, he meant. “And what? You hit the jackpot? Did you find her actual tomb?” Anger clarified her senses, heightened her need to protect her father. Get rid of the skunk bastard they’d trusted. Thorne could help her hide Dylan’s body.
“We found ten nobles’ tombs nearby—”
“Interesting, but not Cleo.” Would he tell her if he had? The answer to that was yes. If he’d excavated and pulled out all the artifacts and documented them. The answer was no if he’d barely started and didn’t want her poking a stick into the wheels of his dig. She could go back to the ministry and reopen her father’s claim.
“Twenty-some coins with her face and name inscribed on them. I also discovered a ceramic fragment of a mask I believe was of Mark Antony.”
“You found Mark Antony’s death mask?” If this was true, Dylan had made the discovery of the century. Her father’s discovery. Her stomach knotted.
Dylan shrugged. “It has the cleft chin of the Roman general—”
She made a rude noise. “Maybe it was a prop for Richard Burton’s role as Antony in the movie,” she suggested, trying to unclamp her tight jaw.
“Denial is a waste of time. Your father had his day in the sun; now I’m having mine. And if you think for a moment that I didn’t cover all my bases with the MSA, you’re mistaken. The professor’s rights to those sites ran out weeks ago.” The Ministry of State for Antiquities was responsible for regulating, conserving, and protecting all antiquities and archaeological excavations in Egypt. Dylan had always had an excellent rapport with the members of the Administrative Council. Her father had not. “Where’s the money coming from, Dylan? Who’s bankrolling you?”
“I have several sponsors. Just as the professor had.” He pushed away from the pole, making the tassels lining the top edge of the awning dance in the harsh sunlight.
“I’m trying to figure out,” Thorne inserted, voice deceptively quiet, “what the fuck your angle is, Brengard. One minute you’re sucking up to an old flame, next you’re doing everything in your piss-poor arsenal to tick her off. Not smart.” He deliberately moved into Dylan’s space. “Piss her off, and you piss me off. We’ve been here less than forty-eight hours, and we’ve been chased, shot at, and run off the road. What do you have to do with that?”
Dylan’s mouth tightened and he took a step back. “Absolutely nothing. I didn’t even know Isis was here until a second ago, and I resent your insinuation that I—”
Isis sensed Thorne’s simmering anger, and was rather sorry that he remained rooted in place. His animosity was—to her, anyway—crystal clear. “If I discover you had anything to do with putting Isis in any danger, I’ll rip your balls off and stuff them down your throat.”
Stunned at how something said in such a calm voice could make every hair on her body quiver, Isis demanded of Dylan, “Have you been following us?”
“What on earth would I follow you for? I’ve found Cleopatra’s tomb, Isis. You have nothing I want.”
“Fortunate.” Thorne lifted their clasped hands to his mouth to kiss her knuckles. “Because Isis has everything