it did hold a trace of sentimentality. It was the last thing she’d given him. The last thing she’d touched before—he thought, mistakenly—she’d died.
“Where?” she asked. “Where is it?”
“Someplace safer than your backpack.”
He could see her wheels turning as she glanced around the empty street. Dusk was quickly fading to dark, but her worried features were clearly highlighted by the streetlamps above. “We have to get it back. You don’t understand. If the wrong person finds it—”
“They won’t. I’m more than confident it’s locked up safe and sound. So tell me about Charles Latham.”
Obviously resigned to the fact she wasn’t getting rid of him, she dropped to the bench. “He was the director of our site in The Valley of the Kings.”
“I already know that much.”
“He…” She rubbed a hand over her brow. “I think he might have been in on the whole smuggling operation somehow. Sawil said he’d talked to Latham about what he suspected, but nothing ever happened. Latham never took Sawil’s concerns to the SCA like he said he would. I know, because I checked with the SCA after Sawil’s death.”
“Maybe he was scared people were on to him.”
“Maybe. Looking back now, Latham was acting strange those last few days. Watching Sawil, sneaking around almost. I didn’t think much of it at the time, you know? I mean, I was distracted by what was happening with…us. But yeah, after, I knew something just wasn’t right with Latham.”
“So you came here to talk to him? If he’s in on this, he could call Busir and this Minyawi freak and let him know where you are.”
“Yeah,” she nodded. “That’s a possibility, but I wasn’t intending to give him a chance to do that.”
He thought of the gun he’d seen in her backpack. Just what the hell was this woman willing to do to save her own skin?
“Besides,” she said before he could ask, “I don’t really care what happens to me anymore. I just want it over.”
Something unsettling rippled through him. If she didn’t care about what happened to her, why was she going through all this in the first place?
“Then come on,” he said, trying to push that thought aside. “Let’s go find out.”
The Latham house was a sprawling two story on the corner of a quiet street. A porch light shone through the darkness. Pumpkins left over from the fall holiday were still sitting on the front steps.
Pete grasped Kat’s elbow before she could ring the bell. “Just so we’re clear. Anything funny happens, you stick with me. None of this running-off-on-your-own crap again.”
She nodded, and he knew she’d obey because he had the one thing she wanted: the necklace.
They waited thirty seconds, and when there was no answer, Kat rang the bell again. Just when Pete thought it was a dead end, he heard footsteps from inside the house.
The door pulled open a crack, and a middle-aged woman peered through the space. “Can I help you?”
Kat moved to the side so the woman could see her better. “My name’s Katherine Meyer. I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I used to work with Charles Latham. This is my colleague, Peter Kauffman. We were wondering if we could speak with Charles for a moment about a project he was involved with several years ago.”
“You used to work with Charles?”
Kat nodded. “Yes. A long time ago.”
The woman’s eyes darkened, and she pulled the door open farther. She was dressed in jeans and a black sweater, and though she looked tired, Pete had the impression of a striking woman in her midfifties. “In that case you must not have heard. Charles passed about a week ago.”
Kat darted a look Pete’s direction, and he didn’t miss the how-convenient flash in her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she said to the woman. “I didn’t know.”
“Katherine Meyer,” the woman said as if trying the name on for size. “Charles spoke about you.” Her brow wrinkled, drawing a lock of salt-and-pepper hair forward to brush her cheek. “That would have been years ago, when he worked in Egypt.”
“Yes,” Kat said. “In the Valley of the Kings.”
Pain, or maybe worry, crossed her face as the woman pulled the door open wider. “Why don’t you come in? It’s freezing outside.”
Pete and Kat exchanged glances before stepping into the house. The entry opened into a sunken living room decorated in dark woods and burgundy furnishings.
“My name’s Ann, by the way. Charles and I were married for twenty-two years.” She gestured toward the sofa for them to