“I couldn’t sleep if I wanted to.” He paced to the bed nearest him, sat on the edge, bounced up again. “Too much on my mind.”
“That’s an understatement. The weight of the world is riding right on your broad shoulders,” she said softly. “I don’t know how you’re even holding up under all of this—” She held up a hand as, apparently, someone came back on the telephone line. Then, nodding, she said, “Have him call me at this number as soon as possible, please.” And then, “Yes, it’s very urgent. The name? Ms. Enheduanna. That’s e-n-h-e d-u-a-n-n-a.” There was a pause. “Within thirty minutes? That would be perfect. Thank you so much for your time.”
She hung up the phone.
“En-who-whatta?” he asked, teasing just a little. “You couldn’t have gone with ‘Smith’?”
She smiled, as he had hoped she would. She had the most beautiful smile. It seemed healing to him, for some reason.
“Enheduanna was a Sumerian high priestess and the first author credited by name for her work. I’m her biggest living fan. Marcus will know it’s me.”
“And what’s to stop him from calling the authorities and giving them the number instead?”
“Loyalty,” she said. And then she shrugged. “And curiosity. He’ll at least phone me first to find out what’s going on and then decide how to proceed.”
James nodded slowly and felt a bit of jealousy that he told himself was entirely misplaced. Marcus had been a friend and colleague of her father’s, he reminded himself. So he must be at least fifteen or twenty years older than she was. “This guy—is he some…Indiana Jones type?”
Her smile was bright and wide, and it took his breath away for a moment, and then he wondered when he’d started reacting that way to her. Not only the breathless desire, not only looking at her and then getting stuck, unable to look away, but also this jealousy. What the hell was that about?
But he knew when. He knew exactly when. It had been on the yacht, when she’d sat across from him as he’d healed Pandora. It had been when he’d seen her crying over that damned cat, and when they’d shared in healing her. And it had intensified on the island, when she’d been weeping for Ellie, and then after the healing, when she’d looked at him as if she wanted to kiss him, as if he were some kind of a hero, or a god, and flung her arms around him and whispered in his ear that he was special. He’d realized then that he’d been dying for her to feel that way about him ever since he’d met her.
And now maybe he was starting to get why. He was falling for this bookish little mortal.
“A retired Indy, maybe,” she said, and laughed. “He’s almost seventy. He’s one of the few friends I’ve allowed myself in my life. But more importantly, he has a lot of influence in the antiquities community. And I have no doubt that a phone call from him will get us permission to take a closer look at those statues.”
“That doesn’t get the one we want out of the museum.”
“Well, if it gets it out of the case, into a quiet, private room and into my hands, we’ll be ahead of the game. Won’t we?” Then she tapped the computer screen, and he saw that she’d switched to the page for the museum’s gift shop. She clicked on a thumbnail of one of the items for sale, enlarging it, and he saw a small, rather crude statue of a nude man with his arms held close to his chest, elbows at his sides, thumbs pointing upward. Beneath the statue were the words, Sumerian Priest-King Replica—Actual Size. Gypsum Stone. $149.99.
He nodded. “You’re one smart woman, Lucy Lanfair.”
She tapped her head. “Professor, remember?” But then her smile died, and she frowned past him at the television screen.
And no wonder. A photo of her filled the screen, with the caption Professor Lucy Lanfair. Wanted in connection with the Waters/Folsom Murders.
He reached for the remote to shut the thing off, but she grabbed it first and cranked up the volume.
“…I think the government is reaching, here,” said one of the journalists seated on the set of a popular Sunday morning news program.
“The woman’s family was murdered in front of her,” said another.
“Family and the entire team on that dig in Iraq.” The camera went close on the man on the far right, close-cropped black curls and thick