I tilted my head, brow furrowed in confusion. “How exactly?”
His smile was thin and humorless, and he remained silent and considering, his gaze never leaving my face.
I squirmed in my seat, unused to such a direct stare. “Am I supposed to apologize?” I asked finally with an exasperated huff. “I’m not your problem. Let my uncle deal with me.”
“Actually the fact that you’re here at all is my problem. At least, your uncle will see it that way.”
“I won’t apologize for what I did.”
Mr. Hayes leaned forward, a wicked gleam lurking in his wolflike eyes. “I didn’t think you would. Hence, why you’re a terrible inconvenience for me. It would have been better if I found you stuffy and boring.”
Were we still talking about the docks? A feeling I couldn’t identify rose within me.
It might have been alarm.
“Well, I doubt we’ll be spending that much time together,” I said stiffly. “But I consider myself warned, Mr. Hayes. So long as you don’t cross me, we’ll get along fine.”
I hadn’t meant to make it sound like a challenge, but I instinctively understood that was how he took my words. He seemed to be visibly at war with himself. His body relaxed in slow degrees. When he spoke again, his expression was closed off and remote, his tone of voice almost aloof. “You’ll be sent away soon, anyway; it hardly signifies.”
He lounged on the couch as if he didn’t have a care in the world, or maybe that was the impression he wanted to give. My gaze narrowed. There was a directness in his stare, even as his red-rimmed eyes flickered over the room.
“Are we back to that argument?”
“As far as I’m concerned, we never left it,” he said with a glance in my direction. “This isn’t up for discussion. Your uncle wants you back home and far away from here.”
“Why is that, exactly?”
Mr. Hayes arched a brow and remained infuriatingly silent.
“What exactly do you do for my uncle?”
“A little of everything.”
I considered kicking him. “Are you his secretary?”
He laughed.
The quality of it gave me pause. “Is your work dangerous?”
“It can be.”
“Is it legal?”
His grin dazzled me. “Sometimes.”
“Mr. Hayes, whatever you and my uncle are—”
“What’s legal and illegal in this country is very fluid, Se?orita Olivera.”
“Well, I want to know what happened to my parents,” I said in a low voice. “Why were they wandering around in the desert? What were they looking for? And why wasn’t Tío Ricardo with them?”
“Your parents were free to do what they wished,” he said smoothly. “They were the money behind the whole operation and weren’t often told what to do. The only person who had any sway over them was Abdullah.” Mr. Hayes paused. “You do know who he is, correct?”
I’d heard the name hundreds of times. Abdullah was the brains behind every dig site. He was my parents’ business partner, the brilliant man who knew everything there was to know about ancient Egyptians. Over the years, my parents would sometimes idly share where Abdullah’s team was digging, but they’d never said a word about their latest excavation.
The one that had something to do with Cleopatra.
“Tell me more about the operation.”
Mr. Hayes shot to his feet, and I startled. He drew closer to my parents’ bedroom, the door flung open, and peered inside their chamber and let out a low whistle. I stood and joined him under the doorframe, once again struck by the discord.
“They weren’t messy people. Well, Papá is—was—incredibly absentminded. But this is something else.”
“Yes, it is,” he agreed, and for once he sounded serious. “Ricardo isn’t messy either.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I said coolly. “I’ve been in his company exactly one time, ten years ago.”
Mr. Hayes made no comment, but silently stepped forward, carefully picking up the discarded clothing. I didn’t like a stranger pawing at my parents’ belongings, and I almost said so, but a realization silenced me.
He wasn’t the stranger—I was.
Mr. Hayes knew a side of my parents I’d never seen. Knew them in ways that I never would. He had memories of them I would never be a part of. He worked alongside them, ate meals, and slept at the same campsite.
“Have you been inside the room before?”
He nodded. “Many times.”
So, he had more than a working relationship with them. They were more likely to invite a friend inside their private hotel room, and not a work colleague. “Have you been inside since they’ve disappeared?”
His shoulders tensed. He leveled a look in my direction and stared at me for a few seconds in silent contemplation. Incredibly, the hard line of his mouth softened. “You understand, don’t you, that they’re gone?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“I want you to comprehend that you’ll gain nothing with your questions.”
I swallowed a painful lump at the back of my throat. “I will discover what happened to them.”
He neatly folded one of Papá’s shirts, and gently placed it inside one of the trunks. “It’s your uncle who unearths things for a living. Not you, Se?orita Olivera.”
“But that’s my aim, nevertheless.”
He kept his attention trained on me and I fought the urge to fidget. If he wanted to intimidate me, he’d have to try harder than that. Despite his size, despite the gun hanging loosely at his side. The handle was engraved with the letters C. G. G. I hadn’t noticed it before, but taking him in from his rough leather boots to the straight line of his shoulders, the unpleasant truth hit me square in the face.
“Military?”
His brows lowered, forbidding. “Pardon?”
“Are you British military?”
“No,” he said.
“Those are not your initials.” I pointed to the gun in his holster. “I thought your name is Whitford Hayes?”
“It is.” Then he abruptly changed the subject. “Put on something frilly and decent and come down for dinner.”
First, he tried to send me away from Egypt. Now he was ordering me to dinner. “Stop trying to tell me what to do.”
He walked around the bed and stood in front of me, a mischievous glint hidden in the deep well of his blue gaze. The subtle scent of smoky liquor on his breath swirled between us. “Would you rather I flirt with you?”
His confidence, bordering on arrogance, must come from having never been told no in his entire life. My expression remained unimpressed. “I wouldn’t bother.”
“Right. You’re off-limits.” He smiled down at me, dimples bracketing his mouth like parentheses. I didn’t trust it. “Come down and join me. Please.”
I shook my head. “I’ve traveled all this way pretending to be a widow and while I probably got away with it, I doubtless won’t be able to continue the charade here. Eating with you wouldn’t be proper—not without my uncle.”
“He’s down there.”
“Why didn’t you say?” I exclaimed.