“I was wearing one.”
“You were wearing a fez before you went over, which doesn’t offer even the littlest bit of protection from the rays. The sun can be murderous at this time of day.”
“My other one didn’t go with my outfit,” I said. “I had to have a practical disguise.”
“My God, it was you,” he said in a marveling tone. “Serving us dinner. I thought I smelled vanilla.”
“What?”
“Your soap,” he said, imperturbably. “I ought to have known. But I thought it impossible . . .”
“You really ought to pay better attention to your instincts. They won’t lead you astray.”
Mr. Hayes flinched as if I’d struck him. He abruptly took a step back.
“What is it?”
He shook his head and smiled, but it wasn’t one of his real ones. This one was hardened, made of stone. “Come with me, Se?orita Olivera.”
“No, I’d rather not. Gracias.” I gestured to my dripping clothes. “I really ought to change.”
He eased one elbow onto the railway and regarded me coolly. “You have to face your uncle at some point.”
I bent down and wrung the hem of the long tunic. “I will when I’m ready. What about a few days from now?”
Mr. Hayes gave a short laugh. “What makes you think he won’t find you before then?”
Fear skittered down my spine. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized how badly I needed an ally. I didn’t trust Mr. Hayes in the slightest, but he’d jumped into the Nile after me, even after he spotted the danger. I didn’t want to face my uncle alone. “Will you stay with me?”
Mr. Hayes narrowed his gaze. He assessed my face, seeing what I desperately tried to hide. “What are you nervous about?”
“He’ll be furious. It would help if you took my side.”
He looked appalled. “Absolutely not.”
Half-frantic, I thought of something to say that might buy me more time. “After our day together in Cairo, I thought we’d become friends.”
“I don’t have those anymore,” Mr. Hayes said matter-of-factly. “Why on earth would you think so?”
A deep flush burned my cheeks. “You’ve just saved my life. We’ve dined together. You kissed me goodbye?”
“It was your mistake to read into my behavior. I treat everyone the same. And if you thought we were friends, you might have not lied to me, pretending to be someone else on this damn boat.”
Red-hot embarrassment flowed under my skin. I recalled staring stupidly after him as he vanished inside of the hotel, touching the skin his lips had grazed. “So, you kiss every person you meet.”
The corners of his mouth deepened. “Is that a question, Olivera?”
“Well, why did you?”
“Why not?” He lifted an indolent shoulder. “Not everything has to mean something. It was just a kiss.”
“Be careful. Your cynicism is showing.”
“No sense in hiding something you’ve seen from the beginning.” He sighed. Without disturbing his seemingly casual pose, his hand shot forward, ensnaring my wrist in a tight hold. He grinned at my astonishment. “Let’s get this over with. Am I dragging you to him, or will you walk with me?”
I lifted my chin, my jaw set, and I fought to ignore how the warmth of his fingers was wreaking havoc on my heartbeat. “Have it your way, then.”
“Good girl,” he murmured, releasing me.
We strode side by side, Mr. Hayes somehow leading me to the saloon, without actually stepping in front of me or touching me again. He had that kind of presence that commanded obedience. But for some reason, I got the impression that he pushed any form of leadership away with both hands.
He glanced down at me.
I swallowed hard and grimly stared ahead, not wanting to show any of the inner turmoil I felt. Sweat gathered in my palms. I had to make my case to stay.
Mr. Hayes stepped aside at the entrance of the saloon.
I leaned in close, close enough to see every faint line across his brow, the subtle narrowing of his gaze. “If my uncle does decide to turn us around and take me back, then I want you to know something.”
He watched me warily. “What is it?”
I knew just how to unbalance him. “Thank you for saving my life. And regardless of what you might think, I do consider you a friend, Whit.”
He blinked with a quick inhale that was so quiet, I might have missed it had I not been standing not one pace away from him. The words were true. He’d jumped in after me, just like a friend would have. I didn’t trust him, or his involvement with my uncle’s schemes.
But Whit had helped save my life.
I strode past him, my heart clamoring against my ribs. My uncle sat at the round table, poring over documents, a cup of black coffee at his elbow. His pen scratched in his journal, and he muttered something to himself in Spanish. He heard our approach but didn’t look up.
“What the hell was all the commotion, Whitford? Mr. Fincastle make good on his threat to shoot crocodiles?”
“That he did,” I said.
My uncle turned to stone.
I felt, rather than saw, Whit’s presence. He stood behind me, lounging against the wall, his ankles crossed. Absolute silence stretched, thickening with tension. Tío Ricardo’s fingers flexed around his pen, and then relaxed. Slowly, he lifted his head, his mouth hammered into a thin, pale slash. He regarded me in stunned horror, his attention drifting to the long tunic enshrouding my slight frame, dripping water onto the saloon’s carpet.
“Why are you both wet?”
“We had an encounter with a crocodile,” Whit said.
“Jesucristo.” My uncle shut his eyes and then opened them, hazel ones so like mine. “You disobeyed me,” he said in marveling tones. “Do you have any idea of what you’ve done?”
“No, because you won’t—”
Tío Ricardo stood abruptly, his chair flying backward. “Did you help her on board, Whitford?”
Whit gave him a pointed look.
My uncle splayed his hands, half-angry, half-exasperated. “Why would you do this?”
I lifted my chin. “It was the only way.”
My uncle opened his mouth, and then slowly shut it. He seemed afraid to ask me what I meant, but intuition told me he already knew why I had come. I wanted the truth, I wanted answers. And I would get them any way could.
I swallowed hard. Sweat beaded at my hairline.
“Get Hassan,” Tío Ricardo quietly.
I blinked in confusion—did he want me to . . . no, he’d spoken to Whit, who remained motionless against the wall, his hands tucked deep into his pockets. He might have been posing for a photograph.
“Let her stay,” Whit said. “I think she’s earned the right to be on the team.”
I swung around to face him, my lips parting. He didn’t look in my direction. His attention remained focused on my uncle.
“Have you lost all sense?” Tío Ricardo asked.
“We can’t turn around, and you know it,” Whit said. “She figured out a way on board with no help from either of us; she just survived swimming in the Nile. She’s their daughter.”
“I don’t care. Bring Hassan to me.”