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“But how…” Neil’s voice was tight as the fury that had fueled him crumbled, making way for an abysmal well of fear. “How is that possible?”

“I don’t know.” Dawson refused to meet Neil’s eyes. “But it’s true… and it makes him very, very dangerous.”

Neil’s gaze shifted to the closed door as though he could look through it—and the walls and deck—to wherever Jacobs currently stood.

Dawson pulled over one of his tomes. “Best get back to work.”

As Dawson’s lead scratched across the page, heavy footsteps and creaking ropes sounded from the deck above. The boat shifted, and the temple outside the window began to slide away.

TheIsiswas moving.

Neil hoped it wasn’t leaving his chances of surviving all this behind.

??

Twenty-Four

Constance greeted themovement of the dahabeeyah with a burst of excitement. For the last hour, she had been lying on her bed in the stateroom Julian had ordered hurriedly made over for her, tapping her fingers restlessly. She had tried the door as soon as they left her, of course, and had found it unlocked—but another Al-Saboor had been lingering outside of it, obviously posted there to trail her should she decide to go exploring. Constance could have overcome him easily enough—even if he hadn’t sported a black eye and had his arm in a sling—but doing so would blow her cover.

She resigned herself to waiting, albeit impatiently and with frequent requests for more lemonade.

At least she was feeling less worried about Ellie, Adam, and Sayyid. She had caught a glimpse of the launch when it had returned to theIsiscarrying Jacobs and the rest of Julian’s hired thugs. The remaining Al-Saboors had looked fairly shamefaced, and there’d been an air of simmering frustration in Jacobs’ quick pace. Just that would have been enough to tell Constance that Ellie must have managed to escape, but Julian’s quite audible outburst a few minutes later had put a pin in it.

“What do you mean, you were overcome by a batch of women?!”

Constance was admittedly a little miffed. It was hardly fair that Ellie had kept something as deliciously exciting as a secret getaway strategy involving a cadre of mysterious accomplices to herself!

But at least now, she need only concern herself with accomplishing her own mission—interrogate Julian, steal the tablet, and rescue the idiot who had given their position away to the enemy in a desperate ploy to reclaim his old life.

Constance would have a thing or two to say about that once she had safely whisked Stuffy off the boat.

They were tasks sure to require all her skills of deception, espionage, and—one might hope—a dash of physical violence.

?

Unfortunately, she had to wait another three hours before she could do it. Constance was seething with impatience when a crewman finally turned up to show her to dinner.

She trailed behind her escort down the hall, tuning her senses to the row of cabins to either side of her. In front of the third one down, she heard the scrape of a chair on the floor and a rustle of papers that sounded distinctly scholarly.

It had to be Neil. Constance certainly couldn’t imagine any of the Al-Saboors reading a book. Satisfied, she filed the information away and hurried after the sailor.

He led her to where Julian waited in the open-air salon at the top of the boat. It ran the full length of the cabins and had been loosely organized into a dining area with a fine mahogany table, a bar, and a parlor furnished with couches and overstuffed armchairs. The deck was bordered only by a low rail, offering a stunning view of the Nile to every side.

Constance glanced up at the canopy, which offered a more sinister sort of scenery. “Goodness! Is that a crocodile?”

The ten-foot-long reptile was suspended within the rafters over the bar, its dark green leather offset by rows of yellowing teeth. As taxidermy went, it was not the finest specimen Constance had ever seen.

“Oh, that!” Julian strolled over to join her. “Relic of a past rental, I gather. Do you want me to have it removed?”

“To where?” Constance pictured the stuffed creature bobbing on the Nile like raft.

“Ha ha ha!” Julian chuckled forcefully. “Well, you know how things are in these godforsaken outposts. One can’t be too choosy, can they?”

Constance bristled a bit.

Her complexion was a soft hue of light brown, which had led older ladies to scold her about spending too much time in the sun. Her hair was a rich, glossy black that curled into charming little waves if left to dry properly, and her lashes were much longer and thicker than those of most English ladies. Constance liked that she could see these little hints of India in her mirror. How could she feel anything but proud of that part of her heritage when it was shared by someone as regal and brilliant as her Aai—a royal princess of the ancient kingdom of Nandapur, educated like a scholar in the family palace?

She was fairly certain Julian would categorize Nandapur as one of those ‘godforsaken places’ as well.