Page 69

I looked beyond and gasped. Without really realizing it, I stepped forward until I stood shoulder to shoulder with Tío Ricardo. The city of Aswan came into view with its tall sandbanks and stately palms, the leaves curled like a finger beckoning me home, and as we drew nearer, the sand gave way to granite. From where I stood, I could easily spot the firstcataract sprawled across the river, rocks studding the scenery like mushrooms rising above a forest floor.

“It’s beautiful,” I murmured.

My uncle tipped his chin toward me. “There’s much more.”

Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.

I stiffened at his proximity, and a second later, I forced myself to relax my shoulders. The smile on my face didn’t feel natural.

“How much more could there be?” I asked.

He met my gaze. “More.”

“There is the island of Elephantine,” Tío Ricardo pointed out to me as we waited for an empty carriage to take us to the Old Cataract Hotel. “I’ve always loved it.”

I made a noncommittal noise and shifted away from him. Every word out of his mouth unnerved me. My eyes found Whit. He stood off to the side next to everyone’s trunks, and while he remained helpful and polite, he still wouldn’t look in my direction. I must have done or said something wrong. But what? Our interactions had been normal. Well—normal for us, anyway. I fought down my unease, reminding myself that he had a job to do and I was merely an item to be checked off on a long list of responsibilities.

“If you’ll excuse us for the rest of the evening,” Mr. Fincastle said as a brougham came to a stop, “my daughter and I have a previous engagement that we can’t miss.”

“But I wanted you to meet Abdullah,” my uncle protested. “He’s waiting for us on the hotel terrace with his granddaughter. Won’t you cancel?”

Mr. Fincastle’s lips tightened. I got the impression he didn’t appreciate being put on the spot. “I’m afraid meeting your foreman—”

“Business partner,” my uncle corrected with a narrowed gaze. “Which you already knew.”

“Will have to wait for the introductions until tomorrow,” Mr. Fincastle said, as if my uncle hadn’t spoken.

“But surely we can take a few moments to say hello, Papa.” Isadora brushed dust off her skirt.

“We’re already late,” Mr. Fincastle said, his tone brooking no argument.

She fell silent, her fingers gripping her handbag tightly. I suddenly wished I’d made more of an effort in getting to know her on theElephantine. Except she was never far from her father. He was constantly at her elbow, or directing her to their shared cabin, or in deep conversation. She never seemed to have a free moment.

“TheElephantinewill depart for Philae in the morning,” Tío Ricardo said. “We’ll meet in the lobby of the Old Cataract. Please take care to be punctual.”

Mr. Fincastle’s lips tightened, but he nodded and led his daughter into a waiting carriage.

We climbed into our own, and the two drivers wove us through the crowded street until we reached a picturesque building in the Victorian style, painted the color of a sunset. It stood on a granite cliff that faced Elephantine Island. The lush greenery surrounding the establishment gave a feeling of refinement. Whit hopped out of the brougham first, and then turned to assist me, his hand stretched toward me.

I debated ignoring it, decided it would be childish, and accepted his help. His calloused fingers closed over mine for a brief moment, and a tingle radiated outward from the touch, climbed up my arm, and stole my breath.

He dropped my hand the second my booted foot touched the ground.

“Gracias.” I dropped my voice. “What’s wrong, Whit?”

He raised his brows. “Why, nothing, Olivera.” He smiled, but it looked forced. The kind of smile I used with my uncle.

Whit walked over to the driver to assist with the luggage. Hotel attendants rushed forward to greet us, and they led our party through the grand entrance decorated in gold and maroon with arched doorways and beautifully carved wooden furniture, the elegance rivaling Shepheard’s. I barely had time to take in every detail before we were led straight out to the terrace overlooking the Nile River.

“Abdullah!” my uncle called out to an older man dressed in a casual suit, well-made but without any pretension. His rich brown skin contrasted with the pale cream of his linen shirt, and a young woman leaned forward to adjust one of the buttons at the collar. She was dressed in a comfortablewalking dress, serviceable, and without any frills. A light shawl around her shoulders fluttered in the cool breeze and on her feet were strong leather boots. She was pretty, with luminous skin and warm brown eyes that sparkled with intelligence.

Abdullah and Farida.

Whit immediately strode toward her with a wide grin, and she stood to greet him with a matching smile. Abdullah clasped hands with my uncle and he motioned for the rest of us to gather around the wooden table. Before I took my seat, I approached Abdullah.

“Sir,” I said, “it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m the daughter of Cayo and Lourdes Olivera—”

“But I know exactly who you are,” he cut in. “I’m truly sorry for your loss, Señorita Olivera.”