LITMIR.BIZ

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are fine. It’s time for me to put a little effort into Peter and Eleanor.

      I can’t help but wonder, though, if Beth will continue with her research. She’s a talented archeologist and anthropologist, and her theory about the great Con was right on target.

      She came to Egypt to prove that Con was one of the most powerful females in history, and she did that. The question is, will she publish her research and risk exposing Omar’s protected heritage, or will she keep the secret?

      I guess time will tell. For now, though, I see a big Pan-Am bird circling the airport and heading for a landing strip. Amelia should be on this flight. So where is Mauve? I don’t see a sign of the redhead. Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice would say. Mauve struck me as someone who would do what she said she’d do. She said she’d meet Amelia, explain the situation and make sure Amelia didn’t spend a moment worrying. I suppose I’ll have to figure out a way to detain Ms. Corbet until Mauve gets here.

      The passengers are disembarking. Beth said Amelia is her exact opposite. Tall, blond vivacious and tough as nails. And there she is! Wow! She looks as if she walked right off a Paris runway. And I can just hear Nancy Sinatra in the background singing, “These boots are made for walking.” Amelia Corbet acts as though she could walk over General Patton. Beth wasn’t exaggerating when she said the woman she grew up with and considers her adopted sister is nothing like herself. Let me swagger on over and check out this babe up close.

      AMELIA WAS TIRED, gritty, annoyed and sick with worry as she exited the plane and stepped into a gate area of the Alexandria airport. The hot Egyptian summer air smacked into her hard. She hated heat. She hated the sun. She hated the fear that made her stomach feel as if someone had punched her.

      Beth wasn’t the kind of person to send cryptic messages or play games. Her adopted sister was in real trouble.

      Amelia pulled her suitcase behind her. Long ago she’d learned to pack light and never check a bag. Customs was going to take long enough—she had no intention of wasting precious time in baggage claim. She had to find her sister and make certain Beth was okay, and then she had to get on to Paris.

      The public relations/advertising firm where she was a senior vice president had just won the coveted French account of Momante, producer of the world’s most sensual perfume. Amelia was personally handling the entire campaign. It was a plum of an assignment, and she’d scrapped hard to get it. Once Beth was safe, Amelia’d be on her way to a country that understood the finer things in life, such as perfume, chocolate, champagne and men who knew how to make a woman feel like a woman.

      After her latest breakup—she’d known better than to let things with the GQ model get serious—she needed a man who was more intrigued by his woman’s appearance than by his own. She chuckled softly to herself at the irony of her situation. Roberto, with his dark Latino charm and eyes that could summon a look of passion on cue, had been as much fun as an egomaniac could be. But it had ended badly, and Amelia had made a solemn vow not to let another man close to her heart.

      Amelia’s hand went to the necklace at her throat, her slender fingers catching the gold scarab. It had arrived by special courier only moments before she got in the cab to head to the airport. The urgent arrival of this package, so soon after the package full of strange photographs Beth had sent her, had increased Amelia’s fear for her sister. The note from Beth had asked her to wear the necklace prominently so that Amelia could be identified.

      Identified by whom? First there was the packet from Beth with the disk, the photos and the word Merlin—their private childhood code for danger. Then she’d got another urgent message from Mauve Parker saying Beth was in danger.

      And where, exactly, was Beth?

      Stuffed in Amelia’s suitcase were the strange photographs of what looked like some ancient and indecipherable language. It was a combination of scratches and pictures that gave Amelia a headache every time she studied it. She didn’t have to strain her imagination to see Beth poring over the pictures, delight evident.

      Beth had always been the one who preferred math equations, puzzles, measuring things and making them fit. Beth was the detail person, the perfectionist. Amelia was all action and no introspection.

      And that was just the way she liked her life. Fast, busy and exciting.

      She scanned the airport, halting so abruptly that a man walking behind her actually stumbled into her. She felt a sharp sting in the back of her neck as she regained her balance.

      “I’m sorry,” Amelia said, her hand still fingering the pendant she wore on her neck. The man’s eyes locked on the medallion and then slid up her face. Her neck was burning.

      “No need to apologize,” he said in only slightly accented English. He brushed past her and was gone.

      Amelia searched the airport, her blue gaze moving from one unfamiliar face to another. Everyone was bustling about as if they knew exactly where they were going. And there were cats everywhere! She frowned as she realized that cats were lounging on chairs, sleeping in the sun that shafted in through the windows, and trotting along the concourses. The felines had taken over the airport, and no one seemed to notice.

      A large black cat began to rub on her leg. Amelia sidestepped. “Shoo!” she said. She didn’t particularly like cats. They were arrogant and demanding. Nothing like her J.J., the Jack Russell and whippet mix that she’d rescued from the pound.

      She started to walk forward, still a little puzzled as to why someone wasn’t waiting for her. To her surprise, the cat snagged her black leather boots with a sharp claw.

      “Hey!” she said, trying to shake free. When he wouldn’t retract his claws, she looked around for help. Not a single person would even look in her direction.

      “Release me,” she said to the cat, aware that he was staring right into her eyes as if he had something to tell her.

      “Ms. Corbet?”

      The voice was low, dark and compelling. Amelia forgot the cat as she turned to confront the man who’d spoken to her.

      “Yes, I’m Amelia Corbet. And you are?” She put out her hand. A wave of dizziness came out of nowhere and smacked into her. The hand she’d extended pressed against the handsome stranger’s chest as she tried to block her fall. Her body was suddenly completely out of control. She tried to speak, but her throat had grown sluggish and thick. Her tongue couldn’t move, and she could hear the quick, panicked breaths she was dragging into her lungs.

      “Help me.” She mouthed the words, aware that no sound had come from her mouth. Though she couldn’t talk, she could see that the man holding her was aware that something was very wrong. His dark eyes filled with worry as he began shouting for help.

      It was the last thing Amelia remembered.

      HARAD DUKHAN HELD the woman in his arms as he waited for medical help. Amelia Corbet had been a total shock to him, as had the fact that Mauve was not in the airport to meet Beth’s sister. He was there only because his brother Omar had asked him to make sure Amelia understood that Beth was happy. Her only regret was that her adopted family didn’t have time to attend the ceremony because of the full moon.

      It was with relief that Harad helped the paramedics place the tall, thin blonde on a stretcher and prepare her for transport to the hospital. She was out cold, Harad saw. Cold and pale, and yet her forehead was beaded with perspiration. He lifted one of her hands. It was lifeless and chilled. Only minutes before, she’d been striding across the airport concourse like the Queen of Sheba.

      Harad had seen the incident where the man had stumbled into Amelia. Just as the paramedics lifted the stretcher, Harad decided to play a hunch. He halted them a moment and brushed back Amelia’s hair. The first thing he saw was the golden scarab hanging from the expensive gold chain. It was a work of art, and very Egyptian. He moved it away and began to examine her skin. The mark on the right side of her neck was big, angry and red.

      “Check her for some kind of nervous system drug,” Harad said tersely to the medics. He showed them

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