In two quick steps, she blocked his path. “All right, Father, what are you not telling me?”
His lips pursed slightly, then parted as a sigh whooshed out of him. “Very well. I suppose you should know I’ve been battling chronic joint pain for some time now. The strain of expeditions is taking a toll on this old body. Nothing to fret about, though.”
“Naturally I shall fret!” She popped her fists on her hips. “I am your daughter. I don’t wish to see you in pain.”
“For now, the recipe is doing its job.” He patted her cheek as he sidestepped her. “But we have more pressing matters to attend.”
Stubborn man. She followed behind him, this time intently studying his gait. Sure enough, his legs moved stiffer than she remembered. Either Great-Grandmother Dalton’s recipe wasn’t doing a nip of good, or that joint pain was too far advanced for it to help.
He entered the workroom ahead of her, and she nearly stumbled into him as he’d not gone more than two steps inside before stopping.
“Is this the position in which you last saw Anubis?” He swept his hand toward the long-snouted statue.
She glanced past his shoulders.
Oh dear.
Not again.
Meat hooks dangled overhead, the rank scent of blood so thick on the air Brudge could almost taste the metallic tang of it. He swiped his mouth with the back of his hand, more than pleased. Tucked away from the main thoroughfare, at the farthest end of the narrowest passage in the Covered Market, the butcher stall was the perfect setup. He’d be the one in the shadows this time.
Hunkering into the thin space between stalls, he took care not to bang his sore leg against the corner beam. He knew the woman’s ways now. How she operated. Her movements. Then again, she also knew him—which was exactly why he’d orderedScupper to perch like an oversized duck atop the awning brace across the lane. She’d be expecting a grab from behind, not above.
A quick drop. A quicker capture. And that statue would be his.
Pulling out his pocket watch, he flipped open the dented cover and could just make out the minute hand slipping into position onto the twelve. Eight o’clock sharp. He ought to hear her footsteps any second now. Muffling the snap of the lid with the palm of his hand, he slid the watch into his pocket and flicked his gaze to look down the passage.
Then he startled to see the woman already there in front of the butcher stall. Ah, but she was a sly one. Were she not such a haughty wench, he’d consider making her his woman. Maybe even take her on as a partner. She’d certainly smell better than Scupper. Feel softer too. Maybe even be less whiny.
“Mr. Khafra?” Her voice echoed against the empty stalls.
Brudge’s gaze drifted over her, from a collar half-upturned, to a—stone the crows! Was that a man’s waistcoat over her blouse? Her skirt looked like she’d nipped it off a gypsy, and her shoes might be better suited to a dancer. Some sort of satin slippers. No wonder she’d glided in so quietly. But her hands were empty. She didn’t clutch a bag nor was there one on the ground at her feet. And there was no way she could have tucked that heavy figure into her waistband.
Fury burned up his neck. Another one of her little tricks? Stashing the item elsewhere in the market until she saw the money for it?
“Mr. Khafra?” Slowly she spun in a circle. “I am ready to discuss the purchase of the griffin if you would but show yourself.”
He licked his lips, coaxing out his best attempt at an Egyptian accent. “I prefer ze shadows, my friend. How much do you want for ze relic?”
She snapped her gaze toward where he hid, planting both fists on her hips. “You are no more Egyptian than my left stocking.I demand to know who I am working with, or there will be no exchange.”
Blasted woman! Too smart for her own good. Ah well. She’d not outsmart him this time. He stepped from the shadows.
The whites of her eyes gleamed brightly, her surprise as pleasing as a frothy mug of ale. “Mr. Brudge! What are you doing here?”
“Where’s the statue?” he growled.
“How do you know about—” She lifted her chin. “Mr. Khafra hired you to do his dirty work, did he?”
“Stupid woman.Iam Khafra.” He chuckled, triumphant in having outwitted her. “If you could see your face right now, love. Absolutely priceless. So where’s that piece?”
“Pish.” She snorted. “Surely you didn’t think I’d bring such a valuable artifact to a deserted market?”
“You would have done so for an Egyptian buyer, which clearly you thought I was.” He took a step closer, scanning the lane behind her in case she had brought company this time.
“You know nothing about me, Mr. Brudge, and I have nothing further to say to you. Good night.” She pivoted.
He snapped his fingers.
