The questions would not let her sleep. She lay awake during the heat of the day while they rested, and thought, and thought, but could find no peace. She took the bread and water that Rashid offered and ate mechanically, but her mind kept working—turning everything over and over—trying desperately to find a solution. Dusk always came again, and they rode on.
DAMN, BUT IT’S going to be another sticky day, John Wakefield thought irritably as he sat at his desk sorting out the morning’s correspondence. It was winter. It wasn’t as hot as when he’d first come to this horrible land, but the days had been warm and humid this last week without rain. The bloody weather was getting under his skin.
At least he could look forward to seeing Kareen Hendricks tonight. Sweet, lovely Kareen. John thanked his lucky stars he had let William Dawson drag him to the Opera House last week, otherwise he wouldn’t have met Kareen.
A cold chill swept over John when he thought of the hell he had lived through during his first three months in Egypt. But everything had changed when he received Crissy’s letter—including his luck.
The pounding on John’s door broke into his wandering thoughts.
“What is it?” John snapped.
The door opened, and Sergeant Towneson walked into the sweatbox that was John’s office. He was a portly man about twice John’s age, with curly red hair and a bushy moustache of the same bright red.
“There’s an Arab outside who wishes to see you, Lieutenant. He said it’s a matter of importance,” Sergeant Towneson said.
“Isn’t that what they all say, Sergeant? I understand we’re here to keep the peace, but isn’t there someone else these people can go to with their petty quarrels?”
“There ought to be, sir. These darn people don’t realize that we’re here basically to keep Frenchy out. Should I send this one in?”
“I suppose so, Sergeant. Damn—I’ll be glad when I can get out of this country.”
“My sentiments exactly, sir,” Sergeant Towneson said, and left to summon the Arab.
A moment later, John heard the door quietly close, and looked up to see an unusually tall Arab striding toward his desk. The young man was the tallest Arab that John had ever seen, even taller than his own six feet.
“You are John Wakefield?” the young man asked as he stood proudly in front of John’s desk.
“Lieutenant Wakefield,” John corrected him. “May I ask your name?”
“My name does not matter. I have come for the reward you have promised for the return of your sister.”
Not another one, John thought miserably. How many more of these money-grabbing opportunists and thieves was he going to have to put up with? He had lost count of the many people who had come to him hoping to gain the reward with false information. Most of them backed down when John told them he must verify their information first. He had gone on many wild hunts through the city and desert, all of them fruitless.
Even though he had received Crissy’s letter from a young Arab who’d just handed it to him and run off, he still had not given up looking for her. He wanted to believe that she was happy where she was, but he had to find out for certain. After all, it could have been a lie. She could have been forced to write that letter. He would dearly love to get his hands on the man who had abducted Crissy, and who kept her as his mistress instead of marrying her. John would force the cad to marry her!
“Do you not want your sister back?”
“I’m sorry,” John said. “I was lost in thought. Do you know where my sister is?”
“Yes.”
“And you can take me to her?”
“Yes.”
This man was different. He didn’t hesitate with his answers as the others had. John saw a glimmer of hope.
“How do I know you’re telling me the truth? I’ve been tricked many times.”
“May I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“How do I know you will give me the money after I take you to your sister?”
“A good question,” John said grimly. He unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and lifted out a small, heavy sack. “I’ve had this money ready and waiting ever since Christina was abducted. You may count it if you wish, but the total sum I promised is here, and it’s yours if you’re telling the truth. The money doesn’t matter to me. I just want Christina back.” John paused a moment, studying this young man. “Tell me—how do you know where my sister is?”
“She has been living in my camp.”
