5.
“I’m gonna come clean,” I say,
straightening out the shoulder strap on my black, Tough Traveler writing
satchel. “I know your husband. Or, used to know him. I worked as a sandhog for
him eight years ago in the Giza Plateau.”
“I had no idea,” she says, shooting
me a look of suspicion. But I’m listening to my insides and they are telling me
she could be putting on an act. “Why did you wait until now to tell me?”
“I didn’t want you to think I’m
some opportunist who wants to find your husband only to ultimately find the
treasure he’s no doubt seeking.”
She works up a grin that makes me
want to press my lips against hers. But not yet.
“Seems strange your not knowing
about my past relationship with your husband,” I say, recalling my conversation
with Cipriani. “You just happen
