Shadows In The Night

Craig grabbed her by the shoulders. “Harley! Stop. Micah’s on your side. What are you?” he asked. “A fool?”

She flushed uneasily. They were just outside the door. The nicer cop, the quiet one with the baby face, Rydell, came out and approached Jensen Morrow. He was next on the block, Harley thought. And how stupid of the cops. Jensen had been with her, away from the camp, when Henry Tomlinson was killed. They just didn’t seem bright enough to realize that there was a far bigger picture here. They needed to see it—before someone else died.

But Craig was right. She shouldn’t be taking it out on Micah Fox.

Why was she being so hostile, so defensive?

Pushing him away on purpose.

He was trying to help her. He was...

He was a promise she was afraid to accept. He claimed he wanted the truth, and he seemed to have all the assets needed to get at that truth. He was too damned good to be true, and she didn’t dare depend on someone like that when the very concept of an ally, someone to depend on, was still so...

Foreign to her! He was law enforcement—and on her side. It was good. After all this time, it felt rather amazing.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

She’d barely spoken when Kieran Finnegan came hurrying up next to her. “I have a car outside. Come on, I’ll get you home.”

“But—”

“There’s nothing else you can do here tonight, Harley,” Micah said.

“Remember, you came to me.”

“Yes. And there’s nothing else you can do here tonight,” he repeated.

Harley stiffened.

“Let’s go,” Kieran said gently.

So she nodded. “Thank you,” she said to Craig and Micah, and then she allowed Kieran to lead her out the door, to the front of the museum.

A light-colored sedan was waiting, just as Kieran had promised. Kieran wasn’t driving; Harley assumed the driver was FBI and that Micah or Craig had made the arrangements.

Once in the car beside Kieran, Harley regretted the fact that she’d already left. “I should still be there. I should be back with the exhibits. I should see the prep rooms. I was with them on that expedition and I know what we discovered. I saw the tomb when it was opened. And I... Lord, yes, I’m the one who found Henry.”

“Logically, there isn’t a damned thing you could’ve done tonight. They won’t let anyone back by the exhibits, the prep rooms, the offices—anywhere!—until the crime scene people have gone through it all. Naturally, everyone’s hoping that Vivian Richter pulls through. If she does, maybe she’ll be able to remember something that will help. For now, well...”

“McGrady is NYPD. He isn’t letting Craig and that Agent Fox in on anything.”

“They’ll get in on it. Trust me. Craig will talk to his director. His director will call the chief of police or the mayor or someone, but they’ll get in on it,” Kieran said with assurance.

Harley leaned back for a moment, suddenly very tired. She closed her eyes and then opened them again, looking over at Kieran. She liked her cousin’s girlfriend. Really liked her. She wasn’t sure why they weren’t engaged or married yet, but...

Kieran, of course, knew all about what had gone on during and after the expedition out to the Sahara in the search for Amenmose’s tomb. Considering what she did for a living—a psychologist who worked with law enforcement—nothing much surprised her or rattled her. Besides, she’d met Craig during a period when the city was under siege with a spate of diamond heists.

“So tell me—what’s your take on this?” Harley asked Kieran. “Who would kill Henry Tomlinson? Or rather, who’d dress up as a mummy to kill him, and then dress Vivian Richter like a mummy to try and kill her?”

“The incidents might not be related,” Kieran said.

“Oh, please! Don’t tell me Henry wasn’t murdered! Don’t tell me I want that to be the case because I don’t want to believe he went crazy and committed suicide.”

“I’m not saying that at all. Here’s the thing. You were in the desert, so it had to be someone there. Henry’s dead and maybe this would-be killer is playing on that. Or maybe the two are related. The problem is, I don’t know anyone involved. It’s hard enough to make judgment calls when you’ve had a chance to speak with people and question them.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry.”

“That said...”

“Yes?”

Kieran smiled and shrugged. “You’ve had as much education as me, if not more.”

“Ah, but in different courses! I need more in psychology.”

“Specifically in human emotions. Like jealousy.”

“Jealousy? As in...someone who wanted to be a famed Egyptologist?”

“Possibly. Some people kill because they’re deranged. They’re psychotic, or they’re sociopaths. Then, of course, you have the usual motives. Love, greed, hatred...jealousy. Think about everyone involved if you’re convinced that the two situations are related. The rest of us weren’t there. Only you know the dynamics among all the people who were on that expedition.”

“I can’t imagine anyone who would’ve wanted Henry dead. I just can’t.”

“It’s not that you can’t. It’s that you don’t want to,” Kieran told her.

They’d reached Rector Street and the old warehouse apartment that legally belonged to Harley’s uncle, who was mostly out of state now and had generously given the large, rent-controlled space to Harley while she finished her degree and decided on her permanent vocation.

The driver hopped out of the car, opening the door for Harley. Kieran leaned out to say goodbye and thank the man.

“Get on home, get into bed, go to sleep,” Kieran said. “Much better to start fresh in the morning.”

Harley gave her a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. “Thanks. Thanks for getting me here. But... I’ll be back on it in the morning.”

Kieran grinned. “We’d expect no less.” She leaned back in the car and the driver shut the door. He offered Harley a grave nod, and waited until she was safely at the door to her building.