Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
“Oh. How does that work? Did you bring artifacts with you to Paris or—”
“Good Lord, no!” Alistair glanced around as if to be sure no one within hearing distance would think for a second that he would do anything so ridiculous and possibly illegal. “These treasures belong to Egypt. We work with the country and their team, studying artifacts that have been buried for centuries.”
I squinted behind my Prada knockoffs. “What can you find in a chunk of rock or an old piece of pottery?”
“A portal through time.”
I wanted to laugh at his dramatic tone, but Alistair was dead serious. In fact, his eyes had taken on a rapturous glossy hue I associated with major events, like scoring front-row tickets to a Beyoncé concert, including backstage passes and complimentary parking.
“Professor, please tell me you’re not attempting to build a time machine to transport yourself to ancient Egypt. If I’m about to have a Back to the Future moment, I’m sure as hell not going to waste it hauling rocks up the side of a pyramid. No, thank you,” I huffed in my sassiest tone.
“I’m not building an actual time machine.” He chuckled, his eyes bright with humor. “But something like it.”
“How do you mean?”
“Every artifact holds clues to the past. A single piece of tile provides a gold mine of insight. We use infrared imaging to ascertain age and composition. Analyzing the paint tells us about the materials used and where they originate from. The rarer the substance, the more likely it belonged to a person of means. We can slowly puzzle together its use based on the thickness of the shard, the break point, and the other objects discovered with it.”
“Really? All from a piece of tile?”
“Yes, and the Egyptians effectively left us time capsules all over the desert. It’s not just a matter of excavating the tombs of pharaohs, either. Archeologists have found well-preserved mudbrick houses that tell us about the people who worked for the aristocracy too. Everyday people weren’t usually mummified, so we don’t know as much about their diets or the diseases they dealt with, but there are clues…everywhere.”
“That sounds interesting.”
Alistair agreed. “Very. It’s an excess of information, to be honest. I’m concentrating on religious artifacts found at a site we think was a village chapel or place of worship. A perfectly preserved mummy of a man was found nearby, and that is highly unusual.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “You’ll never run out of things to do, will you?”
“Never,” he said gleefully. “I should get back. Now you know that I have a lot to do before the conference and—”
“Hang on. You haven’t finished eating, and it’s”—I glanced at my watch. Eleven-fifteen a.m.—“brunch time. Eat and enjoy the sunshine. Vitamin D is good for the soul…and so is putting your work on hold for a couple of hours to nourish your body.”
He patted his belly and scoffed. “I don’t think anyone would suggest I’m in danger of starving.”
“You’re hot, Professor,” I replied, unthinking. “Don’t go changing.”
Alistair blushed. An honest-to-God pink-cheeked blush.
“I—that’s…thank you,” he sputtered. “That’s enough about me. Have you enjoyed Paris so far?”
“Oh, yeah! It’s a gorgeous city. I might go to a museum or two today. How about you?” I raised a hand. “No, let me guess…Egypt is calling.”
“Yes.”
“If you must, you must.” I sighed theatrically. “You don’t get a reputation for being an expert without busting your booty for it. Raine warned me that you’re a hard worker. So did Gerard, the sexy French archeologist. I believe his exact words were, ‘dedicated expert, tireless researcher.’ Your reputation has followed you to France and—”
“Gerard?” he intercepted, dropping his spoon onto the table with a clang. “Gerard…who?”
“I don’t remember his last name.”
“Poitier?”
I snapped my fingers. “That’s it! I met him in the dining room earlier. We chatted on the way to the lobby and realized we both knew you. Small world, huh?”
“Gerard Poitier is at our hotel?” Alistair leaned forward, his brow creased in consternation. “Right this very moment?”
“Uh…well, I didn’t ask about his plans. I just met the guy.”
“In the lobby?”
“Yes, he said he was spending one night in Paris.” I narrowed my eyes. “Are you okay? You look pale.”
“And you told him I was here…in the city?”
I frowned. “Did I do something wrong?”
Alistair released a jagged breath. “No, of course not. But I can’t go back to the hotel now.”
“Why not? Is he dangerous? He didn’t seem dangerous. He seemed…nice,” I reported in a rush. “Though I guess the most dangerous people are master manipulators who can fool anyone. But I didn’t get bad vibes from him, and I’m damn good at reading vibes. And he only had complimentary things to say about you. Nothing murder-y or—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” the professor interrupted. “We’re not enemies, and Gerard is not a murderer, Winnie. Don’t get yourself worked up.”