“This is a really interesting case,” Mia said as she stepped over Sweet Thing. “Almost interesting enough to make me want to re-up.” She smiled at Daria. “Just kidding. It’s interesting but I have no intention of going back.”

She sat back on the rocker and picked up the plate of cookies. After inspection and selection, she offered the plate to Daria, who at first started to decline but then shrugged and leaned forward to take it from Mia’s hands.

“What’s bothering you?” Mia asked as she handed the plate over.

“Thinking about Sabina,” Daria said softly. “I wasn’t aware her interest in Shandihar ran so deep. I’d hate to think she’s involved somehow. I can’t understand why she didn’t say more when we were in the hospital.”

“Maybe she thought it wasn’t the time or place to talk about work.”

“Trust me, you put two archaeologists in a room, that’s all they talk about. And we did. We talked about mutual friends, and a dig she was on with some people I’ve worked with.” Daria frowned. “But she never mentioned that she wanted to search for Shandihar.”

“What else is bothering you about her?” Mia asked.

“What makes you thing there’s something else?”

“Just the look on your face.”

The words Daria could have spoken stuck in her throat.

“It’s Connor, isn’t it?” Mia said it for her. “You think he’s interested in her?”

“Well, she is pretty…well, gorgeous.” Daria sighed.

“If all it took to get Connor’s attention was a pretty face, he’d have been snatched up long ago.” Mia nibbled on her cookie. “He’s been chased by many, but he’s never come close to being caught. At least, as far as anyone in the family knows.”

“Strange. You’d think he’d…well, he’s just such a warm person.”

“Connor? Warm?” Mia laughed. “There are very few people who would describe him as warm, Daria. He’s been a loner all his life, even more so since…well, since Dylan.” A shadow crossed Mia’s face.

“Who’s Dylan?”

“His brother.”

“The one who died?”

“He told you about that?” Mia asked.

“Not exactly. He just said he had a brother who died.” Daria paused, then asked, “How did he die?”

“I think you ought to ask him that.” Mia stood and began to clear the plates and empty water bottles. “It’s not something I like to talk about.”

She left the room, leaving Daria with another round of questions that were not likely to be answered anytime soon.

“Come in, Agent Shields.” Sabina Bokhari stood in the doorway of her second-floor apartment in an old brick building at the edge of the Howe campus. “You’re very prompt.”

She wore the same kind of khaki shorts that Daria was in the habit of wearing, and a loose-fitting coral-colored knit top. Her long black hair was pulled back on one side and held with a clip. He was struck once again that she was, as Daria had noted, uncommonly beautiful.

“Do come in.” She stepped aside and he entered the spacious living room.

“Interesting décor,” he said as he looked around at the art-filled room. “Souvenirs from your last dig?”

She smiled. “I am not in the habit of tomb robbing or pilfering from the job site. I do, however, frequent the gift shops of museums all over the world. Please have a seat.”

She gestured toward the sofa, but he chose the chair on the opposite wall.

“You wanted to ask me some questions.” She took a seat on the sofa facing him.

“Let’s start with Tuesday night. What time did you get back on campus?”

“I’m not sure, but I think around seven-thirty or so. Stefano picked me up at the airport and we stopped for dinner on the way home. We passed the administration building on the way to my apartment, and I noticed that Louise’s office lights were still on. I asked Stefano to stop so I could see her. I wasn’t aware she had people in the office, but when we arrived, she invited us to join her and the two trustees.”

“Had you met them before?”

“Yes, of course. They’ve both been around forever. Nora Gannon’s a legacy, if you follow.”

“I don’t.”

“Her father and her grandfather were both Howe graduates. They both served on the board.”

“And the other trustee?”

“Olivia Masters.” Sabina nodded. “She’s a Howe alum, and she lives right outside Howeville. She volunteered to be the new public relations person for the university, at least until this is resolved.”

“So Louise invited you and Stefano to come in and be part of this impromptu meeting.” So far, Sabina’s story matched Stefano’s perfectly.

“Yes. She said she was just getting ready to call Daria to come over when we arrived.”

“Was there anyone else?” he asked. “Anyone else she was going to call that you know of?”

“No.” She shook her head slowly.

“You were away for the summer on a dig with some students. Was the dig sponsored by Howe?”

“Howe and three other universities.”

“You were away for how long?”

“Eight weeks. It would have been twelve, but when I heard about what was happening here, I told Louise I’d come back early. There were other archaeologists on the site-I don’t feel that my leaving was detrimental to the students.”

“I was wondering about when you left…where were you again?”

“In Turkey.”

“That’s where Shandihar was, right?”

“We were in northeastern Turkey. Shandihar was located in the south of Turkey. Of course, it’s been buried under sand since the earthquake early in the last century, so who knows exactly where it is.”

“Rumor has it that you do.”

She appeared to be taken off guard, but only for a moment.

“Oh, you’ve been talking to Stefano.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, I did tell him that I’d like to be the one to find the city again. Me and five hundred other people in the field.”

“Five hundred other people are not head of the archaeology department at the university where every known artifact from Shandihar is housed.”

“For me to deny that I knew the McGowan collection was here would be an insult to your intelligence, and mine. Yes, of course I knew about it when I sent my résumé in to Louise several years ago.”

“I wasn’t aware that the whole Shandihar thing was widely known. I was under the impression that Alistair McGowan and his find were pretty much forgotten after his death. How did you hear about it?”

“In this country, yes, it isn’t a story that’s widely known, that’s true. But I grew up in Turkey, Pakistan, Afghanistan -my father was a professor of ancient history and taught in several universities. So I’d hear things, you know, legends, stories, that sort of thing. I picked up a book in a bazaar in Turkey when I was about thirteen, and I read about this city that everyone had believed was made-up, but then it was found by a foreigner who took away with him everything he could move.”

“I imagine that didn’t sit well with the Turks,” he said. “That this entire culture had been taken from them.”

“The old people in the region said the earthquake buried the city again because the goddess was angry that her treasures had been stolen, that her temples had not been safeguarded.” She smiled at him. “I was quite impressionable at thirteen, Agent Shields. I read about how Alistair McGowan found Shandihar by reading the ancient epic poems and studying all the legends, so I did the same. I read what he’d read, and I dreamed about finding the city again someday.”

“So you know about Ereshkigal?”

“Of course. And I know how her priestesses punished sinners.” She slashed at one wrist with the side of her hand.

“Why didn’t you mention this to me when I met you in the hospital?”

“For one thing, I was afraid it would move me to the top of your suspect list.”

“You think?” he replied sarcastically.

“Do you honestly think I killed those people? That I cut off their hands and cut out their tongues and stole their artifacts?”