There was only one occupant. A woman, wearing a tight black skirt. A woman with a rose tattoo on her ankle.

With her back to him, she turned off the water, then slowly lifted her head. In the mirror he saw that she had dark stuff around her eyes, and her lips were very red. Those eyes grew wider. The red mouth dropped open.

He smiled. He just couldn’t help it. “Howdy, Cleopatra.”

Chapter Seven

“Let me guess. Queen of Scams, right?” Daniel said, speaking to her reflection.

Cleo slowly straightened.

“Nice look for you, Cleopatra.”

She watched in the mirror as he stepped closer. “My name is Cleo.” Afraid he was going to grab her and slap her into a pair of cuffs, she swung around to face him.

“Tired of me already?” he asked. He didn’t look angry. No, he looked slightly amused-and oh so smug, as if he’d known all along that she would run out on them, as if she’d just confirmed every bad thing he thought about her. Until now his opinion had been based on nothing more than speculation.

“Are you here to give me your blessing?” she finally managed to ask, thankful that her voice didn’t betray her unease. “Since you wanted me out of Egypt all along.”

He stood there watching her. Then he let out a gust of air, looking at her as if she were some damsel in distress who’d just asked him to change her flat tire on a hot day.

“Oh, I want you out of town all right,” he said conversationally. “But I don’t want you to publicly humiliate Jo in the process. That’s not part of the package. No, you’re coming back to Egypt to read your tealeaves or whatever bogus crap you do. Then you can be on your way.”

“You know as well as I do that Jo lost the key and won’t admit it,” Cleo said, playing for time, her mind racing. “Why should I go back and pretend to be looking for something I’ll never find? They need to see what’s in front of their eyes and get the damn locks replaced.”

“What about your dog?”

Why did he have to bring up Premonition? She didn’t want to think about Premonition. Should she try to explain? No, it would be too difficult, and he would never believe her. Let him think she was hard. And I am hard. I am unfeeling, she thought, trying to convince herself. She had to believe it, otherwise how could she go on? How could she survive?

“You’re everything I thought you’d be and more,” he said.

From anyone else, the line could have been taken as a compliment. From Sinclair, it could never be misconstrued as anything but an insult. He hadn’t mentioned the money. He must not have known that Jo had paid her already. She hoped he didn’t find out. If he did, he’d never believe that she’d planned to pay it back. “Glad I lived up to your expectations,” she said levelly, her rapid heartbeat beginning to slow. “I’d hate to disappoint you.”

He started to say something-a stinging comeback she imagined-when a knock sounded on the outer door. “Hey, you okay in there?” A young man’s voice. “Charisse? You okay?”

Daniel’s eyebrows lifted. “Charisse?”

“It seemed appropriate.”

“Is there anything about you that’s real?”

She thought about that a moment. She didn’t know. She honestly didn’t know.

The door opened and Chad stuck his head inside, surprised to see Daniel. “What’s going on? Is this guy flashing you?” The kid was all flustered, nervous bravado. “I’ve heard about you whackos, hanging out in public restrooms, attacking women.”

Jed showed up behind his friend. They both pushed their way into the room, braver as a team. “Get the hell out of here,” Chad told Daniel.

“Yeah, leave her alone, you pervert,” Jed added.

Daniel stared at Cleo. “Tell them,” he said to her.

She didn’t say a word.

When it became apparent that she had no intention of speaking, Daniel let out a sigh, looking more annoyed than concerned. Chad lifted his arm. Cleo’s first thought was that he had a knife. But it wasn’t a knife-it was a bottle.

Before she could shout a warning, Chad brought it down against Daniel’s skull.

Cleo screamed, glass shattered, brown liquid exploded. Daniel sank to his knees, hitting the floor hard, his eyes rolling back in his head.

“Come on!” Chad motioned for her to hurry. “Let’s get outta here!”

Daniel was struggling to stay conscious, blood dripping from his scalp, running down his face. “Don’t do it, Cleo,” he mumbled. “I’ll have the kid’s ass for assaulting an officer.”

On one hand, she was relieved that he was able to speak, on the other, she was afraid he would carry out his threat.

“He didn’t know you were a cop,” she argued. No one could look less like a cop than Daniel Sinclair.

“I can do anything I want.”

“He’s a cop?” Chad asked.

Cleo could see Chad struggling to change gears.

“Yes,” Cleo said.

“Oh, shit.”

“You’d better go.” She didn’t want to drag them into her mess. They’d only been trying to protect her. “I’ll be fine. Get out of here.”

They scrambled away, the door swinging shut behind them.

Daniel crawled to the nearest wall, turned and sat down, leaning his back and head against the tiles. He wasn’t bleeding as badly as she’d thought, some of the blood was obviously cola.

She poked around his head, separating his hair until she found a bump. In the middle of the bump was a small gash.

She wet a paper towel and dabbed it on the wound. When it seemed the bleeding had stopped, Daniel rose unsteadily to his feet. He stood there a moment, then reached for Cleo, putting one arm around her for support. His body was rock hard and as hot as a furnace.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said.

Cleo let him lead the way through a maze of trucks until they came to the black car she’d seen him in that morning.

While the air was by no means fresh, the hot breeze, with its fuel and exhaust fumes, seemed to revive him a little. He let go of her and rounded the car, moving fairly well. Before getting inside, he unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off, then used the bundled fabric to dry his chest, neck and face, his muscles rippling. He was a sight to behold, and didn’t even know it.

He looked across the top of the car at Cleo, squinting his eyes against a sun that was getting low in the sky. It would be dark soon. It was a good five hours to Egypt. Plenty of time to figure something out, plenty of time to get away if she decided to.

“I’ll drive,” she said. It was a way to let him win without losing face. “You’re not in any shape to be behind the wheel.” She held out her hand, expecting him to give her the keys.

He ignored her hand, circled the car, and opened the passenger door. One hand on the hood, one on the open door, he said, “I’m not giving you the keys until I’m belted in my seat.”