Elisha's Bones - Don Hoesel [62]
I suspected Gordon Reese would have sent another team but I never even considered . . . He hasn’t noticed me, and I keep walking. With any luck I’ll be out the door and checked into another hotel before he’s done with his first drink. What kills that plan is curiosity—the trait mentioned by Reese himself, and the one that has me casting another sidelong glance behind me. It’s then that another person turns away from the bar, and her eyes, as if following a laser pointer, catch mine. I’m speechless for two reasons: the first is that I never expected her to still be in the field; the second is that she’s even more attractive than she was five years ago. In that instant I’m certain that further subterfuge would be wasted and so I change direction. She watches my approach, a surprised and amused smile on her face, but doesn’t alert her companions, for which I am grateful.
“I read your paper about Nordseta in the AJA,” I say from behind Brown. “Very thorough.”
When he turns to see who’s speaking, there is a moment I will likely remember for the rest of my life. It’s the instant when he goes from being puzzled to experiencing a near-debilitating shock. The look on his face almost makes my blown cover worthwhile.
“Hello, Brown,” I say, allowing him to collect his faculties.
The first word out of his mouth is a garbled sound but, with a second effort, he manages a “Dr. Hawthorne?”
I haven’t seen Brown—now Dr. Billings—since KV65. But occasionally I’ll hear about a project he’s leading, or read something he’s written. He turned out to be as brilliant as I thought he was and, as I surmise by the fact that he’s standing and all of his appendages appear to be intact, he’s learned the art of caution. Not quite thirty, he’s among a select group of archaeologists whose services are held in high esteem. Even so, there’s something about running into a former teacher that can make someone, no matter how accomplished, revert to the student role. And while I never instructed Brown in a classroom, that’s splitting hairs.
“I think we’re beyond the ‘Dr. Hawthorne’ stuff. Call me Jack.”
He looks mortified at the prospect, which is funny because I don’t recall finding the transition from Dr. Winfield to Jim at all difficult.
“I can’t believe it,” he says. “What are you doing here, Dr. . . . Jack?” Aside from the surprise at seeing me, I gather that he’s genuinely pleased, and that means two things: no one told him he’d be competing with anyone, and he never considered the possibility on his own.
“I imagine the same thing you’re doing.” I’m getting used to this showing-all-my-cards tactic. If nothing else, it puts the other person on the defensive. And I’d be kidding myself if I thought this would not get back to Reese before the day is through anyway. And then my former employer will realize that I’m not dead.
“Hello, Sarah,” I say, allowing Brown some time to digest what I’ve just said.
“Hi, Jack.”
The smile she gives me is one I remember well, and it still makes me want to look away first. In my periphery I see a troubled look on Brown’s face, which makes me wonder what relationship dynamics I’ve walked into. Of course, he could also be reacting to the suggestion that we are here for the same purpose. As much as I’d enjoy continuing the flirtation with Sarah, Espy doesn’t give me the chance.
“Jack?”
She has appeared at my elbow, carrying both of our bags.
“Esperanza, I’d like you to meet two of my former colleagues. Dr. Brown Billings and . . .” I pause, looking to Sarah to validate an advanced degree, but she shakes her head. “Sarah Ward. Brown, Sarah, this is Dr. Esperanza Habilla.”
There are the requisite nods and pleasantries and I’m observant enough to see the brevity of the exchange between Espy and Sarah. I’m not sure what Espy picked up on but I know her well enough to see the frost. Seeing them together, though, puts Sarah’s charms in perspective. Espy’s in a different league.
The third member of Brown’s party, who has been left out of the introductions, clears his throat. “My name is Fifth Wheel,