Shadows In The Night

He turned. He hadn’t expected to know many people here tonight. His name had been softly voiced by one of the few people he did know, and he knew her fairly well.

Simone Bixby, Henry Tomlinson’s niece.

Simone was in her midthirties, a sandy-haired woman who looked eternally like a girl. She was small and slim and wide-eyed. She was accompanied by her husband, Jerry, a banker, who was equally slim and wide-eyed.

Micah greeted them both.

“Thank you for coming. And thank you for caring so much,” Simone said. “It’s still so hard to accept what they say.”

“Yes, it is,” Micah agreed.

“But tonight,” Jerry said brightly, “tonight we honor his body of work.”

“Yes. An incredible body of work,” Micah said. “How are the girls?”

“Getting big!” Simone answered. “Ten, eight and five now.”

He nodded. “I’ve seen pictures. They’re beautiful.”

“They are. Thank you. They loved their uncle Henry, too,” Simone said.

“We all miss him.”

“Oh, look—there’s Arlo Hampton,” Jerry said. “Micah, we’ll talk later? Simone, we need to find out what he wants us to do when he speaks.”

“Excuse us,” Simone said.

“Of course!” Micah told them. They moved on.

He continued to survey the room.

Hail, hail, the gang’s all here. Grad students. Administration staff. Egyptologists. City officials. Museum people. And there...

An exotic woman with dark skin and almost inky black hair was speaking with Simone and her family. Arlo stood beside them.

Yolanda Akeem. They’d met briefly—very briefly—in Cairo. She was the Egyptian liaison with the Department of Antiquities. Naturally, she’d be here tonight.

She saw him looking at her. She elegantly lifted her glass a few inches in acknowledgment.

She’d given him whatever information she’d had in Cairo; it hadn’t been much. A two-second autopsy report and a lecture on the dangers of the Middle East. He didn’t listen to much of it. Henry’s body was gone by then and the members of the expedition had been shuttled off. He’d been ready to follow them as quickly as possible when they’d been in Egypt—and through their escape from the trouble that had befallen the expedition that night.

Tonight, they were all here.

And there was Harley Frasier. She had a smile on her face as she spoke with Gordon Vincent, director at large for the museum. Her smile was forced. Jensen was with her, smiling and chatting, as well. He seemed to be putting a little too much effort into being charming.

Which didn’t seem necessary, since he was already employed by the museum.

Harley didn’t; she worked for Fillmore Investigations, a large security and investigation company that served the civilian market, but was known for its close affiliation with the New York City PD and other law enforcement agencies. The founder of the company, Edward Fillmore, had barely survived a kidnap-for-ransom scheme as a child. He had founded his company on the premise that all agencies, public or private, should work together for the benefit of victims. Since Micah’s job with the FBI had come about because of similar circumstances, he liked the man without even knowing him. Micah was pleased that Harley Frasier had chosen such a reputable company. None of his business, of course. But...

He’d felt something for her, just from hearing her voice over the phone a year ago.

And now...he’d seen her.

Anyone awake and breathing would find her attractive and charming.

He was certainly charmed by her and impressed by her—and so much more.

Even though he hardly knew her...

He forced himself to look away from Harley and objectively observe the other people in the room.

He was standing back, watching, when he became aware that a friend had arrived.

“I have to admit I was definitely expecting you to be here,” Craig Frasier told him.

Micah smiled without glancing over. “And I guess I’m not surprised that you’re here,” he said.

“I can’t let you get into too much trouble,” Craig murmured.

“I’m just here to honor an old friend,” Micah said.

“Like hell.” Craig smiled grimly, studying the crowd milling in the foyer. “But I don’t know what you think you can discover at this late date.”

Micah turned to face Craig at last, a rueful half smile on his face. “Right. Well, it would help if someone suddenly had a guilt attack and admitted going crazy—from the bacteria in the wrappings, of course—and murdering Henry.”

“Not going to happen.”

“I know.”

“So?”

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to harass your cousin,” Micah said.

“I’m not worried. I think you two can actually do each other some good it you get a chance to really talk. Maybe you can figure something out, late as it might be. There was so much done so quickly and so politically. State Department, international bull. A cover-up. Yeah, it’ll be good for the two of you to talk.”

“You say that as if you doubt the official line, too,” Micah said quietly.

“Because I do. I believe it was a cover-up.”

“Not by the government,” Micah said.

“By?”

Micah looked at him and said, “By Alchemy.”

Craig didn’t get a chance to respond.

Arlo Hampton took the microphone on a small portable dais set in the center of the foyer. He cleared his throat, then said, “Ladies and gentlemen, friends of the museum, friends of science and exploration, and friends of the City of New York!”