Eye of the Pharaoh Read online

  Table of Contents

  EYE OF THE PHARAOH

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  EYE OF THE PHARAOH

  NANCY FRASER

  SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

  New York

  EYE OF THE PHARAOH

  Copyright©2016

  NANCY FRASER

  Cover Design by Wren Taylor

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America by

  Soul Mate Publishing

  P.O. Box 24

  Macedon, New York, 14502

  ISBN: 978-1-68291-222-5

  www.SoulMatePublishing.com

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  A Note From the Author ...

  As an author and a woman I am attracted to all sorts of romantic heroes. Sure, they should be drop-dead gorgeous and sexy as sin but, more importantly, they should be compassionate, witty, and intelligent. And possess an imperfection or two.

  That was my goal in creating Dr. Joshua Cain, Professor of Archaeology and Art History. In Eye of the Pharaoh, Dr. Cain spouts ancient history with the ease of a confident educator. With the exception of the fictitious Anukehaten, guardian of the Queen-Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s tomb, and the ancient curse of the pink stone and statue, all historical references shared by Dr. Cain are accurate depictions of Egyptian culture and hierarchy.

  My goal for my heroine, Teri Hunter, was to create an attractive, equally intelligent professional with some quirky habits. Teri is a walking motivational quote, often dredging up one of those commonplace office posters when she needs a bit of emotional reinforcement. She’s even taken her personal mantra from one of her favorites: Wake Up. Kick Ass. Repeat.

  She’s often heard quoting the likes of First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt, author/clothing designer Donna Karan, comedian Louis C.K., and even Albert Einstein.

  My personal favorite comes from author Mason Cooley: Romance is tempestuous. Love is calm. It’s a mantra I strive for when creating every happily-ever-after.

  I hope you enjoy reading Eye of the Pharaoh as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you’re looking for a huge ‘black moment’ you may be disappointed. However, I’m a believer that finding true love takes many paths and not all of them are filled with angst. Some are filled with curses and mummies and hot Egyptian nights!

  I love hearing from readers. You can find me on Facebook under NancyFraserAuthor, or on Twitter @nfraserauthor. And, if you’re so inclined, I also love receiving honest reviews.

  Nancy

  This book is dedicated to the memory

  of my good friend Patti Shenberger who,

  prior to her passing,

  was my sounding board for all things ancient and spooky.

  You would have loved seeing this one published,

  Patti, because it would mean I’d finally stop

  bugging you about scarabs and sarcophagi!

  Acknowledgements

  A huge thank you to Debby Gilbert for editing and publishing a book that has taken me forever to complete.

  Another big thanks to artist Wren Taylor for my beautiful cover. And, to all the other Soul Mate professionals who were part of producing this novel.

  Finally, a whole lot of love for my sons, daughters-in-law and grandchildren who put up with my flights of fancy and requests to ‘go away and leave me alone’ so I can write.

  Chapter 1

  Department of Art and Archaeology

  Princeton University

  Wake up. Kick ass. Repeat.

  Teri Hunter mouthed the motivational phrase she’d chosen for her personal mantra as she stepped across the threshold into the dark and musty storeroom.

  A dim light shone from a glass-enclosed workroom in the far corner. Taking a tentative step forward, she faltered when the floorboards creaked beneath her feet. Something fast and furry brushed against her ankle. A shiver ran down her back, yet she fought the urge to retreat.

  Do one thing every day that scares you.

  This was obviously today’s obstacle. Were it not for her professional commitments and intricately organized schedule, she’d have no doubt bolted for the door and returned to the safety and illumination of the main building.

  ‘Sorry, but the storage area doesn’t have overhead lighting. Preservation of the antiquities. You understand.’ The dean’s words echoed in her head. What little outside light there was had become nearly non-existent due to an impending thunderstorm.

  Drawing a deep breath, she took a second step and then a third, winding her way past a half-dozen crates, some open, some not. To her left she heard a rustling of paper; to her right the distinct sound of footsteps.

  Her apprehension grew, the hair on her forearms stood at attention. She’d barely made it halfway across the room before bumping into something large and solid. Reaching out, she laid her hand against the oversized object. Slowly, she raised her head and came face to face with the painted mask of an Egyptian noble. The chipped finish gave the death mask a deranged look.

  “You come here often, big boy?” A nervous giggle followed her softly-worded, albeit silly, question and she pressed her fingertips to her lips to stifle an outright laugh before lowering her hand to her side.

  Go big! Home is boring.

  Silently she cursed her habit of dredging up poster-worthy quotes to mask her fears.

  Sidestepping her way around the ancient sarcophagus, Teri moved closer to the light. That was when she saw him.

  Dr. Joshua Cain.

  Bent over his workbench, he held an ornate canopic jar in one hand. Using what appeared to be a horsehair brush, he worked diligently at cleaning away thousands of years of accumulated dirt.

  She couldn’t see his face, yet his shoulders were broad. His hair, dark brown with a hint of gray, brushed t
he collar of his lab coat.

  He shifted on the stool, inching closer to the overhead lamp. When he turned the jar over in his hands, Teri was mesmerized by the gentle way his long fingers caressed the priceless object. Beneath the sleeves of her silk blouse, her skin tingled. She waited for him to place the jar on the workbench before clearing her throat, coughing softly to get his attention.

  He turned on the stool, his head bent, his attention on . . . of all things . . . her feet. Inside her sensible, three-inch heels, her toes curled.

  He raised his head slowly, his gaze running over her like water from a warm rain shower. Their gazes met briefly, his brown eyes magnified by the protective goggles he wore. His jaw, covered with the stubble of a day-old beard, was square, his lips full and turned down in an obvious frown of disapproval. Intent on studying his face, she was immediately drawn to the scar running from ear to chin.

  How had he gotten it? Which of his many adventures had given him yet another layer to his rugged good looks?

  “How in the devil do you expect to work in that outfit?” he asked, his voice deeper, richer than she’d expected.

  Teri glanced down at her suit, the pencil-straight skirt hugging her knees. “Excuse me?”

  “I said—”

  “I heard what you said, Dr. Cain,” she clarified. “I just don’t understand why my choice of clothing should matter?”

  “How do you expect to empty dust-covered crates dressed like an uptight librarian?”

  “Empty crates?” she repeated.

  “Yes, that’s what you were sent here to do, wasn’t it?”

  “Uh, no.” Taking a step closer to where he sat, she held out her hand. “I’m Teri Hunter.”

  He didn’t shake her offered hand, but rather turned back to his workbench. “If you’re not the graduate student I sent for, then what are you doing here? This is a highly restricted area.”

  “Like I said, I’m Teri Hunter, and—”

  “If your name is supposed to mean something to me, Miss Hunter, it doesn’t. Now, if you’re not here to work, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave. I’ve got no time for small talk. I’m on a very tight schedule.”

  “I know,” said told him. “That’s why I’m here. I’m your publicist.”

  He turned back to face her, his previous frown deepening to a full-on scowl. “My publicist? What the devil would I want with a publicist?”

  She squared her shoulders and met his darkened glare. “I don’t believe it has anything to do with what you want, Dr. Cain. It’s what your publisher wants.”

  “Well, you can go back to the publisher and tell them I don’t need a publicist. I’ve been doing lectures for years. I know the drill.”

  “Lectures yes, but not book tours. This, for all intents and purposes, is a book tour with a bit of lecturing thrown in for good measure.”

  “I’m confident I can handle both.”

  Teri drew a deep breath, searching for the best way to explain the value of having someone there to guide him through the intricacies of a multi-city tour. “As I’m sure you’re aware Dr. Cain, The Pharaoh’s Mummy is quickly climbing nearly every non-fiction bestseller list in the country. With my help, you can easily become number one on every list that counts.”

  Rather than show his enthusiasm at the mention of topping the bestseller lists, his scowl grew wider. His expression reminded her of the façade on the timeworn sarcophagus, imperfect yet commanding.

  “And just what exactly does a publicist do, Miss Hunter?”

  “I’ll be accompanying you on the tour, and making sure everything runs smoothly. I’ll meet with the bookstores to ensure the signings are well publicized, with the museum staff to coordinate the lectures times, and, of course, I’ll arrange for a few television interviews and cocktail receptions along the way. Other than that, you’ll never know I’m there.”

  Teri could have sworn she heard him mumble a very ungentlemanly expletive.

  Joshua Cain held up the canopic jar he’d been cleaning earlier and asked, “Do you have any idea what this is, Miss Hunter?”

  She took a step closer to where he sat, stretched out her hand, her fingertips hovering over yet not touching the gold-encrusted top. “It’s a canopic jar, made of limestone, possibly from the late eighteenth dynasty. The head on this jar represents Hapi, the baboon.”

  He nodded once in acknowledgement. “You know your Egyptian history, Miss Hunter. I’m somewhat impressed.”

  “I make it my business to know everything necessary when I’m about to represent a client.”

  He stared at her, his eyebrows arched in surprise or, possibly, disbelief. “Everything?” he asked, a half-smile rearranging his features, softening an otherwise stoic expression.

  “For instance, I know you’re a tenured professor at the University with PhDs in both archaeology and art history. You’re thirty-six, a widower with two daughters, ages eight and eleven. Every summer you travel to either South America or Egypt on a dig in search of priceless treasures.”

  “Anything else?”

  “You’re considered one of the world’s foremost experts in the identification, authentication, and preservation of Egyptian artifacts.” She paused for a moment, then added, “And, rumor has it, you’re deathly afraid of spiders.”

  He laughed, the simple gesture lifting the corners of his mouth into an even broader smile.

  “That I am, Miss Hunter. That I am.” Turning his back to her, he said, “If you don’t mind, I’ve got to get to work. These pieces aren’t going to clean themselves.”

  “As much as I’d like to stay and watch, I’ll get out of your way. I’ve got a dozen things to do before Wednesday.”

  “Wednesday?”

  It was her turn to laugh and she did so easily. “Wednesday, Dr. Cain. The airplane, the book tour, the Big Easy.”

  “Oh, yeah, right. That.”

  Shaking her head, she left him to his work. Turning this obviously brilliant, yet seemingly absent minded, professor into a best-selling author was likely going to be the challenge of her rising career.

  You didn’t wake up today to be mediocre.

  A brief, self-indulgent smile lifted the corners of her mouth. If there was one thing she loved, it was a challenge.

  Chapter 2

  Museum of Art

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  “Dr. Cain, it is truly a pleasure to meet you.” The museum curator offered her hand in greeting and he clasped it gently.

  “As I am to meet you, Mrs. DeChambeau. I am a huge fan of your late husband’s work in art history. He will be greatly missed.”

  Teri stood off to the side, surprised yet impressed with this softer side of Joshua Cain. He’d been all business on the morning flight. So much so, he’d booked the first class seat beside his own for his books, briefcase, and the mysterious, locked box he’d carried on board. She’d been relegated to the seat across the aisle and subjected to the ramblings of a man claiming to be the reincarnation of a voodoo priest. By the time they’d landed in New Orleans, she’d had a headache the size of Jackson Square.

  “I understand you’re staying at Collingwood,” Mrs. DeChambeau said. “It’s such a beautiful and historic home.”

  “I try to stay there whenever I’m in New Orleans,” he told her. “The city just isn’t the same unless you stay in the French Quarter.”

  Teri turned her attention to the museum’s display, numerous pieces of Egyptian history gathered for the occasion. Although they weren’t currently featuring the items on a regular basis, the museum had made an admirable effort at pulling some impressive pieces from their archives. One display area just behind the speaker’s podium sat empty and Teri wondered if that was where Dr. Cain would put the items from his locked box.

  Ch
airs were set up in the open area and another table sat to the right of the podium, the pristine white tablecloth covered with copies of Dr. Cain’s book, The Pharaoh’s Mummy.

  “Dr. Cain,” Mrs. DeChambeau began, “I’m sure you want to get checked into your rooms so you can freshen up before the evening’s festivities. I’ll have our driver take you there whenever you’re ready.”

  “That would be wonderful, thank you. In the meantime, I’d like to put something in the museum’s safe.” He lifted the box up and rested it on the edge of the closest table.

  “Surely, if you’ll come with me.”

  Joshua Cain followed the woman down a narrow corridor to the left, Teri a few steps behind. When they reached the vault area, Mrs. DeChambeau raised her hand to the identification pad to gain admittance.

  “State-of-the-art security,” he commented. “I like that.”

  He placed the case inside a safe deposit box within the huge vault and waited for the curator to close and lock the door. She handed him the key and he stuck it in the pocket of his jeans.

  “Dr. Cain, I have a favor to ask.”

  He turned to face the older woman. “Yes, what is it?”

  “While we were cataloging the archives and choosing pieces for our display, I came across an item not listed anywhere on our inventory.”

  “What type of item?”

  “A stone, clear pink, but not like any jewel I’m familiar with.” Lowering her voice to a whisper, she added, “I believe it belonged to my husband because it was in a plain brown box with his handwriting on the top.”

  “What did it say?” he asked.

  “That’s part of the puzzle, I’m afraid. The writing is faded and barely discernible. I was only able to make out a few words and they made no sense whatsoever.”