Page 7 of Escape to Egypt

“You must be Charlotte,” he said in a deep, gravelly voice that held the faintest hint of a Southern drawl. His eyes ran over me, assessing. “The art thief.” He smirked, and a dimple appeared in his left cheek.

I bristled. “I am not an art thief,” I said, trying to sound indignant, but my voice came out more like a squeak. “And you must be Jack Stone, my charming guide.” I tried to mirror his smirk, but it felt awkward on my face.

“The one and only,” he said, unbothered by my attempt at sarcasm. He stuffed the sign into his backpack, which looked like it had seen better days. “Dean told me you’d be here. Said you’re on some kind of mission to clear your name and find a lost treasure?”

I nodded, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze. “Yes, that’s right. I’m looking for the Vase of Hathor and the Jewel of Isis. They were stolen from under my watch at the museum where I work in New York. Legend has it that they’re supposed to lead to some kind of ancient treasure, the ‘Path of the Gods.’ I’m sure that’s where the real thief is going.” I couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement as I said the words out loud. It all sounded so fantastical, so impossible.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “And you think you’ll catch up with the thief, or thieves, and just, what, ask them nicely to give back the artifacts?”

I shrugged, trying to appear more confident than I felt. “I haven’t really gotten that far. All I know is I have to try. It’s the only way to prove I didn’t steal the artifacts. And besides, I know a thing or two about Egyptian history. I’ve done my research.”

Jack chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made my skin tingle. “Research is one thing, sweet cheeks. Surviving the streets of Cairo is another. But, you seem determined, and I’ve got nothing better to do.” He shot me a lopsided grin that made my heart do a weird little flip. “I’ll help you, Charlotte. But you have to promise not to get us both killed. Deal?”

“Deal,” I said, extending my hand. He took it, his grip firm and warm, and for a moment, I forgot about the heat, the chaos, everything. All I could think about was the zing of electricity that shot through my arm when our hands touched. This trip was already proving to be more complicated than I’d imagined.

The streets of Cairo were a blur of sights, sounds, and smells. Jack led the way, his long strides forcing me to practically jog to keep up. The city buzzed with life, from the vendors shouting in Arabic to the children chasing each other down the narrow alleys. The sun beat down relentlessly, and I was grateful for my Lily Pulitzer floral sunhat, even if it did make me look like a tourist.

“Stay close,” Jack said over his shoulder. “The bazaars can be a bit overwhelming, especially for newcomers.”

“No kidding,” I muttered, dodging a cart piled high with colorful fabrics. Everywhere I looked, there was something to catch my eye: stalls filled with spices that smelled of cinnamon and cumin, tables covered in silver jewelry that glinted in the sun, baskets overflowing with fresh dates and figs. It was like stepping into another world, one that was vibrant and alive in a way New York could never be.

Jack stopped in front of a stall selling trinkets, picking up a small, carved figurine. “You see this?” he asked, showing it to me. “These are replicas of ancient Egyptian amulets. You’ll find them everywhere. But I guess you’ve seen the real deal, huh?”

I nodded, my eyes scanning the stall. Everything looked so intricate, so beautifully crafted. It was clear the people here paid homage to their rich heritage and culture with the things they created, and it was easy to see how someone could spend hours just browsing the exquisite items.

Jack smiled, his eyes twinkling. He put the figurine back and motioned for me to follow. “Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

We made our way deeper into the bazaar, the narrow alleys twisting and turning like a labyrinth. I struggled to keep up with my guide as a rush of heat coursed through my veins. He was the kind of guy I’d usually steer clear of—scruffy, cocky, and definitely trouble. But there was something about him, a magnetic pull that was hard to resist. Maybe it was the way he moved with such confidence, or the way he seemed to know everyone we passed, exchanging greetings in fluent Arabic.

As we rounded a corner, I felt a tug on my bag. I glanced down to see a small hand trying to unzip it. “Hey!” I shouted, spinning around. A young boy grinned up at me, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Before I could react, he darted away, disappearing into the crowd like a ghost.

Jack was by my side in an instant. “You okay?” he asked, his eyes scanning the crowd for the boy.

“Yeah,” I said, my heart pounding. “Just…wasn’t expecting that, I guess.”

Jack chuckled. “You have to be on your guard here. The bazaar is full of pickpockets of all ages. Stick close to me, and you’ll be fine. The first thing we need to do is exchange that heavy suitcase for a knapsack like mine. You’ll still scream tourist, but at least it won’t be as easy for you to robbed.”

We continued on and found a stall selling bags and packs of all shapes and sizes. I chose the one I wanted, and Jack helped me bargain with the shrewd seller until we agreed on a price. I’d exchanged money at the airport and carefully counted out the coins, glancing up at Jack who signaled me with a thumbs-up that I’d done so correctly. Afterwards, I knelt in the warm dirt to transfer my belongings. Jack paced back and forth a short distance away, whistling.

“Um, I could use some help here, you know,” I called, sweat beading on my forehead as I crouched awkwardly.

“I –ah—didn’t think you wanted me to handle your intimate articles of clothing, but now that you mention it, I’ll be happy to assist,” he grinned, giving me a wink as he approached.

I scowled and hastily dumped the remaining contents of my luggage into the pack, hurrying to fasten the zipper before he could catch a glimpse of my full-coverage granny panties. It wasn’t like I’d been anticipating sexy times on this trip. “Never mind. I’m almost done anyway.”

Finally, I stood up and hefted my new backpack onto my shoulders. After hauling this thing around for the next two weeks, I should be in good enough shape to compete in a bodybuilding competition by the time I get back to New York.

It wasn’t long before we reached a small, shadowy stall tucked away in a corner of the bazaar. The sign above it read “Antiquities,” in both English and Arabic.

“Here we are,” Jack said, pushing aside a beaded curtain and motioning for me to enter.

Inside, the stall was crammed with artifacts—statues, pottery, jewelry—all covered in a thin layer of dust. The smell of incense hung heavy in the air, and the dim light gave the space an otherworldly feel. An elderly man with a long, white beard sat behind a cluttered counter, peering at us through thick glasses.

“Jack Stone,” the man said, his voice a gravelly whisper. “It’s been a long time.”

“Too long, Zayed,” Jack replied, clapping the man on the shoulder. “This is Charlotte. She’s looking for something special.”

Zayed’s eyes shifted to me, his gaze piercing. “Is she now? And what is it you seek, young lady?”

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