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he would spend his life looking for what had been lost at the Royal Library of Alexandria. No mere woman could compete with a passion like that. Still, a few of the young ones seemed to catch his eye occasionally, and some even caught more than his attention for a time.
    If he’d had the inclination, she thought, Lourds could have given Don Juan a run for the money.
     

However,
    Tina’s e-mail message went on,

I’m happy to supply you with the e-mail contact I have for
him in Alexandria.
     
    Alexandria, eh?
Yuliya laughed. Lourds must have been drawn back into the arms of his true mistress—the search for remnants of the great library. She wondered how that mistress was treating him.

He’s over there shooting a program for the BBC. A documentary on languages or something. The dean was excited about the whole thing, tried to force him into the deal, but the BBC didn’t get the prof until the film company agreed to shoot in Alexandria. It was somewhere on their list of possible locations.
    You know how he gets about Alexandria! The library and so forth. After a while, all you can hear when he opens his mouth is blah, blah, blah.

    Yuliya suspected that maybe young Miss Metcalf had also been smitten by the professor, and was somewhat irritated that he hadn’t yet noticed she was female or available. Yuliya had seen women nearly swoon whenever Lourds entered the room. Not that he noticed.

I think he’s supposed to be over there for a few weeks. I don’t have a phone number for him yet, and you know he refuses to carry a cell phone. That man!
    If you need anything (or if you find out how I can reach him!), please let me know.

Yours,

Tina Metcalf
Graduate Assistant to
Thomas Lourds, Ph.D
Professor of Linguistics
Department of Linguistics
Boylston Hall
Harvard University
Cambridge, MA 02138
     
    So. No Thomas. Maybe for weeks.
    Irritated, Yuliya abandoned the computer and walked back out into her borrowed lab. The clay cymbal still occupied the center of one of the tables.
    It was almost like it was taunting her.
    Understand me!
it said.
    She only wished she could.
    The low ceiling of the basement felt oppressive, like the weight of the building was slowly sinking on top of her.
    After a moment, Yuliya got the distinct feeling that someone was watching her.
    Strange.
    No one should be at the university at this time of night. And she wasn’t the type to have ridiculous fancies.
    Then another thought hit her. Security, even when there was a lot of it, tended to be abysmal here by most standards.
    Fear trampled through Yuliya’s body, filling her nervous system with a huge hit of adrenaline. Rape and murder occurred on university campuses with appalling regularity.
    Acting casual, Yuliya reached out for the small knife she’d used to clean the mysterious and maddening inscription she’d found. Her hand curled around the wooden handle.
    “If I’d truly wanted to hurt you, you’d be too late. In fact, you’d probably already be dead.”
    Anger exploded inside Yuliya as she recognized the taunting voice. She spun to face her tormentor.
    Natasha Safarov leaned against the wall in the mouth of the stairwell.
    At least she didn’t creep up on me and touch the back of my neck!
Yuliya absolutely hated it when her younger sister did that.
    “Are you spying on me?” Yuliya demanded.
    Natasha shrugged and showed Yuliya a disinterested moue. “Perhaps.”
    At twenty-eight, ten years Yuliya’s junior, Natasha was an Amazon. She stood five feet ten inches tall, six inches taller than her sister. Her dark red hair fell to her shoulders and framed a model’s face. Sparkling brown eyes revealed her amusement. She wore slacks and a blouse under a long black duster. She looked like she was draped in Dior.
    It was infuriating.
    But Yuliya loved her sister anyway.
    “Natasha, what are you doing here?” Yuliya put the knife down on the table and walked over to her sister. They hugged, fiercely, because they had always been