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There was something so peaceful about floating down the Nile, watching the scenery go by. Rick could almost forget why he was there.

But then a sound would come from behind him or next to him, and he would whirl, a lifetime of instincts alerting him to danger, and he would remember the feeling of being watched that had come to him at Hamunaptra, the winds that swirled sand around him, and he would curse himself for being a sentimental fool for letting this girl drag him back there again. Neither she or her brother had the faintest idea what they were doing; they would end up dead, like his garrison, and he'd be left stumbling back through the desert alone. Again.

He left the railing and the dark thoughts that came with the beauty of the night and went looking for the rest of their little party. The warden was asleep—obnoxiously loud snores came from the cabin Rick would apparently be sharing with him.

And Jonathan had found a card game. Rick hadn't known him long, but he had already figured out that Jonathan and gambling were a poor combination.

Jonathan didn't seem to be aware of his thoughts, though. He greeted Rick cheerfully. "Ah, O'Connell. Sit down, sit down. We could use another player."

"I only gamble with my life. Never my money."

"Never?" One of the other cardplayers, an American by accent, looked up at him skeptically. "What if I was to bet you five hundred dollars says we get to Hamunaptra before you?"

A chill worked its way down Rick's spine. Bad enough to be bringing the Carnahans out there. The more people, the more likely someone was going to get hurt. "You're looking for Hamunaptra?"

"Damn straight we are."

"And who says we are?"

As one, they all looked at Jonathan. "He does."

Jonathan smiled weakly. "Well …"

"Well, how about it?" the American asked. "Is it a bet?"

Rick smiled. He was boxed in, with no good way out. Besides, he was pretty sure this was a bet he couldn't lose. "All right. You're on."

A British man sitting nearby spoke up, glaring up at Rick, no doubt making him for the adventurer and opportunist he was. "What makes you so confident, sir?"

"What makes you?"

One of the other Americans fell neatly into the trap, drawling, "Well, we got us a man who's actually been there."

"Oh, what a coincidence," Jonathan said brightly, "because O'Connell—" He broke off abruptly when Rick happened to bash him, hard, in the shoulder when he shifted his bag. He caught on quick, Rick had to give him that, clearing his throat and asking, "Whose play is it? Is it my play? I thought I just, um …"

Rick leaned over him, squeezing his shoulder. Very hard. "Gentlemen, we got us a wager. Good evening, Jonathan."

Wincing, Jonathan wished him a good night.

Rick kept looking, not wanting to admit to himself that it had been Evelyn Carnahan he'd been searching for all this time until he found her, sitting at a table with her nose buried in a book. Probably the way she spent most of her life. What she was doing on a foolhardy trip into the desert looking for a lost city full of treasure, he just didn't understand, unless it was to keep her brother out of trouble.

He dropped his bag on the table in front of her. She shrieked in surprise and glared at him. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

"The only thing that scares me, Mr. O'Connell, are your manners," she said primly.

"Still angry about that kiss, huh?" He hoped she was; that would mean she was still thinking about it. Like he was. Which was foolish, because he'd kissed a lot of women, most of them under much better circumstances than a jail cell. But somehow he could still feel the softness of her lips.

Evelyn Carnahan gave him what he suspected she thought was a dismissive look. "Well, if you call that a kiss."

She was still thinking about it. Rick tried not to smile. He unrolled his bag of weaponry in front of her, his eyes running over the familiar contents.

Staring at the bullets and knives in fascination, Evelyn asked, "Um, did I miss something? Are we—are we going into battle?"

He took the seat across from her and started looking at one of his pistols. "Lady, there's something out there. Something underneath that sand." He stuck the pistol in his shoulder holster. Too many people on this boat, and entirely too many of them on their way to Hamunaptra for his comfort.

"Yes, well, I'm hoping to find a certain artifact. A book, actually. My brother thinks there's treasure." She delicately reached for a dagger. "What do you think is out there?"

"In a word? Evil." No sense sugar-coating it. She'd see for herself, soon enough. "The Bedouin and the Tuaregs believe that Hamunaptra is cursed."

She was looking over a curved blade with surprising interest, and an even more surprising lack of squeamishness. Rick reached over and took it from her, returning it to its place even as she said, "Oh, look, I don't believe in fairy tales and hokum, Mr. O'Connell, but I do believe that one of the most famous books in history is buried there. The Book of Amun-Ra. It contains within it all the secret incantations of the Old Kingdom. It's what first interested me in Egypt when I was a child. It's why I came here. Sort of a life's pursuit."

Rick couldn't tear his eyes away from her face. She was so beautiful, lit up and enthusiastic like this. And so incredibly naïve. He grinned. "And the fact that they say that it's made out of pure gold makes no never mind to you."

"You know your history." She smiled, dimples and all.

"I know my treasure." Evelyn Carnahan might as well know from the get-go that he was no different than her brother … although slightly less skilled at sleight of hand. He finished loading his rifle even as the smile faded from her face.

Earnestly, she leaned across the table. "Um … by the way … why did you kiss me?"

Rick laughed, to cover how much he wanted to do it again. "I don't know. I was about to be hanged. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

With a disgusted noise, she got up and stalked off, leaving Rick to stare after her.

"What? What'd I say?"

Before he could decide whether he wanted to go after her, he heard a noise from farther down the deck. A person was crouching there, hiding behind some crates. A person with a silhouette that was strikingly familiar, that confirmed what Rick had suspected as soon as he heard the Americans had a guide who had actually been to the lost city.

Gun in hand, he went to investigate, grabbing the shirt front of his old buddy Beni, who had left him behind at Hamunaptra when he scurried inside that ruin, and dragged him out.

Shrieking, Beni managed to say, "What a surprise! My good friend, you're alive! I was so very, very worried."

Like everything out of Beni's mouth, it was a lie. "Well. If it ain't my little buddy Beni." Rick tightened his grip on Beni's shirt front. "I think I'll kill you." He aimed the gun at him.

"Think of my children!"

Rick paused, just on the off chance there were some. "You don't have any children."

"Someday I might."

"Shut up. So you're the one who's leading the Americans. I might have known. So what's the scam, Beni? You take them out into the middle of the desert, and then you leave them to rot?"

"Unfortunately, no. These Americans are smart. They pay me only half now, half when I get them back to Cairo. So this time I must go all the way."

"Them's the breaks, huh?" Rick let go of him and holstered the pistol.

"You never believed in Hamunaptra, O'Connell. Why are you going back?"

Farther down the deck, a camel gurgled, and Rick looked over to see Evelyn Carnahan petting it as though it was adorable. Which she was. "You see that girl? She saved my neck."

Evelyn turned to look at him, as though he was some kind of a bug, and hurried off before Rick could manage to move his smile from awkward and foolish to charming and confident.

"You always did have more balls than brains," Beni observed. He clapped Rick on the back and chuckled.

Rick laughed, too. Then he picked up Beni by the scruff of the neck and the seat of his pants and tossed him overboard. Only partially because he was right. "Good-bye, Beni."