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crates of antiquities. And one contained jewelry, Cleopatra’s style. We’ll obviously need to do more work to confirm our beliefs... Damn it, they took it all didn’t they?”
    Aria’s nod turned into a sympathetic shake of her head. “Nothing returned with you.”
    A flash of anger burst across his features. “Damn them to hell! If I get my hands on them...” Anger flashed out and a determined sadness flattened the lines of his grim-set jaw. “We are not talking about this. The night is all a bit of a blur, anyway. I’d been partaking liberally that night.”
    “You and Papa coveted the idea of this find for years. Ancient belongings of Cleopatra? Who wouldn’t celebrate that?” Aria leaned back, pretending a mild interest when she wanted to shake him for answers.
    “When Gideon discovered the journal of that pirate ship captain discussing their booty...” John’s voice took on the familiar, revered awe whenever he and her father had gotten on their hours’-long discussions of digging things up.
    “It would have been a great find,” she replied, with a sigh of regret. “And you had great investors backing you. I saw the list on Papa’s desk. Do they know what happened yet?”
    John shook his head in slow motion, and the wince that followed was just as awkward. “Who would’ve told them? Your father always handled the money portion of things. Except the damn bastard who came to the site.”
    Aria tensed, sitting straight up. The man who’d done this was in Egypt when it happened? He’d gone to the encampment?
    She forced herself to lean back in her chair, appear relaxed. The drug was lowering John’s guard, and Aria wasn’t opposed to using that to find out what she needed to know.
    “Who was he? How did he know where to find you?” Her foot furiously tapped the inside fabric of her gown. Her father had always kept their location quiet to avoid competitors and locals, but he’d felt his investors had paid for the right to know. It’s why she had believed the answers would be found in those names.
    And she had been right.
    “I didn’t see the man. Was too in my cups to remember much, but the man’s voice was of London. Your father knew him—argued with him. And hell, if they’d been in throwing distance, anyone could have heard us.” He paused, pulling in a long, noisy breath that made Aria’s heart ache. “Plenty of drinkin’ and merrymaking going on.
    “We’d brought the chests back to camp. Jewelry, pottery, embroidered linens. One item—a necklace. You’ve never seen anything so irresistible, Aria. Cleopatra must ‘ave endowed it with some of her fire.” His words had begun to slur, and the glassy look of pain had started to fade.
    “And Papa? What was he doing?”
    A corner of John’s mouth lifted. “Toasting to every single thing in those chests and telling stories—a lot of them about you.”
    “Me?”
    “The adventures he took you on. The mischief ye caused as a child.”
    Nostalgia coated her throat, making it hard to speak. “Anything else?”
    “‘E talked ’bout the Mrs. and the babe.” John’s words were losing form with each syllable, his head sunk further into the pillow propping him up. “After we found the caverns, tha’ very night, all ‘e could talk about was comin’ home to ‘is family. With Mrs. Whitney being with child and you in London, your father believed it was time to settle home for a while after that.”
    Her heart contracted. Her father had planned this to be his last expedition? Had he been less diligent? Not as careful as usual?
    And if he planned on staying in London, did that mean she was stuck here, too?
    The desire to know more warred inside Aria with the need to let John rest, regain his strength. One of her father’s investors had been there. Had caused the destruction.
    She just needed a name.
    “John?” she said softly. His breathing hitched, and hers halted.
    When his eyes slid open, gentle accusation flared in their