Page 5 of Troy Story
Stuart bit back a groan. “Let me guess. He’s a big fan of the professor’s work?”
“Indeed. Apparently, he was thrilled to support a dig that would ‘get Professor Hughes back in action.’ His words, not mine. But you understand what’s at stake here.”
Shit.No wonder the university was letting Dr. Hughes’ reputation slide. When a wealthy donor asked for a favor, you didn’t say no.
“I get it,” Stuart said, “but I’m surprised Dr. Hughes wants to go back. Being exiled must have been so humiliating.”
“I’m sure it was. But he thinks if he can find something newsworthy this summer, he could restore his former glory and erase the stigma of his past mistakes.”
Just what had the guy done? “Any chance you could tell me what happened?”
“I can’t. To absolve the university from further embarrassment, we had him—and everyone associated with that dig—sign a confidentiality agreement. For now, let’s keep our focus on the upcoming season. Dr. Hughes has an ambitious goal. He wants to find a cemetery dating to the Late Bronze Age as proof that the Trojan War took place. He’s hoping to present his findings at an international symposium in Amsterdam this fall. Your job is to support him as best you can while making sure he doesn’t do anything illegal.”
Illegal?Did that imply he’d broken the law before?
Taking a deep breath, Stuart bottled up his frustration. If he couldn’t get the truth about Dr. Hughes from Dr. Fiorelli, he’d ask Dusty to do a little digging. Thanks to her mom’s keen ear for academic gossip, she’d kept up with most of the scandals that had rocked the archaeological world over the past two decades.
He kept his voice even, not wanting to reveal the uncertainty coursing through him. “I promise I’ll keep things on track. Is there anything else I need to know?”
“Well, actually…there’s another complication. As I said, Mortimer Jones has been one of our biggest donors. Now that he’s retired, he’s decided to cross a few things off his bucket list. Like joining an archaeological dig.”
Dear God, no. He sounded like one of those entitled millionaires Dusty’s mom dealt with on her VIP tours. “He’s joining us? Does he realize how rustic the conditions are?”
From what Stuart had heard, the field house where they’d be living contained dorm-style rooms and communal bathrooms. Hardly the lap of luxury for a wealthy business executive.
“He won’t be staying with the crew. He’s arranged a long-term rental at a local hotel.”
Perfect.Maybe he wouldn’t be too much of a burden.
“But his daughter wants to stay in the field house,” Dr. Fiorelli added.
Stuart’s stomach churned, making him wish he’d had more for breakfast than two cups of coffee. “Wait. His daughter?”
“Clarissa. She’s a high school art teacher. Graduated from the University of Boston five years ago. She’s passionate about ancient history, so she wants the full experience.”
Of course she does.Despite his unsettled stomach, Stuart forced himself to sound enthusiastic.“Great. Anything else?”
“That’s about it. I wish you the best of luck. I know I’m asking a lot of you, but I trust you’ll keep things under control and have a great season.”
“Thanks.” After ending the call, Stuart slumped down in his chair and cast a weary glance at the boxes around him. This summer wasn’t going to be easy.
At least Dusty would be there. With her by his side, he could get through anything.
CHAPTERTHREE
After riding the bus from Istanbul for four hours, Dusty was growing restless. She’d downloaded an audiobook ofThe Iliadas a quick refresher on the Trojan War but was losing patience with all the aggressive male posturing. So much of the conflict could have been avoided if the Greeks and the Trojans had gotten their massive egos in check.
She glanced out the window, taking in the flat farm fields, the rolling hills, and the groves of olive and oak trees. Occasionally, she glimpsed the blue-gray waters of the Dardanelles, the strait separating the European and Asian sides of Turkey. When their bus crossed over a long suspension bridge spanning the strait, she perked up. Less than an hour to go.
At five, the bus pulled into the Çanakkale Otogar, a small station that paled in comparison to the chaotic transport hub in Istanbul where she’d started her journey. She grabbed her messenger bag and waited patiently as the other passengers cleared out. Emerging from the bus, she blinked at the bright sunlight. Even at this hour, the day’s heat hadn’t ebbed, though it was less intense than Cairo in July.
As the bus driver opened the side hatch and unloaded the luggage, she reached for her giant backpack, only to have it snatched away. Stuart towered over her, looking more tanned and muscular than she remembered. His sandy-blond hair was covered with a blue baseball cap bearing a stylized version of the Trojan horse.
She grinned at him. “Nice hat. Any chance you could score one for me?”
“Already done. It’s at the field house.” Setting down her pack, he pulled her into a hug.
For a moment, she wished he would greet her as a lover. That he would kiss her passionately, then promise to whisk her off to bed at the first available opportunity. But being enfolded in his arms and pressed against his solid chest was a decent consolation prize. She inhaled the familiar scent of cedar and cypress, the same body wash he’d used for years.
