Brian and his mom.
He felt uncomfortable cracking down on Nadia. To be honest, it wasn’t the first time he’d felt this way. James MacPherson, Artie’s former partner, had once tried to convince Pete that some artifacts were too valuable to be locked away in the Warehouse, where they couldn’t do the world any good. MacPherson had been a murderous creep, of course, but maybe, just maybe, he’d had a point?
He pushed the doubts out of his head in order to get the job done. “My partner is right,” he said, backing Myka up. “You need to tell us how you’re doing this.”
Nadia kept toying with the ankh. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”
His spider-sense tingled. “I’m getting a real vibe here,” he informed Myka. He looked pointedly at the ankh. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
Myka nodded. She slipped on a pair of purple gloves. “Hand over the ankh, please.”
“Why?” Nadia asked. “It’s just a prop. I picked it up at a dollar store.”
Myka held out her hand. “Then there’s no harm in showing it to me, is there?”
Jim pushed forward. “You can’t do this. You have no right!”
“Easy, buster!” Pete got between Jim and the women. He had a few inches and about twenty pounds of muscle on the younger man. “Don’t make us do this the hard way.”
“It’s all right, Jim,” Nadia called out. “It’s no big deal.” She removed the ankh and handed it over to Myka. “I’m not sure why you want this.”
Was she truly unaware of the ankh’s special properties? Pete couldn’t be sure.
“Keep back,” he warned Jim before fishing a silver bag from his pocket. He held it open for Myka, then turned his head away. “Bombs away.”
Myka dropped the ankh into the goo. Pete braced himself for the usual fireworks.
But nothing happened. Not even a fizzle.
“What the heck?” He shared a surprised look with Myka. “Did I miss something?”
She plucked the ankh from the bag and wiped it clean with a tissue. Holding it up to her eyes, she squinted at the small hooped cross. “False alarm,” she declared. “Look at this.”
She held up the ankh for his inspection. He spotted a tiny inscription:
Made in China.
Oops!
Nadia and Jim stared at the agents in bewilderment. “Is that it?” he asked. “Are you happy now?”
“Not really, no.” Pete scratched his head. “Okay, so if it’s not the ankh, what is it?” He looked Nadia over. The bright red gemstone on her forehead caught his eye. “Maybe that ruby thingie?”
“It’s just a cheap piece of costume jewelry,” Nadia insisted. She peeled it off her brow and tossed it to Pete. “Take it.”
He caught it reflexively, then held it up to the light. On close inspection, he had to admit it didn’t look all that impressive. Polished glass, maybe, or crystal. Then again, that didn’t mean much. Sometimes the most innocuous of objects could turn out to be artifacts. Like a rubber dodgeball or an old can of tuna fish.
“What do you think?” he asked Myka.
His partner had another idea. “Her gloves,” Myka said, giving Nadia’s hands wear a closer look. “I was distracted by the ankh before, but those gloves don’t really go with the rest of her costume. They don’t fit with the whole ‘Egyptian high priestess’ look she’s going for.”
Pete looked at the gloves. They were wrist-length and made of white kid leather. Decorative stitching adorned their backs. Delicate ivory buttons held them tight about her wrist.
“Good call.” He tended to defer to Myka on matters on women’s fashion, but he saw what she meant. Unlike the rest of Nadia’s outfit, the gloves looked better suited to Queen Victoria than Cleopatra. “And it’s not exactly cold in here.”
Myka made up her mind. “Let me see the gloves.”
“No!” Nadia yanked her hands back, reacting much more strongly than before. “You can’t have them. They have . . . sentimental value.”
Pete didn’t buy it. If anything, Nadia’s outburst proved they were
He felt uncomfortable cracking down on Nadia. To be honest, it wasn’t the first time he’d felt this way. James MacPherson, Artie’s former partner, had once tried to convince Pete that some artifacts were too valuable to be locked away in the Warehouse, where they couldn’t do the world any good. MacPherson had been a murderous creep, of course, but maybe, just maybe, he’d had a point?
He pushed the doubts out of his head in order to get the job done. “My partner is right,” he said, backing Myka up. “You need to tell us how you’re doing this.”
Nadia kept toying with the ankh. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”
His spider-sense tingled. “I’m getting a real vibe here,” he informed Myka. He looked pointedly at the ankh. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
Myka nodded. She slipped on a pair of purple gloves. “Hand over the ankh, please.”
“Why?” Nadia asked. “It’s just a prop. I picked it up at a dollar store.”
Myka held out her hand. “Then there’s no harm in showing it to me, is there?”
Jim pushed forward. “You can’t do this. You have no right!”
“Easy, buster!” Pete got between Jim and the women. He had a few inches and about twenty pounds of muscle on the younger man. “Don’t make us do this the hard way.”
“It’s all right, Jim,” Nadia called out. “It’s no big deal.” She removed the ankh and handed it over to Myka. “I’m not sure why you want this.”
Was she truly unaware of the ankh’s special properties? Pete couldn’t be sure.
“Keep back,” he warned Jim before fishing a silver bag from his pocket. He held it open for Myka, then turned his head away. “Bombs away.”
Myka dropped the ankh into the goo. Pete braced himself for the usual fireworks.
But nothing happened. Not even a fizzle.
“What the heck?” He shared a surprised look with Myka. “Did I miss something?”
She plucked the ankh from the bag and wiped it clean with a tissue. Holding it up to her eyes, she squinted at the small hooped cross. “False alarm,” she declared. “Look at this.”
She held up the ankh for his inspection. He spotted a tiny inscription:
Made in China.
Oops!
Nadia and Jim stared at the agents in bewilderment. “Is that it?” he asked. “Are you happy now?”
“Not really, no.” Pete scratched his head. “Okay, so if it’s not the ankh, what is it?” He looked Nadia over. The bright red gemstone on her forehead caught his eye. “Maybe that ruby thingie?”
“It’s just a cheap piece of costume jewelry,” Nadia insisted. She peeled it off her brow and tossed it to Pete. “Take it.”
He caught it reflexively, then held it up to the light. On close inspection, he had to admit it didn’t look all that impressive. Polished glass, maybe, or crystal. Then again, that didn’t mean much. Sometimes the most innocuous of objects could turn out to be artifacts. Like a rubber dodgeball or an old can of tuna fish.
“What do you think?” he asked Myka.
His partner had another idea. “Her gloves,” Myka said, giving Nadia’s hands wear a closer look. “I was distracted by the ankh before, but those gloves don’t really go with the rest of her costume. They don’t fit with the whole ‘Egyptian high priestess’ look she’s going for.”
Pete looked at the gloves. They were wrist-length and made of white kid leather. Decorative stitching adorned their backs. Delicate ivory buttons held them tight about her wrist.
“Good call.” He tended to defer to Myka on matters on women’s fashion, but he saw what she meant. Unlike the rest of Nadia’s outfit, the gloves looked better suited to Queen Victoria than Cleopatra. “And it’s not exactly cold in here.”
Myka made up her mind. “Let me see the gloves.”
“No!” Nadia yanked her hands back, reacting much more strongly than before. “You can’t have them. They have . . . sentimental value.”
Pete didn’t buy it. If anything, Nadia’s outburst proved they were
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