Page 26 of Locked and Loaded

“Right?” Mick agreed with a chuckle. “But Gage is not here, and Logan wants to make sure everything is just so, so Gage doesn't have to worry.”

“Fair.”

“All right, that name popped up a little while ago at the Sultana Hotel.”

“Excellent,” Dragan said. “I owe you one.”

“No worries, man. If anything else pops up, I'll let you know. I'll keep it on my watch list.”

“Thanks. Let's get together for a beer when I get back in town.”

“Absolutely. You’re buying. I'm all over it,” Mick said with a laugh and hung up.

Dragan tucked the phone back in his pocket. Mick had come on board a few months ago…Dragan thought for a moment. No, it was more like almost a year. He'd fit right in. Naturally, he played the computer geek, but Dragan knew an operator when he saw one. He didn't ask the man's history, and Mick didn't volunteer it. That was cool. They all had a past.

He pulled his phone out again, looked up the Sultana, and then mapped out his course. Whether Lennox realized it or not, she needed help. Whoever was behind this had stopped just watching her and started actively trying to kill her.

The Sultana was a fifteen-minute walk from where he stood. Dragan could have grabbed a taxi, but walking gave him time to think, and he needed it. The medina streets twisted like a maze, narrow passages giving way to small squares, the scent of cooking meat and cinnamon hanging in the air. Shopkeepers called out to him as he passed. He ignored them all.

Donna Abbington. It was a decent alias. Not too flashy. The kind of name that blended in. He’d just gotten a text from Mick. He must have been bored because he dug into Donna Abbington and supplied a full report to Dragan. It was a strong, clean identity. Nothing to flag it as false, which surprised him. A woman who could build a credit history from scratch, generate a paper trail that held up under scrutiny, that took skill. That took training. She wasn't just some tourist who'd stumbled into trouble. She was a professional of some kind, which was probably why he hadn’t been able to dig up much about her before he’d gotten on the plane to Morocco. Now he had Mick on it, and he was eager to see what the other man dug up on the elusive Lennox Crowe.

He thought about the first time he laid eyes on her. The way she moved through the souk that day, alert, scanning, but not quite blending. At least to his practiced eye. She likely fooled anyone else watching for her.

The woman had the instincts but not the polish. A desk operative who'd been forced into the field? That made her doubly dangerous. She was smart enough to get herself into real trouble and just green enough not to see it coming. He’d find out soon enough.

The Sultana Hotel announced itself with a carved wooden door set into a whitewashed wall. A brass plaque beside it read "Hotel Sultana" in both Arabic and English. No valet, no grand entrance. The kind of place that catered to people who wanted to be left alone. Smart. If Lennox had picked it, she'd chosen well.

Dragan didn't walk through the front door. He circled the block first, noting the service entrance on the side street, the rooftop terrace visible from the alley behind, the placement of security cameras. Old habit. He never went in somewhere without knowing how he’d get out. He circled back around to the main entrance.

The lobby was quiet, decorated in the deep blues and whites that marked every nice riad in the city. A fountain burbled in the center of the courtyard. Comfortable chairs were arranged in small groupings. No one was in them.

Dragan approached the front desk, where a young Moroccan man looked up with a practiced smile.

"Welcome to the Sultana. Checking in?"

"No," Dragan said. "I'm meeting a colleague here. Don't suppose you can tell me if she's checked in yet?"

"We don't give out guest information, sir."

"Of course not." Dragan smiled easily. "I'll wait. She said the restaurant was good?"

"Excellent, sir. Just through there." He gestured toward an archway. "Shall I make you a reservation?"

"Not yet. I'll let you know."

Dragan walked through the archway and into the restaurant. The first thing he noticed was the indoor pool with cloth draped across the ceiling to provide shade. Tables were arranged all around it. The second thing he noticed was a small stage set up with an oud and a drum. Live music. Nice touch. The third thing he noticed, with satisfaction that bordered on relief, was Lennox.

She was seated in the corner, tucked away at a table for one, a glass of white wine in front of her. She'd changed since he'd last seen her. A blue sundress, the kind that looked effortless but wasn't. Her hair was up, a few loose strands framing her face. She was stunning even with the look of sadness around her eyes. She was enjoying the music from the way she was staring at the musician and tapping her fingers on the table, and Dragan felt a small twinge of guilt for what was about to happen.

He stepped back behind a pillar to block her view of him. More importantly, it gave him the chance to check out the room before she reacted to his presence. He scanned the restaurant, cataloging faces, exits, sight lines. Couples at tables. A group of businessmen near the bar. The older man on the stage, his fingers dancing across the strings of the oud. The music was good. Complex, layered. It filled the space without overwhelming it.

Dragan’s gut tightened. At a table on the far side of the restaurant, behind another column, was a man who set off alarm bells. He was large with black hair and eyes, wearing a black button-down shirt with a gray blazer. He wasn't eating. He wasn't drinking. He was watching Lennox with a stillness that Dragan recognized immediately. It was the stillness of a predator waiting.

Dragan's jaw tightened. The shooting earlier had been a botched job. That meant whoever was behind this was going to take extra care now. The man was a pro, no question. There was only one reason to wear a blazer in this heat. The man was armed. His gun was probably in a shoulder holster or maybe at the small of his back. Either way, it was a problem. He was studying Lennox. It wouldn’t take long before he registered Dragan’s presence either.

Dragan moved before he could second-guess himself. There was no way to hide and still get to Lennox. He walked directly across the restaurant floor, weaving between tables, his eyes fixed on her. He saw the moment she registered him. Her shoulders stiffened slightly as her eyes narrowed.

He slipped into the chair beside her. “Hello, gorgeous.”