Page 28 of Locked and Loaded

She hated that he was right. Hated it because it meant that she was being sloppy. “Look, buddy, I don’t even know what your name is. You showed up out of the blue, got security to grab me, you haul me out, and I get shot at. Why the hell should I trust you?”

“Because whether you trust me or not, I'm the only thing standing between you and those men.”

She let out a bark of laughter. “Who are you kidding? We’re in a hotel. They’re not gonna stroll across here and kill me.”

“You don’t think so?” he asked cocking an eyebrow.

“No, I don’t,” she said, raising her chin. This guy, whoever he was, was crazy.

“And that’s exactly why you’re in danger.” He dropped his voice again. “Don’t look now, but he’s coming.”

Lennox shifted her gaze over to where the man was, and didn’t see him. But a moment later she realized he was crossing the floor directly toward her table. The other man had just gotten to his feet. Her stomach dropped to her knees. Damn it to hell.

He leaned over and touched her arm. “You have a couple of choices. Come with me now, or stay here and deal with them.”

She glanced at the man beside her and something perverse or maybe a strong sense of self-preservation made her say, “I’ll take my chances with them. At least I know who they are and I’ve beaten them so far. You, I have no idea.”

He leaned in close as a smile played at the corner of his mouth. “My name is Dragan Maric. And I’m the man who was hired to protect you.”

For one ridiculous heartbeat, despite every instinct telling her to run, Lennox believed him.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The two men in jackets, despite the warmth of the evening, moved through the candlelit courtyard like they already knew the way. Because they did. Their eyes were fixed on the table where he sat with Lennox, at the edge of the pool, under an arch of carved stone.

Dragan scanned the restaurant for exit strategies. The dining space was set up around the water. Tables draped in white linen ringed the turquoise pool, candles flickered on every surface, their light bouncing off the mosaic tiles that lined the courtyard floor in vibrant blues and greens. Brick columns rose from the water's edge to support the arcaded galleries above the courtyard. The whole space smelled of orange blossom and grilled lamb and the faint, woody smoke of the candles.

Lennox watched the men. “How long do we have?”

"Maybe thirty seconds, if they don't care about making a scene."

“I can scream,” she said.

“It won’t stop them. Chances are excellent they have some kind of authority here. A badge of some kind or connections in government. Did you notice the way the hostess has been avoiding looking at them? She knows them. Knows they’re trouble.” The whole time he spoke, Dragan was planning. “We're out of time."

The main entrance was behind the two men now. No way through. The far side of the courtyard opened onto a narrow arcade lined with pillars, and past that, the dark mouth of another corridor. Where it led, he didn't know yet. But anywhere was better than here.

At the head of the pool, near the arcade, the musician was still bent over his oud, its round belly cradled against his chest, his fingers working the strings. The music was low and intricate, the kind of sound that settled into the stone walls and stayed there.

"Get up," Dragan said. "Slowly. We're going to walk around the pool and through that arcade behind the musician."

Lennox frowned. "That's a dead end."

"This hotel is five connected riads. There's no such thing as a dead end here. There's always another courtyard, another passage, another door."

The two men were twenty seconds out now. Close enough that Dragan could see the way the big one's jacket hung wrong, weighted down on one side. Gun in a pocket, not in a holster. They weren't trying to hide what they were. They didn't need to.

Lennox stood and put her crossbody bag over her shoulder. She moved like someone who knew how to move, fluid and efficient, no wasted motion. Dragan dropped a handful of dirham on the table for the food and wine and fell in beside her.

They walked along the edge of the pool, keeping close to the water. The tile was damp, the candlelight shimmering on the surface. On the other side of the courtyard, the two men changed direction, adjusting their path to intercept. They didn't run. Running would draw attention, even here, even now. But they quickened their pace just enough.

The musician was in his own world. His eyes were half-closed, his head tilted toward the neck of the oud. The piece he was playing had the quality of a spiral, repeating and building on itself, each pass a little more intricate than the last.

There was no room to go wide. The pool stretched left, the arcade pillars pressed right. The only path was the strip of tile between the water and the musician's chair, maybe eighteen inches wide.

“Stay close.

She snorted. “I know how to walk.”