Page 34 of Locked and Loaded

"I started it before I came to the hotel." He spooned the tagine onto a plate and slid it toward her. "I figured you'd be hungry. You haven't eaten all day."

"How do you know what I've eaten?" she demanded, her anger heating up again.

Dragan’s mouth turned up at the corners. "I know you've been running since yesterday. People who are running don't stop for lunch."

She wanted to argue with him, but her mouth was full of lamb. It was as good as it smelled. Better. The meat melted on her tongue, the spices warm and complex, the fruit adding a sweetness that balanced everything else. She ate three bites before she realized she hadn't said anything more.

She should have been thinking about the key in his pocket. She should have been cataloging exits and planning her escape. She should have been paying attention to anything other than the way the light traced the lines of his face, or the way his hands moved when he tore off a piece of bread, or the way he watched her eat with an expression that was somewhere between satisfaction and amusement. It was irritating how quickly she'd become aware of him.

He was beyond good-looking. She'd noticed that at the hotel. Hell, if she were being honest, she’d admit she’d noticed it the moment she saw him in the market that first morning. A man like him does not go unnoticed. At least not unless he wanted to. But she'd been too focused on her task to really take in the details of him. Now she was sitting three feet away from him in a quiet kitchen in a hidden riad, and she was entranced.

Dark hair, a little too long. Eyes that didn't give anything away. A jaw that looked like it had been chiseled out of stone. He moved like someone who knew exactly where his body was at all times, no wasted motion, no hesitation. He wasn’t classically handsome, but even more. He was the sort of man people noticed because everything about him suggested quiet confidence and contained violence.

None of this would help her find Chloe. She cataloged him anyway, which was significantly less useful.

"You made this yourself?" she commented and then put another forkful into her mouth.

He cocked an eyebrow. "Did you think I had a chef hidden somewhere?"

"I didn't think you had anything. I didn't know you existed until yesterday, and I certainly didn’t spend any time thinking about you,” she huffed. She ignored the little voice in her head that immediately called her a liar.

"And yet here we are."

Here they were. In a riad that belonged in a magazine, eating lamb tagine that belonged in a restaurant, sitting across from a man who had handcuffed himself to her in the middle of a Marrakech street.

Lennox tore off a piece of bread and dragged it through the sauce on her plate. "You do this often? Kidnap women, bring them to your secret riad, feed them?"

"No."

"Just me then."

"Just you."

He said it without emphasis, without flirtation, without anything that could be read as an invitation. But for reasons she couldn't explain, those two words landed somewhere below her ribs before she looked away and shoved the feeling aside.

She didn't like it because attraction complicated everything, and her life was already complicated enough. She liked the food, and she liked the riad, and she didn't like the way her body reacted to a man who had literally put her in handcuffs an hour ago.

“Well, now I feel special,” she said, her voice laced with sarcasm.

Lennox decided she wasn’t going to think about any of that. She reached for the tea instead. The mint was fresh, the sweetness balanced. After pouring herself a second glass, she leaned back against the cushion.

"Okay," she said. "You've got me here. You've fed me. Now tell me about my sister."

Dragan set down his bread. The teasing disappeared so completely it was as though she'd imagined it. When he spoke again, his voice was different. Quieter.

"Your sister got taken at a beach party in Ibiza, and she was brought to another party, a different type of party.” He sucked in a deep breath as if pained. “An auction actually."

Lennox’s stomach clenched. “An auction? What does that mean exactly?”

“I’m not sure how much you know about human trafficking⁠—”

“More than you probably,” she sniped.

Dragan nodded. “Okay. Well, sometimes once girls are taken, they are sorted into those who will work at more of a street level and those who can be auctioned off to the highest bidder. I’m willing to bet you’re familiar with the street level set-up, but auctions are very lucrative. They have repeat bidders. The people that run them know what to look for and send their goons out to find a specific type.”

He poured himself more tea and topped off hers. “The goons are usually young, good-looking, college-age boys that girls are likely to find appealing, which makes the girls lower their guard.”

“Yes, I met several in Ibiza. I tracked down one who knew what happened to my sister.” It had galled her to have to pay the guy for information. She’d wanted to kill him, but, with no other leads, she needed the information.