Page 37 of Locked and Loaded

The room was small and cluttered and unmistakably lived-in. A desk against one wall, covered in papers and a ceramic mug full of pens. A low divan along the other wall, draped in a colorful rug. A shelf of books in three languages. And Dragan, sitting behind the desk with his laptop open, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, his focus entirely on the screen.

He looked up when she came in. The laptop light carved shadows into his face. "Can't sleep?"

"No AC."

"There's no AC in any riad. They're designed to breathe." He leaned back in his chair. "Open your door. The air moves through the courtyard at night. It'll cool down by morning."

"Now you tell me." She didn't leave. She leaned against the door frame instead. "What are you working on?"

"Trying to figure out who sent the men to the hotel."

"Any luck?"

"Some." He didn't elaborate. She hadn't expected him to.

“How did you find me?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Ali.”

She frowned. “You mean the kid at the store where I bought the…clothes. It was the credit card, wasn’t it?”

He nodded, then frowned.

“What?”

“I took the receipt with me, but I paid the kid. I’m guessing the other men found you that way as well. I just hope that they paid Ali for the information.”

She bit her lip. The implication being that Dragan hoped they didn’t beat the shit out of the kid to get intel on her. Great, now she needed to add getting that kid in trouble to her list of sins.

“Ali, or whatever his name is, is actually a pretty smooth operator. Don’t worry about him. He’ll survive.”

That didn’t really make her feel much better, so she decided to concentrate on something else.

The office was the kind of mess that came from someone who'd been working in it for a long time. Notes in tight handwriting tacked to the wall. Photographs printed on regular paper; faces she didn't recognize. A map of Marrakech with circles drawn on it in red ink. It looked like the room of a private investigator, or a journalist, or someone who made a living knowing things other people wanted kept quiet.

"You don't sleep much, do you?" she said.

"Not tonight." His eyes moved over her face, and something in his expression shifted. Something warm, although not quite a smile. "You should try. You’re exhausted. It's been a long day."

She shrugged. "I've had longer."

"It’s not a contest."

Heat came into her cheeks. She took everything as a personal challenge, as if he was criticizing, but she realized now that he was just showing concern. For her.

She wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

There was a quiet pause. She should have gone back to her room. She knew that. The smart thing to do was walk away, close her door, lie down, and wait for morning.

She didn't do the smart thing.

She walked into the room instead, trailing her fingers along the edge of his desk. The papers rustled under her touch. "What happens in the morning?"

His eyes followed her hand for a fraction of a second before returning to her face. "We talk. I tell you what I know. You tell me what you know. We figure out where your sister is."

She lifted an eyebrow. "And then?"

"And then we go get her."