Page 7 of Locked and Loaded

“No,” Lennox agreed. “You’re not. Be careful.”

Katya stood and gestured toward the bags. “Give me some dresses. It must look good.”

“But they’re fakes,” Lennox said.

“Yes, and I’ll tell Nikolai that I threatened you and got them for free. We will laugh at you, and he will forget all about it.”

Lennox opened the bags and pulled out some random stuff. Then she closed them again.

Katya nodded, and the two women walked to the foyer. “Thank you for coming,” Katya said and air-kissed Lennox’s cheeks on both sides. “We get together for a drink next week. I’ll call.”

Lennox smiled. “Of course.” She gave Katya a big smile and then turned in time for the maid to open the door. Lennox breezed out to the waiting security guard on the golf cart. He put the bags on the back of the cart and headed toward the reception area. A dark sedan passed them. Lennox didn’t have to turn around to know it was Nikolai. No doubt the maid had called him. Her stomach rolled. She needed to get out of there as quickly as possible.

Lennox kept a smile frozen in place. They reached the reception area. “Would you mind calling me a cab?” Lennox asked.

The guard nodded.

Lennox stood just inside the doors. She wanted to make a run for the gate but knew logically she wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of making it without someone catching her. She tried to appear calm as her insides rolled like she was on a ride at a fair.

“Madam, would you come with me please?” a voice said over her shoulder.

CHAPTER THREE

Dragan cursed as he pushed his way through the crowd. He’d spent the last hour haranguing every contact he had in Morocco and some he’d heard about from Mitch Callahan, back at Callahan Security. Finally, he’d found someone who had heard from someone else that the woman he was looking for had been seen at one of the shops off the small alley where he’d lost her. The aroma of spices made his stomach growl. It had been a long time since breakfast, and he needed something to keep his energy up and the heat at bay.

The shop was nothing more than a small doorway in a narrow walkway that could be considered an alley. The doorway was low. Low enough that Dragan, who was well over six feet, had to not just duck his head but bend at the waist to enter. He glanced up before straightening to make sure he could do it safely and quickly realized the store might not actually have a ceiling. It looked like it was just colorful fabric.

The shop itself was small, tiny in fact, and was jammed with all sorts of clothing. Dresses, shirts, shoes, bags, all of it tagged with designer labels. Dragan was willing to bet none of it was anywhere close to real.

“Marhaba,” a voice said from beside a large pile of bags. “You need help?”

Dragan sized the kid up in a single sweep. The oversized djellaba and worn babouche slippers were convincing enough to fool the tourists, and the keffiyeh draped around his shoulders completed the picture of another young Moroccan hustling handbags in the souk. The clothes hung off his frame as though he'd lost twenty pounds, giving him the look of a malnourished teenager instead of a man who was actually in his twenties. It was a good disguise. Very good. But disguises fell apart in the details. His hands were free of the calluses years of manual work should have left behind, his English was too precisely broken when he barked prices at passing tourists, and his eyes never lingered on the merchandise. They lingered on people. The kid wasn't selling knockoffs. He was watching the street. “Shopping for yourself, sir, or your wife?” the kid asked in thickly accented English.

“I’m shopping for information.”

The kid frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Dragan pulled a picture from his pocket. “What’s your name?”

“Ali,” was the prompt response.

Dragan knew instinctively the kid lied. He’d been in this business too long not to recognize the game this kid was playing. Although Ali looked to be about fourteen, Dragan put him at probably no less than twenty, if not older. He was no innocent kid, and there was no way he was giving out his real name. Dragan also knew if there was trouble, this kid could probably have the whole store cleared out and disappear in under ten minutes.

“I’m looking for this woman.” He showed Ali the picture of Lennox.

“Ah, your girlfriend?” He grinned. “She dump you?”

Dragan played along and offered a smile. “Something like that. Have you seen her?”

Ali leaned in and pretended to study the picture. “No, sorry,” he said, shaking his head.

“Are you sure?”

Ali leaned in closer, which was what Dragan expected, so he was ready when Ali knocked a bag off the pile and sent it flying. That was the cover move. Then Ali reached for Dragan’s wallet. Dragan caught Ali’s hand and spun the kid around so he was face-first on the pile of bags, and Dragan had Ali’s hands behind his back.

“Ow, you’re hurting me,” Ali said, his heavy accent disappearing.

“Let’s try this again. Did you see her?” Dragan stuck the picture in front of Ali’s face one more time.