Page 59 of Locked and Loaded

“Up?” Lennox frowned. Her eyes were huge, and there was a slight tremor in her hands, but she maintained her cool.

Dragan pointed. "Roof access.”

A small door blended into the corner of the room. It was hard to see in the darkness. He checked his gun. Full magazine. One in the chamber. He pulled a second magazine, checked it, and tucked it back into his back pocket. He was damn glad he thought to grab it after his conversation with Armand. At least he wasn’t totally unprepared.

He didn’t want to get into a shootout if he could help it. A gunfight against professionals with a civilian in tow was a losing proposition no matter how good you were. His only advantage was that his visitors didn't know where they were at the moment, which gave them a head start.

"We're going to move fast. Stay behind me. Don't stop for anything."

"Dragan."

He looked at her. “We don’t have time to argue. Up," he said.

She went without saying a word. That worried him more than anything else.

He followed her through the small door and pulled it closed behind him. It closed with a soft click. They were at the foot of a ladder.

“Go,” he urged.

Lennox climbed. As soon as she was a few rungs up, he came up behind her. At the top, he told her how to undo the latch and waited until they both climbed out onto the roof before closing the hatch again.

The medina stretched out in every direction, a maze of flat rooftops and satellite dishes and laundry lines, broken here and there by the spike of a minaret. The stars were out in force, and the air was cooler up here, carrying the salt smell of the Atlantic from the west. Below them, the courtyard of the riad was a perfect square of lamplight, and in it, two men were moving toward the stairs while a third covered their advance from the front hall. They’d added another man. Not good. Also, there was no shouting. No wasted motion. They moved like they'd done this a hundred times. They were definitely pros.

He grabbed Lennox's arm and pulled her flat against the low parapet. A voice spoke below, soft and professional, the kind of voice a team leader used on comms. "Ground floor clear. Moving to first. Target is not in the courtyard."

A fourth man was leaning against the courtyard wall, running command. That was the one Dragan would have to worry about later.

"We need to move," he breathed.

"Move where? There's nowhere to go.” She glanced down. “And I’m barefoot.”

“Do exactly as I say,” he told her. The roof of the next riad was eight feet away. Six if you counted the gap. It was a long jump but not an impossible one, and the next roof was flat, with a parapet low enough to grab. The problem was the drop. Three stories straight down to an alley that was dark and narrow and paved with cobblestones that wouldn't forgive a mistake.

He vaulted the parapet and landed in a crouch on the next roof. The impact jarred up through his knees, but he absorbed it and turned, reaching back.

"Your turn.” He beckoned her over with a flick of his wrist.

Lennox stared at the gap. Her face was pale in the starlight, but her jaw was set. "You said the only way out of the riad was through the door."

"I lied."

"You said there were no windows to the street. You said the walls went straight up."

"Also true. This is the roof. Different thing entirely."

She looked at him across the gap, and he saw her make the decision. Not in stages. All at once. She backed up two steps, took a running start, and jumped.

She landed hard, but she landed on her feet. He caught her arm to steady her, and for one second, she just stood there, gripping his shirt, her bare feet planted on the dusty rooftop. Then she pulled back. "You lied about the only way out."

"It seemed useful at the time."

"You're a bastard."

"Probably. Run."

He grabbed her hand and pulled her across the roof. Behind them, a shout went up. Brief, controlled. "On the roof!"

No wasted syllables. Professionals.