Page 79 of Locked and Loaded

"Semantics."

She stood up, and the sneakers felt solid, the first real shoes she'd worn since the riad. She flexed her toes and a tightness in her chest that she hadn’t been aware of loosened. Bare feet meant running. Meant rooftops and orange trucks and cold cobblestones. Shoes meant she was standing on solid ground.

"Thank you," she said.

"Thank Hassan."

"I'm thanking you." She leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek.

He looked at her for a moment longer than necessary. Then he nodded. "Food's ready. Lunch. Hassan set up in the main tent."

"Lunch sounds amazing."

The corner of his mouth moved. "Good."

They walked out of the tent together. The heat hit her with a physical force, dry and intense and completely different from the damp, suffocating heat of Marrakech. This was like standing in front of an open oven. The sand was already hot, and she was thankful for her new sneakers. The sunlight was blinding, bouncing off the dunes in every direction until the whole world was gold and white and impossible to look at directly.

"This is insane," she said, shielding her eyes. "It was freezing six hours ago."

"Sand doesn't hold heat. The second the sun comes up, it bakes. The second the sun goes down, it freezes. There's no in between."

"No wonder nothing lives out here."

"Everything lives out here. It just knows how to hide."

She followed him across the carpets toward the largest tent. The solar lights had switched off now, pointless in the blinding midday sun. The red canvas tents seemed to glow from within, the color so deep it looked like it was breathing.

Lunch was set up in the main tent on a low table surrounded by cushions. Hassan had outdone himself. Flatbread still warm from whatever oven he'd conjured out of the sand. Bowls of olives and hummus and something made from roasted peppers. A platter of grilled lamb that smelled so good Lennox's stomach growled audibly. Dates and figs and a pitcher of mint tea beaded with condensation.

"Sit, sit," Hassan said, gesturing at the cushions. "You slept well?"

Lennox felt heat creep up her neck. "Yes. Thank you."

"Good. The desert is kinder to those who rest." He poured tea into small glasses and pushed one toward her. "Drink. The heat will take more from you than you realize."

She drank. The tea was sweet and cold, which surprised her. She'd expected it to be hot.

"Hot tea for cold nights," Hassan said, reading her expression. "Cold tea for hot days. The desert teaches you these things."

"Have you lived here long?"

"Twenty-three years. Since my wife died. I came here to be alone, and the desert decided I should be alone with guests."

"That's a contradiction."

Hassan smiled. "The desert is full of contradictions."

Dragan had already demolished half a plate of lamb. She watched him eat with the single-minded focus of a man who'd been running on coffee and adrenaline for three days. He caught her looking and raised an eyebrow.

"Eat," he said.

"I'm eating."

"You're watching me eat."

"Multitasking."

He pushed the bowl of hummus toward her. She tore off a piece of flatbread and dragged it through the hummus, and the first bite was so good, she closed her eyes.