Page 111 of Captive Heart

“Mohamad is executing the final checks.”

“Good. The trucks have been under surveillance this whole time. But it can’t hurt for Mohamad to inspect them one final time.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Scooping up my suit jacket, I put it on as I head toward the door. Eros steps back to let me pass by.

“Let’s go.” Hestating, I stop in my tracks, looking around. “Where is Ares?”

“He said something about a personal emergency and that he would be back in a few days.”

Giving Eros a skeptical glance, I check that my gun is still holstered under my jacket.

“Do you believe him?”

Eros snorts. “That he had a personal matter come up?” He shrugs. “Sure. But I also think he was careful to make his excuse as broad as possible.”

“Hmm.” I check my watch. It is impossible to worry about such mundane details when Penny’s location will be revealed to me in short order. “I’ve got the meetup location. It’s in a busy area, close to the French embassy.”

“Here.” He tosses me a black baseball cap and pulls on a similar dark grey one. He jerks his head to the door. “Shall we?”

We head out, my heart rate speeding up the second we exit the elevator doors in the grand marble hotel lobby. I don my hat and add sunglasses, pulling the brim down for an extra bit of security.

The last thing I want is for someone to recognize me and make my life harder by holding me up somehow. Not when the tantalizing answer to a months-long question is so damned close to being within my grasp.

I step out into the chaos of a busy Egyptian street. Horns blare from older model cars, their drivers impatient yet strangely content with their lack of movement. People on foot weave between the cars, heading in all directions. And everywhere I look, there are billowing clouds of dust, forced down by the heavier smog that lies like a thick carpet over the city.

Following Eros closely, I hurry down the street. Getting to the plaza itself is no problem. In a couple of minutes, we turn into a crowded street market, packed with vendors at their booths, haggling with patrons of all ages.

Eros pulls me to a stop, squinting around. “Now we just have to find the fucker.”

I nod, my muscles tense, my posture ready for action. My eyes scan the crowd, skipping over old women wearing niqabs and a group of rattily dressed kids playing football in the street.

In the end, Lazlo finds us. A young woman dressed very modestly in a long lilac dress with a white headscarf. She wanders a little too close for my personal comfort and I glare at her.

A second later, I realize with a start that she is actually Lazlo. The Hungarian raises his rather hairy hand and puts a finger to his lips. Then he gestures for us to follow him.

I notice that Lazlo doesn’t carry any kind of briefcase. A cash transaction is not necessary in this day and age, but the obvious lack of cash pushes me a step closer to the edge. I grit my teeth, casting my eyes over the scene around me.

Trying to sense whether I am walking into some sort of trap.

Lazlo hurries across the plaza and ducks in close to the dreary buildings that line the street. Pulling Eros along, I follow Lazlo to one of the nearby doorways that frame the market. When he ducks inside, I unbutton my jacket and move my hand toward my weapon.

Just ahead of me, I can see Eros doing the exact same thing. We are well-trained; our chances of surviving any bullshit that Lazlo might pull on us now is high.

But he doesn’t seem to have anything like that in mind. After he steps through the doorway, we step into an alley with no roof and empty other than us.

Lazlo points at the door and I close it after I slip through. Only then does the Hungarian separatist push back his headscarf with a groan.

“It is too fucking hot for this disguise,” he laments. “Sorry to have to keep such a low profile. But even here, there are people that are on the lookout for me. Better to be safe, eh?”

Whipping off my sunglasses, I nod. I pull out my phone and check my text messages.

The cargo is safe, my screen reads.

Penny is so close; I think I can almost taste her sweet tang in the back of my mouth. My pulse hammers against my neck.

When I speak though, I make sure to keep my tone even and hide the excitement that floods my veins.

“I would like to move things along. Give me the coordinates where they are keeping the girl first. Then I give you the address of the warehouse in Algiers where you can find the trucks.”

---