Page 94 of Red Line

“Yup. Right there in the street. I felt so bad because as I observed others' behavior, I saw my own. The cute, the pretty, the healthy, why are those the ones who get the attention in a crisis? While those that need it the most are ignored, even eschewed.” She looked down at the black and white cat curled around Nomad’s foot. “That story and those images pain me to this day. Yeah. I knew that cat was there as a guru to teach me—as self-absorbed as that might sound. I’ve tried to watch my behavior, to turn my attention to those that might be overlooked because their circumstances are visually tough to handle.” To change the mood, Red sent Nomad a teasing smile. “You, for example. I’ve taken pity on you. Your life with that face must have been lonely and difficult.”

“Yes, thank you. You’re right. Being hideous has been a lifelong struggle,” Nomad said resignedly. “But it's so muchworse for my identical twin brother. He’s a doctor, and his brain swelled from each textbook he memorized. He walks around with my face, but, you know, an enormous head.”

“My sympathy to you both.”

And as Nomad absentmindedly reached toward his foot, Red smacked his hand. “Nicholi, they are fed and given water but not treated for disease. Are you up on your rabies shots? Don’t. Touch. The. Cats.”

***

Now that it was dark, Elena and the Delacroixes were heading back to their hotel. Simone talked about what time they’d leave for the hammam the next day. Gustav made plans for how he’d case the gardens and get a feel for what Kamal was setting up for the exchange, the security in place, and to reassure Elena that all was safe for the sale.

“After we’re sure that’s cleared,” Gustav said. “I found a tour going over the Atlas Mountains to a spot right along the Algerian border.”

“Did you make reservations for that tour?” Simone asked.

“Not yet. I sent word to our supplier to see if they could arrange to pick us up there. We can’t have any official contact with Algeria. I’m not getting a stamp on my passport.”

“No, of course not,” Elena said. “I have three months on the Moroccan tourist stamp in my passport. So I can work with our suppliers, see the mission through, and have them bring me back to the Moroccan border.”

“Three months’ time frame,” Red whispered to Nomad as they leaned against the closed security gate on a vendors shop around the corner of their riad.

“Do you think the tour will report us missing to the authorities?” Simone asked.

“After they’ve been paid? Probably not,” Gustav said. “They’re laissez-faire in Morocco.”

“Once we’ve accomplished the sale tomorrow and hear back from our suppliers—if that’s all a go—we set off on this tour,” Elena said. “What kind of tour?”

“Glamping,” Gustav said. “It’s an eleven-hour drive from here to there. But you’ll get to ride a camel.”

“Joy,” Elena said sarcastically.

The Delacroixes told Elena good night. There was a click of the door, and now there were just the sounds of water running and items rustling.

Nomad and Red moved into their tiny room on the first floor.

Red was dead tired and must have looked it because Nomad turned to her and said, “I’d anticipated sleeping on the floor, but there’s not enough floor for me to stretch out on in here.”

When he said that, Red felt a mild stab of disappointment.

Of course, he would say that. She’d seen him at the ball. He was raised a gentleman. “I had planned on sharing the bed with you.” Why not be honest? She sat down on the corner to take off her shoes. “For what it’s worth, neither of us will be comfortable on this mattress.”

He gave her a nod and a smile. Cogs were whirring. Yeah, he was a soldier boy and not an intelligence officer. He didn’t seem like he was used to this kind of assignment. They wouldn’t send him to work with her unless he had training, but things were different when you learned about them in theory. “When on assignment, there will be times when you will be playing the role …”

He was navigating new waters.

Interesting though—Red thought as she gathered her toiletries and an oversized T-shirt that she slept in—his smile wasn’t lascivious. It wasn’t a “he-he-he, I’m gonna get me some.” smile. It was a smile that warmed his eyes. She couldn’t quite read it. She’d never seen someone smile at her like that before.

Shutting the door to keep the steam out of the bedroom, Red didn’t throw the lock. It would be okay if he wandered in.

I like him. He likes me, too.

She’d taken a lot of comfort from him over the last few days.

Yes, he’d left her hanging in the van. And maybe she should be miffed about that. But she would have done the same thing. Red stood in front of the mirror, unwound the scarf from her hair, and pulled her long dress over her head. The night of the ball, he didn’t know who she was or what position she played. And he didn’t have a lot of time before the authorities arrived. If he’d stayed, he probably would have blown his mission. With all those dead bodies in the van, no one would have let him go free for days. Elena would have seemed to be the victim, cared for, and out there in the wilds.

He had no other choice.

At least he made sure she could get free. He didn’t need to.

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