Page 2 of Fear No Evil

“Bomb.” She managed to get that one hoarse word out. The terrorist was striding down the stone-paved street, intent on distancing himself. Maybe they still had time. “Move!” She wanted to run, to warn people, but Jake resisted.

“We can’t just leave. I still have to pay.”

Strangers all around them were gaping at her use of the wordbomb.

Meanwhile, the would-be terrorist had slipped into a small green car. Maggie pointed desperately at the backpack. “That’s a bomb!”

“Lena, he probably just forgot it.”

But the foreigner was aiming what looked like a remote control in their direction.

“Down!”

There wasn’t any more time to convince Jake. All Maggie could do was heave their wrought-iron table onto its side to be used as a shield. Their glasses and empty plates came crashing down.

Even as she hauled Jake down alongside her, a brilliant light burst over them. The heavy table cannoned into them. A high-pitched buzz distorted the roar and the screams that followed.

Stay conscious! Stay alive!

When the roar receded, Maggie found herself curled into a ball, with Jake draped limply over her.

It took ages to get out from under him. Her movements were feeble. She couldn’t get her body to do what her brain was telling it to. Bits of shrapnel abraded palms and knees, cutting her skin as she struggled free.

“Jake!” He slumped bonelessly onto the debris. The frame of his glasses hung askew, one lens shattered. Bits of glass shimmered on his skin. His thick brown hair was covered in ash, and the gash on his brow ridge pulsed blood with every beat of his heart. “Jake!” She shook him. “Jake, wake up!”

Little fires blazed on every side. He couldn’t die on her, not after giving her the ring.

Jake’s lashes fluttered. His soft blue gaze focused on her face. “Lena.”

“Yes! I’m here, Jake. And you’re okay.You’re okay.” She ran trembling fingers over his body, seeking injury, not finding any‍—apart from the head wound. But his eyes rolled back into his skull, and his eyelids melted shut.

Her heart stopped for a second time that night. Had he just died on her?

Checking his jugular for a pulse, she felt nothing but warm skin.

“No!” Bent over him, Maggie cupped his dear face, smearing blood across his temple. “Don’t you dare die on me, Jake Carrigan. I promise I’ll marry you one day, okay? But you have to live. You hear me?”

CHAPTER 1

CASABLANCA, MOROCCO, PRESENT TIME

Am I dead?Pain seared Maggie’s side as she tried to draw a breath. Lying flat on her back in a narrow, bricked alley just a few steps from her apartment in Casablanca, she assessed her injuries, took stock of her situation, and groaned.

The bit of violet sky peeking between overhanging roofs informed her it was nightfall. Raising her arm to check the time, Maggie launched a cloud of flies that had been crawling on her. Her watch glowed 8:37 P.M., which meant she’d been lying here for at least an hour. Summer was the peak tourist season in Casablanca. People must have skirted the comatose and bleeding woman, ignoring her plight. Even now, she could hear somebody edging around her‍—a woman with a baby. Maggie murmured reassurances, and the young mother scuttled past.

The jig was up. Her cover was blown. As Jake would have said in the Irish Gaelic of his paternal grandfather,“Nách mór an diabhal thú,”which loosely translated meant,Well, aren’t you the devil?

The gut-lurching realization that her true identity was known had hit her on her walk home from work. She was approachingthe gate that led to the courtyard of her building when Kamal’s bodyguard materialized in front of her‍—no sign of Kamal anywhere. One look at the dark intent in Farid’s dark eyes, and she’d realized both he and Kamal knew exactly who she was. She’d been handily played, all the while thinking herself in control of the game.

But that was hours ago.

By some incredible stroke of luck, she still wore her watch, not yet stolen by one of Casablanca’s many thieves and pickpockets. The watch contained a GPS chip, broadcasting her location. So long as she could get to her apartment to place the necessary call, an extraction team would be deployed to recover her. But what if Kamal and his bodyguard suspected as much and followed her? The whole extraction team could be targeted.

Maggie held her breath and listened. Her neighbor’s dog wasn’t barking, which it did whenever strangers were in the building. So maybe the coast was clear.

Summoning her strength, she rolled from her back to her front. A moan escaped her clenched teeth.Oh, man. Kamal’s bodyguard had broken at least one of her ribs. Pushing to her hands and knees, she waited for the tsunami of agony to subside.

The CIA had assigned her here only nine months earlier. Her objective was simple: verify the rumors that switchblade drones, earmarked for the Russian Wagner Group, were passing through a waterfront warehouse in Casablanca, a circumstance with frightening implications.

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