Page 19 of Steel Vengeance

He watched as she bought a midnight blue hijab and slipped it on in front of a mirror. It covered her dark hair and made her skin look even paler, more translucent.

“Good.” He looked away before his thoughts could go further.

They crossed the street and sat down on a wooden bench near the fruit sellers. Her thigh brushed against his, and he jolted like he’d been shocked.

“Sorry,” she murmured, giving him an odd look.

Shit, he had to get a grip. She had him on edge, through no fault of her own.

He shifted to give her more space. Physical contact wasn’t something he was used to anymore. It had been too long, and he’d forgotten what it felt like to have a woman touch him—even accidentally.

He leaned back, keeping the restaurant in his peripheral vision. The minutes dragged by. He could feel the tension coming off her in waves as she shifted, crossing and uncrossing her legs.

“You don’t have to be here,” he said quietly.

She shook her head. “We need that photo, right?”

He couldn’t argue with that. “It would help.”

She took a deep breath. “I’ll do it. I’m the only one who can. That’s why I’m here—to watch and report.” She was brave, holding it together despite her obvious fear.

“It’ll be fine,” he reassured her. “I’ve got your back.”

She exhaled softly. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Silence fell again. The waiting was always the worst part.

“What made you join the Army?” Her voice was soft, breaking the tension. He could tell she needed to talk, needed something to keep the nerves at bay. “I mean, if you were studying to be a doctor.”

He hesitated. Normally, he wouldn’t talk about personal stuff—especially not with a foreign operative. Anything he said could be twisted, used as leverage down the line. But Sloane didn’t give off that vibe. She wasn’t playing games.

“It was the Navy, not the Army,” he corrected, but not unkindly. “I always wanted to be an operator, but I was interested in medicine too. Both my parents were doctors, so there was pressure to follow in their footsteps.” He paused, then added, “I dropped out of med school and signed up. Figured I could have the best of both worlds.”

“And did you?” Her eyes searched his face.

He shrugged. “Yeah. They gave me medical training, but not your typical stuff—trauma medicine, the kind you use when the bullets start flying and there’s no hospital around. It was the best decision I ever made.”

“Why are you here?” she whispered. “Are you keeping Omari under surveillance too?”

He grimaced. “Something like that.”

Just then, the door to the restaurant opened.

“That’s your cue,” he muttered.

She stood and casually walked up the road toward the scarf stall. Stitch slid his hand into his pocket, fingers brushing his Glock. He hoped to hell he wouldn’t have to use it.

CHAPTER 9

Sloane’s heart pounded like one of the submachine guns the guards were carrying. Every step she took brought her closer to the restaurant. Two of the security team stepped out, scanning the street. Omari and his associates would be coming out any second now.

She hugged the wall, staying out of their line of sight. Finally, she reached the rack of scarves. Pulling out her phone, she huddled behind the soft fabric, keeping herself hidden.

Through a small gap, she could see the men exit the restaurant—four of them, dressed in long shalwar kameez with turbans and thick beards. They had to be important, judging by the eight heavily armed guards surrounding them. Each guard gripped a semi-automatic rifle, fingers twitching near the triggers.

Oh, hell. She tried not to think about what those guns could do if they caught her.

Her hands were shaking so badly she had to steady the phone with her other hand. She managed to position it through the scarves, so the lens was clear. It was set on video mode, which was better anyway—you could capture more that way.

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