Page 81 of Out of Control

Drago shrugged. “I roll in plenty of places that absolutely forbid firearms.”

“Yeah, but in that case, the bad guys don’t have guns either.”

Drago grinned. “Oh, I’m rarely completely unarmed. I almost always have a blade hidden somewhere on my person, or maybe a needle full of tranquilizer, or a canister of knockout gas.”

“You’re such a spy,” Spencer teased.

Drago grinned and grabbed Spencer by the back of the neck, dragging him close for a long kiss with lots of tongue.

Spencer eventually pulled away, breathing hard. “We can’t. We’ve got work to do.”

“Well, wecan… but I’m willing to put that on hold so we can work.”

Spencer’s eyes went dark and worried.

“What? Talk to me.”

“This… feels like last time. I’m worried that we’ll miss something important. That we’ll fail in our mission because we’re distracted….” He trailed off.

“Spencer. We’re both a lot older than we were the last time. We’re adults. Experienced professionals. I have complete faith in both of us to be able to do our jobs to the best of our abilities this time around.”

“Maybe.”

“There’s no maybe about it,” he declared. Although, truth was, hehopedthere was no maybe about it. But honestly, he wasn’t any surer of it than Spencer was. And his neck was on the line this time. Theyhadto get this one right.

Chapter Fifteen

SPENCER LOOKEDaround the restaurant, which was dark and dingy beneath the lace tablecloths and family pictures on the walls. Teenaged children waited the tables, and a man, probably Samara’s significant other, tended the bar. A woman yelled from the kitchen at the children whenever an order was ready. That would probably be the restaurant’s namesake herself.

Drago and Spencer sat at a table tucked in the corner with a dusty fake plant hanging over them while they dawdled over plates of to-die-for shawarma.

Spencer leaned forward and murmured to Dray, “Who do you recommend we approach to ask about our friend?”

Drago studied the family members. “The mom, honestly. She’s the least likely to have any terroristic tendencies. And she’s likely to know by name everybody who comes in this place.”

“How do we get at her, O master spy?”

“Easy. Keep eating. She’ll come out eventually to collect compliments on her home cooking.”

Spencer grinned. “That’s no hardship. This shawarma is killer.”

“I know, right?”

One of the advantages of being a SEAL was that he had a monster metabolism. He could burn six to eight thousand calories in a day of hard exertion. Which also meant he could eat that much.

Drago, who also stayed in top shape, wasn’t far behind him in his ability to put away food, as it turned out.

It took about an hour and a half, and their third round of refills on the shawarma, to bring the woman out of the kitchen. She did, indeed, introduce herself as Samara.

“You like my food, yes?” she asked in accented French.

Spencer listened as Drago answered in smooth Arabic, “You cook like my dear grandmother, may God rest her soul.”

Samara beamed.

Drago turned on the charm, and Spencer smiled as Dray dazzled her with his wit and warmth. Spencer knew the feeling, as Samara clearly found Drago irresistible. She was preening and giggling by the time Drago finished working his magic on her.

She asked, “What work do you young men do?”

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