Page 14

Ayla stiffened and raised her head, but a sharp gesture from Oz stopped her. These men were searching for her sister. They planned to kill her when they found her!

Heart pounding in her chest, she tried to focus on anything except the mobsters at the nearby table.

She glanced around the café, taking in the colorful geometric murals covering the walls.

Other diners chatted with each other, some smiling.

It was a stark contrast to the danger that lurked so close.

“Breathe,” Oz told her. She could hardly hear him over the roar in her ears, but when his hand covered hers, his thumb stroking her knuckles, she was able to inhale shakily.

He had a tattoo on his hand, positioned between his thumb and forefinger.

She stared at it to keep her mind off the men.

It was small, something she hadn’t noticed before.

When he tried to move his hand away, Ayla tightened her grip. She needed the reassuring warmth of his skin.

“Stay calm, Pollita,” Oz murmured quietly. His next comment was just as soft, but directed toward Baggs. “That’ll piss off their boss.”

“They know that. It gets better, dude,” Baggs said. “They were told to check hair salons and see if any blonde women had a dye job done recently.”

“That’s fucking great. I hoped it would take them a few days to think of that.”

She squeezed his hand. How long before they surveyed wig stores? Her disguise wouldn’t be worth much if they discovered she was a brunette now.

“Keep breathing.”

Ayla nodded, her eyes meeting his. The intensity in his gaze reassured her, and she took a deep breath as ordered, trying to steady her nerves. She couldn’t afford to fall apart now. Not when her sister’s life was at stake.

Glancing over at Baggs, she tried to get his measure.

His brown hair was shaggy, but much shorter than Oz’s.

He wore a black leather bracelet on his left wrist and a silver one on his right.

With his shirt sleeves rolled up, she could see a few tattoos—a dagger on the inside of his left forearm, surrounded by some other design curling over from the front side.

A complementary design was also on his right forearm, just below his elbow.

His beard was neatly trimmed, kept tight to his face, and when he glanced over at her, she could see concern in his eyes.

Ayla was unsure what to make of him. Was he the tough guy his appearance suggested or was his worry real? She didn’t know, but he was helping her and Oz look for Io. Her instincts said he was dead serious about doing what he could to find her missing twin.

“Pollita, can I have my hand back? We can skate by with you not eating, but Baggs and I have to finish our food before we can leave.”

She didn’t want to give up the comfort his touch provided, but Io wouldn’t need anyone’s support in this situation.

Reluctantly, Ayla released him, not because she wanted to measure up to her sister, but because they needed to get out of there.

They needed to find her twin before the mob did.

The Russians continued their conversation, but Baggs wasn’t translating.

“What are they saying now?” she asked him, careful to speak in Spanish as softly as Oz and Baggs were.

“Nothing important. They’re complaining about the food.” Baggs wiped his hands on his napkin and reached for the coffee. “A pair of real cheerful dudes.”

Ayla tried to conceal her tension, but Oz wasn’t eating quickly and neither was his friend. Their leisurely pace ratcheted up her nerves. Careful to keep her voice as soft as possible, she asked, “If their boss is as dangerous as you led me to believe, why are they willing to cross him?”

Oz’s reaction was barely perceptible, but Ayla thought he stiffened. “There are factions within the big boss’s organization with loyalties to different lieutenants.”

Baggs added, “The defiance won’t be flagrant. They’ll make it look as if they had no other choice.”

“Or that it was an accident.” Oz shrugged and started talking baseball with his friend.

She nearly growled. They were chatting about some Puerto Jardinese sports team, and her sister was missing. Oz reached over and gave her hand another squeeze, calming her.

The touch was momentary, there and gone before she could hang onto him, but it steadied her anyway.

At least enough for her to realize that it would appear strange if they sat at the table without talking to each other, and sports was as good a topic as any.

Besides, two men gulping down their food like a pair of five-year-olds would look suspicious.

They kept talking as they ate, and Ayla marveled at their ability to maintain a casual conversation while a pair of murderers sat a couple of tables away. She wished she could muster a fraction of their composure.

Her back was to the mobsters. Ayla wasn’t sure if that made it harder to stay calm or easier.

She had to trust Oz and his friend to keep her safe because she couldn’t see what the Russians were doing.

It was difficult. Baggs was a stranger, and although she’d spent the night with Oz, he wasn’t that much more familiar to her.

Memories of their encounter came to her.

The gentleness of his caress, the way he made sure she was ready for him, and the care he took to guarantee she enjoyed the sex as much as he did.

He didn’t have to do any of that. They could have had a quick fuck, and then he could have pushed her out of the room.

Instead, they’d spent the entire night pleasuring each other.

If she hadn’t snuck out the next morning while he’d been in the shower, they might have even had another go.

The surge of regret took her by surprise, and Ayla tried to focus on something else. Io. Where was she? How much danger was she in? Could they reach her in time? The uncertainty gnawed at her, and she clenched her hands into fists, her nails biting into her palms.

Oz placed his hand over hers again, letting her know he was aware of her. That he was taking care of her. His touch grounded her, helped her find her equilibrium. Softly, he said, “Hang on, Pollita. A few more minutes and we’re out of here.”

Ayla nodded, and although she kept her head lowered, she scanned the café again, looking for a distraction. Her own thoughts were causing her too much trouble.

Her gaze connected with a woman at a table kitty corner from theirs. She had brown hair, dark eyes, and appeared average. Ayla couldn’t pinpoint her age. The woman could be twenty-five or she could be a well-maintained fifty.

The woman’s lips curved briefly in acknowledgment and then her gaze went past Ayla, took in the Russians, and continued to the other side of the restaurant. Someone like her, looking for a distraction, she decided.

Lowering her head farther, Ayla noticed shopping bags around the woman’s feet. She must be doing the same thing as they were—stopping for lunch after hitting the stores.

Oz and Baggs were discussing batting averages, and Ayla decided it had to be less stressful to sneak out of the café than to sit here, waiting.

It felt as if it had been two hours, but a quick glance at the time said it was less than ten minutes.

She could do this. She had to do this. If she didn’t, and she got killed, who would rescue Io?

“ Perdóneme ,” a feminine voice said.

Ayla nearly screamed. Her focus had been inward, and she never noticed the woman from across the café get up and walk to their table.

Up close, she could see she was probably in her twenties or thirties and around average height.

She’d been right about the dark eyes. They were brown and Ayla felt her gaze assessing her.

Oz stepped in and handled it. “Sí?” His tone didn’t encourage conversation.

The woman wasn’t easily put off. Her question was directed at Ayla. “You look familiar to me. Have we met?”

“My wife just arrived from the States. You haven’t met.” Oz’s voice was even less friendly, and there was a hard look on his face, one she hadn’t seen since he rescued her in the hotel room. Was this woman a threat? Ayla tensed.

“Ah, well,” the brunette said calmly, completely unaffected by Oz’s tone, “perhaps I am mistaken then. I must be thinking of someone else.”

This woman could have met Iona. She leaned toward Oz, widening her eyes and giving him her best don’t-let-her-get- away stare.

He ignored it and she shifted, ready to chase after her.

His hand came out, his fingers circling her wrist and holding her in place.

His grip didn’t hurt, but she couldn’t tug free. Ayla scowled.

“Hang tight, Pollita,” he said.

“But—”

“No. Not now. Trust me.”

As if she had a choice. Ayla huffed out a long breath and upped the wattage of her glare at Oz as she watched the woman deposit her waste in the trash can, gather her packages, and walk out the door. What was he doing? She was leaving!

“Sit quietly,” he ordered, and for the first time there was some harshness directed at her. “The Russians are watching you, and your reaction made them curious.”

Ayla’s eyes widened again, but this time it was with realization.

She hadn’t thought of that. They were out of her sight, and she’d gotten so excited that the woman might know something about Io that she’d forgotten about them.

“Sorry,” she whispered, giving him an apologetic look.

She should have trusted him. He’d done nothing except help her since she arrived.

Oz released her wrist and picked up his sandwich.

There wasn’t much remaining, and when he finished, they’d have to leave the café.

Suddenly, passing by the mobsters’ table to get to the door seemed terrifying.

Ayla worked on regaining control. To find Io, she had to walk out of here and she wasn’t letting her fear stand in the way of helping her sister.

Baggs finished eating. He and Oz began making some small, almost unnoticeable hand gestures, and then Baggs gathered their garbage on the tray.

Oz passed him everything except his last piece of sandwich.

Ayla turned her head just far enough to watch him casually saunter to deposit their trash in the bin, and then he headed out the door.

“Where’s he going?” she asked.

“Trust me,” Oz repeated.

Ayla nodded. Those hand gestures might have been a way for the two men to communicate.

They must have planned Baggs leaving early because Oz showed no signs of surprise or dismay.

Or was she making assumptions because he asked her to put her faith in him?

She hadn’t earlier and she might have messed things up, so no matter how difficult it was, she would trust him.

Oz finished his sandwich, wiped his hand off on his napkin, and wadded it up, holding it in his left hand.

“Okay, Pollita,” he said quietly, “we’re walking to the exit.

I’m going to pause briefly to throw the napkin in the trash and see how the dudes respond to us leaving.

They didn’t care when Baggs walked out the door, but you might be a different story. ”

Ayla nodded.

“Once we hit the sidewalk, we’re turning left. I want you to keep moving no matter what happens. If that changes, I’ll tell you so. Understood?”

“Understood,” she echoed, voice thick. Ayla cleared her throat, but fear choked her.

Oz stood and held her chair for her. The gesture was polite, but he put his body between her and the mobsters, giving Ayla the sense it had more to do with protecting her than proper manners.

Her legs felt shaky, but she walked beside him to the trash bin.

As he told her, they paused while he tossed his napkin, and though it was tempting to check on the Russians herself, she kept her gaze on the door.

Ayla had to trust him with her safety. She had to trust him to find Io. She couldn’t do this alone.

Left hand at her back, he steered her toward the door, opened it, and urged her outside. “Let’s move, Pollita. Walk, don’t run.”

“What’s happening?” she asked, even as she followed orders.

“The Russians were getting ready to leave as soon as they saw us head for the door. If we make it a block before they’re on our asses, I’ll be surprised.”

Ayla wanted to believe it was a coincidence, but from Oz’s tone of voice, it was clear he thought it was deliberate. The mobsters were following them, and it was all her fault.