Page 15

Oz believed in playing things safe. He liked having contingency plans to his contingency plans.

It was how he’d survived. The odds of running into any of Petrova’s men in the shopping district should have been low.

There should have been next to no risk for Ayla.

And what happened? A pair of flunkies stroll into the same café that they chose for lunch.

Better yet, it looked as if the men were going to follow them. Fucking great.

Ayla went from tense to anxious. He wanted to say something to calm her, but he wasn’t sure what would do it. Things he thought weren’t a big deal ramped her up. Then there was the fact that if he tried to talk her down, the Russians might overhear something. That was all he needed.

He didn’t think Petrova’s men suspected who she was. Not yet. But she had raised their curiosity.

Guiding her to the door, he kept a hand at her elbow until she took the step down from the restaurant to the pavement.

Once he was sure she was steady, Oz released her.

He couldn’t afford to be distracted, and Ayla scrambled his brain.

She had since he spotted her in the hotel bar in Los Angeles.

Not having full control of himself irritated him.

Shaking off the memory, he focused on the present. It was natural to do a visual sweep of the area.

The café sat in a pedestrian-only shopping district in Trujillo.

Once, it had been high end. Now? About half the storefronts were empty, many of the buildings required repair, and all of them needed to be power washed.

The asphalt blocks were cracked and uneven.

It was Saturday, a major shopping day, but crowds were light and most stayed on the other side where the shops offered shade.

As he’d instructed, Ayla turned left. At least she wasn’t frightened enough to forget what he told her to do. It didn’t take long for her gait to go from a stroll to a brisk walk to a near run. Oz reclaimed her elbow. “Slow down, Pollita,” he said softly, worried she’d trip.

“Sorry.” She immediately moderated her pace.

The crowd picked up, but another scan showed most people wore jeans and T-shirts or khakis with polos.

There were a few women in skirts and blouses or dresses, but there weren’t any other mercenaries around and he stood out in his camo pants and shirt.

So much for the thought of using the congestion to disappear on the Russians.

They’d stick with Plan A.

“How are you holding up with this heat?” Oz asked.

Ayla glanced over at him, surprise on her face. He bit back a sigh. It wasn’t as if they could walk without talking. Couples chatted. He could see that all around them.

“The air’s pretty heavy, too,” he continued, glancing up at the sky. Oz spotted darker clouds off in the distance. “I think we’re going to get some rain. It won’t break the humidity. It’ll probably make it worse.”

“I guess,” she said.

Oz knew the weather wasn’t the most riveting topic of conversation, but Ayla was scared, and he needed something easy for her. He also wanted something that wouldn’t distract him. The crowd thinned out again, and it was tough to monitor the Russians covertly.

The stanchions with the chains that prevented cars from driving down the walkway remained in the distance, but Oz wanted them to maintain a leisurely saunter.

If things went as he expected, and if Ayla stayed calm and did nothing else that looked suspicious, the Russians would break off the tail and return to their assignment. Oz estimated about ten more minutes of surveillance to make sure he and Ayla weren’t of interest to their boss.

As tense as Ayla was, boring Petrova’s men would be a challenge. Since she couldn’t manage a conversation, they’d have to try something else.

“We’re window shopping,” he said, voice low. “When we pass a store that’s occupied, and it has something a woman would be interested in, I want you to stop and look. If you see something you actually like, point it out to me.”

“What? Why?” She stumbled and Oz caught her elbow again. This time he continued to hold on to her.

“We’re trying to act normal. I want us to be boring.”

“Aren’t we already boring?”

“No, not yet.”

Ayla started walking faster again, and Oz tightened his hand on her arm.

They were definitely not going to remain uninteresting if she couldn’t control her emotions better than she was doing now.

Up ahead, he saw a shop with women’s clothing.

He wasn’t surprised when Ayla didn’t slow, let alone stop. He drew her to a halt.

“Window shopping, remember? Take a look at the clothing.”

“Right. Sorry. I didn’t see what was in the window.”

Because she was scared. He got it, but Oz needed her to do better. Petrova’s men stopped a few stores down, looking in the window of another shop. If he remembered correctly, it was a sewing store. One side of his mouth quirked up. He hoped they enjoyed staring at sewing machines.

“Do you see anything you like, Pollita?” Nothing was business casual or even the style of her disguise, so it wasn’t a surprise when she shook her head.

“It’s all so…pink.” Her tone made her opinion of the color clear.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Resting his hand lightly on her back, he encouraged her to walk again. He immediately took her elbow so she’d moderate her pace.

He didn’t remind her again about her speed. If he brought it up, she’d apologize. She was in flight response and wanted to put distance between her and the threat. It was instinctual, not rational, and the only thing he could do to mitigate it was hang onto her.

He continued his visual sweep, but the crowds were becoming even sparser. “There’s a jewelry store coming up. Drag me over there and find something you like well enough to point it out to me.”

Ayla tensed even more, something he didn’t think was possible. Her stride became jerky, but she said, “Right.”

She followed orders, freeing her arm and taking his hand to pull him to the shop.

So far, so good. As for the display, it wasn’t anything exciting.

The jewelry was mass-produced stuff you could find anywhere in the world.

When he caught sight of a tag that hadn’t been completely concealed, he determined it was also overpriced.

Ayla peered intently into the window but didn’t motion toward anything. They stood there long enough that the Russians were becoming restless.

“Do you see a piece you like?” Oz prompted.

“I’m trying to find something. It’s all garnet and citrine, and I’m not a huge fan of either one. Besides, the gemstones are so…chunky. The smallest one has to be five carats, and I don’t like chunky.”

Fear did strange things to people’s thought processes. Oz took a minute to find his patience. “Point at the thing you hate least. Hell, point at anything.”

She scowled up at him. At his warning look, she cleared her expression, turned back to the window, and then used her index finger to single out a pair of red dangly earrings. “Those aren’t too horrible. If the weight doesn’t make your earlobes hit your shoulders.”

Choking off his laughter, Oz smiled down at her. “Thank you. Luckily for your earlobes, the prices are stupid, so you’ll have to do without.”

“Somehow, I think I’ll manage without the garnet. I prefer my birthstone anyway.”

“What’s that?” he asked, more for the chatter than out of any genuine interest.

“Pink tourmaline.”

“I thought you said you didn’t like pink?”

“That’s in clothing, not gemstones.”

“What month were you born?” This time he was legitimately curious.

“October, at the end of the month. I’m a Scorpio.”

As they walked, he noticed the dark clouds were rolling in fast. Shit, the afternoon rains were coming earlier than he’d estimated.

Just what he needed on top of everything else.

Ayla wore white pants and a gauzy green, purple, and white shirt.

Both would be damn near see-through if the skies opened up.

The idea of men ogling her made Oz scowl.

He wasn’t touching the Scorpio thing. She wouldn’t appreciate his opinion on horoscopes. “How close to the end of the month?”

There was a hesitation before Ayla said, “Halloween. And save it. I’ve heard all the jokes.”

“It seems like a pretty cool birthday to me. At least you didn’t have to put up with the shit I listened to about my birthday after we studied William Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar in school.”

“What shit was that?” Ayla sounded genuinely curious.

“‘Beware the ides of March.’”

“March fifteenth. That’s your birthday?”

“Yep,” Oz said easily. The conversation wasn’t the most scintillating in the world, but Ayla lost some of her stiffness. He took another look at the sky and wished he could relax, too. Not only were the Russians still dogging them, but the storm was going to be a strong one.

Baggs left the café first to follow the woman who’d come over to their table.

After that, he was supposed to get the car.

The plan was to lose the tail and walk Ayla over to where his teammate waited.

They’d figure out what to do about the woman at that point depending on what Baggs saw.

The problem was Petrova’s men didn’t seem ready to disengage, and it was going to rain sooner rather than later.

Another thought occurred to him. Would the wig hold up to a downpour?

He didn’t know, and he didn’t want to test it.

It was Ayla who spotted the bakery and brought him to that window.

The display had a three-tier cake flanked by cupcakes of various sizes.

Lots of pink and white, but she didn’t seem to mind the color in this instance either.

Maybe stopping to buy a box of something would convince the Russians to move on.

“Let’s go inside,” Oz said and steered her toward the door.

He held it for her, and after a quizzical glance at him, she entered.

The shop had a few small bistro tables. They were filled, but Oz wasn’t planning on staying long enough to grab a place to sit. Unless the rains came. With a little luck, they’d be in the sedan and away from here before that happened.

“Oh!” Ayla hightailed it over to a display case.

Oz followed more slowly. Cupcakes. Some were decorated with the faces of alpacas, otters, foxes, coatis, and a couple of other creatures.

Next to them was a cupcake collection with frosting made to look like flowers and a third grouping with the colors of the Toros baseball team.

But it was the animals that had Ayla entranced.

A clerk came over. “We’ll take half a dozen of the animal cupcakes,” Oz told her in Spanish. “One of each animal.”

“I’m not hungry,” Ayla said softly enough that the woman wouldn’t hear her as she packed their order.

“It’s okay. Baggs and I will eat them. It helps us look normal.” Damn, he hoped this stop would bore the shit out of the assholes. Or they’d decide they didn’t want to get caught in the rain for a mercenary and his woman.

When the cupcakes were packed, he paid for them and passed the black-and-white striped box to Ayla. He needed his hands free, and it wasn’t as if the purchase was heavy.

No luck on the Russians finding something better to do. Fuck. They were running out of shops before they reached the stanchions with the chains. The sky was seriously dark now, and while the air remained heavy, the wind blew strongly.

How the hell was that going to affect the wig?

The few people who hadn’t cleared out of the shopping area were rapidly moving, trying to find somewhere to wait out the storm.

While it did rain nearly every day, this was the dry season in Trujillo, so the downpour wouldn’t last long.

It didn’t matter. It would be long enough to cause problems. He and Ayla needed to find some shop to wait out the storm, too, since it didn’t look as if the assholes planned to break off.

Oz began to surveil what he could see up ahead.

There was a movie theater, but the lobby was already crowded.

He didn’t want anyone that close to Ayla.

The men’s suit store was also a hard no.

Oz glanced over to the other side of the pedestrian walkway, but those stores were boarded up.

Turning around and going back the way they came would attract the Russians’ notice.

Oz fucking hated when he missed a contingency, but the weather was one he hadn’t factored in. It was biting him in the ass now.

The wind picked up. Empty wrappers blew across the walkway.

He continued moving, taking in their options on both sides. Toy store. Tobacco shop. Nope. Phone store. They’d probably call the police if Oz walked in there dressed like a merc. Ice cream parlor.

Bingo.

“Come on, Pollita,” he said, taking her hand. “The skies are about to open up and I’d like to avoid getting soaked.”

They were nearly there when a powerful gust of wind whipped through the walkway between the buildings. It blew the synthetic strands from the wig into her face, and Ayla tried to push it out of the way as if it were her own hair.

She yanked the wig partially off her head. Fuck.