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Ayla felt the wig move and squeaked.

“Breathe, Pollita,” Oz said quietly. “They’re behind us. They can’t see what happened. Calmly, carefully, reach up and reseat the wig. Try to act as if you’re fixing your own hair after that gust.”

Her hands shook.

“I can’t do it for you. It’ll look too strange,” he said. When she continued to hesitate, he added, voice hard, “Take a deep breath and act like a Scorpio.”

She glowered. “I saw your face when I mentioned being a Scorpio. What do you even know about my sign?”

“I know it’s supposed to be badass.”

The trembling in her hands had her worried about touching the wig again. What if she made it worse?

“Do you want to help your sister, or should I take you back to the house?” Oz asked.

She thrust the box of cupcakes at him.

Trying to appear natural, she moved the wig back into place. “Is it straight?” she asked, glancing at him. If her tone was grudging, well, whatever. She was still pissed off at him.

“It’s good enough that no one is going to give you any weird looks.”

Ayla took a shuddery breath and gave him a warning. “Next time, don’t threaten to take me off the search for my sister to goad me.”

“Sorry,” he said, taking her hand, “but if we’re in a critical situation and you’re dithering like a damsel in distress, waiting for some knight in shining armor to save your ass, you can bet I’m going to use whatever it takes to get you to act.”

“I thought you were supposed to be my knight?”

“I’m trying my best, but in what world would it be normal for me to fix your hair?” He raised his eyebrows and waited.

She didn’t have an argument. He was right.

Standing like a mannequin while he adjusted the wig would look beyond odd.

Before she could think up some way to divert the conversation, it began to rain.

As soon as the first drops fell, Oz hustled her toward a shop.

No sooner did she step inside than a monsoon hit.

“Holy cow,” she said, watching the rain come down in sheets.

“Grab that table,” Oz said, pointing to the only empty spot in the ice cream parlor. He handed her the cupcakes again. “I’m going to get us a couple of cones.”

She didn’t want ice cream, but Ayla did as he said.

The parlor had a curved banquette in red, white, and black along the walls.

Small, round bistro tables with oval-backed chairs in a houndstooth pattern sat in front of the banquette.

Oz was going to want to watch the door, so she took the chair, setting the box down to her right.

The woman at the next table sat across from her grade-school-age son, and Ayla gave them a small smile as she settled in.

In other circumstances, she would have been charmed by the parlor.

The décor was old-time-Americana, and she could imagine having a date with Oz and coming here after dinner for ice cream.

Of course, if they were dating, he wouldn’t be a mercenary.

She wouldn’t be wearing a disguise, and most importantly, Russian mobsters wouldn’t be following them.

It didn’t take long before Oz came to the table with two cones. He handed her one. “I got you a small vanilla.”

He pulled a bunch of napkins out of a pocket on the thigh of his camo pants, set them in the middle of the table, and took a seat on the banquette.

The woman sitting there slid over, closer to the end, away from Oz, and Ayla had the sense that if it wasn’t pouring, she’d take her son, gather up her packages, and leave.

She checked out his cone. He’d gotten himself a much larger serving, and his ice cream was a near-gold color. “What flavor did you choose?” she asked and licked at a drip of vanilla.

“Lucuma.” He must have read her puzzled expression because Oz added, “It’s a fruit. Want some?” He held his cone toward her.

Curious, Ayla leaned over to take him up on the offer. After helping herself to a small bite, she said, “It sort of tastes like caramel and…sweet potatoes?”

“I’d say caramel and butterscotch, but yeah, I could see sweet potatoes.”

For a moment, it seemed normal. Ordinary.

Like that date, she imagined earlier. And then Ayla realized Oz only had part of his attention on her.

Most of his focus was on the door, on the room, on the people in the room.

It reminded her she was in danger, and it squashed the small burst of pleasure she’d felt.

“Your ice cream is dripping,” he pointed out.

Automatically, Ayla licked around the bottom of the scoop, catching the rivulets.

As Oz’s gaze scanned the parlor, she studied him.

He hadn’t shaved this morning and the stubble was thicker.

His damp hair hung loosely to his shoulders.

Because he’d allowed her to go inside first, she’d gotten a few drops, but he’d taken some full rain.

She sort of wished he didn’t have a long-sleeved shirt on because Oz in a wet T-shirt would definitely be worth the price of admission. She knew just how muscular he was beneath those clothes. Seven weeks ago, she’d spent hours exploring every inch of him.

The last thing she should think about was doing it again, but Ayla couldn’t help herself. It had been good with him. Better than good.

She wouldn’t mind a repeat.

Before she could push that idea out of her brain, Oz caught her staring. He didn’t call her on it, but his lips did curve.

It made him even better looking—as if he needed the help—and Ayla licked at her ice cream to give herself something to do.

She wanted to distract both of them with questions about how they’d search for Io, but she couldn’t, not when that other table was right next to theirs.

The woman and her son would hear everything, and she didn’t need Oz to tell her that was something to avoid.

Thinking of Io brought back her worry. Sitting here, doing nothing, increased her anxiety, but there was no other choice. Trying to walk in a torrential downpour would be foolish and they needed to lose the mobsters. But every minute spent not looking for her sister was a minute she was in danger.

“Are you okay, Pollita?”

Aware of the interest of the woman next to them, Ayla managed a smile and came up with a lie. “I was worrying about the car windows. Did we remember to close them?”

“I think so. If not, I’ll deal with it. You won’t have to sit on a wet seat, I promise.” He discreetly winked at her.

Ayla nodded. He knew she lied. He knew she was worrying about her sister. And he knew the waiting was getting to her. The wink was Oz’s way of sending her a message.

It also made something clear to her. While most of his attention was centered on the other people present, he was keenly aware of her.

Part of her was flustered by it, but something inside her warmed.

Something she didn’t realize was cold. She’d never been someone’s primary focus before. Not even her parents.

The feeling was fleeting. She told herself it was the situation because there was danger nearby. He was a mercenary for heaven’s sake. She didn’t know his last name, where he was from, or anything else about him.

Ayla understood all that. But it didn’t stop the warmth blossoming in her chest.

Oz didn’t see the Russians when they left the ice cream parlor, but just because he didn’t spot them didn’t mean they weren’t around.

The rain had stopped a few minutes ago, and the pavement was already drying. Tucking Ayla’s arm through his, he leaned down and said quietly, “We’re going to meet up with Baggs. He has the car.”

She nodded and Oz set a brisk pace. Once he was confident she had no problem keeping up, he began executing evasive maneuvers. Still no sign of Petrova’s men.

It was too convenient. He didn’t like it, but he could logic it out.

According to what Baggs overheard, they didn’t like their boss.

Their assignment had nothing to do with Oz or Ayla, and they were only following them because his Pollita’s actions were unusual enough to warrant some reconnaissance.

When the rains hit, they easily could have thought, fuck this shit, and gone back to their job when the skies cleared.

But if Oz turned out to be someone their boss was interested in, and Petrova found out his men gave up that easily, he’d be furious. Angering Petrova was as dangerous as aggravating Ivanov, the big boss.

Oz did another scan, but he didn’t spot anyone suspicious. Leaning over, he said softly, “Baggs followed the woman who came over to our table. That’s why he left earlier than us. When we meet up with him, he’ll fill us in on what he learned about her.”

Ayla came to full attention. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shot her a look. “Because you would have spoken loudly like you did just now, and the enemy was sitting a few tables away. That’s why.”

“Sorry.” She tempered her voice. “I didn’t think. He left a while after her. Do you think he was able to find her and follow her?”

“Probably. We’ll know for sure when we meet up with him.” Oz could nearly hear the questions rolling around in her head. “Not now. Ask everything once we’re in the car. I need to keep my attention on who’s around us. I don’t want to risk picking up the Russians again.”

Her hand tightened on his arm. “That’s why it’s taking us so long to reach the car. We’re not taking a direct route, are we?”

“Stop, Pollita. I told you. Hold on till we’re in the car.”

She huffed out a breath, and he nearly grinned. If only she’d hung around in Los Angeles and not cut out while he’d been in the shower, they could have spent a few more days together before he returned to Tampa. He would have liked that, and not only the sex part. Oz enjoyed her and her reactions.

He continued his circuitous route until he was confident the Russians really had broken off surveillance. Only then did Oz adjust course for the rendezvous point. The flunkies were gambling that he and Ayla were nobodies and that it wasn’t worth the trouble of following them.

That was a choice.

Not one Oz would make, but then his risk aversion was stronger. Contingencies to his contingencies.

Baggs leaned against the fender of the sedan.

When he spotted them, he straightened, rounded the front end of the car, and got behind the wheel.

As Oz opened the back door for Ayla, his teammate cranked the ignition.

When she was settled, he closed the door, got in the front passenger seat, and fastened his seat belt.

The car pulled away from the curb and edged into traffic before Ayla lost patience. She did better than Oz expected.

“Well?” she demanded.

“Well, what?” Baggs asked.

“I told her you were following the woman from the café,” Oz explained. “What did you learn?” Ayla leaned as far forward as her seat belt would allow and Oz had to hide a smile. The urge to grin didn’t last long.

“I didn’t learn a damn thing,” Baggs growled. “She made me and lost me in minutes. Minutes. ”