Tempest Court. Jan Walters

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      “Thanks for the offer, but it’s getting late. We need to head back to the hotel.” Brett snagged Lisa’s hand and took a step forward.

      The guide looked crestfallen; his head was hanging down with his dark black hair falling over one eye. In a low singsong voice, he murmured, “Sir, I tell you now that no harm will come to you while in my care. I will take you to your hotel. No worries.”

      Why was this guy so insistent? Brett’s survival instincts went on high alert. With a shake of his head, Brett wrapped his arm around Lisa’s shoulder, nudging her forward. “Thanks…”

      “Omar. My name is Omar.”

      “Thanks, Omar. We’re going to pass.” Brett glowered down at Omar, making his six-foot-four frame as intimidating as possible.

      Omar reached out, putting his hand on Brett’s arm. “Sir, please. I have the best things to show you.”

      A strange look filled the young man’s eyes. Brett’s gut told him this guy was a con man. There was no way he was going to fall for some scam.

      “Please, Brett, just a few minutes. Omar will make sure we get to the hotel. Isn’t that right, Omar?” Lisa’s hand brushed Brett’s cheek.

      Omar vigorously nodded.

      Brett inwardly groaned. Glancing at the ground, Brett clenched his hands. He felt guilty for wanting to go back to the hotel. Was he imagining things? Brett rubbed a hand over his face. Bottom line, he didn’t want to disappoint Lisa. Marrakesh and the medina were on the top of Lisa’s tourist things to do, as this was the most likely place to buy antique jewelry.

      “Fine,” he snapped, “we’ll go for a few minutes. I hope we’re not going far, Omar.” Brett glared at him, hoping he’d get the hint.

      After flashing a weak smile, Omar gave a slight nod and hurried down the dark passageway, motioning for them to hurry. Lisa patted Brett’s back.

      “Everything will be fine,” she whispered. “Not everyone has a hidden agenda.”

      Brett grunted. For a TV reporter, Lisa was unusually optimistic, while he saw a criminal behind every shadow. If Lisa had been chased, shot at, dodging flying pitchforks, and locked in a cave, she might feel the way he did.

      The two-story buildings blocked the light from the setting sun. Damn, damn, he silently cursed. Why had he agreed to this?

      Omar promptly stopped and pulled open a weathered wooden-arched door. He pointed inside. “This way.”

      Before Brett could object, Lisa disappeared behind the door. He immediately followed, grabbing her hand. If they had to leave quickly, he wanted her near him. Omar shut the door behind them and locked it. Brett’s brow drew together. What is going on?

      Following Omar, they entered a room where four men dressed in traditional garb sat on floor pillows. Their dark eyes studied Lisa with her curly blond hair and T-shirt. A man with a dark beard muttered something in Arabic to Omar, who nodded. Bastards! Are they talking about Lisa?

      Brett stepped backward, slowly edging toward the door. A mirror on the wall reflected his raging emotions. His green eyes darted back and forth. Sweat from the sun had plastered his thick brown hair to his forehead. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. His lips were clamped together in a tight line.

      A woman quietly entered the room, bringing several cups and a teapot. Brett tensed. What is in the pot? After setting the pot in front of the man with the beard, the woman hurried from the room.

      Omar turned toward Brett. “Please sit. We will drink together.”

      Lisa sat down and glanced toward the serving tray. “Is that mint tea?”

      Omar smiled. “You are familiar with our traditional drink?”

      “Oh yes. I’ve had it several times. It’s wonderful.”

      Lisa tugged on Brett’s hand, trying to get him to sit down. The situation was getting better by the second. They would probably be poisoned and buried in the desert. No one would ever know what happened to them.

      Omar poured the tea and set the steaming cups in front of them. The man with the beard nodded, and Omar served him tea as well. The other three men sat quietly, never taking their eyes off Brett. He tensed. Something was going on that he didn’t understand, and he’d had enough.

      “Omar, tell the men thanks for the tea, but we have to leave.” Brett reached down to pull Lisa to her feet.

      “Brett,” Lisa murmured, “we can’t be rude and just leave.”

      Meeting her gaze, he leaned down and whispered, “Watch me. We’re leaving now.”

      Lisa stiffened. “What’s wrong with you? You’re acting crazy.”

      In a low voice, he pleaded, “C’mon, Lisa. This is a scam. There’s nothing—”

      A deep voice rang out behind Brett.

      “I’m afraid I cannot let you leave quite yet.”

      Chapter 2

      Brett froze and slowly turned, his hand instinctively reaching for his nonexistent gun. The man with the beard stood, waiting. His dark eyes stared at Brett—looking for a reaction, an emotion.

      What did he mean that they couldn’t let them leave? Why not? Brett was pissed that the bearded stranger could speak English and had hidden that fact. Why hide it?

      “Please,” the bearded man bowed, “we wish you no harm. We only want to share a unique treasure with you—something that you and your lady friend will love.”

      With Omar standing in front of the door, there was no quick escape. He couldn’t overpower five men without a weapon. Plus, he had Lisa to worry about.

      Once seated, the bearded man spoke. “I am Hassan. Omar is my nephew. Since he is familiar with your ways and language, he helps me. I deal with antiquities. I recently acquired an exceptional item, which I believe you Americans will appreciate.”

      Brett’s head throbbed from the stress. “We’re not into antiques.”

      Lisa squeezed Brett’s hand. “I’d kind of like to see what Hassan has, but it’s up to you.”

      Lisa’s expectant gaze met his. Damn! How could she not sense his anxiety about this place?

      “Fine,” Brett growled.

      Hassan smiled before turning toward one of the men and barking orders in Arabic. A man brought in a worn leather satchel and put it in front of Hassan. After opening the bag, Hassan set several pieces of jewelry on a rug in front of Lisa.

      Lisa glanced at Hassan and grinned. “Wow. How old are these pieces?”

      “Nearly three hundred years old. Do you see anything you like?”

      Lisa picked up a lapis necklace, studying it. “It’s nice, СКАЧАТЬ