Page 58 of Protecting You

She stayed at his side. “I’ll wait.”

Of course she would.

He stepped inside and closed the door, then took a quick look around. No thugs were hiding under the bed.

Callan found both his suitcase and Alyssa’s in the closet, empty. Someone had unpacked their things. Ghazi and his people were playing off searching their belongingsas if it were an act of hospitality.

He left his leather laptop bag on his bed, easily spied from the hallway, hoping that would indicate that he had nothing to hide. He could squirrel it away somewhere, but if they wanted to find it, they would. And hiding it would only raise suspicions.

He used the bathroom, combed his hair, and washed his face, taking his time and hoping Molly would tire of waiting for him. But five minutes later when he opened the door, the pretend housekeeper pushed off the wall.

“This way.”

“I could probably find it by myself.”

She didn’t bother to respond.

The glassed-in sunroom must have been added onto the original property. Wicker furniture with floral upholstery filled the space, along with potted plants overflowing with vines and flowers. Beyond the windows, the garden sparkled in the twilight beneath strings of café lighting that fanned out from the sunroom to surrounding trees.

Low classical music played over speakers installed overhead. The room held a floral scent that mingled with a hint of rain, the perfect springtime fragrance, courtesy of a scented candle flickering on a side table.

Like everything else in this house, the veneer was just thick enough to prove more lay beneath.

A metal-and-glass cart held a decanter of red wine and a bottle of white, along with various liquors. On the far side, a round café table was set for two. A pair of cream-colored pillar candles had been lit.

It would be romantic, if any of it were real.

But at least this meant he and Alyssa would be given privacy. Or theappearanceof privacy.

“What would you like to drink?” Molly asked.

“Red wine.” Which he didn’t care for, but he was playing along.

She poured him a glass, and he sipped it, then smiled. “I think I’m supposed to swirl it and sniff it or something, right?”

Her lips twitched at the corners, though she didn’t give in to the smile. “I won’t tell. Is it all right?”

“Tastes good to me. I can’t tell French from boxed, though, so…” He’d never been a big fan of alcoholic grape juice.

“Your fiancée should be down in a minute.” She gestured to a charcuterie board on a side table. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks.”

After Molly left, Callan grabbed a cracker and a slice of cheese, then perused the room as if fascinated by the plants and decorations. His search for cameras and microphones turned up nothing, though that didn’t mean they weren’t there. He had to be careful not to give away that he suspected their so-called private dinner was being surveilled.

He’d eaten a handful of olives, at least as many grapes, and half of the cheese and crackers by the time Alyssa stepped into the room.

She’d pulled her hair out of its ponytail, and it fanned around her shoulders and halfway down her back. If he wasn’t mistaken, she’d freshened up her makeup. Not for him, he was sure, but to sell the story.

Story or not, she was gorgeous.

Molly poured her a glass of white wine.

Alyssa took it, swirled it, smelled it, and sipped.

Molly gave Callan a furtive look, and he winked, enjoying the private joke. Or wanting her to think so, anyway.

“Excellent. Thank you.” Alyssa gave a dismissive nod.

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