Page 60 of Protecting You

It had been a gift.

Dariush Ghazi, at least twenty years younger, looked both casual and content.

They were seated at an outdoor café. The buildings on the far side of the road behind them were a stark contrast to the bright blue sky overhead. Based on the shape and design of the buildings, the dusty landscape, and the people in the background—many of whom wore thobes and hijabs—the photo had been taken somewhere in the Middle East, probably Iraq, since Ghazi had grown up there.

Cursing his lack of a camera, Callan committed the image to memory.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs down the hall.

Callan flicked off the light, crouched low, and slipped out of the room.

Two men reached the top of the staircase just as Callan made it to his own bedroom door. He slid inside, rounded the bed in the dark space, and entered the bathroom, where he flushed the toilet.

Just to be on the safe side.

Then washed his hands, taking his time. Hoping the men would move along.

He returned to the hallway and closed the door behind him, then turned toward the stairs.

And froze. “Oh, hey. You startled me.”

The men were standing ten feet away. They each wore casual clothes, one significantly taller than the other. It was too hard to tell their age in the dim light.

Had they seen him creep into his bedroom? Did they know he’d been snooping?

If so, he was in for a world of hurt. Literally.

He doubted it, though. If they’d seen him, they wouldn’t have waited politely in the hall outside his room before confronting him.

“What are you doing up here?” The shorter of the two spoke, his voice low—a warning tone. And also…low in volume, as if he feared Callan’s getting caught even more than Callan did.

“Uh, Alyssa went to the bathroom, so I figured I would, too, since we’re still waiting on dinner.”

“You are not to wander around unaccompanied.”

The other man whispered in Arabic, though loudly enough for Callan to hear and translate.

“He lies.”

Callan did his best to look confused. “Sorry, guys. I’m not used to needing an escort everywhere I go. Your boss is wicked paranoid.”

The shorter man spoke to the taller, again in Arabic.

“Take him.”

Looking between them, Callan said, “What is that? Farsi? I used to have a friend?—”

“Now.”

The taller one moved forward, and Callan braced himself. Though there was nothing he could do. If this guy decided to hurt him, he’d have to take it.

Computer hardware salesmen weren’t known for being adept at self-defense, and he didn’t want to blow his cover.

“Look, I didn’t mean to cause trouble.” He lifted his hands and backed up. “I’m just trying to?—”

“Silence.” The tall one grabbed his arm and tugged. “Try to shut up for two minutes.”

The shorter man continued up to the third floor as the taller one practically dragged Callan downstairs.

---