Page 27 of Out of Control

DRAGO RANfull out toward the beach for approximately thirty seconds—all the time he figured he had before Spencer started looking for him. Slowing to a walk, he sidled next to a couple heading down toward the water at a leisurely stroll. On this warm Saturday night, the beach was crowded, even at this late hour. It looked to be mostly people under the influence vacating the bars as they shut down, but they would serve his purposes just fine. He could blend in with a bunch of drunks as easily as he could a bunch of sober people. To that end, he stripped off his dark shirt to reveal the white T-shirt beneath. He scooped up a crushed baseball cap half buried in the sand and shook it out, then jammed it backward on his head. Anything to change his profile.

He strode up to a group of six young men laughing and joking in Hebrew, and joined in, offering to buy a round for them all if they could find a bar still open. To that end, the crew staggered north along the beach with him in their midst. He glanced back and spotted Spencer bursting onto the beach, looking up and down it in both directions.

He felt bad for ditching him, but if Spencer wouldn’t help him, there was no way he was letting Spencer haul him in so he could get locked up.

Two of the guys in the group started horsing around, and it quickly escalated into a wrestling match to see who could throw whom into the Mediterranean. He had no choice but to join in. He stayed mostly out of the surf so if he had to move fast, his shoes wouldn’t be waterlogged and heavy enough to slow him down. But he threw handfuls of sand at guys and neatly slipped drunken tackles when a couple of guys tried to ambush him and carry him down to the water’s edge.

Between dodging drunks trying to snag him and carry him down to the surf, he kept a nervous eye out for a distinctively fit physique and handsome features silhouetted against the pale sand.

And that was why he saw the two men approach Spencer. Neither guy was huge, but both were brawny enough to send up alarm bells in Drago’s head. One of the guys stumbled a little, as if he’d had a few drinks too many and was struggling with his balance. But something was definitely off about the pair.

Drago stopped goofing around and stilled, watching the exchange between Spencer and the men. Spencer’s body language indicated that he recognized the men.

An arm snaked around Drago’s waist, and he absently gave the attached hand a vicious twist without taking his stare off of Spencer and the two strangers.

A slurred voice behind him whined, “Jeez, man. No need to rip my arm off. We’re just having fun.”

He didn’t bother to respond. The alarm bells in his head were getting louder by the second. If those two were soldiers—and how could they not be, the way they held their bodies?—Spencer could be in real danger.

Spencer took a subtle step back. Only a few inches. Nothing that would be noticeable to anyone he was talking with. Another mini slide backward disguised as a casual shifting of weight.

Not good.

The drunk stumbled closer to Spencer, closing all the distance Spencer had put between them. Spencer’s body language became even tenser.

Now was the moment for Drago to turn and make his own getaway. Spencer’s attention was completely focused on the men before him. Hell, he could lead a marching band past the trio right now, and none of them would notice him. He could leave the beach, get caught up in the tangle of resorts and bars and tourists—Spencer would never reacquire him. He could be out of the country in an hour. If he could call in a favor from a private pilot he knew locally, he could be out of the Middle East altogether in only a few more hours.

He really should go. Now.

Just a few more seconds more, to make sure Spencer had things under control.

Run, you moron.While Spencer’s not looking.

His feet didn’t budge.

The two men speaking to Spencer were getting agitated. Drago was too far away to hear over the Mediterranean, but it looked as if they were yelling at Spencer now. For his part, Spencer seemed to be keeping his cool.

Turn around. Walk away. Not my circus.

He didn’t move. Like the night the missile hit the compound, his compulsion was to runtowardSpencer—not away from danger.

Oh shit. Spencer’s entire body had just relaxed. Drago watched in growing horror as he shifted stance. His hands came up subtly.

Spencer was readying for a fight.

The guy to Spencer’s right was bristling, his posture aggressive. The dude was definitely working himself up to jumping Spencer. A couple of garden-variety drunks would be an easy take-down. One-on-one, his money was on Spencer to take out pretty much anyone.

But then the first guy slid to the side, flanking Spencer, and also assumed a posture of aggressive readiness. One person against a pair of big, fit guys who appeared to know actual battle tactics? That didn’t bode so well for Spencer.

The alarm bells in Drago’s head had become an entire fire station of screaming sirens.

Danger, Will Robinson. Danger!

An overpowering urge to race back to Spencer, to even the odds and cover his back, stopped Drago from following after the Jewish kids he’d used for cover as they started to wander away toward the nearest all-night bar.

Go. Now. You. Fool.

He was free. Spencer was completely occupied and had no idea where he was. Drago could slip away into the vastness of Tel Aviv and the world beyond it without a trace. Spencer would never find him. He had all the money, resources, and contacts he needed to go to ground. He could stay lost for the rest of his life.

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