Page 16 of Edge of Danger

He looked over at a block-long series of boarded up storefronts. So this was Dharwani’s home base, eh? Good to know. He filed the tidbit for his next, and last, report.

He stepped off the crumbling curb and Piper did the same beside him. Instantly, a pair of heavily armed men stepped out of the shadows on the other side of the boulevard, a silent challenge. There would be more where those two came from.

“Three paces behind me,” he hissed.

She dropped back immediately. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure her eyes were appropriately lowered. Surprisingly enough, they were. Now, if she could just behave herself through the rest of this outing, maybe they’d both get out of it alive.

A bloody big ‘if’ to hang his neck on.

4

The small of Piper’s back still tingled from where McCloud’s hand had briefly come to rest on it as they were shown into Dharwani’s house and introduced themselves.His wife. The notion was titillating.

She wondered idly if he had a real wife back home. She seriously doubted it given the way he’d fallen into the sack with her. That and the way he’d stumbled a little over calling her Mrs. McCloud. The guy’d looked shell-shocked to hear the words coming out of his mouth. She would’ve ribbed him about it if it wouldn’t have blown their cover.

It wasn’t as if she was ever going to marry. She was all about the job. About establishing her credentials and playing with the big boys. Proving she could do the same work as the men and do it just as well, if not better. Her boss had finally given her a legit field op. It even had the sex and danger. Now all she needed were drugs and rock-and-roll, and she would have it all.

She shook her head. Guys like McCloud were trouble. She knew the score. They would float in and out of women’s lives without a backward glance. But then, that was her M.O., too. The two of them were perfect for each other.

Piper stared at the long, food-laden table in Dharwani’s dining room, surprised. Huh. This was going to be a celebratory feast? A thank-you for saving his niece?

Huh. Who’d have guessed there was any honor left in this shell of a failed civilization? Still, she kept her guard up as she was politely seated with the women, down the table a ways from Ian, and served a heaping plate of exotic North African fare.

Where did Dharwani get all of this bounty? More accurately, where did a local thug get the wealth to fund such opulence? His little strip of Khartoum real estate, comprised of a few dozen struggling family-owned businesses, couldn’t possibly be netting him this kind of cash.

Hmm. What else could Dharwani be dealing in? Information? Terrorists for hire? Wasthisthe guy the PHP representatives were in Khartoum to meet…and maybe pay for some service?

She’d spotted one of the PHP leaders in a hotel lobby in the respectable part of town a week ago but had been forced to duck out of sight lest she be spotted, herself. By the time she’d dared risk peeking out of her hiding spot, the PHP man had been gone.

It had been exhausting and frustrating trying to do the surveillance by herself, but it wasn’t like she knew anyone trustworthy to invite to help her. She had briefly considered asking Ian to spell her and let her get one decent night’s sleep, but that would involve telling him far too much about her mission. So, she’d suffered in solitude. But now, excitement filled her at possibly stumbling into success, after all.

She risked looking at Ian, seated next to their host—lucky dog. He and Dharwani conversed easily. The two men appeared to have recognized a fellow warrior in one other and bonded instantly. It was infuriating.

Shewas the one who’d dived in front of that religious cop to save Dharwani’s niece, a gangly teen named Halma who seemed shaken after the day’s attack.

Piper had tried to talk to Halma at the women’s end of the dining table, but the girl threw suspicious looks at her, mumbled something about it being unclean to speak with infidels, and turned away almost immediately.

Piper couldn’t exactly identify herself as the soldier who had rescued the girl. Apparently, Dharwani thought that had been Ian. And Ian was happy to let the man think so. Chauvinist jerks. Both of them.

Left to muddle along with the women, she endured stories of childbirth and chickenpox while Ian got to talk politics and religion and power struggles with a warlord. The men’s conversation tickled at the edge of her hearing, offering her just enough snippets to tantalize her, but not enough to glean anything meaningful. It wasn’t fair, dammit!

Ian caught her gaze and smirked at her from his place of honor.

Her gaze narrowed in promise of retribution until she abruptly remembered her ‘place’ in this little charade and looked down hastily. She stared down at her clenched fists until she regained her composure, and then she smiled apologetically across the table at her hostess.

For an instant, sympathetic understanding shone in the older woman’s eyes. Yup, having to put up with men’s arrogance was a universal burden of women everywhere.

Her hostess, introduced to her as Fatima Dharwani, leaned across the table. Piper had yet to figure out if she was Dharwani’s wife or mother, but either way, the woman clearly reigned supreme among the other females of the house, who seemed to be a collection of near and distant relatives and servants.

Fatima glanced toward the men, lowered her voice, and asked in halting English, “You know girls? Girls to south?”

Piper was surprised enough at the woman’s attempt at English that she almost missed the question itself. “Girls? To the south?”

The matriarch nodded. “The Black One…buy sick girls. He make them in…how you say…lorry…away they go. No one see again. No come back.”

“Lorry? You mean a truck? How many girls?”

“Yes, yes.Vroooom. Truck.

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