He’d waited five minutes, then followed the dirt road past the lone house on the corner, the only one before the woods began to close in on both sides of the road. Then came a clearing, and several hundred feet down on the right sat this little house. From the edge of the woods he could see that the lights were on, and as he drove by-without slowing, without even looking just in case she happened to glance out the window-he saw her shiny black Lexus there in the drive. He kept going until he came to a second clearing, then pulled off the road. He sat for a few minutes, debating what to do. He was tired-after all, he’d been a very busy man today. But this was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up. Lucky for him, he still had all his equipment in the trunk.
He got out of the car and walked down the road, taking care to stick to the woods, in the event another car should come by. He looked overhead and made a wish on the first star he saw winking down at him.
Another good sign, he thought to himself. I guess this was meant to be.
He paused at the spot where the woods ended and he studied the house. Surely the doors would all be locked, and the windows on the first floor as well. He’d just have to find another way in. He kept to the deepest shadows and stood parallel to the porch. He could see her moving about in the kitchen, so he sat on a tree stump for a while, just watching her. After about twenty minutes, she disappeared, and moments later, he saw the lights on the second floor go on.
Ah, her bedroom, he thought, and licked his lips. He continued to stare, but she didn’t reappear.
He walked back to the car and opened the trunk, and took out a small bag. After checking its contents, he walked back to the house and went through the shadows directly to the basement window.
This would be the best place, he told himself, noting that her car was parked in such a way that even if someone were to drive past, even if they could see through the leafy hydrangea, he’d still be hidden from view.
Perfect.
And there’d be no better place to keep her for a few days, he was thinking, except that she’d be missed and someone would come looking for her. Damn. He’d have loved to play house here for a while.
For once, the water pressure in the shower was fairly decent, and Mia turned it to the maximum setting. She’d have to remember to mention the inconsistent pressure to Connor the next time they spoke. He might want to look into that. Of course, for him, it might not be an issue. For her, having the pressure dip while she had a head full of shampoo was pretty annoying.
She finished rinsing, turned off the water, and stepped out of the shower. She towel dried her hair, then dried off the rest of her. She wrapped up in her favorite robe, then turned on the hair dryer. Sitting on the edge of the small stool, she turned her head upside down and brushed her hair until it was almost dry. When she finished, she turned off the dryer and went into the bedroom. She’d gone three steps when she heard the footfalls on the steps.
She froze where she stood. Her gun was in her bag, on the opposite side of the room. She’d never make it in time.
“Mia?” A voice called from the top of the stairs.
“Damn you!” she shrieked. “Damn it, Connor, that’s the second time you did that to me. Would you please announce yourself before you come up the steps all stealthy-like and scare the living shit out of me!”
“I called to you a couple of times,” he told her from the other side of the door, “but I guess you didn’t hear me. I was halfway up the steps when you turned the dryer off.”
“Well, go on back down, give me a minute to get dressed.”
“Hey, I’m sorry. Really.” She heard him retreat, taking the steps two at a time. “I’ll be in the kitchen, making dinner. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”
“Not really. But it had better be a pretty damned fine dinner to make up for the scare you just gave me.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“And Connor…”
“Yeah?”
“We have this new invention here. You’ve been out of the country, so you may have missed it. We use it to communicate with other people.” She opened the door and yelled, “It’s called a telephone.”
She dressed quickly in a short-sleeved sweatshirt and a pair of cut-off jeans and looked under the bed for a pair of flip flops.
“There’s some cream cheese and pepper jam and crackers there on the counter.” He was at the sink with his back to her when she came downstairs. “And I poured us each a glass of wine.”
“Thanks.” She gave him a quick hug from behind. “I am happy to see you, but you have to stop doing that.”
He laughed. “I swear, I didn’t intend to sneak up on you. Believe me, if I had…”
“Yeah, I know. I wouldn’t have heard you until you were standing right behind me.” She grabbed the wineglass and raised the glass to her lips, then sat it quietly on the counter. She opened the refrigerator, noted the supply of food he must have brought with him, and took out a bottle of club soda.
“What are you making?” she asked as she got another glass and filled it with ice and soda.
“Just something simple.” He smiled, looking more relaxed than she’d seen in a while. “Salmon, roasted red potatoes, carrots and zucchini. Some fresh figs for dessert.”
“That’s your idea of a simple dinner? It’s way more than I make for myself.”
“That’s because you can go out and get a great meal whenever you want one. These days, I have to come back to the Chesapeake or go to Essaouria for great fish.”
“I don’t even know where that is.”
“Essaouria? It’s a city on the coast of Morocco.” He checked the oven’s temperature and unwrapped the fish. “There’s a hotel in an old villa there owned by some friends of mine. It’s where I stop when I’m on my way…here and there. They have a chef there who ranks with the best in the world.”
“Then why isn’t he in Paris, or London? Or New York? Some place people have heard of.”
Connor laughed again and juggled three lemons playfully. “He loves the city, loves Morocco, loves the villa. Everyone who goes there loves it. It’s beautiful, it’s peaceful, and yet it still has that hint of danger that you expect to find in Morocco.”
“I’ll put it on my list of places to visit.”
“Let me know when you decide to go and I’ll meet you there.” He lined the lemons up on the counter and started to chop up garlic.
“You go there a lot?” She scooped up some pepper jam and cream cheese with a cracker.
“As often as I can.”
She finished off the cracker, chewed, swallowed, then asked, “So who is she?”
“Who is who?”
“The girl you keep going back to Essau…what was it?”
“Essaouria.” He smiled over his shoulder.
“So who’s the girl? Who do you go there to see?”
“Like I said, I have friends who own the villa and…” He shrugged.
“Don’t be evasive. I know when you’re conning me.” She smiled and added, “Pun intended.”
He made himself busy, concentrating on the task at hand, chopping green onions and garlic and opening the jar of chutney.
“There’s no one.”
“How come?”
“No time these days.” He continued chopping, his eyes on the onions as if they held the secret of life. He stopped after a few moments, took a sip of his wine and said, “There is one woman…”
“Aha! I knew it!”
“I barely know her. I met her once-the last time I was there, at the villa. She’s American. An archaeologist.”
“And…” Mia urged him on.
“And I don’t know much else about her.”