Читать книгу Tempest Court - Jan Walters - Страница 8

Chapter 2

Brett froze and slowly turned, his hand instinctively reaching for his nonexistent gun. The man with the beard stood, waiting. His dark eyes stared at Brett—looking for a reaction, an emotion.

What did he mean that they couldn’t let them leave? Why not? Brett was pissed that the bearded stranger could speak English and had hidden that fact. Why hide it?

“Please,” the bearded man bowed, “we wish you no harm. We only want to share a unique treasure with you—something that you and your lady friend will love.”

With Omar standing in front of the door, there was no quick escape. He couldn’t overpower five men without a weapon. Plus, he had Lisa to worry about.

Once seated, the bearded man spoke. “I am Hassan. Omar is my nephew. Since he is familiar with your ways and language, he helps me. I deal with antiquities. I recently acquired an exceptional item, which I believe you Americans will appreciate.”

Brett’s head throbbed from the stress. “We’re not into antiques.”

Lisa squeezed Brett’s hand. “I’d kind of like to see what Hassan has, but it’s up to you.”

Lisa’s expectant gaze met his. Damn! How could she not sense his anxiety about this place?

“Fine,” Brett growled.

Hassan smiled before turning toward one of the men and barking orders in Arabic. A man brought in a worn leather satchel and put it in front of Hassan. After opening the bag, Hassan set several pieces of jewelry on a rug in front of Lisa.

Lisa glanced at Hassan and grinned. “Wow. How old are these pieces?”

“Nearly three hundred years old. Do you see anything you like?”

Lisa picked up a lapis necklace, studying it. “It’s nice, but do you have other items for sale?”

Brett glanced at Lisa in disbelief. What was she doing? They were supposed to be getting out of here, not bartering with them.

Hassan clapped his hands, and another man brought out a large hand-woven rug, stretching it out on the floor beside them. “This rug is very, very old. A woman in each Arabic tribe works her entire life, making one rug. The rug tells a story. If you start at the top and work your way down the tassels, it is a story of her tribe.”

Lisa’s face lit up. “I can’t believe it would take a woman her entire life to make one rug. This is priceless. Why would anyone want to sell their family heritage?”

Hassan shook his head. “It is the way of the world. People need money to feed and clothe their family.”

“There’s no way I can afford such a rug.” Lisa glanced at Brett.

He knew that look. Lisa wanted the rug. “How much?”

Hassan scratched his beard, looking at the rug and then at Brett. “For you, only $2,500.”

Brett choked back laughter. If they thought he was going to pay that much money for a dirty old rug, they were crazy.

Hassan’s eyes narrowed. “I’m curious. Where are you from in America? I don’t recognize the accent.”

“We’re from Iowa,” Lisa blurted out. “Do you know where that is?”

Hassan’s dark eyes glinted dangerously. “Iowa. Yes, I am familiar with it.”

“You’ve been there?” Brett asked, sarcasm lacing his voice.

“Perhaps one day. I have friends in Des Moines. They tell me about the wonders of your state. The beautiful farms.”

Brett forced his fingers to unclench. What is this guy smoking? He knew a scam when he saw one. Hassan’s shuddered gaze was difficult to read.

“If that’s all you got, we’d better go. It’s getting late.”

Lisa sighed as she dug her fingers through the vibrantly colored rug. Brett rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to pay thousands of dollars for a used carpet. He’d make a low-ball offer. Once they refused, they could get out of here.

“Three hundred dollars is the best I can do.”

Lisa jabbed him in the side with her elbow. “Oomph,” he groaned.

Hassan’s lips tightened. Maybe he was insulted by Brett’s offer. That was okay with Brett. He wanted an excuse to leave.

One of the men near Hassan murmured something. Hassan held up his hand, making a slicing motion in the air.

“Since your woman wants the rug, I will accept your offer.” His dark eyes pierced Brett.

Shit! Why would Hassan accept such a low price for the rug? Maybe it isn’t handmade as he said. It could be a dirty manufactured rug. Brett chewed his lower lip in frustration. He probably just got screwed.

“I thought you wanted jewelry.”

Lisa sighed. “I thought I did but when I learned the story of the rug, I knew we’d never have this opportunity again.”

“Fine. I want to make sure you get what you want.”

Lisa threw her arms around Brett’s neck and squeezed. “I can’t believe it. We have a Moroccan rug.”

Brett rose and started to pull out his wallet. “Wait. There’s no way that this size of rug will fit in our luggage.”

“No problem. We will wrap it and ship it to your address.” Hassan’s dark eyes narrowed.

“Ship it?”

Hassan nodded. “Of course. We ship items for tourists all the time.”

“That will be fine,” Lisa added. “Now we won’t have to worry about lugging it on the plane.”

Out of excuses, Brett opened his wallet and counted out the money. Omar took the money and handed it to Hassan. One of the bearded men quickly folded the rug and took it to another room.

Omar wrote up a receipt and handed it to Brett. “Our contact information is listed. You can expect the package in a few weeks. Since it is dark, I will walk you back to the riad, I mean hotel.”

Brett followed Lisa to the door. They quickly made their way through the dark narrow alleyways. The smell of cigarette smoke and food filled the air. Curious eyes followed their movement as they passed the shuttered souks.

Omar and Lisa walked ahead of Brett. A thudding sound drew his attention; he froze, listening. His gaze darted to the nearby entryways, which provided ample opportunity for someone to hide. His eyes strained, peering into the night. Again, he wished he had his gun.

Omar’s voice suddenly hissed in his ear. “Sir, we must not linger here. Please stay close.”

With a long sigh, Brett nodded. Upon reaching their hotel, Omar bowed and shook Brett’s hand. “Thank you. May you have a safe journey back to America.” Without waiting for a response, Omar turned and disappeared in the shadows.

Once in their room, Brett checked the locks on the door. He slid the deadbolt into position.

Lisa plopped on the bed, looking up at him. “So are you pleased with our purchase?”

Brett leaned against the solid wood door with folded arms. “Hell, I think we’re lucky we weren’t mugged or kidnapped.”

Lisa kicked off her shoes. “Sweetie, you need to lighten up. I get that you’re a cop, but bad guys don’t lurk around every corner. Besides, Omar got us back here with no problems.”

“You’re going to give me a heart attack.” He paced in front of the bed, waving his arms. “You…you can’t just take off down deserted alleys like that. Didn’t Hassan’s behavior make you suspicious?”

“Hassan? No, but those other men made me nervous the way they stared at us.”

“See? I told you something weird was going on.”

Lisa sighed. “I’m sorry. I know I can be impulsive, but at least we have a real Moroccan rug.”

Brett wagged a finger at Lisa. “Didn’t you think it strange that they practically gave us the rug?”

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting? They liked us and wanted to give us a deal. That’s it. Nothing more.”

Brett’s head throbbed. “Why were they so curious where we lived? Why would anyone in Morocco care that we’re from Iowa?”

Lisa’s cool hand covered his cheek. In a soft voice, she answered, “Let it go. Nothing happened.” She tilted her head, studying him. “You’re edgy. Maybe a little romance will help. Let’s get to bed. Tomorrow will be a long travel day.”

He wasn’t going to win this debate. Maybe Lisa had a point. He was so used to seeing danger at every corner. He might have misread the situation.

“Go take your shower first. I’ll sit here and calm down for a few minutes and then I’ll join you.”

As she showered, he made his way over to the window overlooking the courtyard. Olive and date trees dotted the ground below. Lightning cracked through the dark rolling clouds above.

He started to turn away when the glow of a cigarette caught his eye. He pressed closer to the glass. The cigarette was tossed to the ground. Was someone watching their room?

He glanced at the bathroom door. Water in the shower was still running. He could run downstairs and check the courtyard before Lisa was out of the bathroom. Grabbing his room key, he slipped down the stairs.

Brett unlocked the French doors that led to the courtyard and crept into the night. The murmurs of other guests filtered through open windows. He edged along the outside wall, ignoring the pounding of his heart.

The sudden slamming of exterior door to the courtyard made Brett jerk, and he took off running to the exit. He flung open the wood and metal door, looking left and then right. Nothing. Whoever had been there had disappeared.

They must have seen him coming and ran away. Shit! He couldn’t go running around the city at this time of night. Slamming the door, he hurried back to the room.

He quietly opened the door to their room and jumped as Lisa’s voice broke the silence.

“Where did you go?” Her blue eyes crackled with fire.

Brett wiped the sweat from his brow. “I just took a walk outside in the courtyard.”

With folded arms, she glared at him. “I know you, Brett O’Shea. What were you doing?”

He took a deep breath. “I thought I saw someone looking up at our room.”

“Brett,” she muttered, “there’s not a bad guy behind every corner. You need to chill. We’re up in six hours to catch our flight home.”

By the time he was ready for bed, Lisa was sound asleep. He walked to the window and took one more glance. The courtyard was empty. Regardless of what Lisa said, he knew bad guys could indeed hide behind every corner, every tree, and even under the bed. Maybe he was a little paranoid but then figured it was better to be safe than sorry.

After rechecking the locks on the door, he climbed into bed. The sooner he was back home, the better he’d feel. His vacation had been great until today. He wished there was time to go back to Hassan and get a refund. Not that he could even find the place again. He didn’t want the damn rug. Call him superstitious, but there was something odd about Hassan. If he was lucky, he could talk Lisa into giving it away or donating it to some charity. Somehow, he had to figure out a way to make the rug disappear.