No Rules(48)

“Something that made no sense, but maybe it was not meant for me after all, eh? Maybe it was meant for you. He said I should cancel his order, that unfortunately he found a small shop with better merchandise that had what he needed, and he was going home. His exact words. Of course, there was no order. He is my friend from years ago, not a customer for my daughter’s pottery and baskets. So I assumed that merchandise referred to the information I supply.”

“Perhaps.” Donovan’s eyes met hers, a knowing look that confirmed her own thoughts—the merchandise Wally had found was more likely a vase. An old one, better because it held the key to where the hostages were being held.

“That’s all he said?” she asked.

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

So was she. It was nothing more than they’d already known. No clue as to what kind of vase, where it was, what it meant about the two hostages whose lives hung in the balance.

“Do you know of any other shops he might have meant?” Donovan asked.

Hakim shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Wally knew so many people. He mentioned the souk, but the marketplace must have a hundred shops.”

Donovan set his teacup aside. “Thank you. You’ll call if you think of anything else?”

“Of course. And you will come back sometime, when we can talk about our old friend Wally.”

“I will,” he promised, and she saw the sincerity in his face, heard it in his voice. He looked forward to sharing stories about his friend and mentor. For a moment she wished she could hear them, too, and learn more about the life her father had led after leaving her in the supposed safekeeping of her mother. But she’d never be back here again.

Hakim escorted them down to the shop, saying his farewells. “A moment,” Donovan told him. “I have business with your grandson.”

“Good luck,” Hakim said with a laugh, standing back with folded arms to watch.

The boy got up from his seat by the sidewalk, grinning in anticipation.

Donovan performed the introductions, shaking hands with the boy, Saja. “Jess, perhaps you’d like to pick out a souvenir of your trip to Egypt?”

Getting home safely with no food poisoning or internal parasites had been her only hope. But since he’d mentioned it, she had spotted some intriguing shapes and colors in the ceramics.

She lifted one of the bowls she’d admired, and the boy nodded enthusiastically. “The lady is a good judge of quality. That one is my mother’s original design, excellent quality.”

“It’s very pretty,” she agreed.

“Very expensive,” Donovan added, looking at the tag.

“Not for such quality.” Saja looked offended. “My mother is a true artist. You will not find that anyplace else.”

“I want it,” Jess said.

“I’ll give you half that price,” Donovan offered.

“Impossible. My mother, she would kill me. It requires much skill to make a bowl so delicate, with such luster in the glaze.”

“Expensive luster, huh? Then perhaps you should pick a different one, Jess.”

She knew the rules of the game in bargaining, but decided Donovan deserved a hard time, and Omega deserved to reward her for her assistance. “No, I want this one.”

Saja beamed. “Wise choice. Smart lady, as smart as she is pretty.”

“She’s not so smart if she wants to pay more than she should. But she is pretty. I’ll add ten pounds.”

“You insult your lady.”

“I…What?”

“She makes a wise choice, and you don’t respect it.”

Donovan’s look showed amused approval. “Good move, kid.”

“I’d like this woven bag to carry it in, too.” Jess said.

The boy grinned.

Donovan pulled out a wad of bills and peeled off several, handing them over. “Full price. Next time I come without the lady.”

“Then it will be your loss, no?” The kid flashed a wicked grin as he took the money.

Donovan laughed and ruffled his hair. With a wave to Hakim, they stepped into the narrow side street and started toward the main road where they would find another horse-drawn caleche.

“I hope you really like that bowl, ’cause the kid ripped me off good.”

“Oh, I do. I—”

The next word caught in her throat as Donovan yanked her sharply aside, knocking her into his chest. He grunted at the impact and staggered, pushing her into a parked donkey cart. The bag survived the impact better than her elbow, which scraped against the unfinished side of the cart, leaving skin and picking up slivers.

What the hell? Had he pushed her out of the way of an oncoming car? She hadn’t heard anything. As she turned to look, Donovan crashed into the cart beside her, wrestling with a man in a white robe similar to his own. Arms locked in a furious struggle, they banged into the cart again, rocking it.