“Excuse me, ma’am. Sir.” The words were polite, but the assumption of absolute authority behind them was not.
“Yes?” Donovan moved as he spoke, stepping between her and the closest man.
“The lady was asking several local vendors about Egyptian antiquities.”
“Yes. She is shopping for a special gift, as are many people here.”
The officer nodded as if they’d just confirmed his suspicions. “I’ll have to ask you both to come with us.”
Surely they’d done nothing wrong. But she detected a menace in the man’s words, and knew she wasn’t imagining it when she saw Donovan’s back stiffen with sudden tension.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said far more calmly than she expected from his tense stance. “The lady’s husband is a powerful man, and he would be very displeased to know his wife had been picked up while shopping and questioned by the police.”
Donovan’s implied threat had no effect on the stern expression of either man. They stood with arms loose at their sides, as if ready for action.
“You will come with us,” the first one repeated. This time it was not a request. It was an order.
Chapter Twelve
Jess scanned the crowd anxiously, but Avery, Kyle, and Mitch were gone.
The second policeman, who had not spoken to this point, stepped closer to Donovan, all but touching his shoulder. He was tall and bulky and used his size in a threatening manner so they could not step aside. “This way,” he said, indicating the way back to the main street outside the souk.
They had no choice. Donovan walked close beside her as the two officers flanked them. People stepped aside, casting curious glances but saying nothing. Donovan’s alert gaze darted over the crowd, and she wondered what he was looking for. The rest of their team? An opportunity to escape?
They stepped from beneath the latticed roof of the souk, into the sunlight. Across a wide stretch of pavement, a police car stood at the curb, waiting.
Donovan’s step faltered and she saw his reluctance to get in the car, sending fear zipping through her chest. At the same moment, two more policemen materialized from beside the entranceway, flanking them and urging them forward with sharp words in Arabic and quick gestures. Donovan’s mouth tightened as he continued toward the car.
Donovan was obviously worried, which was enough to make her terrified. She knew little of Egypt’s current politics and whether the police could be trusted, but it hardly mattered. Corruption was possible anywhere. This didn’t feel right.
They were ushered into the small backseat, doors slamming shut behind them. The two new officers disappeared, while their original escort climbed into the front seat. Fisting her hands to stop them from trembling, she leaned close to Donovan and whispered, “What happened? Did we break a law?”
He shook his head, looking annoyed, which she took to mean he didn’t know what was going on. It wasn’t comforting. She had depended on his unshakable confidence and extensive experience to get her through this. Not having it felt like being on a roller coaster that took a sudden dive; her stomach flipped and dropped to her toes.
Squeezing her hand on the seat next to him, he whispered, “They didn’t frisk me for weapons or take my phone, which means they don’t intend to hurt us. Just make sure you stay in character.”
It was a small degree of reassurance, but not enough. When he let go of her hand she had to fight the impulse to grab it again. Stay in character. That would be easier if she knew what a woman like the fictional Suzanne Hassan would do if forcibly plucked off the street by police officers.
Silently, she reviewed what she knew of the person she was supposed to be—smart, accomplished, and rich. As independent as any American, but deferring to her husband’s will and cherished by him in return. She imagined the independent, privileged Suzanne would not consider herself inferior to these men, nor allow them the right to touch her should they try. So far they hadn’t.
Holding her head high, she turned toward the window and affected a disinterested stare. The car turned down a side street, then another, office buildings and large stores giving way to older apartments and small shops. A couple minutes later, on a street barely wide enough for two cars, they stopped. The driver turned off the ignition but didn’t get out. The officer in the passenger seat did, opening the back door in an invitation for them to get out.
Jess stepped onto the crumbled edge of a brick-paved street and was hit with the usual overwhelming combination of smells and noise. Across the narrow street, men and women bargained loudly at an open-air meat market hung with the slabs of fresh carcasses of cows, sheep, and goats. Raised voices yelling orders mixed with the Arab music that poured from the open doors of a restaurant down the block. In between, a group of young men loitered around three motorcycles, talking, while children ran around a stack of old tires in some sort of game. Up the street, a driver beeped his horn at a donkey rider, yelling something as he brushed past that could have been either friendly or angry. Two women walked by with baskets on their heads, close enough that she got a whiff of strange spices and perfumes. Overhead, laundry stretched between balconies in a riot of colors.