Tempest Court. Jan Walters

      Chapter 1

      The intoxicating smell of the Marrakesh medina lured Des Moines Detective Brett O’Shea and his girlfriend, Lisa Winslow, deeper inside the sprawling array of shops or souks as they were referred to in Morocco. The individual souk owners sold numerous items, including fresh spices, beautiful Moroccan rugs, handmade leather bags, decorative scarves, and more varieties of dates than Brett could ever remember.

      To his frustration, Lisa paused every few seconds to take another picture of the ancient Arabic architecture surrounding the public square known as Djemaa El Fna. The heat was stifling. He wanted out from this crowd of people. It didn’t help that Brett’s internal radar was off the chart. Something didn’t feel right.

      Until he could get Lisa out of here, he needed to stay alert. Without meaning to, Brett felt as if he’d gone back in time when he looked at the cobblestone streets and donkeys pulling manmade wooden carts. As they meandered their way past the souks, Brett sighed, drawing Lisa’s gaze. His feet ached, and a bead of sweat slowly trickled down his spine.

      Shoulder to shoulder with other tourists and locals, Brett subconsciously patted his pocket, checking his wallet and passport.

      “This is better than a farmers’ market,” Lisa exclaimed.

      “Yeah, you don’t see snake charmers and cobras in the Des Moines market.”

      Laughing, she swung toward him. Her blue eyes twinkled with amusement. “Nervous?” she teased.

      “Of course not,” he muttered, though his gaze continually scanned the crowd. With recent terrorist activities, Brett wanted to be prepared and have an escape route. When he heard about a bombing in Casa Blanca a week before they left home, he almost canceled their trip. Lisa had convinced him there wouldn’t be any problems. So far, she’d been right.

      Like many cops, he expected the worst. To make the situation even tenser, he didn’t have a gun. How could he protect Lisa, if needed? His eyes narrowed, studying the mass of people walking nearby. If someone had a gun or a bomb, he’d never know until it was too late. The sooner they returned to Iowa, the better he’d feel.

      Brett tried to think of a way to get Lisa back to the hotel. The novelty of shopping had worn off several hours ago. The desert sun seemed to bake everything on the streets, including him. Dusk was fast approaching. He glanced at his watch for the hundredth time. He didn’t want to be caught out here in the dark. They looked too much like tourists.

      The atmosphere took an ominous turn when a brisk wind tore through the alleyways. Blackish purple clouds rolled over the city, casting a pall over the shops. Several merchants scrambled to roll down the canvas tarps that acted as doors. Brett cringed as Lisa turned down yet another narrow alleyway.

      “Hey, slow down a minute,” Brett warned, studying the buildings lining the alley. There seemed to be fewer souks here, more isolated.

      Lisa’s blond hair whipped around her face. “Just a few minutes more. I think there may be jewelry places down here.”

      Ahead of him, Lisa zigzagged through the darkened alley. Brett swore under his breath. Lisa had been looking for antique jewelry, a one-of-a-kind piece. Today was the last day for her to find something. Yet it wasn’t worth their lives. He’d had enough. He increased his pace and reached out, grabbing her arm. “Stop, please.”

      Her smile faded as she glanced up at him. “What’s wrong?”

      Brett dropped his hand to his side. “I’d feel much better if we were back in the main area. I’m getting a bad vibe about this place.”

      She hesitated. A pleading look filled her gaze. “You think it’s necessary?”

      He nodded—a surge of relief coursed through him. Thankfully, Lisa saw reason.

      “Maybe I can find some jewelry near the hotel.”

      The feeling of relief quickly faded. Lisa looked so downcast that Brett was hit with an arrow of guilt. Damn! Why are women so complicated?

      They turned to retrace their steps out of the maze. A young Moroccan man in modern dress stepped from a doorway, blocking their exit.

      “Good day,” the man smiled. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. What kind of jewelry is the lady looking for?”

      Brett stepped in front of Lisa, putting her safely behind his back. “You need to excuse us. We’re leaving.”

      “I am a local guide. I can show you some very special jewelry pieces that you will not find anywhere

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