have given her much pause. But in her prime, she had never been over eight months pregnant and unarmed.
She slowed her gait, let them move a little farther ahead of her but still close enough that she wasn’t likely to lose them unless they tried to shake her tail. Her clothing was dark, and her olive skin and dark hair wouldn’t be easily visible as long as she stayed in the shadows.
Cincinnati was still a relatively new place to her, but she’d taken care to study the street maps and familiarize herself with the area for just such a situation as this. When she’d come to town seven months ago, shortly after her previous life had all but ended, she hadn’t known she was pregnant. She had intended to be much more useful to Dal than she’d turned out to be.
But the job was still the job, and one of the two Kaziri men she’d spotted at The Jewel of Tablis had pinged her radar, big-time. Maybe she was wrong about seeing him before. Maybe his reason for being in Cincinnati was completely innocent.
Or maybe they were planning to bring al Adar terror attacks to the United States, hiding themselves among the poor immigrants who’d fled Kaziristan to escape unrest and persecution back home.
Near the next cross street, the two men slowed their pace as they reached the side door of a four-story brick building. It was hard to tell much about the place until the door opened, spilling light into the darkened street and revealing a quick glimpse of the dingy redbrick facade. Then the door closed, plunging the street into darkness again.
Yasmin peered at the darkened streetlamp overhead. Was it dark from normal wear and tear, or had someone deliberately disabled the bulb? And if so, was it to hide what was inside the building the two men had entered?
The longer she stayed here in the open, the more danger she put herself in, she realized. She’d wandered away from the safety of foot traffic on the main thoroughfare, leaving her vulnerable. And maybe if she had only herself to worry about, it would have been a risk worth taking.
But the gentle kicks of the baby in her womb reminded her that she wasn’t the only person in danger if she lingered here much longer.
She reversed course, walking as briskly as a heavily pregnant woman could, keeping her eye on the bright strip of lights just two blocks ahead. Not much farther to go now.
“You!” a deep, accented voice called out from behind her.
She couldn’t keep herself from taking a look.
The door at the end of the block was open, and three men stood in the doorway, staring toward her.
She turned around and started to run.
* * *
THE SOUND OF a man’s voice calling out, followed by the thud of running footfalls, drew Connor’s attention as he paused in the middle of the narrow alley he’d used as a shortcut in hopes of catching up to his quarry.
The footsteps seemed to be coming closer, spurring him into a sprint, his rubber-soled boots quiet on the uneven concrete breezeway. As he neared the opening into the street, he heard the sound of hard breathing. A woman’s breathing, he thought. The sound was harsh with fear and desperation.
It was her. He could feel it like a shiver in his bones.
His body reacted on pure instinct, his arms reaching out to catch her as she ran past the narrow opening of the alley. He pulled her into the dark recess, closing his arms around her as she flailed to escape.
“It’s me,” he whispered in her ear.
She stopped struggling, but he could feel the pounding of her heart where her slender back pressed against his chest. Underneath one arm, something in her abdomen fluttered against his wrist, then thumped solidly against his grasp, making him swallow a gasp of surprise.
He urged her toward the other end of the alley and out of the line of sight. Around the corner of the building was a large trash receptacle. The smells from inside were ripely unpleasant, but it offered a decent hiding place until he could be certain the men who’d apparently been chasing her down the sidewalk had given up.
She huddled close to him, as if seeking his warmth, though she was furnace-hot against his chest. When she spoke, it was barely a whisper. “What are you doing here?”
“Saving you,” he answered.
Her name was not Yasmin Hamani, though every piece of identification she possessed proclaimed her to be so. She was not a widowed immigrant from Kaziristan, though over the past few months she had almost convinced herself she was.
But burrowed into the solid strength of Connor McGinnis’s arms, breathing in his familiar scent, hearing the steadying beat of his heart beneath her ear, she allowed herself the truth.
She was Parisa DeVille McGinnis, Risa for short. Her mother was a Kaziri woman who’d married the strapping young US marine who’d saved her from death in a terrorist attack in her war-torn homeland. Risa herself had married a marine, a smart, brave and loyal man she’d met in the mountains of Kaziristan many years later. Like her parents, they’d been on track for their own happily-ever-after.
Until Risa McGinnis had died in a bomb attack on a commercial flight from Kaziristan to the US almost seven months ago. The plane had disappeared from radar over the Pacific and only a few pieces of debris had been found floating in the ocean near the plane’s last coordinates on the radar.
All souls lost.
Well, all the souls who’d actually made it aboard the plane.
“We need to get moving.” Connor’s voice rumbled in her ear. “Lose the roosari.”
She tugged the scarf from her head and shoved it into the pocket of her coat. She allowed herself a quick look at him, though the sight of his face, so close, so achingly familiar, left her feeling breathless and light-headed.
“How far away do you live?” he asked quietly.
“You can’t go there. I live alone, unprotected.” The words came out so easily, as if she truly was the woman whose life she’d lived for months now.
“I’m your husband, Risa.”
Something inside her chest melted and began to warm her from the inside out. “But they think I’m a widow.”
“I hope I died a heroic death.” His dry tone should have made her laugh, but her heart ached too much.
“Where are you staying?” she asked. “We could go there.”
“It’s not far from here.” He draped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. “Remember, you’re not Yasmin now. You’re Parisa. Sexy and smart. You take no prisoners. And you’re with me.”
She looked at him, her heart breaking. “I’m sorry.”
“We’ll worry about apologies later.” He nodded toward the trash-strewn alley stretching out in front of them. “Ready?”
Risa nodded, ignored
