Chapter Thirty-Five

Red

Nomad caught Red's gaze. "Elena's on the move."

Red looked down at her phone screen. "She has her map search open. It looks like they're heading to the Djemaa El Fna, the main square with the monkeys you wanted to pet."

"Given the time, they must be going out to see the sunset."

Red stood and stretched. "That would be an affirmative. They're heading to a rooftop restaurant. They just put the name into their map app."

"What do you think?"

Red moved closer to him so she could whisper their conversation. "I'd like to get eyes on them. I have the pictures you took. Some people do well making the leap from photo to in-person recognition, but I've found that when I'm trying to find someone in public, it's rare that they look like they did in a photo or that I get a good look at their face. As a matter of fact, if I get a good look at their face, it means they're getting a good look at mine."

"Can you tell me about that?" Nomad wrapped his hands around her hips and pulled her into his lap so she didn't have to bend over to speak in his ear. He gave her a slight lift of the brow, asking if this was all right.

It was very all right. Natural even. Flashes of her rescue came back to Red. She decided to go ahead and say it out loud. "I've been in your arms before. I want to tell you how much I appreciate your care during my rescue. For a while there, I assumed I was going to die. And when you had me up against you," tears welled, but Red thought that was a little too damsel-in-distress-like, so she pushed those feelings down, "I knew I wouldn't."

Those words seemed to affect Nomad, too. He drew her tighter in his arms, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

"I'm going to wade away from those emotions and go back to your question," Red continued without lifting from his embrace. "What I like to do is minimally get film of the person. It's better if I can observe over time. Everyone has a style. I focus on how they like to sit. How fast they like to walk, how they swing their arms. How observant are they? Do they walk with their phone in their hand? All of that. Picking out someone's movement patterns is so much easier in a crowd."

"I get that. And you're right. When I get home from deployment, and we're all dressed exactly alike, with the same haircut and the same hat shielding half our faces, the families don't hesitate. They see their soldier, and they race into their arms. That has to be body mechanics. And yet, I never put that together. I've always looked for the face." He patted her hip. "Are you ready to head out? Do you need to change or anything?" Nomad asked. "I need to use the bathroom, and then I'm ready to go."

"I'll change into traditional clothes and head scarf. I love to wear them when I'm near the desert. They keep the sand and dust out of my hair. And they give me a certain level of anonymity."

"Okay, I'll put on slacks and a shirt. I think that will fit your look better than if I keep wearing these tactical pants."

A few minutes later, they were out the door. Nomad locked up with the heavy brass key and slipped it into his pants pocket. "Where are we going?"

Red pulled out her app. "They're heading here." She pointed. "And there's another roof-top restaurant here with a shared wall. I think that we'll be close enough to see them. But they will probably only scan their own restaurant if they're paying attention at all."

The walk from their riad to the square was a crush of humans. Since cars and trucks were only allowed in the early morning hours for deliveries, the paths were shared with motorcycles that laced through the crowds.

All along their path, vendors in their tiny shops—only about eight feet wide—called out, trying to grab the attention of passing tourists and make a sale.

On some days, Red found the atmosphere to be carnival-like and fun. That night, still recovering, Red found the walk exhausting.

Nomad seemed to realize that and put his arm around her, using his body to carve a path and keep her from the crush.

Still, it was a relief when they found a table that gave them a good view of Elena and her friends through the veil of palm fronds.

The server placed menus in front of them and left them to decide.

Red pulled out her phone. She popped an earbud in one ear, then Red opened the mic on Elena's phone. Ambient sounds around Elena's table were picked up, but their group wasn't talking. They were all on their phones, scrolling.

"Those two are calling themselves Gustav and Simone Delacroix," Nomad said.

"Gustav. Interesting." Red popped her brow. "I'll flag my team and let them know to focus on the contents of those phones for their primary research." Red could see that the spider software she'd placed on Elena's phone did its job crawling into the other woman's phone, giving Langley full access.

With the mic open, Red could monitor their conversation, but so far, all they'd done was order banana juices.

Red wrinkled her nose. "Mmm, not my favorite. When the server comes, I'll do mango, please."

Nomad raised a finger, and the server came over. "A mango and a mixed fruit, please. We'll order dinner in a bit. Oh, and a bottle of still water." The man bowed and backed away from their table.

"They're all three on social media," Red said with her eye on her screen, "doom scrolling."

"Anything telling?"

Red leaned closer to share her screen. "Cat videos." His warmth as the night grew chilly was pleasant.

A tuxedo cat came over to their table and meowed insistently. "Sorry, baby," Red cooed. "We haven't been served yet."

The cat meowed angrily. Where was her food? Red knew that would keep up all night.

"The cats are everywhere," Nomad said. "I've never seen so many cats in my life."

"They're holy beings. No vet care, probably rabid, eaten up with fleas and diseases." She held out a hand. "Please don't pet. But also never shoo a cat away."

"Walking around the Medina, I've seen water bowls at nearly every stand. They're clean and filled."

"They never go hungry, either. The cats know they can sit in front of anyone and meow with the expectation that a bit of food will come out of the person's tote bag. None of them are hungry. One thing I find charming about Marrakech is that the animals don't cower and scurry. There are no angry kicks or fists. There's humanity in that." Red looked around as the server came with a tray. Setting their drinks down and leaving.

Red twirled her glass in her fingers. "I think the cats of Marrakech are prophets here to teach." She looked up to catch Nomad's gaze. "I do." She smiled nostalgically. "One of the biggest life lessons I received was at a chicken restaurant in Rabat one night. I was eating outside, and the cats arrived and meowed, wanting the patrons to throw a bit of food their way. Waiting for my dinner, I watched people tossing morsels out. The cats were generally fat and happy. But there was this one cat. He was obviously very sick and in terrible condition. I watched as people happily tossed food to the pretty and healthy cats and ignored the cat that most needed attention."

Red liked how Nomad listened and that her words elicited emotion in his eyes.

"By the time my dinner arrived, the sick cat was gone. I put some food in my napkin, and as I left to head back to my hotel, I looked for the sick cat but couldn't find him."

"That had to have been disappointing."

"I opened the napkin, placed it on the stoop, and said, ‘This is for you. I wanted to help. I'm so sorry for everything you're going through, and I broke down crying."

Nomad took her hand in his.

"Yup. Right there in the street. I felt so bad because as I observed others' behavior, I saw my own. The cute, the pretty, the healthy, why are those the ones who get the attention in a crisis? While those that need it the most are ignored, even eschewed." She looked down at the black and white cat curled around Nomad's foot. "That story and those images pain me to this day. Yeah. I knew that cat was there as a guru to teach me—as self-absorbed as that might sound. I've tried to watch my behavior, to turn my attention to those that might be overlooked because their circumstances are visually tough to handle." To change the mood, Red sent Nomad a teasing smile. "You, for example. I've taken pity on you. Your life with that face must have been lonely and difficult."

"Yes, thank you. You're right. Being hideous has been a lifelong struggle," Nomad said resignedly. "But it's so much worse for my identical twin brother. He's a doctor, and his brain swelled from each textbook he memorized. He walks around with my face, but, you know, an enormous head."

"My sympathy to you both."

And as Nomad absentmindedly reached toward his foot, Red smacked his hand. "Nicholi, they are fed and given water but not treated for disease. Are you up on your rabies shots? Don't. Touch. The. Cats."

***

Now that it was dark, Elena and the Delacroixes were heading back to their hotel. Simone talked about what time they'd leave for the hammam the next day. Gustav made plans for how he'd case the gardens and get a feel for what Kamal was setting up for the exchange, the security in place, and to reassure Elena that all was safe for the sale.

"After we're sure that's cleared," Gustav said. "I found a tour going over the Atlas Mountains to a spot right along the Algerian border."

"Did you make reservations for that tour?" Simone asked.

"Not yet. I sent word to our supplier to see if they could arrange to pick us up there. We can't have any official contact with Algeria. I'm not getting a stamp on my passport."

"No, of course not," Elena said. "I have three months on the Moroccan tourist stamp in my passport. So I can work with our suppliers, see the mission through, and have them bring me back to the Moroccan border."

"Three months' time frame," Red whispered to Nomad as they leaned against the closed security gate on a vendors shop around the corner of their riad.

"Do you think the tour will report us missing to the authorities?" Simone asked.

"After they've been paid? Probably not," Gustav said. "They're laissez-faire in Morocco."

"Once we've accomplished the sale tomorrow and hear back from our suppliers—if that's all a go—we set off on this tour," Elena said. "What kind of tour?"

"Glamping," Gustav said. "It's an eleven-hour drive from here to there. But you'll get to ride a camel."

"Joy," Elena said sarcastically.

The Delacroixes told Elena good night. There was a click of the door, and now there were just the sounds of water running and items rustling.

Nomad and Red moved into their tiny room on the first floor.

Red was dead tired and must have looked it because Nomad turned to her and said, "I'd anticipated sleeping on the floor, but there's not enough floor for me to stretch out on in here."

When he said that, Red felt a mild stab of disappointment.

Of course, he would say that. She'd seen him at the ball. He was raised a gentleman. "I had planned on sharing the bed with you." Why not be honest? She sat down on the corner to take off her shoes. "For what it's worth, neither of us will be comfortable on this mattress."

He gave her a nod and a smile. Cogs were whirring. Yeah, he was a soldier boy and not an intelligence officer. He didn't seem like he was used to this kind of assignment. They wouldn't send him to work with her unless he had training, but things were different when you learned about them in theory. "When on assignment, there will be times when you will be playing the role …"

He was navigating new waters.

Interesting though—Red thought as she gathered her toiletries and an oversized T-shirt that she slept in—his smile wasn't lascivious. It wasn't a "he-he-he, I'm gonna get me some." smile. It was a smile that warmed his eyes. She couldn't quite read it. She'd never seen someone smile at her like that before.

Shutting the door to keep the steam out of the bedroom, Red didn't throw the lock. It would be okay if he wandered in.

I like him. He likes me, too.

She'd taken a lot of comfort from him over the last few days.

Yes, he'd left her hanging in the van. And maybe she should be miffed about that. But she would have done the same thing. Red stood in front of the mirror, unwound the scarf from her hair, and pulled her long dress over her head. The night of the ball, he didn't know who she was or what position she played. And he didn't have a lot of time before the authorities arrived. If he'd stayed, he probably would have blown his mission. With all those dead bodies in the van, no one would have let him go free for days. Elena would have seemed to be the victim, cared for, and out there in the wilds.

He had no other choice.

At least he made sure she could get free. He didn't need to.

Stepping into the shower, with warm water and soap, her hands moving over her skin, Red's mind went to the bed. She knew Nomad wouldn't make a move on her.

It was fine. Sex, for her, was stress relief. She didn't have the luxury of a relationship that would make the experience anything more than moving body parts.

She'd had her orgasms.

She'd faked a few because—yeah, sometimes she just wasn't going to get there no matter how long that SEAL could snorkel.

There was always a conscious emotional distancing, the understanding she and her lover were ships in the night.

Nomad was, too. Red reminded herself. I don't know his name. I'll never know his name. And I won't see him again once this mission is complete.

She steeped in the flow of hot water, feeling her heart squeeze with grief at that thought.

It had been a lot in a week. And her asset had died. She shouldn't feel an emotion right now and assign it a definition. Yes, she liked Nomad. She liked him in a way that was surprising and intense. But it wasn't love.

It wasn't.

It was … something else.

She remembered the airport when Nicholi said goodbye to Cassie, "Love you." If only that wasn't make-believe, that might actually be really wonderful.