Pirate

Melia led them through the stifling dining room to a side door, then up a creaking, narrow staircase that led to a rooftop patio overlooking the street below. As promised, a cooling breeze swept in from the south.

She set out the two menus, both on the same side of the table facing out toward the rooftops of the neighboring buildings. “Much cooler beneath the umbrella.”

“Lovely,” Remi said, taking a seat.

Sam walked over to the edge of the second-story rooftop, eyeing the cars driving below. No sign of any white SUV or any suspicious-looking pedestrians milling about. Satisfied that they hadn’t been followed, he returned to the table, grateful that they were far enough back where they wouldn’t be seen by anyone walking on the street below.

Of course, that wouldn’t stop Avery’s men from doing a door-to-door search, should they happen to notice their rental car parked around the corner. Just in case, he took out a hundred-dollar bill. “Melia. Is it possible to warn us if anyone should come in and ask if we’re here?”

She pushed his hand away. “That is far too much for such a small favor. Keep your money, and I will be glad to tell you should anyone come looking. Now, what is it you’d like to eat?”

Sam picked up the menu. “What do you recommend?”

Melia smiled. “On the menu or off? You tell me what it is you like and I will see it done.”

Exactly the sort of restaurant they preferred. In short order, they were dining on jerk chicken — smooth, moist, and served with a fiery Scotch bonnet pepper marinade.

Melia returned before they finished, her dark brows etched with worry. “You said to warn you should someone come asking?”

“Yes,” Sam said, his gaze moving to the doorway. “What happened?”

“It is as you said. A white man walked in, asking if we have seen a man who would be with a beautiful woman with red hair.” She smiled apologetically. “We told them no. You can see for yourself.” She motioned for Sam to approach the balustrade, pointing down to the street. “There on the corner?”

Sam looked out, saw a short, broad-shouldered man, his back to them, talking on a cell phone. Unlike everyone else in the vicinity, who seemed to be wearing shorts or khakis and short-sleeved shirts, this person wore dark slacks and a leather coat. Jak. The same thing he’d been wearing when he robbed Pickering’s bookstore. A second man stepped out of a restaurant across the street, looked around, then made eye contact with Jak.

Sam stepped back out of view. “Any chance you have another way out of here?”

“The fire escape,” she said, pointing to the opposite side of the roof. “A ladder leading down into the alley.”

“Works for me,” Sam said. “Remi?”

“I’m in.”

He left several hundred dollars on the table, and Melia started to protest.

“Worth every penny,” Sam said. “Trust me.”

He walked toward the ladder, Remi right behind him. The alley looked clear. Even better, there were two large dumpsters, one on either side of the ladder, and he climbed over the edge, then waited for Remi. Once she was safely on the ladder, they started down. “Sorry about lunch,” he said as they descended.

“You realize that chicken was to die for?”

“But not worth dying for.”

“We’ll simply have to go back.”

“Let’s lose our tail before we start making plans.”

The ladder stopped about four feet off the ground. An easy jump for him. At the bottom, he waited for Remi — very much enjoying the view as she climbed down.

She noticed. “We’re running for our lives and you’re watching me?”

He grinned as he took her by the waist, helping her to drop the last few feet. “At least I’ll die happy.”

They stepped from the relative cover of the dumpsters. Remi looked both directions. “Which way?”

Good question. If Avery’s men just started their search from where they saw the rental car parked, they’d be heading to their left. “Right.”

At the end of the alley, he poked his head around the corner, then ducked back just as the white SUV turned onto that street. They’d be caught in seconds. On the other side of the alley, he saw several doors, the second one closed only with a screen, undoubtedly to let the breeze flow through the shop. “This way,” Sam said, running across the alley, hoping the screen door wasn’t latched.

Twenty-three