Page 40 of Steel Vengeance

What was Jeremy doing here? And how did Stitch get a picture of him?

“I—I don’t understand.”

“He was at the graveyard,” he said sourly. “Meeting Omari. It seems they have a secret weekly meet-up among the tombstones. That’s why Omari goes in alone. He doesn’t want anyone to know. Not even his bodyguards.”

She stared at him, her head spinning. “What does it mean?”

He took a deep breath. “I’m not sure yet. I need to think about it. But it can’t be good.”

“You don’t think—?” She stopped.

No, she couldn’t say it. It was traitorous to even think it.

“I don’t think anything yet,” he said firmly.

She closed her eyes. The ground felt like it was shifting under her.

“I’m so confused,” she whispered.

He took her arm and steered her toward the entrance to the center. “Let me check on Fatima, and then we’ll meet back at your place later. I want to make a few calls and see what I can find out.”

She nodded, unable to do anything else.

Jeremy here? Was he involved? What the hell was going on?

Holy crap.

What had she gotten herself into?

She exhaled shakily. This was way out of her league.

“It’s an easy assignment,” he’d told her. “Just observe and report back. No action required.”

Yeah, right!

“I don’t understand,” she repeated, as he led her up the stairs. Her head felt foggy, like she was in a daze. Nothing made sense.

She tripped, but he steadied her. Thank goodness he was holding her up.

The security guard let them through.

“We’ll make sense of it later,” he told her. “I just needed to check that he was your handler. I’ve got some contacts who can help us figure this out.”

“You have?”

What contacts? She thought he was working solo. A personal vendetta.

It was all so confusing.

“Leave it to me.”

He flashed her a brief smile before stepping past her and heading into Fatima’s room.

CHAPTER 15

Sloane groaned and went to stand by the window. It was way too hot to move and the heat made the stench from the meat market unbearable. She could feel her hair sticking to the back of her neck, and perspiration trickled between her breasts. As it was, she was wearing the lightest thing she had, a flowing maxi dress with thin straps and a plunging neckline, but even that didn’t help much. She’d lost weight since she’d been in Peshawar, and it hung off her, exposing even more of her chest.

There was a faint knock on the door.