Tempest Court. Jan Walters
neck and squeezed. “I can’t believe it. We have a Moroccan rug.”
Brett rose and started to pull out his wallet. “Wait. There’s no way that this size of rug will fit in our luggage.”
“No problem. We will wrap it and ship it to your address.” Hassan’s dark eyes narrowed.
“Ship it?”
Hassan nodded. “Of course. We ship items for tourists all the time.”
“That will be fine,” Lisa added. “Now we won’t have to worry about lugging it on the plane.”
Out of excuses, Brett opened his wallet and counted out the money. Omar took the money and handed it to Hassan. One of the bearded men quickly folded the rug and took it to another room.
Omar wrote up a receipt and handed it to Brett. “Our contact information is listed. You can expect the package in a few weeks. Since it is dark, I will walk you back to the riad, I mean hotel.”
Brett followed Lisa to the door. They quickly made their way through the dark narrow alleyways. The smell of cigarette smoke and food filled the air. Curious eyes followed their movement as they passed the shuttered souks.
Omar and Lisa walked ahead of Brett. A thudding sound drew his attention; he froze, listening. His gaze darted to the nearby entryways, which provided ample opportunity for someone to hide. His eyes strained, peering into the night. Again, he wished he had his gun.
Omar’s voice suddenly hissed in his ear. “Sir, we must not linger here. Please stay close.”
With a long sigh, Brett nodded. Upon reaching their hotel, Omar bowed and shook Brett’s hand. “Thank you. May you have a safe journey back to America.” Without waiting for a response, Omar turned and disappeared in the shadows.
Once in their room, Brett checked the locks on the door. He slid the deadbolt into position.
Lisa plopped on the bed, looking up at him. “So are you pleased with our purchase?”
Brett leaned against the solid wood door with folded arms. “Hell, I think we’re lucky we weren’t mugged or kidnapped.”
Lisa kicked off her shoes. “Sweetie, you need to lighten up. I get that you’re a cop, but bad guys don’t lurk around every corner. Besides, Omar got us back here with no problems.”
“You’re going to give me a heart attack.” He paced in front of the bed, waving his arms. “You…you can’t just take off down deserted alleys like that. Didn’t Hassan’s behavior make you suspicious?”
“Hassan? No, but those other men made me nervous the way they stared at us.”
“See? I told you something weird was going on.”
Lisa sighed. “I’m sorry. I know I can be impulsive, but at least we have a real Moroccan rug.”
Brett wagged a finger at Lisa. “Didn’t you think it strange that they practically gave us the rug?”
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting? They liked us and wanted to give us a deal. That’s it. Nothing more.”
Brett’s head throbbed. “Why were they so curious where we lived? Why would anyone in Morocco care that we’re from Iowa?”
Lisa’s cool hand covered his cheek. In a soft voice, she answered, “Let it go. Nothing happened.” She tilted her head, studying him. “You’re edgy. Maybe a little romance will help. Let’s get to bed. Tomorrow will be a long travel day.”
He wasn’t going to win this debate. Maybe Lisa had a point. He was so used to seeing danger at every corner. He might have misread the situation.
“Go take your shower first. I’ll sit here and calm down for a few minutes and then I’ll join you.”
As she showered, he made his way over to the window overlooking the courtyard. Olive and date trees dotted the ground below. Lightning cracked through the dark rolling clouds above.
He started to turn away when the glow of a cigarette caught his eye. He pressed closer to the glass. The cigarette was tossed to the ground. Was someone watching their room?
He glanced at the bathroom door. Water in the shower was still running. He could run downstairs and check the courtyard before Lisa was out of the bathroom. Grabbing his room key, he slipped down the stairs.
Brett unlocked the French doors that led to the courtyard and crept into the night. The murmurs of other guests filtered through open windows. He edged along the outside wall, ignoring the pounding of his heart.
The sudden slamming of exterior door to the courtyard made Brett jerk, and he took off running to the exit. He flung open the wood and metal door, looking left and then right. Nothing. Whoever had been there had disappeared.
They must have seen him coming and ran away. Shit! He couldn’t go running around the city at this time of night. Slamming the door, he hurried back to the room.
He quietly opened the door to their room and jumped as Lisa’s voice broke the silence.
“Where did you go?” Her blue eyes crackled with fire.
Brett wiped the sweat from his brow. “I just took a walk outside in the courtyard.”
With folded arms, she glared at him. “I know you, Brett O’Shea. What were you doing?”
He took a deep breath. “I thought I saw someone looking up at our room.”
“Brett,” she muttered, “there’s not a bad guy behind every corner. You need to chill. We’re up in six hours to catch our flight home.”
By the time he was ready for bed, Lisa was sound asleep. He walked to the window and took one more glance. The courtyard was empty. Regardless of what Lisa said, he knew bad guys could indeed hide behind every corner, every tree, and even under the bed. Maybe he was a little paranoid but then figured it was better to be safe than sorry.
After rechecking the locks on the door, he climbed into bed. The sooner he was back home, the better he’d feel. His vacation had been great until today. He wished there was time to go back to Hassan and get a refund. Not that he could even find the place again. He didn’t want the damn rug. Call him superstitious, but there was something odd about Hassan. If he was lucky, he could talk Lisa into giving it away or donating it to some charity. Somehow, he had to figure out a way to make the rug disappear.
Chapter 3
Brett walked into the Des Moines police station. He nodded to several officers as he made his way upstairs to the Detective Bureau. It was hard to believe he’d been on vacation for three weeks.
He and Lisa had flown in late last night. They’d barely gotten to sleep when the alarm had gone off. Before going to bed, he checked the kitchen table for a note. He’d left his deceased great-grandfather, Detective Michael O’Shea, a note indicating when he planned to return. Even if Michael was a ghost, he had been crucial in solving two previous supernatural cases. Only a few people could see Michael. Michael’s picture hung on the wall in the police museum as one of the murdered officers—from 1933 to be exact.
After their last case, Michael was “recalled” by his boss or the “Big Guy in the sky,” as Michael called him. In other words, he needed an attitude adjustment. One of these days, Michael would pop back into Brett’s life.
As Brett entered the office, Marge Amos, the bureau secretary, glanced up from her desk. Her silver hair sparkled beneath the fluorescent lighting. Her pink cheeks wrinkled as she grinned up at him.
“Well, look who returned. How was your trip?”
Brett sat on the corner of Marge’s immaculate desk. “Great. We saw mountains, spent the night in the desert, and even rode a camel.”
“A camel! I’d like to have seen that.”
He