She couldn’t be certain who was in the room, though it sounded as though there were several engaged, not so much in an argument but in a heated disagreement.
Biting her lip, she gripped the doorknob, meaning to turn it slowly and subtly, and hopefully to crack the panel open just enough so she could be certain of who was speaking.
As she tightened her hand on the brass knob, a familiar click and the press of cold metal against her head stilled her.
Marty felt adrenaline spike in her veins. An icy veil of pure survival instinct raced through her.
The press of the cold steel against the back of her head felt pretty damned convincing, though.
“Release the latch.” The thick, heavy Middle Eastern accent kicked those survival instincts into overdrive.
This wasn’t one of Ian Sinclair’s security guards. This was someone else, someone who shouldn’t be here either.
Marty moved. A lightning-fast flick of her wrist against the latch produced no results, but the quick duck of her head as she swung around, gripped the wrist, and swung her knee into his groin brought a definite response from him.
He was huge. A murderous mountain posing as a man. He shifted just enough to keep her knee from slamming into his cock, and at the same time his hand flew out, the back of it connecting with the side of her head and slamming her to the floor.
Simultaneously the door flew open, the mountain came over her, and the gun was pressed beneath her jaw as behind him, enraged, Shayne and Khalid each held a gun to his head.
“Mohammed!” a strong voice with a thick accent rasped from the door.
A spate of Arabic followed from the mountain called Mohammed as the gun was pressed tighter against her jaw.
“Abram, he has two seconds before I kill him.” There was no accent, no inflection in Khalid’s voice. There was cold, hard, steely death instead.
Marty met Mohammed’s eyes and saw pure black fury as Abram barked another order in Arabic.
“You risk your life needlessly, woman, as well as mine,” Mohammed growled, like a bear that had to fight to find the words. Even his voice was scary.
The weapon moved from beneath her jaw slowly as the giant lifted from his knees and came away from her. Marty stared up at the men who had rushed from the room and had to fight not to swallow tightly.
Abram el Hamid-Mustafa stood at the door, dressed surprisingly in jeans and a black T-shirt. He was all but an exact replica of Khalid. The same black eyes, the same thick black hair, except Abram wore a closely cropped beard and mustache that gave him a more rakish, disheveled appearance.
It was enough to have her glancing quickly from Khalid, to Abram, then back again as her imagination began to take flight and she wondered what it would be like… Oh no, she was not going there.
Khalid had his third, and she was fine with the decision he had made. No way in hell did she want, or need, another Khalid for a third. Her life was complicated enough as it were.
Khalid and Shayne eased slowly back as Mohammed came to his feet, and to the side of the door, where- watching in equal amounts horror, anger, and perhaps a glimmer of pride-stood her fathers.
“Someone should have told me it was a serious meeting rather than simple playtime,” she remarked, as she jumped to her feet and eyed the six men warily. “I might have taken a nap instead of slipping in to see what all the interest was here and whether or not I should be jealous.”
“Whether or not she should be nosy,” Shayne snorted. “I’d say not, if she had asked my opinion.”
“But I didn’t ask you opinion, did I?”
She didn’t dare meet Khalid’s gaze. She turned to her fathers instead.
“Really, Dads, you should have warned Khalid about leaving me in the limo. You two know me much too well.”
Joe covered his mouth with his hand as though wiping at it in frustration. He was actually fighting a grin-she hoped. Zach continued to stare at her as though he had no idea who the hell she was or from where she had come. Strange, he had helped trained her. He should have known better.
Khalid and Shayne were staring at her with the promise of a certain confrontation in their gazes as Mohammed glared at her. Abram Mustafa was the only one who appeared unfazed, in fact, a bit amused. She flashed him one of her deceptively sweet smiles as she pushed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and wondered if her face had started bruising yet. Evidently not, because Khalid hadn’t murdered Mohammed yet.
“Shall I assume we have an addition to our little meeting, gentlemen?” Abram glided to her, a grin tugging at his well-molded lips. The short black beard that covered his lower face gave him a piratical look, as the twinkle in his deep, black eyes encouraged her to join in whatever joke he was having at her expense.
As she watched Khalid and Shayne cautiously, Abram gripped her arm and urged her into the room.
“Come, my dear, let’s not loiter in the hall where this slight confrontation can be witnessed, shall we?”
Marty followed, albeit reluctantly, as she watched Khalid and Shayne slowly slide their weapons back into the holsters beneath their jackets. How Khalid had managed to wear that holster without her knowing it, she couldn’t explain. He had to have placed it there after entering the club.
“Inviting me in now?” She glanced at her fathers, noting Zach’s grimace as all but Mohammed stepped back into the room.
“I do hope Mohammed didn’t leave bruises on your delicate flesh as he pressed the gun into your neck.” Abram flashed another grin at her, as his wicked black gaze raked over her face. “I’ll be certain to ensure that he never makes such a mistake again.”
“Abram.” Khalid’s voice held a warning note.
“Ah, little brothers can often be quite intense, can they not?” Abram grinned at her again as he released her arm and moved to the bar. “Would you like a drink, perhaps?”
She glanced back at Khalid as Abram laid his hand against the small of her back and led her to the bar.
“This isn’t social hour,” Khalid snapped. “Stop pretending it is.”
“I never pretend such things.” Abram was clearly amused as he poured two drinks. “You have been so reluctant to allow me the chance to meet your beautiful woman over these many years, that I have decided to take this chance that has been presented so beautifully to me. I am certain Ian will forgive me for allowing this slight bend of the rules.”
He handed her a drink as he toasted her with his own.
Marty lifted the short glass to her lips, gave a little sniff, then narrowed her gaze on Abram as she realized it was indeed one of her favorites. A splash of expensive whiskey over ice. She toasted him back before sipping. She continued to gaze at the other men warily.
“She’s going to get herself killed,” Zach muttered to Joe, as she glanced at them.
“And you’re just figuring that one out?” Khalid glared at her fathers before stalking to the bar and pouring himself a stiff shot of whiskey and tossing it back; he continued to glower at her.
“I’ve been warning both of you,” Zach snapped as he glared at her father and her lover. “But have either of you bothered to listen at any time?”
“And all of you seem to be forgetting exactly what her career is.” Her father, Joe, surprised her as he snapped at all of them. “She’s a trained agent, and you were all warned that she wouldn’t sit back lightly once she became suspicious. For God’s sake, Zach, you helped train her. You should have known she would slip in here.”
That was her thought exactly.
She stared back at Zach, not really surprised at his anger. He hadn’t wanted her to join the Bureau to begin with, and she was aware that it was his influence that had kept her from the assignments she had sought. “How did you convince Abdul to allow you out of the limo?” Khalid pushed his fingers through his hair before propping them on his hips.
“He’s sleeping.” She shrugged, covering for her friend. “I promised him I’d stay put.”
“And he knows better than to believe you,” Khalid barked.
