The Equalisers: A Soldier's Oath. Debra Webb

for you. Stay there until I come back for you.”

      She didn’t answer. Didn’t move.

      “Do you understand?”

      The stridently muttered demand appeared to snap her into action.

      “Okay.”

      She headed for the ladies’ room without a backward glance or a second’s hesitation.

      Spencer shifted his attention to the man who had just picked up his briefcase and turned to head in his direction.

      In an instant Spencer had cleared his mind of all else and stepped into character. He started forward, outstretched his hand at just the right moment to meet the other man’s. “Spencer Anders.”

      “Yuri Avnery.”

      Spencer gave Avnery’s hand a firm shake. “I’m looking forward to seeing the space. The location is excellent. Exactly what my client is looking for.”

      Avnery nodded. “Very good.” He gestured toward the bank of elevators. “Shall we?”

      Spencer relaxed marginally. “How long has the space been on the market?”

      Avnery provided a few details regarding the previous business tenant. Spencer put on an attentive face, but his mind was on Willow and whether or not leaving her alone in the ladies’ room was a good move.

      Not that he’d had a choice.

      When they’d boarded the elevator, Avnery asked, “Your wife decided not to accompany you after all?”

      Spencer’s alert status moved back into the red zone. Avnery knew the answer to that question. He’d assuredly seen Willow standing near Spencer, not to mention her name had been on the register.

      “I’m afraid my wife got bored and decided to visit the gallery across the street.”

      He recognized that the man had in all likelihood noted her hasty retreat to the ladies’ room. That shouldn’t actually set off any warning bells.

      Spencer hoped like hell he’d only gotten a look at her back. Even a glimpse of her profile might eventually trigger some kind of recollection if, in fact, Willow did know him.

      Damn.

      There were hundreds of real-estate agents in this city. How the hell had he managed to select one she’d run into before? If he believed in karma, he’d be worried. But there was no reason to believe there was a problem just yet.

      “That’s too bad,” Avnery said. “I was looking forward to meeting her.”

      The interest in his eyes was undeniable. Maybe a little too interested.

      “It’s not often,” he added, “that my clients bring along their wives for input.”

      Definitely too much interest. Spencer’s instincts went on point. “I’m sure my wife would love to think that she had some say in the matter, but I’m afraid she’s here for the shopping and sightseeing.”

      Avnery nodded, a smirk hovering just beneath his perfectly composed professional veneer. “I find that the female perspective is not often conducive to constructive business.”

      Spencer would just bet he did. Men like Avnery considered women good for nothing more than sexual and domestic slavery. He was reasonably sure this guy was Israeli. Maybe he’d been raised in Kuwait or Saudi Arabia. Whatever the case, his perspective on how women should be treated was definitely skewed.

      That was the thing about men like Avnery, they needed a female in submission to feel more like a man. He didn’t have to know this guy personally to understand that his feelings had nothing to do with religion or tradition.

      He could only assume that if Willow knew this man he was somehow associated with al-Shimmari, which explained everything about his attitude. He would also assume for the moment that his interest in Spencer’s companion was more related to his warped view of women than the possibility that he’d somehow recognized Willow.

      Avnery gave Spencer the grand tour of the suite of offices that made up the third floor of the building. He pretended to be impressed. But mostly he was worried about the woman hiding in the restroom downstairs.

      He was supposed to protect Willow Harris.

      They’d barely arrived in-country and already he’d made a strategic error.

      Maybe all the booze had stolen his edge.

      The idea that Willow might have to pay the price for his two-year layover in hell twisted like concertina wire in his gut.

      WILLOW WORKED hard to slow her breathing.

      She’d almost lost control there for a minute.

      How did she know that man?

      She’d definitely met him before. The way he moved. That harsh profile, long, wide nose… jutting chin.

      Think!

      Okay, calm down.

      Pushing off the bathroom door, she started to pace in front of the line of stalls.

      Black hair. Maybe five-eight or nine. Medium build.

      She rubbed at her forehead as if that would help. It didn’t. The familiarity was there. She knew him. But how?

      If she knew his name… maybe that would help her remember.

      Willow stopped in mid-step. Surely his name would trigger the right synapse.

      Before reason had kicked in she’d made it to the door.

      Anders had told her to stay in here until he came back for her.

      But what if he was in danger?

      What if this was a setup?

      Khaled might have found out she was here with Anders and sent that man in place of the real estate man they were supposed to meet. No, that couldn’t be right. Anders had contacted this guy. Hadn’t he?

      This was ridiculous!

      She couldn’t hide in this restroom like this.

      Going out there and getting this guy’s name was the right thing to do. Then she would know for sure. She refused to be a coward.

      Willow pulled the door open before she could change her mind. The lobby remained empty. The typical workweek ran from Sunday through Wednesday, there wouldn’t be that much business going on today.

      That was to her benefit.

      Taking care to restrain her stride, she made the nerve-wracking journey to the reception desk. The man behind the counter looked up, but he didn’t ask if he could help her.

      “My husband is viewing the suite of offices on the third floor. I thought I might visit the gallery across the street.”

      The man stared, didn’t even blink.

      Keep going. “Would you mind taking a message for my husband so he knows where I am when he comes down?”

      “One moment.”

      While he rounded up a pen and paper, she covertly read the final two names on the register. Spencer Anders. Yuri Avnery.

      The name didn’t ring a bell.

      “At the gallery across the street?” the clerk confirmed.

      She nodded. “I’ll be waiting there.”

      “I will see that he receives your message.”

      Willow thanked him and turned to face the front entrance. It wasn’t like she could not go now. She’d told the clerk she was going. It had been the only way she could think of to get a look at the register. Maybe if she’d had time to plan an excuse she would have come up with something better.

      It didn’t matter now. She had to go.

      Anders