Mercenary's Honor. Sharron McClellan

we’ll be sitting ducks on these flat roofs,” Fiona said.

      “I know. So quit talking and get moving. Get to the next building, then we go down on the far side.”

      She frowned but ran, clearing the five-foot span with ease, and headed across the roof without a glance back.

      He hurried, not breaking stride and staying on her heels. They reached the ladder as a gunshot rent the air, ripping into the graveled tar paper a few inches from Angel’s feet. Fiona froze.

      The goons were smarter than he thought, and he had the suspicion that in better light, they’d have hit him. “Hurry!” he shouted.

      Fiona slid down the ladder, using her feet and hands on the outside edges to push inward on the rails and create a controlled fall.

      Gravel peppered his legs, and Angel turned, firing back. There was a cry, and in the growing shadows, one of the men fell to the ground.

      He hoped it hurt. A lot. Sticking his gun into the back of his pants, he slid down the ladder, as well, dropping the last few feet.

      “What do we do?” Fiona asked, already edging toward the entrance to the alley and the crowds that offered some protective anonymity.

      “We walk,” Angel said. Taking her arm, he pulled her close, and they entered the crowd. It took less than thirty seconds to realize his mistake. Fiona was close to six feet tall, making her stand out. Where was her hat? Her blond hair stood out like a beacon.

      Men were already turning heads, gawking at her. They wouldn’t proposition her since she had him as an escort, but if Montoya’s men questioned anyone, there would be no doubt that they’d remember the exotic blonde.

      Damn it. He walked faster

      “What are you doing? Slow down.”

      “You’re too damned pretty. I knew it would be a problem,” Angel muttered.

      “Well, excuse me,” Fiona whispered. “It’s not like I do it on purpose. You want to complain? Take it up with my parents for giving me the good genes.”

      He glanced at her, too worried and focused to give her points for being right. “We’ve got to cover your head,” he said. Entering the outdoor market, he worked his way in through the crowds. “Wait here,” he said, leaving Fiona in front of a booth crammed with spices and dried fruit.

      “Wait?” Her eyes were dark in the dim lights, but her pale skin glowed. “Where are you going?”

      “I need to buy a few things, and I do not want anyone to remember that I bought them for you.”

      “Are you coming back?” she asked, clutching at his arm.

      Under any other circumstances, he’d be insulted at the insinuation he would abandon someone under his protection, but the fear in her voice negated any insult. He gripped her shoulders and met her uneasy stare. “I am coming back. I promise.”

      She swallowed and gave him a tight nod. “Okay. Just hurry.”

      Almost running, Angel stopped at the first booth that sold clothes. There was no time for haggling. He grabbed a red shawl and a hat, pressing pesos into the vendor’s hand.

      “That was more than thirty seconds,” Fiona said, as she took the garments, gripping them like a lifeline.

      “So sue me,” Angel said.

      She put on the large hat, stuffing her hair inside, and wrapped the shawl around her, hunching over. “How’s this?” she asked.

      The disguise wasn’t great. Nothing short of hair dye and a sudden drop in height would make her blend in with the locals.

      Behind him, there were shouts. Montoya’s men. They couldn’t be far behind.

      Taking her hand, he pulled her back into the throng of people. “Good enough.”

      Chapter 4

      Angel looked over Fiona’s shoulder as she gazed at herself in the motel room’s cracked bathroom mirror, glanced at the box and then back at herself. She held up a box of hair color, drawing his attention from her expressive eyes. “They didn’t have brown? I’ll look like a Goth wannabe.”

      Angel chuckled at the image in his head.

      “It’ll look hideous,” she hissed.

      The thought of being less than beautiful probably wasn’t something she was used to, but remorse was the farthest thing from Angel’s heart. “There were only three options.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Black. Red. Blonde.”

      “I don’t know…”

      “I only rented the room for two hours. Let’s get this done and get out of here while it’s still early,” Angel said, biting back his irritation. It was just hair, for crying out loud. It wasn’t as if he were asking her to shave her head or turn herself orange with a cheap self-tanner.

      She glared at him. “Fine.”

      He held back the urge to roll his eyes. He knew that when a woman said fine, there was thirty minutes’ worth of subtext beneath the single word, but that didn’t mean he was going to ask her about it.

      He didn’t care that much, he told himself. This was a favor for a dead man. A job. Helping her because he was the kind of man who kept his word. Nothing more. “Good. Take off your shirt.”

      Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

      “Our resources are limited. Unless you want to run around smelling like a cheap beauty parlor, I suggest you remove it. Now.”

      She didn’t seem convinced, and in fact, stared at him like he was a pervert.