Mercenary's Honor. Sharron McClellan

was no time to explain. Grabbing her arm, he hurried her to the far side of the building. The next building was five feet away. “Jump to the next roof.”

      She leaned over the edge. “That’s a helluva drop.”

      “Would you prefer a bullet?”

      She paled but shook her head, walked back a few feet and barreled toward the edge. It’s just five feet, he told himself as she launched herself into the air and over the alley. She landed on the other side, feet solid on the flat, tarred surface. Facing him, she motioned for him to hurry.

      Good girl.

      He leapt and landed next to her. “Again,” he said, gesturing toward the next building.

      “If they come up here, 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.”