“I must ask you to return to the stands.” The man gestured back the way she’d come.

She peeked around him one last time, scrambling for a solution before the horse and groom disappeared. “Do you know who owns that horse?” she asked.

“This is not a public area,” the man repeated.

“I just need to know-”

Suddenly, a rugged-looking man in a white head scarf and a flowing, white robe materialized beside them. “Do we have a problem?”

Julia instinctively took a step back, shaking her head in denial that she was causing any kind of a problem. This did not look like the kind of man she wanted to annoy. His beard was scraggly, the tip of his nose was missing, and one eyebrow was markedly shorter than the other. Truly, she had no desire to run afoul of somebody who looked like a bar-fight veteran.

“I was only…” She took another step back, taking note of the primal urge that told her to put some distance between the two of them. “Curious about a horse.”

His eyes narrowed. “Which horse?”

“The dun. I…” She hesitated, then screwed up her courage. If she walked away now, she might never find out about the horse, and she might lose a real opportunity to help the Prestons.

She gave her eyelashes a determined flutter and offered a bright, ingenuous grin. “It’s pretty. When’s it racing?”

His thin lips curved into a cold smile. “You wish to bet?”

“No. No, of course I don’t want to bet.” Betting was illegal in Dubai.

“He is Millions to Spare. The third race.”

A name. She had a name. Julia mentally congratulated herself.

She turned to leave, but the man’s hand closed around her upper arm. She glanced down, spotting a tiny tattoo on his inner wrist. It was square, red and gold, with a diagonal line cut through the center.

“You talk to Al Amine,” the man said.

She struggled not to panic.