Admittedly they were safe. Or at least as safe as they could be.

She’d been just a little distracted at the time as the implications of the attack on the docks had finally impinged. Realizing she’d come within an inch of death had sobered and shaken her, but had also raised questions-ones she couldn’t answer.

She was fairly sure Hamilton could. As soon as she’d seen her people settled, and had washed off the dust of the streets, she made her way to the salon that served as drawing room-cum-parlor.

Hamilton was there, alone, seated on one of the long cushion-covered divans. He looked up, saw her, and came to his feet.

With an easy smile, she went forward, and sat on the divan to his left. Opposite, wide doors stood open to the courtyard, with its small central pool and shading tree.

He resumed his seat. “I…er, hope you have everything you need.”

“The accommodations are adequate, thank you.” They were not what she was accustomed to, but they were clean and comfortable enough-they would do. “However”-she fixed her gaze on his face-“I have a number of questions, Major, that I hope you’ll be able to answer. I only caught the briefest glimpse of my attacker, but I saw enough to know he was a Black Cobra cultist. What I don’t understand is why he would attack me, or why a cultist should be here, in Aden, at all.”

When he didn’t leap into reassuring speech, she went on, “The only contact I’ve had with the Black Cobra cult is through the incident with poor Captain MacFarlane and the packet I delivered for him to your friend, Colonel Delborough. I presume the attack today was connected with that?”

Gareth studied her face-her determined expression, the directness of her gaze-and regretfully jettisoned his preferred option of revealing nothing at all.