Connor leaned on the iron railing that enclosed the balcony overlooking the Atlantic coast of Morocco and watched the gulls circle overhead. An occasional protesting scream pierced the tranquillity of the morning as a coveted morsel of fish was snatched from one beak by another. The sky was as blue as he’d ever seen it, and the breeze as gentle as a caress. Coming on the heels of the past few weeks spent in a Middle Eastern desert, the peaceful morning was balm to his soul.

There was a rap on the door, and he answered it without hesitation.

“Your breakfast.” The dark-eyed woman carried a rectangular tray in both hands and headed straight for the balcony. “You should eat here, in the sun. It will relax you.”

“Magda, you’re more like my mother than my mother was.”

“Someone has to watch out for you,” she said without smiling. “It might as well be me.”

She placed the tray on the small glass table and removed the napkin to reveal a plate of warm croissants, figs, a thinly sliced pear, and a small mound of white cheese.

“Sit and eat. I’ll be right back with your coffee.”

“You’re way too good to me,” he said as he sat at the table.

“I certainly am.” Magda went through the double doors into the room and disappeared into the hall. When she returned, she brought a second tray, upon which stood a tall carafe and two cups. She poured coffee into both cups, placed one before Connor, then sat opposite him at the table.

“Nice of you to join me.” He offered her the croissants, but she waved him off.

“I eat early, at dawn. You know that. I need an early start if I’m to take care of you and the rest of my guests in the manner in which I’ve made you accustomed.”

“There is no finer hotel in Essaouira. It’s the reason I’ve come to love this city. The reason I spend any available free time right here.” He tilted his cup in her direction before taking a sip. “And besides, there’s no better coffee anywhere in Morocco.”

Satisfied, Magda leaned back in the chair and raised her face to the sun, her eyes closed.

“There’s a new guest who checked in two days ago. An American woman. She’s an archaeologist, she says, on holiday.”

“So?”

“So you should make her acquaintance. She’s very pretty. Blond. Soft-looking. She doesn’t go out much.”

“So maybe she’s tired. Maybe she sleeps a lot.”

“Maybe she’s lonely. Maybe she’d appreciate a little companionship from a fellow countryman.”

“Why are you always trying to set me up?”

“Because you live like a mercenary.”

“I’m not a mercenary.”

“I know what you are. But you still need a nice girl in your life.”

“I have a nice girl in my life. I have you.”

“I’m old enough to be your mother, and if you ever looked at me that way, Cyril would slit your throat.” She smiled, but her eyes remained closed.

“Your husband should be jealous of you. You’re one in a million, Magda.”

“I know.” She tucked an errant strand of graying hair into the bun at the back of her neck.

“Magda, if I wanted to make a phone call”-he placed his cup on the table to refill it-“there would be a secure line?”

“Of course. All of my lines are secure.” She lifted her head and opened her eyes. “I myself check them every day, just like you showed me. Do you think I forget such things?”

“I was just wondering if you were still in the habit.”

“You need not worry. This is a small hotel, most of our business is repeat. Same people, over and over. Many of them, like you, require that extra measure of security.” She drained the coffee from her cup and rose. “For you, there will always be security here. Whatever you need. We don’t forget, Cyril and I.”

She patted Connor fondly on the arm and walked past him.

“The American woman takes tea in the courtyard every afternoon at four,” she said without breaking stride. “Today she’ll be seated at one of the tables for two, in the corner near the palms.”

Magda closed the door behind her.

Two gulls were battling on the top of the courtyard wall, and Connor watched idly as he finished his meal and thought over the e-mail he’d gotten from Annie. It had been dated the previous week, but he’d only just received it last night, after checking in to his room and turning on his computer for the first time in days. He’d known there’d be no electricity where he’d been headed, so he’d left the laptop locked in a safe deep in the basement of the hotel. He’d had no qualms about leaving it there. Magda and Cyril would guard it with their lives.

There was something to be said about having someone in this part of the world in your debt, he acknowledged, though that had never entered his mind the day he dove off the prow of a fast-moving pleasure boat to rescue a young boy who’d fallen over the side. Without a life jacket, the panicked child would have quickly drowned. The boy’s horrified parents had watched helplessly from the dock as the tall dark-haired stranger reached their son and carried him back to the boat, whose captain had circled back around and cut the engine, the other passengers calling encouragement. From that day, the best room in Villa André had always been available to Connor. He knew that he could always count on the most comfortable accommodations, the best food, the best service-and some motherly fussing-from Magda.

He leaned back in the chair, his face to the sun much as Magda’s had been, and went back over Annie’s message in his mind. He hadn’t thought about Santa Estela in months.

He moved the tray out of the way and set up the laptop in its place. He booted up and scanned his incoming mail before opening the saved e-mail from Annie.

Connor, strange development on a case Evan is handling in PA. Tattoos on the vics found to be identical to those found on three vics in Chicago. Young girls, one of whom appears to have a connection traced back to Central America, possibly Santa Estela. Do I recall correctly that you had spent some time there? Any contacts remain? Am looking for source and/or significance of the tattoo.

He drummed his fingers on the table, thinking back to that night in the alley in Santa Estela, of the truck filled with terrified children. Any connection between dead young girls in two cities and Santa Estela was way too coincidental. He’d thought that business had been shut down two years ago. His cousin had personally worked on that and had assured him the trafficking of children had been dealt with.

He brought the phone from the room onto the balcony and plugged it in, then dialed the familiar number. When the answering machine picked up, he said, “Hey, it’s Connor. Hope all you guys are doing well. Just wanted to ask you a quick question. About Santa Estela and that report I asked you about a few years back, you remember? Do me a favor and take another look at that situation, would you? I’ll check back in with you in another day or two, hope you have something to tell me.”

Connor started to hang up, then said, “And hey, if you see my brother, tell him I said hey, all right? Your brothers, too. Take care, cuz…”

He disconnected the call and stood up to stretch. From the balcony he could see into the courtyard, where, right at that moment, a woman in a gauzy white dress had stopped to put a large hat atop her head. Before her hair had disappeared under the hat, he’d noticed it was blond, cut short in a choppy style, as if done without artistry or skill. She was tanned, almost as tanned as he was, and even from a distance, he could see she was very well put together.

The American Magda had told him about?

Tea in the courtyard at four might be interesting after all. He watched her disappear through the courtyard gates and hesitate, as if unsure of her direction. He was tempted to join her, to offer her a tour of the marketplace, but he had a meeting in twenty minutes with a man who had information Connor’s superiors were eager to obtain.