Gabe lived in the dorm room directly above Ava’s. She gave silent thanks that she knew someone as savvy and loyal as Gabe. Was it a technical impediment or was Gabe making up his mind? “Gabe, please! I’m in trouble!” She didn’t want to mention the man following her, but she needed to convince him this was urgent. “Gabe,” Ava shouted into the chunky black phone. Never one to test fate, she ran past the startled bellhop to the front door. Finally, the bell rang and the doors opened. Enduring the agonizingly slow descent, Ava curled her hands into fists and vowed to make the man pay dearly for anything he took. Several times Ava pounded the lobby button.

Dark eyes brimming with malice, he stared into her as the stainless-steel doors slid shut. She must have made a sound, because at the last instant the man turned. Ava counted three rapid heartbeats and - timing the automatic doors precisely - dashed into the elevator. As she watched, he began walking down the opposite hall. He was faced away from Ava, scanning room numbers. The man from the airport had just exited the elevator. She’d just ride down to the lobby and ask the concierge about gym facilities, but when she turned, her heart jumped into her throat. As she neared the corner, the elevator’s bell rang. “What should we do in case of fire?” she thought acidly to herself. Although she could read Arabic, no signs or arrows directed her to the stairs. In Ava’s opinion the exits were poorly marked. Then, stretching her arms high above her head, she jogged into the hall and went in search of the stairwell. She dropped her passport, room key, wallet, and Gabe’s satphone into a mini backpack, which she tied across her torso. Ava stripped off her floral dress and donned black running shorts, a white tank top, and pink Reeboks. Whenever she stayed in a high-rise hotel she got a terrific workout sprinting up and down the stairs. She needed to decompress, and for Ava the best method was exercise. Regardless, she’d make a poor first impression on Mr. Was she in danger? Maybe she was paranoid. Ava’s mother, Helen, never answered calls from unfamiliar numbers. After recording a brief message saying that she’d arrived safely, Ava hung up and wondered if that was true. Was she a stereotypical American, fearful that every foreigner posed a threat? Worse, she couldn’t decide if she’d overreacted. Alone, Ava sat on the edge of the bed, heart still racing from the traumatic experience of being followed. She gave him a nice tip, mentally adding it to her travel-expense tally. Lugging her heavy bags, a bellhop guided Ava to her room and left the key. She checked in, keeping the receipt for reimbursement. The taxi deposited Ava at an expensive tourist lodging.

The cana mystery by david beckett