The Yemen Observer offices were situated a few blocks south of the Inner Harbor. Aaron Abel had an apartment a few more blocks further south. It was a modest one-bedroom flat on the top floor of a three-storey building housing ground-floor shops. It had a tiny kitchen and bath, minimalist furnishings. But Aaron had succeeded in creating a functional, funky, eclectic space. A delicate essence of myrrh played in the air.

Ava felt comfortable and secure accompanying Aaron to his place. And Adam had been correct about her disguise: they'd attracted no attention whatsoever on the streets or on the stairway up to Aaron's flat. But now she was happy to be able to remove the pakol cap, scarf and clunky boots –oh, how she missed her gypsy sandals.

Ava was anxious to resume her research so Aaron immediately set her up on his desk-top in the corner of the living room, directly adjacent to a Juliet balcony. She opened the door and a light breeze fluttered in, offering respite from the heat. It carried the scent of the sea. It was a welcomed, and now familiar, comfort to Ava as she mined and drilled into the reams of information.

In what seemed no time at all, Aaron called Ava to dinner. He had prepared and set his two-place dining table with an outstanding meal of Zurbian, lamb meat and colure rice, salad and khobez, round pita bread. He uncorked a bottle of chilled, Italian white and they dug in.

Ava had been engrossed in her work for hours, but the cool wine and fabulous food made her realize what scant sustenance she'd had throughout the day. It also had her taking note of what a wonderful host was seated opposite, with his fine features, lovely smile and seemingly pore-less skin. 

They exchanged and compared notes while they enjoyed dinner. Most pertinently, Ava told Aaron that when she saw Ali Khan on the pier, she experienced a disturbing flash of his presence at the Blue Heron. While Aaron had no doubt that Ali Khan would be there on orders from his brother, he told Ava that it was more probable Badaki had performed the knife work. Aaron also told Ava he had learned from reliable sources that Badaki had recently relocated his headquarters to Aden.

Until now, Ava had no idea Aaron had spent the day performing research and contacting any source even remotely related to her case.

So, in addition to eating, drinking and discussing the details of what they'd uncovered, Ava marveled at the multitude of qualities possessed by her handsome host. Along with having the fetching appearance of a dark and mysterious Bedouin nomad, Aaron Abel was knowledgeable, erudite and gallant... and he could cook! They talked on and on, pauses in their conversation soon became an endangered species.

Later, when the sun had fully set, Ava couldn't help notice how the evening light accentuated Aaron's soulful brown eyes; they were dreamy. The daunting circumstances of her situation had been impelled into a blurry corner of her subconscious. Her conscious self was occupied by an enchanting dinner date with a genteel and fascinating gentleman.

It was only with great reluctance that Ava drained the final stubborn drop from her wine glass. She made a moue with her moist lips and issued a quiet sigh, then managed a half-hearted move to begin clearing the dishes. But Aaron quickly rose from his place and came round behind her. He took her shoulders in his gentle hands. He said, "Priorities, my dear. Your work awaits. Up you get."

"I know, I know, Aaron. I will get back to it. But please, one more glass of wine? And one more teensy story, okay? How 'bout you tell me the tale behind that divine, nineteen-fifty-three Marilyn Monroe mug?"

"Mmm, I am pleased you noticed that, Ava. The cup is one of my most precious possessions. And you are spot on: there is a tale, quite a tale. But it is involved and delicately personal, and must be shared only when there is no time constraint." He turned her about-faced and marched her to the corner desk, saying, "Therefore, back to the salt mines with you. I shall pour you more wine. Then Aaron Abel will attend to the business in the kitchen."

He followed Ava to the desk and after she'd seated herself, Aaron took a lock of her hair between his thumb and finger. He commented with exaggerated envy, "Praise Allah, girl, I would kill to have hair like this." Ava angled her head round, arranged her features in a look of mock reproach. Aaron released her hair and, with an unapologetic shrug, affirmed, "Well, I would." Then he left her to her work.

When the kitchen business was finished, Aaron folded the dish towel in two and arranged it over the oven door handle. He turned and said to Ava, "So, Miss Blair, you have not uttered a single word for the better portion of an hour. Have you discovered the proverbial smoking gun?"

Ava robotically dragged her attention from the computer screen and stared at Aaron. In his direction, at least. Her mouth was limply agape and her eyes were wide with shock, but blank in focus.

The sound of screeching tires from out in the street pierced the silence.

Aaron swiftly crossed the room and came behind Ava to grasp her shoulders, to steady her; such was the effect of Ava's appearance of discomfiture.

Before Aaron had time to speak or examine what had caused her shock, Ava had recovered sufficiently to blank the computer screen. She rose, faced him, pressed steepled hands over her nose and mouth under tightly closed eyes. Aaron drew her into a protective embrace.