told you I'd hook you up with a VIP booth."

MacMillian forced a smile, some of the tension releasing from his shoulders. Thank god for a familiar face. "I know, I know. I meant to, but I..." His smile froze.

The man drew closer. "Something wrong?"

Hell yes, something was wrong. MacMillian swallowed hard and stepped back. "Nothing. It's nothing. I just... Did you do something to your teeth?"

"My teeth? No, why?" The man reached up and fingered a canine.

MacMillian stared. If he didn't know better, he'd swear it was a wolf's fang he was seeing. He shook himself. Ridiculous.

The man's brow furrowed. "Are you all right? You look like you've seen a ghost."

MacMillian blew out a breath. "You have no idea." He shook his head. "Probably just stayed up toodiscovered one of his reproductions before. It was a source of pride, of personal satisfaction.

Too bad he couldn't brag to anyone.

Emil checked his watch. Forty-eight minutes. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. He downed the last of his drink.

At that moment, a familiar figure strode through the doors of the museum. Emil let out a relieved breath. Misha slung his beat-up backpack over his shoulder and strolled down the sidewalk towards the tea shop. He caught Emil's eye, and kept walking past his table.

Shit. Something had gone wrong.

Emil stood and left twenty piastres next to the saucer. He fell into step behind Misha. "What happened?"

"Not sure. Mukhabarat, I think."

"Damn it." The last thing they needed was to end up on the radar of the secret