The airport wasn't particularly large. Since a flight had just landed, a steady stream of people was filing out, some casting curious glances at Laila and her entourage. After all, it wasn't every day you saw someone surrounded by a squad of bodyguards at an airport.
Just then, a small child suddenly darted forward and accidentally bumped into one of the bodyguards. Perhaps frightened by the towering figure, the child immediately burst into tears.
Laila stepped forward and gently patted his head. "Don't be scared. He may look big, but he's a good person."
"He says you're a good guy!" The other bodyguards teased their colleague, who—despite his intimidating appearance—blushed to the tips of his ears. It was hard to believe this was the same hardened man who had charged through gunfire without hesitation.
Ignoring their banter, Laila kept her voice soft as she asked the child, "What's your name? Where's your mommy?"
The boy didn't answer. Instead, he made a few incoherent sounds, grabbed her hand, and tugged insistently toward the right front, as if trying to pull her along.
"I think he wants you to take him to his mom?" Roy observed, studying the child. With his chocolate-brown skin, wide eyes, and a head full of tight curls, the boy was undeniably adorable—the kind that made you want to ruffle his hair into even more of a mess.
"Hey, little guy, how about I take you to your mom instead?" Roy flashed his most charming smile.
But for once, his good looks had no effect. The boy stubbornly clung to Laila's hand, refusing to let go.
Laila chuckled. "It's fine. I'll take him."
"Miss, let one of us handle it," the head bodyguard interjected, disapproval clear in his tone.
"It's just a child. What could go wrong?" Laila dismissed his concern. Surely no one would exploit a three- or four-year-old for nefarious purposes?
Seeing her determination, the bodyguards relented but stayed close as the child led Laila forward.
A child? Only those who had never seen war would assume children were harmless. Most of these bodyguards were ex-military, battle-hardened veterans. Even those without combat experience had undertaken high-risk missions where they'd encountered more than their share of lethal "children."
The environment shaped upbringing. In South Africa—a place they still considered semi-lawless—they had no illusions. Kids here grew up around guns. Some had probably fired bullets before learning to read.
And this child's sudden appearance was too convenient. Who would abandon such a young boy in a crowded airport? Unless they'd stumbled upon the world's most negligent parent, this had all the makings of a trap.
But these bodyguards were confident. Even if outnumbered, they could handle any threat. Street thugs? No matter how many, they'd be nothing more than target practice.
Roy stayed close to Laila, untroubled by the child. If anything, he liked kids. Pity this one seemed immune to his charm, fixated solely on Laila.
"Kwaku! Kwaku!" A woman's frantic voice called out nearby.
The boy finally released Laila's hand and wobbled toward the sound, his unsteady steps making it seem like he might faceplant at any second.
"Careful! Don't fall!" Laila fretted, instinctively moving to shield him as if her presence could somehow cushion a potential tumble.
As it turned out, the child had been lost. His mother profusely thanked Laila—until she noticed the wall of bodyguards looming behind her. With a nervous glance, she hurried away, child in arms.
"You scared her off," Laila sighed, shooting her security team a reproachful look. Honestly, if she saw someone with this much protection, she'd probably flee too.
Roy grinned. "At least they weren't dangerous."
"You're all too paranoid. It was just a kid." Shaking her head, Laila led the way out of the airport and into the military vehicle arranged for her.
What they didn't know was that several pairs of eyes tracked their departure, lingering long after they'd left.
"Those bodyguards are too sharp. We couldn't even lure her away with a child."
The speaker was none other than the gang leader who had once placed a bounty on Roy and the others. His words confirmed it—the "lost child" had indeed been a ploy to isolate Laila.
To be fair, the boy himself was innocent. At three or four, he barely understood adult schemes. But his father was a high-ranking gang member, and the plan had been his idea. For days, he'd trained his son with Laila's photo: If you get lost, find this lady. She'll take you to Mommy.
A child's instinct to seek his mother was primal. So when his father deliberately "lost" him along Laila's path, the boy did exactly as instructed.
To avoid suspicion, the father hadn't informed the mother. Her panic when she found her son missing—and her genuine relief upon reuniting—had been entirely real.
Crude as the trap was, it might have worked. Using a child to lower defenses was a classic tactic. Against less vigilant targets, it could have succeeded. But Laila's security was elite. To them, everyone was a potential threat—women, children, no exceptions. Compassion had no place in their job.
The gang leader's spies had witnessed everything.
Lately, his operation had been crumbling. Men were either jailed or killed in clashes. The police, for some reason, had gone berserk, cracking down on underground deals. His influence was waning, even over the diamond mines.
He knew if this continued, he'd lose everything. So when word reached him that Laila had returned, he saw his last chance. Sink or swim, it all hinged on capturing this Hollywood director.