Wade

by Jennifer Blake

  “But they are. You’re an American, born of American parents on American soil, and no one can take that away from you. You don’t belong here. It looks to me as if you’re letting something very close to hatred blind you to your own safety.”

  “You suggest this on the strength of two short encounters? You know nothing about me or of how I’ve been forced to live for years, almost as long as I lived in the States. The little that you do know of these things is tainted by the fact that you are a man.”

  “Right,” he drawled.

  “It matters.” The words were stubborn in spite of the realization that she’d just proved his point.

  “Of course it does. But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s crazy for you to stay here when you can go back where you belong.”

  “Where I belong? I have no mother, no father now. My grandparents, if they are still alive, forgot me long ago. There is no one in the States to care what becomes of me. At least I have something here.” Added to that was the fact she’d been away so long she was afraid she’d grown too different to ever fit in again.

  “Well, hell, if that’s all that’s bothering you, I’ve got more than enough family to go around. The Benedict clan is so big that one more will never be noticed.”

  “That’s your name, Benedict?”

  The man beside her took a breath that expanded his chest under the neatly tucked-in black T-shirt that he wore with his jeans and boots. “Yeah. Wade Benedict. Guess I should have introduced myself sooner. But I’ve known about you for so long, thought about you so much lately one way and another, that it’s hard to realize you’ve never heard of me.”

  “You thought of me.” Her voice was flat with disbelief.

  “Night and day since I gave John Madison my word that I’d bring you home. This isn’t a simple operation, you know, locating you, arranging to get you out. It’s taken legwork, calling in favors and a lot of computer time. Then we had to assume that you might be held against your will since we could make no direct contact, and because I had a fairly comprehensive briefing on the situation here for women. That made it necessary to organize matters so you could be taken out of here by force if need be.”

  She gave a short laugh. “You make it sound like a military campaign.”

  “Close to it. What I’m trying to say is that I’m working with a tense situation and a narrow time frame. A little cooperation would be appreciated.”

  “You really intend to smuggle me out of the country.” It seemed so improbable, perhaps because she’d grown used to thinking of herself as unimportant to anyone.

  “If I have to. Our intelligence says your stepbrother may try to prevent your leaving. He could probably make it stick because of his position with the Taliban high command.”

  “Intelligence?”

  “I had the help of a good friend who used to be with diplomatic security before opening up shop on his own. And John was involved in the op up to his eyeballs until, well, until the last.”

  She shook her head. “So much trouble.”

  “You were John’s kid, his pride and joy. He used to pass around pictures of you to everybody who’d take a look. Sometimes, especially after new ones stopped coming, he’d spread them all out and talk to you while he slowly drank himself into a stupor.”

  “Don’t!”

  He gave a moody shrug, remaining silent for long seconds. Finally he said, “I was just trying to tell you why I’m here, how I know you. Are you sure you really never heard of me?”

  She almost denied it, but hesitated as a shadow of memory flickered through her mind. “I think…it seems as if the people who owned the lake camp where I stayed with my father one summer in Louisiana may have been named Benedict.”

  “You got it, sugar.” His teeth gleamed white for a second in the dim light as he smiled. “Your dad used to borrow the camp. He had no real home, just a motel room for when he was stateside between oil-field jobs.”

  “It was wonderful there. And he did speak of his young friend who had loaned him the place, though you were still overseas, I think. Mostly he called you…”

  “That damn Benedict kid. Right?”

  The droll self-deprecation in his voice surprised her. She wasn’t used to men who could laugh at themselves. “It was a cover for how much he liked you, I think.”

  He shrugged as if embarrassed. “I was fresh out of college along about then and had a chip on my shoulder the size of a derrick. John made sure I stayed out of trouble when I first hit the fields. Or tried, anyway.”

  “So you feel indebted, which is why you are here?”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

  His deep voice carried a drawl, as if he was intent on hiding something strongly felt but private. Curiosity stirred inside her. That was unusual since to suppress all interest in men, how they felt and what they thought, had become a way of life. She wasn’t sure she liked it, especially since she would probably never see Wade Benedict again after tonight.

  “What I started to tell you, anyway,” he continued, “is that I have two brothers with wives and a kid or two, plus three or four close cousins and a few dozen more that I like well enough to claim as kin. If it’s family you’re missing, you’ll find more than you really want in my neck of the woods, around Turn-Coupe, Louisiana. Not that you’re obliged to settle down there, of course. Once you find your feet, you can go anywhere that suits your fancy.”

  It sounded so reasonable, so exactly what she might have wished for at one time. Now it was impossible. “Thank you very much, but, as I’m been trying to tell you, I can’t go with you.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “But you do? You are so superior and wise that you are better able to judge what is good for me than I, a mere woman? Go—”

  He put out his hand, laying his fingertips against the scarf she still held over her face, finding her lips with amazing accuracy. Surprise stopped her voice. In the sudden quiet, she heard what had alerted him, the creak of the hinges on the house door.

  Wade Benedict glanced at her with a lifted brow. At her stiff nod, he removed his hand, then swiftly changed his position so that his body with its dark clothing shielded her, especially the light blue of the blouse she wore with her long skirt. They stood motionless in the dark blotch of tree shadow.

  An oblong of light fell across the garden. Ahmad’s stocky shape filled the doorway. Chloe tensed, expecting to be reprimanded for staying outside so long.

  It didn’t happen. Instead her stepbrother stepped out to the edge of the herb bed where he unbuttoned his pants and relieved himself of the endless cups of tea he’d drunk in his role as host. It was a favorite trick of his, that defilement, because he knew the garden was her retreat.

  Once done, Ahmad turned, refastening his clothes. The kitchen door closed behind him, and she was left alone again with Wade Benedict.

  They didn’t move or speak for long seconds. With every sense on high alert, Chloe could feel the breeze that stirred the leaves overhead, catch the scents including night-blooming jasmine, mint and the sour mulberries that had been crushed underfoot. She could also feel the body heat of the man who stood so close. If she moved her hand just a fraction, she could touch him. The temptation to do just that lurched through her so she clenched her fingers into a fist to prevent it.

  When she’d first come here, when she’d been so dismayed and unhappy, she’d daydreamed in the way of teenagers that her father would come for her. He’d whisk her away, maybe knocking Ahmad flat in the process, and the two of them would fly straight back to America. The fantasy had always run headlong into the fact that she’d have to leave her mother behind if she went away, something that had been insupportable. She was reminded of that particular fantasy now, she thought, because the daydream beckoned once more and she was still constrained by ties of duty and affection.

  Wade Benedict was not a figment of her imagination, however. He was real, and it seemed that he would not b
e easily deflected from his purpose.

  “Close call.”

  Delayed reaction rippled over her so her teeth chattered a little as she opened her mouth to speak. “Yes.”

  He put out a hand as if to touch her, then drew it back again. “If this Ahmad character scares you so much I’d think you’d be dying to get away from him.”

  She pressed her lips together. Explaining further would be a waste of breath. She had to get rid of this man somehow, before he ruined everything. “It’s a big step, a huge change. I…need time to think about it.”

  Doubt rode his voice as he asked, “How much time?”

  “Thirty-six hours? I will meet you in the bazaar then.”

  “Why not tomorrow?”

  “I can’t go out any time I please, but usually try to teach two days per week. If I can’t make it the day after tomorrow, it will be the day after that. If I’m not there then, you will know that I am staying.”

  “Now wait a minute,” he began.

  “It’s the best I can do.”

  “Why do I have a feeling I’ll be standing around again, waiting for someone who never shows?”

  “If it happens, then you must accept that it was impossible for me to leave.”

  “Or that you prefer the devil you know?”

  Her brow pleated in a frown. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

  “You’ve been here so long that a lot of what goes on seems almost natural, part of a familiar rut that doesn’t require you to think because somebody takes care of that for you. You’re like a prisoner who has been behind bars so long that the outside world looks too big to handle. It’s easier to stay put.”

  “I told you why it’s important to me.”

  “Yeah, but is that the real reason or just an excuse? You’re too bright to bury yourself here.”

  She drew herself up, standing tall before him though the top of her head only came to his chin. “Think what you like. I have given you my answer. You must accept it or I will tell you now that I can’t go.”

  He muttered something that might have been profane as he lifted a hand to waist level, abruptly closing it into a fist.

  Chloe flinched; she couldn’t help it.

  Wade lowered his hand, staring at her before he said in precise tones, “I’ve never hit a woman in my life.”

  “No. I…It was just a reflex.” His gesture had been one of exasperation. She saw that now.

  “I know that, damn it all. What I don’t get is you being so afraid and still…” He closed his lips on the words and swung around, turning his back to her.

  He was angry and perhaps wounded in his pride that she could imagine he would use force. It was astonishing, and also disturbing. “I’m sorry.”

  “God, don’t apologize. That just makes it worse.” He stared up at the mulberry leaves above him a second. “Never mind. Be at the market two mornings from now, you hear?”

  “And if I’m not?”

  “I came here to take you out of this hellish country. You’re going, one way or another.”

  That sounded like a threat. “What are you saying?”

  He didn’t answer, but only took a running step and leaped to catch a lower branch of the mulberry tree. A lithe swing and twist of his body, and he was balanced on top of the wall, a shadow among the rustling branches. Seconds later, he vanished.

  Chloe was alone in the garden once more, with only her fears and regrets.

  3

  Wade Benedict stood on the far side of the stone wall until he heard a door open and close and knew Chloe Madison was safe inside once more. Or at least safe from any consequences of his visit, as far as he could tell. Only then did he move off into the night, heading for the dingy room he’d taken in a midtown hotel.

  He kept to the backstreets, every sense on high alert. Curfew was in effect in Ajzukabad as in all Hazaristan cities, and he wasn’t exempt because he was American. In fact, it might get him a cracked skull or trip to pokey even faster than normal. Anti-American sentiment was strong here since the U.S. attack on Afghanistan, and he could be targeted for that reason alone. A knife in the ribs while his wallet was lifted was also a definite possibility. All the public hangings and chopped-off hands in the world couldn’t stop that ancient response to terrible economic conditions.

  The last few minutes with Chloe Madison played in his head like a bad movie. He couldn’t believe she’d actually thought he meant to hit her. That reaction told him more than he wanted to know about what her life was like these days. Leaving John’s daughter in the house with that stepbrother of hers for thirty-six more hours really went against the grain.

  The file on Ahmad indicated that he’d been brought up by his grandfather on a steady diet of Islamic fundamentalism that had been compounded by his introduction to the Taliban. From the mullahs at the school in Kabul where he was sent for his education, he’d been indoctrinated with the idea that women were immoral beings who must always be controlled, and that the U.S. was to blame for every bad thing that had ever happened in a Muslim nation. The result was a full-blown hatred of both women and all things American. His father’s marriage to an American woman had been an insult in his view, a slur on the family honor. It was rumored that he’d rid himself of his stepmother by having her murdered in the street while his father was away. Evidence also suggested a connection to the al Qaeda terrorist network, one developed while he was in Afghanistan. It wasn’t simply that Chloe’s stepbrother had developed a fanatic streak with a vicious edge but that he’d found the perfect position for expressing it.

  How much Chloe Madison knew or suspected about these things, Wade couldn’t tell. She was uptight beyond belief, giving nothing away, letting no one get close. She understood the risks in what she was doing well enough, he thought, but had grown so used to them that they no longer had the power to scare her. She’d always been a gutsy little thing, according to John. Apparently she hadn’t changed. The Benedict in him saluted that courage as well as her loyalty to her friends and attempt to better the situation around her. Still, her refusal to listen to reason made him nuts.

  He didn’t like this delay, not one little bit. It was too much of a reminder of another wait, another hostage situation, another woman. The sooner this was over, the better. Besides, other people were involved in the operation, and some of them had more important things to do than stand around while Chloe made up her mind.

  Wade was almost abreast of the shop doorway when he saw the woman. She eased toward him like a sheeted ghost with one hand held out in traditional begging posture. She didn’t stop as she came nearer, but brushed against him, reaching with her other hand under the cover of her burqa to brush across his groin. It wasn’t the first time he’d been approached by a prostitute in a foreign city, but it was maybe the weirdest. Even if paying for sex was his style, he couldn’t imagine taking up an offer from a woman whose face he couldn’t see and whose body was covered from head to toe.

  “No,” he said with precision.

  The woman gasped and instantly effaced herself. The movement was so swift that Wade felt a wrench of guilt. He hadn’t meant to seem threatening. Prostitution was forbidden, he knew, but if the fear of being too forward could bring that kind of terror, then he didn’t like to think what the penalty for being caught must be or how great the desperation that would force a woman out into the night.

  The incident was a potent reminder of Chloe’s reaction to his visit. She was probably right about the danger of contact from him. It couldn’t be helped. There were precious few ways for a man to talk to a woman here, which meant that he was forced to take chances. He’d been rough on her, too, suggesting that she liked her virtual captivity. He’d hoped to jar her into commitment, or at least an admission that she wanted to go home. The trick hadn’t come close to working, and for that she also had his grudging admiration.

  It had been worth the chance of getting caught sneaking over the garden wall just to see her without that ridiculous
getup. The proud way she walked within her flowing folds of cloth, as if refusing to acknowledge the handicap, intrigued him, but it wasn’t easy to talk to a woman when you couldn’t see her face. Of course, he still didn’t really know what she looked like. She’d seen to that, as if covering her face had become some sort of protective instinct instead of one of the thousand and one rules she had to follow.

  He’d give a lot to know exactly how the bright-eyed preteen with the million-dollar smile that he remembered from John’s photographs had turned out. He wasn’t like one of those hopeless guys in romantic movies who fell in love with a picture, but she’d always looked to him like a great kid who would grow up to be quite a package. The need to find out if he was right was beginning to nag at him. Just curiosity, brought on by the whole veil thing, the lure of the forbidden, the mystery and all that.

  Not that he had much use for the exotic East, particularly this corner of it. Oh, he was impressed as all get-out by the wide deserts and mountain peaks so tall they punched holes in the sky. The endurance and fighting spirit of the people amazed him, too. But it was impossible to take a real liking to a place where maimed ex-soldiers and old women begged and died in streets that smelled like sewers, and the government was doing its level best to destroy all trace of civilized living.

  Ahead of him in the darkness, he caught the glow of a flashlight and the sound of booted footsteps. Two uniformed policemen with cudgels swinging from their fists came into view. Wade slid immediately into the nearest alley. Pressing his back to the mud brick wall, he tried to make himself a part of it. It wasn’t so much that he feared arrest as it was the need to avoid drawing attention to his after-dark activity. You never knew when the wrong person might hear about it. It was always possible, too, that his name could show up in some semiobsolete database of diplomatic security service personnel. That was one of the risks that he had weighed before agreeing to this operation. But of course that part of his past was the main reason John Madison had tapped him for it in the first place. Well, that and the need for a man he could trust not to take advantage of the situation and, just possibly, of his daughter.