Of all things, she dreamed of Clint and sheep. They came in droves and the silly man sat among them, smoking a joint and looking as passive as they did. The smoke curled out of his twisted little cigarette into a wreath that circled his fat head.
All at once he was stranded up high on a mountaintop, so high. In her dream he was seven years old again, calling for her to save him. A thousand people stood gawking and watching, but no one took a step forward to help the frightened little boy. And in her dream she knew she was the only one who could. She climbed that rugged mountain, hand over hand and foot by foot. The handholds gave way to sheer rock that somehow she was still able to climb.
“Tessie! I’m scared!” he cried pitifully.
She had to save him, and only she could do it. Higher and higher she went until he was less than a few feet away. To save him, she had to climb beneath the lip of that mountain edge, exposing herself to the sheer drop below. With no place to fasten her feet, she pressed forward anyway because he was her baby brother, and that was what big sisters did.
The first handhold was the hardest. Suspended over nothing but a damn long way to fall, her heart pounded. This wasn’t dangerous; it was suicide.
“I can’t get down,” he sobbed pathetically, tearing her heart apart. “I’m gonna fall. Help me, Tessie!”
“I’m almost there. I’m coming. Don’t move.” Her feet dangled beneath her, paddling nothing but frigid mountain air.
“I’m scared,” he cried, and she cried with him.
Don’t move, Clint. I’m coming. I’m scared, too, but I’ll save you.
Her heart leapt up into her throat. The paralyzing fear of heights suffocated her. There was nothing else to hold onto. Her gallant act of bravery was futile. She couldn’t reach him. Her fingers slipped, and she hung one-handed over a drop to earth that would surely kill her. She’d failed. No way forward. No way back. Only down.
“Tessie!” little boy Clint cried for his big sister.
Her grip weakened. Her fingernails etched the edge of the stone—and she fell.
No!
Tess woke up to her heart thundering in her chest and the plummet to earth fresh in her mind. She could barely swallow. Clint. Where was he? The terror of the nightmare persisted. He was in trouble. She knew it. Somehow, he’d reached out to her through time and space, and once again, she was his big sister and the only one who could save him. But how? Where?
She licked her dry lips and took stock of her clean hospital room. She wasn’t exactly sure how she’d gotten there, but her path seemed obvious. There was only one person who could help her find her troublesome brother. As much as she despised the man, she needed his help.
Mohammed.
“Oops. Sorry.”
Damn. The medic with the hypo of local anesthetic was doing a good job of pissing Lee off. One more stab in his bicep like that last one, and the dumbass would be picking himself off the deck.
Lee bit back his words and stared out the window. He hated hospitals. Tess was the only reason he’d stayed at this one. He needed to be close to her, his protective side on edge after their near-death encounter. If he could’ve gotten away with it, he would’ve crawled in bed with her.
While she slept, he intended to grab a few ZZZs, but then he and she were out of there. His mind was westward bound, and he wanted her beside him when he left the dirt and dust of this wretched country behind. He hadn’t even asked her if she’d go with him yet. She might not want to leave, and he understood. She’d made a life of sorts in this third-world country, but a man could hope. After all, she had said she loved him when they both thought she was dying.
The miracle of walking out of there alive with Tess still amazed him, but the image of her on the floor in Nizari’s house boiled Lee’s blood all over again. If not for Turik, he would have killed Nizari before he’d left. Still might go back and finish the job.
He watched the medic clean and stitch the knife hole in his arm, then top it off with a topical antibiotic and a large bandage. Winchester, Snowden, and Carter were being treated in this same hospital. Some of their injuries were pretty serious, especially Winchester’s. They’d be drugged and sleeping like Tess, so he couldn’t visit with them, and he didn’t plan on being around when Alex got out of recovery. That’d be a lot like a grizzly bear coming out of hibernation.
“You’re good to go, Agent Hart,” the medic said. “I can write you an order for pain pills if you’d like.”
“No thanks.” Lee didn’t need pain pills. They had side effects. His whole life was one big side effect.
He settled a long, hot shower before he hit the clean sheets. Seth snored lightly in the next rack, already out cold. Knowing Tess laid only a couple doors away did the trick. Sleep had never felt so good or so hard.
Tess made her way quietly out of the hospital. It wasn’t hard. Once she lifted a pair of scrubs from the hamper, she looked like she worked there. Well, almost. Lee had to be around there somewhere. He wouldn’t approve, so she intended to make this visit to Mohammed quick.
Her dilemma struck the moment she hit the exit doors. She knew where Mohammed lived. The problem was getting there.
Glancing around the parking area, Nizari’s BMW stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the olive drab. She remembered it vaguely from the previous night. She made yet another bold decision. She plucked up her courage and walked straight toward that BMW like she owned it.
Better yet, once she was safely inside and found the keys still in the ignition, she did own it. Feeling successful, she turned the ignition, and let the dark windows conceal her foolish decision.
She glanced back at the guarded gate as she drove out of Camp Eggers and into Kabul traffic. Would they let her back in? No matter. She’d cross that bridge when she got to it. It was imperative she chat with Mohammed, but first...
She pulled a hard left and swung onto Saint Raphael’s open yard. Her heart ached to see the sweet little faces that meant more to her than all the riches of Afghanistan. This might be her last chance with Mina and Jamaal. She took it.
Saint Raphael’s was nothing more than a rectangular concrete building that used to be a Catholic church. Where once rows of pews faced the sanctuary, now row after row of cots lined the floor. There were no statues in the sacristy, no holy pictures. Even the steeple was gone. Families too poor to help themselves lived there with the orphans. A woman she didn’t recognize waved from the single concrete step at the two wooden doors. Tess waved back, but didn’t dare leave the comfort of her air-conditioned ride.
There was a time she’d intended this work only as a cover for her real mission. No more. Somehow, the simple song she’d sung in Lee’s shower changed everything. She hadn’t realized just how lost she was until then. Until the kindest man pulled her out of harm’s way and forced her to reevaluate her priorities. Until he made her see how poorly she’d chosen. Golden relics over the lives of people? Long dead ancient legends over the dearest little children on the face of the planet? Now Clint? How insanely stupid was she?
She nearly chuckled. The answer seemed pretty damn clear. She was stupid enough to ask the assassin who tried to kill her for help.
Tess rolled her window down as the woman approached. Dressed in flowing pants and a long shirt, only the crucifix at her neck gave her away. This had to be Sister Alison’s replacement. “Can I help you?” she asked.
Tears welled up at the thought of her friend’s death. Tess paused, not sure why she thought she could do this. Mina and Jamaal didn’t need to see her looking like this. They needed that strong, vibrant woman who used to swing them up in to her arms and make them laugh, not a woman who could barely move. “Yes, please. I used to work here. I mean, I still work here, only I’ve been gone a couple days.”
“You must be Tess Culver. Come in.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t. Are Mina and Jamaal still here? Are they well?” She bit her lip, hoping nothing had happened to those babies while she’d been busy being stup
id. “Are they happy?”
The woman extended a slender hand through the window. “Yes, those little rascals are fine. I’m Sister Mary Joseph by the way It’s good to meet you, Tess. Are you sure you don’t have time? They’re eating lunch, but I know they’d love to see you again. I’ll make tea and we could visit.”
That would have been the smart thing to do. Tess shook the nun’s hand quickly. “Maybe tomorrow. Please tell them I was here and I’ll be back.”
Sister Mary Joseph offered a knowing smile. “Take care of yourself, Tess Culver.”
Tess put the BMW into reverse and left Saint Raphael’s behind, emotional beyond belief. Tears stung her eyes. Why couldn’t the kids have been playing in the open yard? One glimpse of Mina and Jamaal was all she’d wanted. Was that too much to ask after the night she’d had?
Finally, on the outskirts of Kabul, her heart calmed. That Mohammed hadn’t chosen to live in the wealthy neighborhood of Wazir Akbar Khan, where embassies were built and the elite lived, spoke volumes about his integrity. He practiced what he preached.
She pulled over alongside his humble home. A young boy sat in the front yard tinkering with a bicycle. Only when she stepped slowly out of the glamorous vehicle did a smile brighten his face. “Miss Culver!” Fahim ran to greet her.
Tess steeled herself for the enthusiastic welcome of Mohammed’s eight-year-old son. They’d met before in kinder times. When he wrapped his arms around her waist, it took her breath. The lacerations on her back were waking up from the anesthetic.
“You have Mr. Nizari’s car.” Fahim seemed more impressed with the car than with her. “Did he give it to you? Can I ride in it?”
“Maybe later.” Gritting her teeth against the pain, she put on her happy face and tousled his curly hair. Fahim was his father all over again, except for his pale blue eyes. Those he got from his American-born mother, Alessa. “Is your father home, Fahim?”
“Papa!” No sooner shouted than answered.
Mohammed stood at his door, one hand on his hip and surprise on his face. A simple gray baseball cap covered his head. He waved her forward, but one step and she faltered. Mohammed rushed to her side. “Why are you here?” he asked, not unkindly. “You should be in your friend’s care if not at the hospital. What are you thinking?”
And there he was, her ruggedly handsome desert warrior from the enthralling land of Alexander the Great. Tess sighed. What a fool she’d been to fall for this dusky-skinned Afghan idealist. The thickest lashes fringed his smoky amethyst eyes, so dark that a silly American girl living abroad could get lost in them. Could, nothing. Tess had gotten lost in the romance that was Mohammed—his country, too.
“We need to talk,” she said, as he grasped her elbow firmly and steered her up the walk and into his home. Fresh, cool air met her at the door. He might live like everyone else in his neighborhood, but he had air-conditioning, a very welcome modern touch.
“Alessa,” he called to his wife as he directed Tess to a couch. “Please bring my friend a glass of juice.”
Tess would’ve preferred an introduction under different circumstances, preferably when she wasn’t leaning against Alessa’s husband’s strong body. But one glance at Alessa, and Tess had to smile. She was exactly how Tess had pictured her. Blonde, beautiful, and American. She dressed in the simple garb of an Afghan woman at home: long pants, a knee-length tunic, and a hijab loose at her neck. How fitting.
Tess took the proffered drink and lifted it to her lips while Alessa crouched at the couch with her husband. “This is quite good. Thank you for your kindness, Alessa. I am in your debt.”
Fahim stood nearby, fidgeting. “She has Mr. Nizari’s car, Papa,” he whispered into his father’s ear. “Did you see it?”
Mohammed slanted a stern glance toward his son. “Don’t you have lessons to finish?”
Fahim’s brows furrowed. “Yes, Papa, but only math. Division is hard. I need your help”
“Go now. Do all you can, and I’ll be in shortly.” Mohammed sounded like any other father on the planet.
Fahim’s fists curled at his side. “But Papa, it is the silver car. The pretty one. We could go for a short ride in it.” His eyes gleamed.
Mohammed’s brows furrowed. “We don’t take what isn’t ours, son.”
“Just one little ride.” Fahim wheedled, but he must’ve recognized the look in his father’s eye. He pivoted on his heel without another word and obeyed.
“You have a handsome boy,” Tess said, quietly locking gazes with Mohammed.
“Why are you here?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Her heart stalled. “You know why.”
Mohammed shot her a dark look, his cap in his hands. “I must speak to my friend alone,” he said brusquely to his wife who still knelt at his side.
“Not now, my husband. Your friend isn’t well,” Alessa replied firmly. “She must rest while I’ll fix something for her to eat, then you two may have your talk. What’s your name?” she asked Tess.
“Tess Culver. I work at the orphanage. Saint Raphael’s.”
Alessa’s eyes lit with recognition. “Ah, so you’re the Lady Tess my Mohammed speaks so highly of. I’ve heard much about the work you’ve done with the children.” She gave Tess’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m Alessa. I must say, it’s good to hear another American woman’s voice. I’m so glad there are devoted workers like you in the orphanage. Mina and Jamaal are the sweetest, aren’t they? I was so sad to hear their father abandoned them.”
Tess relaxed, secretly relieved Mohammed shared her love of those special children with his wife. She and Alessa had a couple things in common, children and Mohammed. “I’d love to adopt them if I could,” she confided another secret she had yet to tell Lee.
Mohammed rolled those dashing midnight eyes to the ceiling and shook his head, but Alessa’s face brightened. “Oh, I’m so glad to finally meet you, Tess. You’re always welcome in our humble home. Please rest as long as you want. I’ll run and prepare something that will go easy on your stomach.”
A flash of tenderness lit Mohammed’s face as he watched his wife walk away, and Tess relaxed. What an enigma. He might be a notorious assassin, but there at home, he was also a good husband, and he knew when to listen to his wife. He lifted to the couch beside Tess after Alessa left the room. “Talk,” he ordered sternly but quietly, the brim of his cap twisted in his hands.
Tess kept her accusation low and calm. “Why are you killing all my friends?”
“Why are they robbing my country? What did you expect me to do—let them transfer every last Afghan treasure to the Paris Louvre right under my nose?”
“Sister Alison didn’t steal anything. She was my friend.”
Something dark and dangerous flashed across his face. “I don’t kill women, Tess. The man who did that cowardly deed was not me.”
“Liar. You tried to kill me,” she exclaimed, her tone rising higher. “I know it. I’ve seen a video that shows—”
“Be careful, Tess,” he warned, his perfect white teeth clenched together. “You know I do not lie. You’re no better than your French ambassador, stealing Afghan trinkets and selling them on the—”
“Trinkets?” she nearly shrieked. “Those aren’t trinkets. They’re priceless artifacts, Mohammed. The only reason I’ve taken anything is to keep some small portion of this nation’s history safe from your imam’s ridiculous fatwa to destroy what is good in the world. I’ll have you know I haven’t made a single Afghani on what I’ve taken. Not one. If anything, this foolish quest is driving me to the poor house.” She took a deep breath to steady her trembling. “Who do you think stole the Star of Persia back from that jerk in Darfur, you moron? Use your head, Mohammed. What I’ve stolen back from the Taliban hasn’t even left the country, and it never will.” She raked a hand through her thick hair, smoothing it behind her ear. “God, Mohammed. Who do you really think is selling your son’s culture on the black market? It’s not me. I’m trying to res
cue it for Fahim. I happen to love this country, remember? Don’t you get it? You were there. You saw Nizari’s place. Do you think he cares about honoring your stupid fatwa?” Her fingers curled to fists just thinking of the evil man. How could Mohammed defend Nizari?
He ran a hand over his bearded chin, his dark eyes hooded. “Trust me. I saw, but… You’re not getting rich on what you’ve stolen?”
Gah! This man was like all the others. He had a hard head and two ears that must have been painted on for as much as he listened. She wanted to deck him. “Look at me, Mohammed. Do you see any gold on my fingers or fine linens on my body? Am I wearing expensive cologne?” She touched her neck, searching for the only item of jewelry she owned, but her fingers came up empty. Even the crucifix Clint had given her was gone. Alexander and Roxana had finally taken everything. A swell of bitter recrimination lifted up from her battered heart. It was finally time to leave this country.
Mohammed looked at her through his brows, his chin nearly on his chest. The man was a study in culture all by himself—dark skinned, dark haired, and melted chocolate drops for eyes that at the moment seemed deep in thought. He let out a deliberately slow sigh. “I was given an order to kill you, yes, but I never intended to do it. If those bloody American snipers had minded their business, I might have winged you as I’d planned. As it was, I missed.”
“You would’ve shot me just because someone told you to?” Her heart broke. This man had loved her once. She knew he did. How had he fallen so low?
The shadow darkening his brow lifted. Mohammed raised her fingers to his soft lips. “Dear Tess, listen to me. I could never kill you. You’re the most exciting woman I’ve ever known when you’re on one of your quests. I’ve watched you for years. Once you get a notion in your head, you run pell-mell into danger, and you take the bloodiest risks. At the worst, I would’ve sent you a warning only. If I’d winged you, Clint would’ve caught you with that ridiculous airbag in the back of his truck. You would’ve crawled off to lick your wounds for a month or two. Do you ever stop to think you could’ve been killed instead of just beaten that day?”
Lee (In the Company of Snipers Book 12) Page 28