In Sheep's Clothing

by Emily Kimelman

  "I could kill you right now."

  Her throat closed as fear spiraled. If she died, she couldn't help Joy. "I'm meant to be here."

  "You are going home. But first, tell me what you told that man and anyone else."

  She glared at him as he sat down in one of the two chairs in the small space. He gestured to the other. "I told him I was looking for my daughter." She did not sit, raising her chin instead.

  "You didn't think your gray eyes might be a giveaway?"

  She shook her head. "How?"

  "Sydney is known—"

  "Her name is Joy."

  "Not for a long time." His voice went flatter. April hadn't thought that was possible.

  "I'm going to find her."

  "You're a fool." Robert shook his head. "But I see where she gets her stubbornness from. You being here is dangerous. For Sydney." He said her name like he owned it. Like he'd given it to her.

  "You." April dropped the duffel, taking a step forward, her fists balled, her body wanting to hit him. Robert didn't flinch, didn't make a move to stop her. But she froze as his gaze held hers. He'd kill her.

  "It's you, isn't it? You’re the one who gave her that stupid name."

  Was that a smile? "I didn't come up with it, but I arranged the paperwork."

  "You faked Joy's death."

  "You're revealing the dangerous levels of your knowledge." He rubbed his hand on his knee. Did it ache the way hers did sometimes? They were about the same age, weren't they? Robert might be five years younger. But judging from the way he moved--a soldier, a battler--he'd lived a rough life. The kind that might make a knee ache.

  "I'm not dangerous. I'm her mother. She needs me."

  "She hasn't needed you for years. What makes you think she needs you now?" He didn't say it like it was meant to hurt her feelings, just like he was curious. What made her so sure that Joy needed her now?

  "God."

  "Excuse me?" His eyebrows rose.

  "God brought me here. I'm telling you, if you try to make me leave, it will backfire."

  This time she was almost sure it was a smile. "God has nothing to do with it. Though you're not the only person in the region who thinks they've got a direct line to the guy." The guy? She didn't answer, just stood there, staring at him. "Tell me everyone you came into contact with, and anyone you told about Joy."

  "You've already killed the only person I spoke to."

  "You’re lying."

  It wasn't that she was lying, it's that she didn't know. Shame colored her cheeks, and Robert nodded, as if it affirmed his statement. His arrogance pissed her off. "I'm not lying. I… lost some time."

  "Really?" That flat voice was back, like her lost time was not strange, just a fact that he wanted to confirm.

  "Yes. I have a drinking problem."

  Robert nodded. "Yes." Another fact. She'd never met anyone who kept judgment so clearly out of his voice.

  "I went on a bender." The truth spilled out of her. "I woke up in that man's bed. Apparently, I'd negotiated passage here with him, while under the influence."

  "Impressive. And dangerous. You are like her, aren't you?"

  "It would be the other way around."

  His brows rose.

  "Ah, perhaps. Either way, you're leaving. It's a shame you can't remember more. You've left your daughter exposed."

  "Me!" April's voice rose in fury. "How did she get here in the first place? You. You, Robert Maxim. You did this to her."

  He stood and approached, that vice-like grip closing around her bicep again. "No. She did it to herself. Sydney Rye does what she wants. I do everything I can to protect her." His eyes bore into April, they glowed with passion.

  He's in love with her.

  The realization stole April's voice. That's why he'd always kept in contact with April. Robert Maxim loved her daughter.

  Chapter Twenty

  Robert

  Robert watched the SUV's taillights disappear into the night. April would be back in the States within twenty hours. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath—the air smelled like dust and gasoline.

  He had a motorcycle stashed behind the customs building and was looking forward to a ride. He'd stay at a secure house tonight and return to the base tomorrow.

  April had surprised him, which didn't happen often. Her tenacity was a pale comparison to her daughter’s…but she had faith. An incredible, misguided faith. Sydney Rye never had faith in God. Just in herself.

  It was that difference in faith that had torn Sydney and her mother apart.

  Robert turned away from the road, heading for his bike. Religious fanaticism was so thick in this region, sometimes he found it hard to breathe. Some could blame the region’s problems on that excess of faith, but Robert knew that fanaticism came in many forms.

  His days with FARC in Columbia proved that. They were fighting for a different cause—the poor, the weak, the needy. They didn't get God involved, yet still felt justified in all their actions. Joyful Justice had no religious affiliation; but absolute certainty about who was right and who was wrong. Their methods could be as barbaric as the FARC’s.

  As barbaric as Robert Maxim’s.

  He wasn't fighting for good, though. He waged war for money. Control. Power.

  It's what they all wanted, really.

  If all the fighters here, the FARC deep in the jungles of Colombia, and every person who joined the ranks of Joyful Justice, could admit that what they wanted was power, maybe the world would be a more peaceful place. Or at least more honest.

  Robert started his motorcycle, a matte black Ducati he'd had specially flown in. A man needed his toys. What was the point of power without perks?

  His thighs wrapped around the rumbling engine, a helmet protecting him from the rush of wind. He zoomed down the road. There was inherent danger in riding a motorcycle—Robert was physically exposed.

  In front of April, he'd had a moment of emotional exposure.

  She'd seen how he felt about her daughter. He could hide his feelings from trained interrogators, but the wife of a preacher had seen straight through him.

  Another reason she needed to go.

  Besides, the woman was dangerously unstable. A bender lasting over a week and waking up in a strange man's bed? She needed control and power over herself. Apparently Jesus had been helping her, but there was only so much an imaginary friend could do.

  Maybe Maxim should do more for her. Keep a closer eye on her.

  He'd always kept tabs on Sydney's mother—a form of control. But her well-being had never concerned him. After meeting the woman, looking into those gray eyes, he felt a responsibility. For some reason, he wanted to make sure she made it home safely, but not only that, he wanted her to thrive once she got there.

  Get rid of that philandering husband and find peace.

  Robert laughed at himself, the sound reverberating in his helmet. He was getting soft in his old age.

  And softness got you killed.

  The road lay straight and black in front of him, the distant mountains dark shapes on the horizon. The safe house, a rough structure among the pines of the higher elevations, was an hour away. The house was far more substantial than the lean-to he'd found burning next to that kid, but hidden nonetheless.

  After dropping the boy at the hospital, he'd returned to the site of the fire with one of his men, who'd once worked as a fire inspector. While the man was used to inspecting buildings, he'd guessed that someone had set the fire…which was obvious to Robert. They'd found nothing but charred wood.

  And there were goat prints, dog prints, and further into the woods, sled tracks. As if someone had built a stretcher and was dragging a body. Dragging Sydney Rye.

  Who was this person, and why were they helping Sydney?

  He gritted his teeth. It didn't make sense. Why would they risk so much? Be willing to kill a young shepherd, burn a forest, risk their own lives, to help a total stranger?

  His phone buzzed in his
breast pocket, and Robert touched the Bluetooth connection in his helmet.

  "Robert, it's Dr. Khan," said the surgeon from the hospital where he'd dropped the unconscious boy. After several surgeries, they'd put him in a drug-induced coma to help him heal. He'd lost his lower jaw and, with it, his ability to speak.

  "Talk to me."

  "He's awake."

  "What does he remember?"

  "He is still disoriented."

  "Tell me what he remembers."

  "Fortunately, he had been taught how to write. He says that a dead woman rose to life in front of his eyes. That she turned into a wolf, and when it barked…" the doctor cleared his throat. "That the bark shot him." Robert's grip on the handle bars tightened. "Like I said, he's delusional."

  "I'm on my way."

  He could be there by morning if he drove straight through. It would be safer to take a helicopter, but he wanted the drive. He craved the danger.

  Once again, Sydney Rye was turning into a fucking myth.

  Joy Humbolt, her birth name, was now synonymous with the Joyful Justice movement. But the legendary act of vengeance they all credited her with was actually Robert's doing. And this shooting, this wasn't Sydney Rye. She would never shoot a kid, a twelve-year-old. This was her getting credit for another person’s coldness, someone else's vengeance.

  "Remember, he won't be able to speak."

  "I know that." Robert barked. "I found him, remember?"

  “And his writing…”

  "What?" Spit it out.

  "He's drawing a picture. He's drawing it over and over again. It's making some at the hospital nervous."

  "What is it?"

  A sound behind the doctor. "I have to go."

  "Wait."

  But the man hung up. Robert leaned further over the handles, bending into the wind and increasing his speed. He torpedoed through the night. The boy could give him answers. And he needed them to find Sydney Rye.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  April

  The tires droned along the smooth pavement. Mountains loomed in the darkness—charcoal black against a soot gray sky. The low clouds masked the stars, but the moon glowed behind them, refusing to be hidden entirely.

  The two men Robert sent with April sat silent in the front seat. She hadn't struggled when Robert put her in the back.

  What could she say? She'd told him everything, and he still refused to help. Didn't believe that the Lord wanted her here, or didn't care.

  He wasn't religious. That was obvious. Didn't bow to anyone, even the almighty Lord. Well, he would. All men did eventually.

  What about the two soldiers driving her now? Would they believe her? Probably not.

  A sigh escaped April, and the driver's eyes checked her in the rearview mirror. Handsome in a farm boy kind of way, and twenty years her junior, he'd called her ma'am the one time he addressed her.

  She looked away, staring out the window at the flat, barren landscape. It all looked so foreign.

  An explosion splintered her thoughts. Hot air whooshed through the vehicle, and it catapulted into the air, tumbling end over end. The Humvee slid to a stop, the windows broken, flames in the hood licking at the men in the front seat.

  April hung upside down, her head throbbing, the world spinning. She reached up and unclipped her seat belt, falling onto the roof of the car with a grunt. She needed to find her duffel bag. The smell of gasoline stung her nose, and dark smoke curled around her. The vehicle would probably explode at any moment…explode more. She had to leave the money behind.

  April crawled out the shattered window, fighting through the broken glass that sparkled with firelight. The shards cut through her jeans and tore at her knees. She made it out into the night, coughing on the thick smoke, and dragged herself away from the vehicle. She struggled to stand and then stumbled as quickly as she could from the overturned Humvee.

  Out of breath, she paused and looked back at the wreckage, sucking in fresh air. She'd lost one of her shoes.

  It was a miracle she was alive.

  What about the men? They hadn't made a sound. Should she go back and try to save them? The gas tank ignited, and the force of the explosion knocked her off her feet onto a large rock. She gripped it, shielding her face with her arm as wreckage rained down.

  God had saved her.

  Headlights far down the road caught her attention. Someone was coming. She stood on unsteady feet and turned in a circle. Where could she go?

  The mountains, dark and steady against the shifting clouds, called to her, and she could make out a path leading up from the road. April had no food or water, but something pulled her toward the wilderness…that dragon inside of her ached to be free.

  After two hours of climbing through mountain scrub, she came to the edge of a pine forest. Her head throbbed and throat cried out for water. She'd made a makeshift shoe out of her shirt, and the night air chilled her near-naked torso.

  As she entered the trees, the scent of pine sap infused the air and April sighed, comforted by the familiar smell. The sound of a stream pulled her forward until she found the source. Kneeling on the water's edge, she drank deeply, trusting in God not to let the water make her sick…or if it did, trusting that it was all a part of His plan.

  She lay down next to the stream, resting, her mind still, unworried…was she in shock?

  The crack of a twig under heavy weight turned her attention deeper into the woods. Footsteps. April crouched in the darkness.

  Six figures materialized out of the dark, moving slowly through the forest. They wore long, black robes and carried large rifles. The robed figures walked along the water’s edge, following the natural path made by the stream.

  Moonlight shone on the leader’s head: long, dark, shiny locks of hair cascaded over her shoulders. Women.

  April stood and raised a hand. "Hello." Her voice was foreign and loud in the quiet of the forest. The group raised their weapons, six guns all trained on her. Their eyes glinting in the low light.

  Oh, crap.

  "Please," she raised her other hand, showing that she was unarmed. "I need your help. I have no food."

  The women spoke to each other in a language that April did not understand. Then the leader stepped forward and spoke in accented English. "Who are you?"

  "My name is April. I'm from America."

  The leader translated for the other women. "What are you doing out here?"

  "I'm looking for my daughter. She's… missing."

  Again, she translated. "Are you injured? Was your daughter captured by Daesh?"

  April looked down at herself, her exposed bra and bare chest, where a bruise from the seatbelt mottled her skin, the blood-stained jeans and makeshift shoe. "I guess I'm hurt." She suddenly felt the pain of the cuts from the accident, the bruises. "I don't know what happened to my daughter. But I must find her."

  The woman translated, and the others nodded. They must be daughters themselves. They might even have been mothers though they looked too young. But they started young around here. April was nineteen when she had James. They used to start young in the States too…in some places they still did.

  "I don't know if we can help you find your daughter. We have a powerful purpose."

  "You do?"

  The leader looked up, holding April's gaze. "Yes, we are spreading the word of a new prophet."

  "A prophet?"

  "Yes, a woman. Her." The girl took a step closer. The clouds parted for a moment, and the moon shone down, casting diamonds of blue light onto the forest. The girl's mouth opened in surprise. "You have gray eyes."

  "Yes." April's brow knitted. So?

  The leader turned to the other girls and said something. They hurried forward, staring at April's eyes, whispering among themselves. "They say that the miracle woman has gray eyes," the girl finally said.

  "The miracle woman?"

  "A woman brought back from the dead. A woman with a wolf inside of her. The wolf inside of all of us."
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br />   "My daughter has gray eyes…and a wolf for a companion." April's heart thudded in her ears. Could Joy be the beneficiary of a miracle?

  "Do you have a wolf?" the girl asked.

  April shook her head. "No, but I have a dragon in me."

  The women shared their food and water with April. They tended to her wounds and offered her a cloak—it kept the night's chill at bay. They lit a small fire and sat around it, their young faces glowing in the flickering flame.

  "How did you end up in the woods like this?" April asked the leader, Nadia.

  The young woman looked into the trees. "God brought us here." They had that in common. "We were prisoners of Daesh. We are Yazidi." Nadia raised her brows in an unasked question.

  "I don't know what that is," April admitted.

  Nadia licked her lips. "We are a minority religious group. Daesh believes that we worship the devil. And therefore, it is their right—" She cleared her throat. "Their duty to enslave us."

  A shudder passed over April. "Their duty?" She'd heard the news reports about beheadings, slavery and other barbaric violent acts of Daesh, but like so many, she'd given it little thought, obsessed with her own life, her own problems.

  Guilt tore at her gut. She'd been blind for so long.

  "Yes. They believed it their religious duty. They paid for their false faith."

  Good. "How did you escape?"

  "An attack from the sky." She pointed up, searching for words. Nadia's English was excellent, but unpracticed. She spoke slowly and precisely, almost like she feared using the wrong word. A woman who'd spent her life seeking perfection. "The bombs killed many of our owners." Nadia's lip rose into a snarl. "But we remained…intact. We are to spread the word of the prophet." She looked back to her friends. The other girls were speaking in Kurdish. One of them must have made a joke, because the others laughed. A small smile curled Nadia's lips. "I do not know the length of time we will live, how long God will have us serve, but I trust in the road we are on."

  "That is such a comfort."

  Nadia nodded. "Yes." April took the girl's hand, suddenly filled with an emotion she could hardly describe. This girl was so brave. Just like Joy. But pious…something Joy never was.