by Trish Morey; Day Leclaire; Natalie Anderson; Brenda Jackson; Ann Voss Peterson
“Sure.”
She flipped the switch. Timmy looked even more battered in the overhead light. “Maybe you should see a doctor.”
“I’m okay. I’m just glad you are, too.”
She gave him a smile, although she wasn’t sure she really was okay. She felt shaky deep in her chest, and she couldn’t honestly say whether the feeling was caused by the precarious status of the COIN summit or the memory of Efraim’s kiss.
At least she had Timmy to focus on at the moment. “You need to get some aloe on that sunburn.”
“Yes, Mom.” He gave her a lopsided smile.
“Brent and Joe are back.”
His smile faded. “I doubt Dad will let me go out on the ATV again.”
“At least not alone.” She still wasn’t sure what Timmy was thinking, venturing out by himself. Not that she could talk. She’d found Efraim in the badlands, but she’d left the ranch alone. “We’d better both be a little more careful, okay? There’s some nasty stuff happening out there. A man was murdered tonight.”
“Murdered?” Timmy looked stricken.
She hated that he was so young and yet had to face this stuff. Teenagers had enough problems to deal with. “The sheriff is handling it. He’ll find who did it.”
“The sheriff?” Timmy sat on the edge of his bed, as if his legs were too weak to hold him up anymore.
“Sheriff Wolf was here tonight along with the crime scene investigator and the coroner. Didn’t you hear them?”
“I was listening to music.” He held up his iPod. “And I fell asleep.”
Probably just as well. After all Timmy had been through, he likely needed the rest. And with the FBI’s sudden entrance, Jake hadn’t gotten around to asking Timmy about the attack on him. “Well, don’t worry about it. Really. Jake will take care of it. And he’ll be back.”
“Why?”
“To look at your ATV and talk to you about what happened. There’s a chance that whoever murdered that man is the one who shot out your tire.”
He stared at her and said nothing.
She sat next to him on the bed. Maybe she shouldn’t have told him about the possible connection to the murderer. The fact that both of them had come so close to a murderer had freaked her out. It might be too much for a seventeen-year-old to handle. “You don’t have to worry about it, Timmy. Okay? This killer, he’s not after you. But you might want to stick around the ranch for a while? Ease my mind a little?”
“Okay.”
She held out her arms.
He gave her a hug. “But only if you promise me you’ll be careful, too.”
“You bet, Tim. You bet.”
When she left Timmy, she felt pretty sure he’d go along with all she’d asked in the days and weeks to come. Her dad wasn’t so cooperative. As soon as Joe left for home and Brent and Russ came in from putting up the horses, he pinned down Callie with a frown and an, “It’s time to talk. Now.”
She met her father’s stern eyes. There was no getting out of the confrontation this time. She followed him back into his study, leaving Russ telling Brent and Tim about the dead Arab and the visit from the FBI.
Callie’s dad closed the door behind them. “Sit down, Cal.”
“I’m okay.”
He let out a heavy sigh. “Let’s not start arguing about sitting or standing. I have a feeling we’ll find plenty more important things to argue about here shortly.”
She perched on the edge of a leather recliner.
Her father took the other. “I know this sheik has something to do with your job, that all of those royal types up at the Wind River Resort do, too.” He held up a hand before she could open her mouth. “Don’t bother denying it or handing me all that bullcrap you were shoveling for the sheriff and FBI. Just hear me out.”
She pressed her lips together and sat back a little in her chair. Giving him his say was probably the least she could do after bringing murder and the law down on his ranch tonight. She could afford to listen.
“I don’t know if you recognize it yet or if you’re still fooling yourself, but I can see in your eyes that whatever is with you and this sheik, it goes deeper than your job.”
She jerked back to the edge of the chair. “What?”
“You and the sheik. You care about him.”
She could feel the blood inch up her neck and heat flush into her cheeks. She pushed memories of their kiss deep to the back of her mind. “I hardly know him.”
“I’m glad you recognize that fact. I hope you really believe that and aren’t just spouting it for my sake.”
Did she really believe it? It was true. They’d just met. But she had to admit, she felt she understood him better than people she’d known for years. And she felt like he understood her, as well. “He’s the leader of an island nation in the Mediterranean. It’s my job to welcome him to the United States.”
“I told you not to hand me that, Callie. I’ve seen how you look at him when he talks. I’ve seen how you focus on him no matter who else is in the room. I may just be a simple rancher, but I know what I see. And I know where that kind of thing is going. Someplace that will only cause heartache and tragedy.”
“Heartache and… Dad, you’re reading way too much into this. I pay attention to him because I need to know what he’s thinking. I am worried he has a skewed opinion of America and Americans. Being interrogated by the FBI is not going to help.”
“For such a smart girl, you don’t get it, do you, Callie?”
“Don’t get what?”
“They attacked us. They are trying to kill us, to ruin our way of life.”
Callie clawed her hand back through her hair. She’d had this discussion with so many short-sighted, frightened people since 9/11. She didn’t want to have it with her dad…again. “Who is they, Dad?”
“You know exactly who they is. And this guy you can’t take your eyes off, he’s one of ‘em.”
“Arabs.”
He tilted his head, conceding.
“That’s racist.”
“I’m not saying all of them. But him? You said yourself that he leads a country and has a skewed opinion of America. I’ll bet that country is pretty anti-American.”
She couldn’t argue that point. There was a powerful anti-American sentiment in Nadar. And she didn’t want to try to explain to her father why that was so, starting with the way American corporations led by the U.S. government had taken advantage of Efraim’s father. It would be an impossible task. And in the end, he would just see it as proving his point.
“I also saw how he reacted to us. To the sheriff. To those FBI stiffs. He has a big chip on his shoulder, that one.”
“He hardly said a word.”
“You don’t have to hear a man talk to read his attitude.”
“If he felt defensive, it might be because you guys gave him plenty of reason.”
“Be that as it may, there’s no love lost between him and our people, Callie. You’ve got to see that.”
If she had to listen to any more of this hatred and prejudice and fear, she was going to scream. “He’s not our enemy. His people aren’t our enemy.”
“You say that, but he doesn’t see it that way. And neither do your brothers and I.”
Tears surged into her eyes. She blinked them back. Her dad was right. He and her brothers and Efraim, they were quite a bunch. All of them seemed set on hating the other. And where did that leave her?
She’d always had this problem, ever since she was a little girl. Half of her was a ranch girl, a red-blooded American who lived for rodeo and wide-open spaces and fireworks on the Fourth of July. The other half loved the people and traditions she’d found all over the world. The fascination of talking to people different from her was exhilarating. It opened the world like nothing she’d ever known. She longed for peace and knowledge and the challenge of seeing life from a different point of view.
She’d never found anyone who could embrace both sides of her. Accept the cowgirl and t
he world-traveling diplomat. Recognize that being a real American was bigger than clinging to one narrow view, and that being a citizen of the world also meant being able to appreciate a simple country life.
“Jim Borcher called after you today.”
Oh, God, not now.
“He really likes you, you know. And he’s a good man.”
“Dad, no.”
“Then how about Jake Wolf? He’s a good guy, tall, women seem to think he’s pretty good-looking. And a sheriff now. You could do worse.”
She had to get out of here. Not only did she need to drive to the sheriff’s department, but also this conversation was crossing the line of embarrassing and heading into the realm of painful. She wished her dad would concentrate on his own love life and leave hers alone. “Let’s talk about Helen. From what Joe says, you two are seeing a lot of each other. She seems to make you really happy.”
“You know Helen. She’s great. But don’t change the subject.”
“Dad, I don’t need a matchmaker. Please.”
“You need something, Callie. And it’s not a sheik who hates everything you are and everyone you care about.”
EFRAIM SAT in a hard chair bolted to the floor and stared at the camera peering at him from the corner of the room. On American television shows, the suspect always got to sit with a table between him and the interrogator. Apparently they didn’t believe in that setup in Wind River County, Wyoming.
He felt exposed, vulnerable, sitting in this chair in front of the camera. He knew that was the idea. Prevent him from hiding anything, even the nervous bounce of his leg. Make him feel like his thoughts were laid bare. He didn’t like it. Not a bit.
He couldn’t wait to get the hell out of this country and back to Nadar. A place were he wasn’t looked at as a criminal merely for the color of his skin and the origins of his blood. A country where he was in control of his own future.
And the future of everyone else.
He tried to ignore the pang at the thought of his country’s bleak economic future without a COIN agreement, but the effort was futile.
Unless…
As soon as he got the chance, he’d call Darek. Prince of Saruk, a larger island nation in the same region, Darek had honored his father’s wishes and refused to be part of the COIN compact. Darek was surprised when Efraim went along with the agreement despite Nadar’s history with the United States. Surprised and unhappy. But despite his disagreement with Efraim and the other leaders of COIN, he’d called to express his worry about Amir. He’d reached out when it had meant the most, and Efraim was grateful for that.
Yes, he would call Darek. Darek would have ideas of how to shape the future of Nadar without COIN. And just maybe some of those ideas would bear fruit, and Efraim could leave America behind for good.
The door creaked open and the FBI agent from the ranch stepped inside. A woman followed. Short brown hair, dark suit and expressionless eyes, she looked like a younger and feminine version of Special Agent Priebus.
Maybe FBI agents weren’t born but manufactured.
The woman took a chair a few feet from Efraim. Priebus remained standing. “Mr. Aziz. Let’s stop with the nonsense now, shall we?”
Efraim crooked a brow at the man. “Are you referring to your nonsense? Because I haven’t spewed any recently.”
Priebus shook his head and glanced down at a thick manila folder in his hands. “How did you manage to get into the United States?”
“I flew.” If they wanted nonsense, he could throw in the old joke about his arms being tired, but his mood was well past joking.
“That’s interesting.” Again he glanced at the folder, as if he couldn’t remember what he was going to say from one moment to the next. “There is no record of you on any flights coming into the country.”
“It was a chartered flight.”
“Chartered? By whom?”
Efraim let out a heavy breath. He wasn’t sure how much he should tell the FBI. The COIN summit was top secret. Or at least it was supposed to be before the explosion that might have claimed Amir’s life. An explosion they’d later learned was meant to kill all five members of COIN. If Callie was here, she could manage these agents, tell them only what they were cleared to know. Without her, he had no way to judge.
Without her…
He pushed Callie to the back of his mind, as well. Kissing her had been a mistake. It was a romantic fantasy, he and Callie. He was too old for fantasies.
“Are you refusing to answer, sir?”
“The United States government. They arranged for my flight.”
“This is a serious question, Mr. Aziz.”
“And that was a serious answer. Really, you people need to talk to one another.”
“You are on a terrorist watch list. Why would the U.S. government arrange for you to come here?”
“Terrorist watch list?” That was a new one for him. “I’m not on your list.”
“You are. It’s right here.” Priebus paged through the folder in his hands. Finally reaching the end of his sheaf of paper, he looked up at the younger female version of himself. “Joy?”
The woman who looked like she could have been given just about any name other than Joy opened her folder and began flipping paper.
Efraim looked down at his hands folded in his lap. Sheriff Wolf had insisted on taking him to the hospital to see a doctor. And while his ribs were taped and he was given some painkillers, his hands were still stained with Fahad’s blood. The dull, rust color lined every crease and swirl of fingerprint.
“Found it.”
Efraim glanced up in time to see the woman hand a thick stack to Priebus. Paper flipping resumed.
Maybe they’d never heard of computers, Efraim thought drily. Although he’d bet if the aim was to rattle the suspect, a stack of paper was more intimidating.
Finally the man seemed to find what he was after. He looked up at Efraim. “Here. Faraj Aziz. Lived in Afghanistan for a year. And here’s a nice list of known contacts, including some pretty high ranking names in terrorist circles.”
“Yes.” Those were the facts, facts of which he couldn’t pretend to be proud.
“So you’re admitting all these things are true?”
“They are true. But I am not Faraj Aziz. I am Efraim Aziz, acting leader of Nadar. Faraj is my brother.”
“Your brother?” Priebus looked at him as if he didn’t believe a word.
“Even Arabs have brothers.”
The FBI agent scoffed. “The question is, does Faraj Aziz have a brother, and is he any less radical?”
“My brother is a little…wild, angry. It is true. But since I am not him, and I’m not very close to him, I don’t see what else I can tell you. Perhaps you have a file somewhere on me. Perhaps you could look that up and then tell me if you think I’m a danger to you and your country.”
Priebus gestured to the door with a sway of his head, and Joy stood and left. Priebus paused, hand on the door, and glanced back at Efraim. “We’ll be back.”
Efraim gave him a phony smile, thinking of the old movie quote delivered by Arnold Schwarzenegger. “No problem. I’ll wait.”
The door closed behind them and left him alone with the camera once again. More time to contemplate pulling out of COIN and leaving the United States as soon as Fahad’s murderer was found…as soon as Amir was found…as soon as Efraim made the bastards attacking his friends and his family pay.
If not for the rift between them when Darek first learned of COIN, Efraim and his friend might have reached an understanding before this whole mess began. Before he’d been cajoled into trusting the Americans. Before he’d started down this path. He needed to talk to Darek as soon as possible. There might be an option for Nadar yet. An option that didn’t include trusting people who hated everything he was.
A knock sounded on the door once again, but this time it didn’t immediately swing open.
“Found the files on me already, did you?” Efraim called. “We
ll, come in. I can’t wait to have a peek.”
The door pushed open, but it wasn’t the FBI who stepped into the room.
She’d showered, changed into a clean blue T-shirt and pulled her hair back, making her eyes look bigger and deeper than the sea surrounding Nadar. “I already know what’s in your files. Believe me, they aren’t as interesting as the man himself.”
“Callie.” Efraim pulled in the sight of her along with a jittery breath.
She scooped the air toward the open door. “Come on, let’s get out of here before they pull strings that outrank the strings I pulled.”
Chapter Seven
Efraim hadn’t realized how comfortable it would be letting Callie take the wheel until he was sitting in the passenger seat of her pickup. Too bad his comfort level didn’t extend further than that.
Not that he wasn’t grateful to Callie for getting him out of the ridiculous situation with the FBI. He was. But he needed time to think before she cornered him about his commitment to COIN, time to think and a second perspective. And somehow he doubted they would manage the long drive from Dumont to the resort in silence.
She scooped up a hatbox and a pair of old cowboy boots lying at his feet and transferred them to the backseat of the king cab. “Sorry about the truck. I know it’s not the kind of vehicle a sheik is used to riding in.” She gestured to a windshield pocked with dead bugs and clouded with dust.
“It’s fine.”
“It belongs to my brother Russ. He uses it to haul to rodeos.”
He suppressed the urge to ask which brother—the one who hated him or the one who hated him more.
She strapped on her seat belt and started the pickup. Soft country music drifted from the radio. A welcome break in the silence. Efraim only wished the soaring steel guitar could dispel the tension hanging in the air.
Callie shifted into gear and pulled out onto the street. “The truck isn’t all I’m sorry about. I’m so sorry for your loss, Efraim.”
He stared out the windshield, watching the town roll away and the open country stretch ahead. “Thank you. I’ll convey your sympathies to Fahad’s brother, as well.”