by Gail Barrett
“So?”
“So she needs to rest.” She struggled to reason with him. “Look, any kind of activity right now is bad, even walking. Movement increases her blood flow. That causes bruising, swelling. It prolongs her healing time.
“And a higher heart rate means higher blood pressure. She could have complications, like internal bleeding. She’s even at greater risk for blood clots, and I’m sure you’ve heard how deadly they can be. She needs to stay put for at least a few more days.”
Sultan shrugged. “You’ll just have to watch her to make sure nothing happens. Now go help her get dressed.” He made a show of glancing at his watch again. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
Twenty minutes? Dumfounded, she watched him leave. But his insensitivity was typical. She could hardly expect her self-centered brother to show compassion toward his wife. Heaven forbid that he thought about anyone besides himself. And frankly, she had a much bigger problem right now. She urgently needed to find Patricia—and she had no idea where to look.
She stuck her head into Leila’s room. “Can you get dressed by yourself? I need to run an errand.”
Leila stood beside the cot, unzipping the bag. “Sultan said to wait here.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be right back.” Her thoughts whirling, she ran outside. She stopped in front of the clinic and glanced around, but had no idea where to go. She didn’t even know how to contact Rasheed. And if she tried to return to her cottage, she’d alert the guards.
And really, what good would it do? Even if Rasheed got hold of Patricia, even if the decoy got here in time to take her place, she wasn’t ready to play her part. Maybe in a few more days she could pull it off, but not yet. It was way too soon. And they couldn’t take a chance on failing with so many lives at stake.
Still trying to come up with a solution, she went back inside the clinic and returned to Leila’s room. Spotting her sister-in-law struggling to slip a burka over her head, she rushed over to grab it away. “You can’t wear that.”
“Why not?”
“You shouldn’t put anything on your face yet. The pressure isn’t good for it. You could cause it to bleed.”
“But I have to wear it. I can’t go outside uncovered. There’ll be other men on the plane.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters. I’d shame my family.”
Just as she had. The accusation hung between them in the quiet room. And for the first time, Leila’s eyes revealed a hint of steel.
Nadine blinked. She’d always pitied her sister-in-law. She’d never understood how she could put up with Sultan’s abuse. She’d blamed it on Leila’s upbringing, her brother’s intimidation or even a character flaw.
But she’d misjudged her. Leila took pride in her obedience to her husband. She garnered strength playing a backseat role to him. Upholding her family’s honor gave her life meaning and made her feel worthwhile.
And who was she to object? Leila had as much right to live her life the way she wanted as Nadine did—even if she didn’t approve of her choice.
But that sense of honor also had a dark side, a side that affected her. “You know my father’s going to kill me.”
Silence hovered between them. Nadine had just given voice to the unspeakable, the issue they’d both been dancing around. Would her sister-in-law defend the violence or denounce it and help her escape?
“I don’t believe that,” Leila said. “You just need to ask for forgiveness. Show him that you’ve changed, that you accept his decision about what’s best for you. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“I insulted his honor. You know as well as I do that he’ll never forgive that.”
Leila bit her lip. She picked at the burka, her eyes revealing her distress. “You have to submit to his will, sister. He will decide what’s best.”
Right. Her heart sank, any hopes that Leila might help her vanishing for good. She would never defy her husband. Her role was too ingrained. She probably wouldn’t even believe her if she told her about the upcoming terrorist attack. Instead, she’d go to Sultan, tipping him off that the CIA was onto them and possibly endanger Rasheed.
Rasheed. She closed her eyes, a sudden, visceral memory crashing through her of his dark, sexy face, his hard muscles gleaming in the lamplight, the passion burning in his eyes....
She couldn’t fail him. He was depending on her to make this mission a success. He’d dedicated his life to it, sacrificing everything he held dear to fight these evil men. Now she had to do her part.
Opening her eyes, she walked over to the bag. “Do you have another burka in here?”
“Of course.” Leila dug through the sport bag and pulled one out. “I’m glad you’re seeing sense. This will help show your father you’ve changed.”
Her father wasn’t that dumb, but she wasn’t about to argue the point. Making a face, she slipped it on. It had been years since she’d donned the traditional garment. Even at home she’d only worn one under extreme duress. But now, shrouded in the heavy black fabric, the awful memories came rushing back. Her hands trembling, she put on the head covering and flipped the fabric over her face.
Her vision blurred behind the small mesh patch. Heat instantly infused her, sweat pooling beneath her breasts. She dragged at air, trying not to hyperventilate in the stifling darkness, but she felt suffocated, claustrophobic, trapped.
Her breath came shallow and fast. A frantic feeling erupted inside her, the desperate need to rip the damned thing off. She wanted to run screaming down the beach. She wanted to glory in the sunshine and fill her lungs with the fresh sea air. She wanted to live and laugh and luxuriate in her freedom. Instead, she was caged beneath yards of cloth, her movements restricted, her identity deleted, a prisoner of the family who wanted her dead.
The door opened, and Sultan strode into the room. He paused, obviously taken aback to see her covered head to toe. “Good. You’re both ready. It’s time to go.”
He picked up the bag and left. Leila instantly trailed him out the door. Nadine brought up the rear, struggling not to trip on the swirling fabric, but she couldn’t see her feet. She stumbled down the hallway, then staggered into the sunshine, feeling dizzy in the blast of heat.
A car was waiting outside. She stopped on the steps and swallowed hard. This was it—her last chance to bolt for freedom, her last chance to break free of her family and escape.
Sultan bundled Leila into the car. He turned and met her gaze, the crazed zeal in his eyes solidifying her resolve. She had to do this. She was the only one who could stop these monsters. She couldn’t let them succeed.
And even if she died trying to do it, she refused to abandon Rasheed.
* * *
Rasheed sat aboard the sleek, forty-foot Gulfstream jet, frowning out his window at the sun-drenched tarmac. Amir and Manzoor occupied the seats behind him. The pilots were busy in the cockpit, conducting their requisite preflight check. The cabin door hung open, the stairs still in place as they waited for their final passengers to arrive.
A bad feeling swirling inside him, he kept his gaze on the runway baking in the afternoon heat. This had happened too damned fast. One minute he was meeting with Manzoor, the next they were boarding the plane. There’d been no chance to contact Ochoa, no chance to coordinate plans with the decoy.
No chance to tell Nadine goodbye.
A black sedan sped toward them across the tarmac. He watched it approach, his misgivings growing stronger now. He knew he didn’t need to worry about the mission. The decoy was reputedly smart, and Ochoa had assured him she could play her role. Their people in D.C. were working every possible angle to unravel the plot, keeping every suspect under surveillance, minimizing the chances that anything would go wrong.
And so what if he missed Nadine? This was what he’d wanted. This
was the way it had to be.
And it was better to end it like this—with no prolonged farewell, no awkward excuses or scrambling over what to say. No promises neither one would keep. Just a clean, swift break.
The sedan pulled to a stop by the stairs. Sultan climbed out and handed a waiting worker several bags. Two faceless women followed on his heels, their black burkas fluttering in the afternoon breeze. His mind still on Nadine, Rasheed watched them board.
Sultan took a seat in front. “Go to the back,” he told the women, and they filed ghostlike down the aisle.
The first woman drifted past Rasheed. The second one followed more slowly, as if finding it hard to walk. He studied her as she drew near, unable to see her features behind the heavy veil, but there was something about the angle of her head...
He went stock-still, the sudden sensation that it was Nadine causing his heart to thud. But she continued past, and he shook his head, convinced he was imagining things. Ochoa had promised. He was getting her to safety as planned.
And he had to stop thinking about her. His mission had entered a critical phase. He had to focus on finishing his job, not indulge in a distraction that could get him killed.
Determined, he sat upright and buckled his seat belt. A second later the workers wheeled the stairs away. The flight attendant closed the cabin door, and the plane started to roll down the runway, steadily picking up speed.
He shifted his gaze to the window and eyed the scenery zipping past—the line of whitewashed hangars, the palm trees bordering the runway, the wind sock blowing in the breeze. Nadine was out there somewhere. A wave of loneliness caught him square in the gut.
And for the first time, he wished that he were different. He wished that he could offer her the kind of life she deserved. But the terrorists had taken more than the lives of his wife and child that day in Dhaka; they had stolen his future from him.
Now he intended to rob them of theirs.
* * *
Seven hours later, they touched down at the Manassas Regional Airport in Virginia, an hour southwest of Washington, D.C. Dragging himself from sleep, Rasheed opened his eyes and peered out the window at the night. The jet’s engines screamed, shapes whipping by in the darkness as they taxied down the runway and stopped.
Stretching his arms, he rose, stooping slightly so he wouldn’t bump his head. He took out his passport to get it stamped, a mere formality. The drug cartel’s contact was working the airport’s desk, enabling them to bypass the usual customs and immigration checks. As far as the cartel was concerned, this was a regular drug flight. The cocaine in the cargo hold was real.
A few minutes later, the flight attendant opened the cabin door, allowing in a blast of frigid air. Determined to play his part, Rasheed ignored the two women standing in the aisle behind him and followed the men outside, his breath making puffs of frost in the December air. He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets to keep them warm.
Several cars waited beyond the chain-link fence, their motors running, their headlights illuminating a cluster of waiting men. A thick-set man in his sixties separated from the group and strode toward them, his status obvious by his sure strides. He greeted Sultan warmly, then turned to the other men, and Rasheed caught sight of his face. Yousef al Kahtani. Nadine’s father.
The man who’d killed his wife.
Rage scorched a path inside him, the burning need for vengeance making his breath come fast and hard. But he knew he had to bide his time. He had to focus on the bigger goal, bringing the entire Rising Light network down. He’d get his revenge in time.
Besides, he had a bigger crisis on his hands right now. Al Kahtani wasn’t supposed to be here. The CIA had promised to create a diversion, keeping him away from the family compound so the decoy could get inside.
So what the hell had gone wrong?
The women came down the steps. The taller one stopped and helped the person behind her. It was a nice touch, he had to admit, exactly the kind of thing Nadine would do. Now if she could just keep up the act and fool al Kahtani until she’d gained access to the house...
The women drew close. The decoy tripped on her hem, then recovered, the tilt of her head as she straightened so like Nadine’s that everything inside him froze.
Hell. That wasn’t a decoy. It was Nadine. And she was heading straight into her family’s compound—and certain death.
Chapter 12
Nadine had left home on a late winter’s day when the weak afternoon sunlight was coaxing crocuses from the ground and melting the lingering patches of snow into slush.
She’d come back in the dead of night.
Walking through her bedroom door had been like entering a time warp, prompting a swarm of emotions she’d fought for years to forget—longing for her courageous mother, terror of her vicious father, resentment at the abuse she’d had to endure. And yet, her room had completely changed—the carpet, the drapes, the furniture. Even the paint color on the walls was new. Her father had redecorated after she’d run away, stripping away every trace of her existence here.
Now he intended to eliminate her.
And Rasheed—if he tried to rescue her.
Trying her hardest not to panic, to ignore the emotions swarming inside her and think, she crossed the suite to the window and gazed out at the moonless night. Her room overlooked the pool, winterized now, its silver mesh cover gleaming in the outdoor lights. The tennis courts lay behind the pool house. Past that was the compound’s wall. She shifted her gaze to the acres of unlit woodland extending beyond her father’s property to the Potomac River, the freedom it offered so tantalizingly close.
The house itself was ridiculously huge, more like a gaudy palace than a family home. Its features were over-the-top enough to suit her ambitious father—an indoor pool and theatre, an elevator leading to the fifteen-car underground garage. There was an entire wing built for entertaining, including a ballroom that rivaled Versailles.
But escaping from it was going to be hard. Security cameras monitored the grounds. An electric fence ran parallel to the compound’s ten-foot-high stone walls. And if that weren’t deterrent enough, armed guards patrolled outside, men specially chosen by her father for their loyalty. She’d spent her teenage years probing for flaws in the system without success. The security would be even tighter now.
But somehow, she had to succeed. She’d seen the horror in Rasheed’s eyes, his shock as he’d recognized her leaving the plane. And she knew what he was going to do. He was going to try to intervene. He’d done it too many times already for her to have any doubts.
And she absolutely couldn’t let that happen. Her family would kill him if he tried. She had to hurry and do what she’d come for—find the information they needed to tie her family to the Rising Light—and then leave before Rasheed showed up. He’d already risked his life enough.
A sharp rap on the door made her jump. Her heart beating chaotically, she whipped around. The door swung open, and her father strolled in. He crossed the room and stopped.
Blood pounded her skull. Frissons of panic seized hold of her nerves, and it took all her willpower to stay in place. She’d caught a glimpse of him at the airport, but not this close. Not alone. Not when she was at his mercy and unable to escape.
His hair was threaded with gray now. His short, salt-and-pepper beard was expertly trimmed. He still dressed impeccably, his custom charcoal suit and handmade leather shoes befitting the royal status he tried to exude. His silver signet ring flashed in the light.
He was handsome despite his age, an older version of Sultan. And like her brother, his face bore the stamp of cruelty, his eyes lacking human warmth. And as she stared into those black, expressionless eyes, the last remaining flicker of hope inside her died.
This man was a stranger. She felt no surge of familial love, no dormant trace of any fon
dness, no whisper of loyalty. He hadn’t taken her on family outings. He hadn’t engaged in father-daughter chats. He hadn’t sung to her, read to her, or played with her while she’d been growing up. For the most part, he’d been mercifully absent, an explosive man she’d learned early on to avoid. A man who’d been completely disinterested in her—until the summer she’d turned fourteen.
She stared into his unflinching eyes, that moment flashing back with utter clarity, that moment that had changed her life. It had been a sizzling summer day, the sweltering Washington humidity making her sweat. She’d been lying around the pool, studying for the PSAT test she intended to ace, already dreaming of medical school. She’d decided to take a swim, and was just coming out of the water when her father had walked outside. He’d stopped in his tracks, his shocked appraisal startling, making her feel dirty and exposed. Railing that she was immodest, that her conservative, one-piece tank suit was shameful, he’d struck her across the face. That night she’d worn her first burka at his command, her battered face hidden beneath the veil.
She’d vowed it would be her last.
She’d been wrong. There had been other burkas, other blows before she’d fled from home, just as there had been plenty of beatings before that time. But that moment had been a turning point in her life, driving home the stark realization that this man intended to control her, and she’d have to escape to survive.
And now she was back, face-to-face with the man who’d vowed to see her dead.
The clock on the mantel ticked. The flames in the fireplace snapped, but she shivered, despite their warmth. Her father continued to watch her with a hunter’s cold alertness as the silence between them stretched.
She realized that it was a strategy, that he expected her to buckle and beg. But instead of terror over her predicament, she felt disgust. She was no longer a frightened child. She refused to cooperate with his twisted script.
He was nothing but a deluded and pathetic man, a hate-filled, insecure tyrant who bolstered his self-esteem by abusing the weak. A man lacking basic compassion, who had an emptiness inside him. A man she intended to see locked behind bars.