By the time she was on her third taste—it was good, and her stomach began to groan at the reminder of food—Marcus had finished eating. He opened the tea and steam wafted out of the cup.
“What is it?” he asked
“Tea. It may be a little bitter. It’s the way they make it here.”
He took a sip and grimaced. “Does it always have this much sugar in it?”
“Sorry. I thought it would make it taste better,” she said. “We can trade if you want—”
“It’s fine,” he said. He took the cap all the way off and let the steam dissipate.
Kamila took a deep breath. Her hands trembled and she tried to focus on making them stop, but this only made it worse. She wrapped her hands around her own drink, hoping the warmth would calm her.
“You done eating?” Marcus asked.
“Sure,” she said. “Not much of an appetite now days. We’d better get going anyway.” She put the cup between her legs and started the car. “We want to get to Alyssa.”
Kamila watched Marcus through the rear view mirror as he sipped the tea. As imperceptibly as possible, she slowed the speed of the car, and within 45 minutes, he was out. They had reached the foothills of the Caucasus Mountains in Dagestan. The road ahead followed the hillside into another river valley. When the road curved around to the right, she could see a large village near the river. It wouldn’t be any good to be too close to civilization, not when she was trying to keep Marcus alone with her.
She pulled the car off the road onto one of the small turnouts scattered along the highway. Then she backed the car into a stand of brush. Marcus was still asleep.
She listened to him breathe. She was tired, too. Tired of thinking and plotting. Tired of living? Yes, but that was irrelevant. It was just her and Marcus now, and she was going to keep it that way as long as possible.
Chapter 58
Hassan was quiet until they were back on the highway. It was still early morning, and now vineyards surrounded both sides of the road. He bit and chomped his food loudly. Stormy fought off a surge of nausea.
They had been traveling for some time, and Stormy sensed they must be getting closer to their destination. If she were going to have any chance of escape, she would have to act while she and Hassan were alone. Hassan’s gaze was turned away from her, focused on the passing countryside. She glanced down at the gun between his legs. He must have sensed her looking, because he turned to her. She quickly set her eyes back on the road.
Now he was staring at Stormy. She ignored him, until he said, “What was that about, back at the gas station?”
“What was what about?” she asked with irritation. She began tapping her fingers on the steering wheel.
“You were talking to the man and he was pointing,” he said. “And stop making that noise with your fingers. It’s irritating.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
The Arab was staring at her, but she kept her eyes on the road. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“You think I am stupid?”
She kept her eyes on the road. An honest answer would get her killed.
He continued. “Do you not know what I could do to you? Anything I want.” He placed a hand on her thigh. She tensed, and wanted to vomit now more than ever. Calmly, she picked up his hand and swept it aside without looking at him.
He chuckled. “I know what you need, American.” He moved his hand toward her again and it rested on her stomach, then it slid upward.
What she did next she did not plan, could not have planned. At seventy miles-per-hour Stormy turned the wheel and slammed down the brake pedal and the car swerved across the highway. The centrifugal force slammed the Arab against the passenger door. They swerved off the road and into freshly tilled dirt field, the galloping to a stop.
Stormy let go of the steering wheel and grabbed the gun from between Hassan’s legs. She opened the door and fell out of the car. Scooting herself back quickly, Stormy stumbled to her feet. She wiped the wet, black soil from her hands. They were just off the highway and had nicked the edge of a row of grape vines.
Inside the car, Hassan massaged the side of his head. He glanced toward the driver’s seat then, noticing it was empty, searched for his weapon. The reality of what had happened—that Stormy had the rifle—spread slowly across his face. He slid out of the car.
“You stupid woman,” he said, slamming his hand on the roof of the car. “What do you think you are doing? You could have killed me.”
“Ok,” Stormy replied, as if the thought of him dying didn’t bother her in the least.
“Give me my gun, and I will let you live.”
Stormy laughed. “Typical man.”
“What?”
“Think you’re in control even when you’ve got a gun aimed at you,” she said, looking down at him. Despite her confident tone, Stormy doubted she could take the gun back from him again if she lost it now. All she wanted was to get out of there, to get away from Hassan and find Alyssa. That meant she had to keep the gun, and use it if she had to.
“I am in control,” he replied.
“On second thought, it would be a mistake to put you in the same category as other men. That’s what we would call an insult where I come from.”
“Where I come from,” Hassan said. “You would know your place.”
A handful of retorts came to mind. But it wasn’t the time for talk. “It’s your turn to be the one left behind,” she said. She found the safety lever and tried to remember what Marcus had told her. Top, safety on. Which position was automatic—and what did that mean? She recalled something about the middle position. She moved the lever down one.
Hassan circled around the car. “Give me the gun, lady. You don’t even know how to use that thing.”
She shook her head and he took another step. Stormy pulled the trigger, aiming just above his head and the rattle and shudder was so intense she almost dropped the rifle. Hassan crouched to the ground, covering his head. When he looked up, she saw fear in his eyes. That was what she wanted, for him to be afraid, to let her leave. She didn’t want to have to hurt him, even if he deserved it.
He stumbled to his feet, closer now. “You’ve had your fun. Let’s go together, and I can show you where you want to go.”
He’s a dense one, she thought. And that made him all the more dangerous, because he wasn’t going to get it. No matter what. She remembered the words of her father, the judge. Some people responded to threats. With other people, you needed to go a little further and apply pain.
A large white produce truck sped by on the highway, briefly enveloping the car in a swirl of dust. She watched to see if it would stop. Hassan lunged, reaching for the rifle. She squeezed the trigger and without aiming made a sweeping motion. He landed at her feet, face down in the soil.
Hassan did not make a sound, was not moving. Had she really killed him?
Stormy stepped back as another truck passed by. Standing over a dead man in a pool of blood with an AK-47—or whatever the name of the stupid gun was—wasn’t going to look good.
She should try to help him, but that would mean putting her own life at risk. Helping Hassan was what got her kidnapped in the first place. Hassan seemed to have one goal in mind, to hurt Stormy. She had her own goal—to save Alyssa and get her home safely. Stormy imagined arguing the case before her father, the judge. He would agree it was self-defense.
But her father wouldn’t be the judge or jury if she were discovered here now.
With a clear conscience, she put the mud-caked car in reverse and tapped the accelerator lightly to avoid getting stuck. She shifted into drive and continued down the road following the directions the cashier had given her. She did not look back at Hassan, and not once felt remorse for his death.
Chapter 59
Kamila awoke in cold silence, alone in the front seat. She listened for Marcus. Was he breathing? She sat up and l
ooked into the back seat. She waited, one, then two and three seconds. Almost imperceptibly his chest rose. She exhaled. What would she do if Marcus died?
She leaned forward on her knees in the front seat stared down at him. The rifle was tucked under his shoulder, his finger just above the trigger. He might not shoot her on purpose, but the gun was pointed toward the front seat where she had been laying. Marcus took a deep, long breath, then settled back into a steadier pattern. She smiled at the thought that, even though Marcus had been chasing her for the past weeks, she was the one who had found him.
The whole experience seemed to justify exactly what she already believed. That she belonged back in America with Marcus and Alyssa. She had always imagined them together, but now Marcus understood, even if just a little, that he needed her. As far as that American woman who had arrived at the village gas station with Marcus, Kamila would take care of her later. No one knew Marcus and Alyssa like Kamila. The truth was, they couldn’t live without her.
But love doesn’t happen all at once, and sometimes it takes more than the truth to get what you want. What Marcus really wanted was Anna. Kamila wasn’t Anna, but she was a lot closer than that woman she saw with Marcus. Kamila would be the woman Marcus wanted until he understood that Kamila was just as good as Anna. Maybe even better.
Kamila sat in the front seat a while longer and imagined how things would be different when they returned to America, how she would be different. She wanted to hold him, to show him what she felt, but would he reject her? She opened the door, stood and stretched her arms.
The night was melting into an amber sunrise. The morning, the mountains, and the birds beginning to chirp and twitter made her feel alive again, more focused than she had been in a very long time.
Kamila opened the back door and slid in. She leaned over Marcus and studied his face. He had aged in the last few weeks. He was stressed, but all of that would be over soon. She reached for the gun and checked the safety. Then, her face above his, her breasts pressed against his chest, she touched her lips to his. His mouth opened slightly, his tongue wet his lips. Marcus’s eyes were still closed, but she could tell he was awake. She kissed him again, and then again, each time deeper and with more confidence. He was responding to her now, their lips synchronized as if they had done this a thousand times.
He whispered, “Anna.”
His hand slid up the back of her neck and wove its way into her hair.
“It’s me. I’m here.” Kamila pressed into him and could feel that he was hers. The whole time she was watching his eyes until finally, they opened. He was taking in her face, her hair, still kissing her. Their eyes met. Confusion spread across his face.
He turned his head away. She rose slightly, her onyx necklace dangling between them so that it rested on his chest.
Marcus put a hand on her shoulder, pressing her to move off him.
“What’s the matter?” She straddled Marcus, her hand resting just above his belt.
“What are you doing?” He slid out from under her and sat up.
“I…I…thought you might need help waking up.”
“That’s not how you wake someone up!”
“Why are you so mad?” she said. “I was only trying to help.” He was being a jerk. “You liked it.”
“I did not like it.”
“It sure seemed like you did,” she said, putting a hand on his chest. “The way you…responded.”
“That has nothing to do with it.”
“Don’t be mad,” she said, leaning in to kiss him.
He lifted the gun, nudged the barrel into her stomach. “I said stop.”
“Ouch! You’re going to hurt me.” She began sobbing, not because of the gun, but because of the way he was acting. He was rejecting her, again.
Marcus left the car, began removing the brush. When he was done, he sat on the hood, head down.
He was upset. She wasn’t sure if she should go try to talk to him. Men needed to be alone sometimes, she knew that. But what about her? She didn’t want to be alone anymore, and she wanted the man she was responsible for to be all right. His kiss was real, his hands and the rest of his body had told the truth as well. He wanted her, no matter what he said. And he had called her by Anna’s name. That shouldn’t make her as happy as it did, but it was only for a while. She smiled, a feeling of joy overcoming her, a tranquility she had not felt in many, many years.
***
Marcus sat on the hood of the old Mercedes. He let the mountain wind engulf him, the occasional birdcall punctuating the bluster. Morning had arrived but they were still in the shadows of the foothills.
He tried to clear his mind of what had just happened with Kamila. She was right, he had kissed her back, and the thought repulsed him. He must have been asleep at first, then in some half-awake, half dream, he was kissing Anna, not Kamila. It was Anna’s smell, Anna’s hair that he ran his fingers through. It was the weekend, and he had slept in. Anna was waking him with a deep kiss, as she had done so many Saturday mornings. This inevitably led to them making love. His eyes had been half-open, and he was still seeing Anna…her skin, her hair. Kamila was her sister, that was understandable, right? But the eyes—when he looked into her eyes, he knew it wasn’t Anna, and the look terrified him. Kamila believed it was real, that Marcus was responding to her.
Something wasn’t right. It was as though his mind had left his body and, when it returned, found itself an unfamiliar place. Everything was blurry: his thoughts, his vision, his sense of what to do next. Sure, he was tired, but this felt like the world’s worst hangover. It could be lack of sleep, weeks of chasing after his daughter’s kidnapper, and now stuck in a car with that same person. Nothing else could explain the way his brain wasn’t working.
Kamila got out of the car and sat down next to him.
“Are you okay?” she asked sweetly. She motioned to put her arm on his, but stopped. “I’m ready to drive now. I probably slept more than you.”
“How long was I asleep?”
“Not too long. You want something to drink? It’s all we have left.” She handed him the tea from the gas station. He took a drink. It tasted even worse cold. But he was parched.
He held out the cup. “You want some?”
“I already had enough,” she said.
He nodded, drank the rest. “We’ll be there today?”
“Sure,” she said, pouting.
It wasn’t that he didn’t feel sorry for her. He did. Not just because she cried. She had a hard life, he knew that. But what else could he do for her? Was taking care of Kamila his responsibility?
He stood and, as they were getting into the car, he said, “Kamila…”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry if I was hard on you. I was just surprised.”
“I understand.” She smiled. A moment later, she said, “You didn’t mind when I did that back in America.”
“That was a long time ago, and—”
“And what? You were lonely because your wife died? You needed someone to take your mind off things? Me and Anna aren’t that different, you know—”
“That’s not…I don’t know. But you have to understand. There is nothing between us. Yes, something happened after Anna died. And it lasted less than two weeks. I told you, it wasn’t right. It isn’t right.”
It really had been just two or three times, and they hadn’t even gone all the way. Was it wrong? Yes. But that was over two years ago. She had dated four of five men since then. Kidnapping Alyssa and running to Chechnya—was that really what this was all about?
No matter what Marcus had felt or done, none of this was Alyssa’s fault.
“I think whatever we do is perfectly normal,” she said, her mouth forming a childish pout. “As long as we’re in love.”
“I’m not going to keep talking about this,” Marcus said. He got into the front seat with her, the gun resting between his legs.
Kamila turn
ed the key but the car didn’t start. “That’s strange,” she said. “You did fill up the tank didn’t you?”
“Of course I did,” Marcus said.
Had he? He couldn’t quite recall what had happened over the past day. He grasped at his memories, but they slipped away, always just out of reach. He had to stay focused, keep his mind working. Had to find Alyssa before it was too late.
“Open the hood,” he said.
“Maybe if we wait. It could be the battery needs to recharge—”
“Just…open the hood.”
She paused. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Do it.”
She popped the latch and Marcus propped the hood open. On top of the engine, near the back was the distributer cap. Shattered. They weren’t going anywhere in this car.
Chapter 60
Stormy pulled into the parking lot adjacent to the orphanage. She had driven all morning, found the town following the directions she’d been given, then asked around until she found the mission.
She sat in the front seat of the car and stared up at the cluster of blue and white metal buildings. Even though she knew better than to get her hopes up, she believed Alyssa was in there, somewhere. But they had been so close to rescuing Alyssa so many times before— sometimes days, sometimes only hours away. Sitting there, she realized, she was delaying the inevitable letdown that would occur when she found out that Alyssa hadn’t even been here, or had already left.
Marcus should be here with her. It was his daughter. She wasn’t even sure if he’d found a way out of the village. Had the Russians captured, or even killed him?
It was time to get Alyssa out of here, to safety. That’s what Marcus would want her to do.
There was a small wooden structure with the word office above the door. It was locked so she crossed the parking lot to one of the larger buildings and looked in the window. It was a classroom. A woman was sitting at a desk reading. There were no children.
Stormy opened the door.
Dark Sky Falling Page 25