My respect for him rises a notch or two. I’d love to unpack his cryptic statement, but there will be time for that later.
Or we’ll all be dead, and I won’t give a damn.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Lisette
Sunrise has come and gone,and I am still alone. I had hoped Mateen would return. Hoped for even a few more minutes with my son before Raziq orders me to the roof for my punishment.
The closet held an assortment of plain, serviceable clothing to wear under the burka. Most of it black. I am a widow, I should not be surprised he would choose that color. The long-sleeved t-shirt will be stifling in the sun, but I hope it will provide at least a small bit of protection from the whip.
I sit on the bed, my hands folded in my lap, and try to stay awake. But the dark mesh over my eyes conspires with my exhaustion, and I nod off more than once.
The door slams open with a loud bang. I shoot to my feet. One of Raziq’s men glares at me, and I think he is disappointed he did not catch me with my face uncovered.
He does not speak as he grabs my arm and pulls me from the room.
“Let go of me.” I twist out of his hold. “There is nowhere for me to run. I am no threat to you.”
His wild eyes terrify me. For a moment, I fear he is going to strike me. But he merely points down the hall. “Go.”
I swallow my fear and hurry ahead of him. The house slippers make almost no noise on the polished tile floors. He directs me down the stairs, and around several corners before stopping me outside an open door.
“When will the contract be completed?” Raziq asks, his phone pressed to his ear. Papers are spread out haphazardly over a dark wood desk. After a pause, he slams his fist down, rattling his tea cup. “You were supposed to deal with that particularproblem. Why is she still making trouble?”
Myescortshoves me into the office and points to a chair. I sit, pulling the sleeves of the burka over my sunburned hands.
“I cannot leave Kabul for another thirty-nine days.” Raziq glares at me. “I have responsibilities here. But after that, my nephew and I will spend a month in Dubai. The heiress has been a thorn in my side for too long. If you do not deal with her soon, I will.”
Throwing the phone onto the desk, he launches into a string of Dari curses so vile, I cringe. But then his words sink in. After thirty-nine days, he is taking Mateen out of Afghanistan. Without me.
Because I will be dead.
Tears prick at my eyes and clog my throat. If Nomar cannot find me, I have only weeks left to live. Only weeks left with my son. How can I teach him everything he needs to know when we have so little time together?
The phone buzzes. Raziq snatches it up and snarls, “If you do not have good news for me, hang up now.”
A moment later, he strides out of his office and shouts for several of his men. His footsteps slap against the tile, growing fainter and fainter.
He left me alone. In his office. I scan the desk, praying for something—anything—I can use as a weapon. But there is nothing. Not even a pen.
Quickly, I move some of the papers. A woman’s photo stares back at me from the corner of one of them. She is beautiful. A shimmering silver headscarf covers most of her hair. Dark eyes, skin like fine burnished clay, and full lips.
Amani Skye.
I cannot make out most of Raziq’s terrible handwriting, but one word leaps out at me.
Termination.
Folding the paper several times, I slip it under the burka and into the pocket of my light pants. And then I see a glint of metal. A paper clip securing a stack of balance sheets.
Faruk spent years locking me away. After he forgot me in a closet for three days, I taught myself how to pick locks. I do not know what good that will do me here, but closing my fingers around the twisted metal gives me a burst of hope.
I am no longer helpless. Trapped, yes. Terrified, yes. But this one small act reminds me who I have become.
I am Lisette Moreau. I am a mother. A florist. A French citizen. And I will fight for my life and that of my son for as long as I am able.
“Get up and follow me!” Raziq snaps from the doorway.
