I would give anything for that to be true. But I know better. Once Mateen can travel, we will need to disappear. Ford mentioned Switzerland. Canada. Panama. He said he would find a way for us to see Maman, Papa, and Noele. But I do not know how he can make such promises.
I fill a small purse with my wallet, lip balm, and keys, but before I pick up my phone, someone knocks at the door.
“Vasquez?” I ask.
“It’s Nomar.”
He looks so serious when I invite him inside. Lines tighten around his eyes, like he has not slept. “What is it? Something is wrong.” Snatching up my phone, I check for any messages. “Is Mateen—?”
“He’s fine. Shit. I didn’t think. I should have called.” Nomar sweeps a gaze around the flat. “Is anyone else here? Your parents? Noele?”
“Noele is with Mateen, and my parents are on a ‘duck boat’ for the morning.” His tone worries me. Desperate for something to do, I gesture to the kitchen. “Would you like a coffee?”
“What? No.” He’s at the window, staring across the river with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. “Come sit down. There’s something we need to talk about.”
I sit a respectable distance away, my hands folded on my thighs and my gaze pinned to the floor until Nomar slides closer. “You’re notthereanymore, Lisette. You can look at me.”
The power in his dark brown eyes makes my heart race. Only a week ago, I was certain I would die in Afghanistan. By my husband’s hand. Now, I would give anything to know the feeling of Nomar’s lips on mine.
“Do you remember a man who worked for Faruk named Isaad?” he asks.
“Yes. I was not allowed to speak to him. Or he to me. His room was at the far end of the house. It was the only one—besides mine—that had a lock on the outside of the door.” My voice falters, and I run my fingers over the hem of my sweater.
“Do you remember when you first saw him?” Nomar’s voice is gentler now, but his stare is icy cold.
“Five years ago? Perhaps longer? After Mateen was born.” My cheeks heat, and I have to look away. “I did not leave my room until he was almost six months old. Farukboughta girl—Damsa—to be Mateen’sau pair. She would bring him to me when he needed to nurse, but she changed him, played with him. I cried whenever I saw him, knowing he would grow up—”
“He won’t.” Nomar takes my hands in his, holding on tight. “I promise you, Mateen will never see his father again.”
I jerk back, swallowing my sob. “You cannot know that! Faruk has enough money to find us anywhere. He willneverstop searching for his son. One day, he will take Mateen. And he will kill me.”
“Lisette.”
Nomar says my name so gently, I want to listen. To believe we will truly be safe for the rest of our lives.
“He won’t come for you. He can’t. He made a mistake, sweetheart. Six years ago, U.S. Special Forces Sergeant Jackson Richards disappeared from a Taliban prison called Hell Mountain. Faruk threw him into that fucking well, and kept him there for so long, he forgot his own damn name.”
I suck in a sharp breath. “The scorpions come out at night. The pain…” Lifting my sleeve, I run my fingers over the small, round scars on my arm. “Even my abaya could not protect me.”
Nomar takes my hand again. “Hell Mountain had two other prisoners when Jackson disappeared, Lisette. Both Special Forces. One was a mean son of a bitch named Ryker McCabe. And the other…was Ford’s boss, Dax.”
His words sink in. “Is that why you came for Joey? Because of Isaad?”
With a sound that is part laugh and part snort, Nomar shakes his head. “Ryker and Dax didn’t know a damn thing about Isaad until four days ago. I paid off one of the guards to get me into the compound the morning before we breached. I needed the lay of the land. And I was wearing a body cam. As soon as they saw the footage…they knew their brother was alive. And last night, a team of the six deadliest operators on the planet—besides me—pulled Richards out of that fucking well. Right before Ryker slit Faruk’s throat.”
I start to shake, ten years of pent-up fear and terror escaping in a weak, thin cry.
My world shrinks down to twin pinpricks of light. I feel myself falling. Sliding. Until strong arms band around my body. “Shhh, sweetheart. You’re okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Jagged edges of relief slice through me, opening wounds I kept buried so I could survive another day. A hand cups the back of my head. I breathe in his scent. Clean, woodsy soap. A hint of vanilla. His neck is soft under my lips. Muscles flex as he shifts me into his lap.
“Let it out. All of it. I’m here,” he murmurs. “I’m here.”
* * *
Nomar
Lisette sobs in my arms until my t-shirt is soaked. “Talk to me, sweetheart. Say…something. Anything. Please.”
