“À tasanté.”The light, earthy flavor bursts over my tongue, and I savor the simple freedom of choosing whatIwant to eat and drink. “I am sorry we could not talk earlier, but Maman and Papa came too quickly. What else do you wish to know about…this morning?”
“Everything. You have been free for more than a week. Why did it take so long? If you knew about the American—”
“I did not. Faruk kept me away from the men. I spent most of my time with the other women.”
“What other women?Mon Dieu, Lisette. How many? Did he take all of them?” She pales, and the glass wobbles in her hand.
“Some, maybe. The girls who cooked and cleaned were so young. The others were wives of his men. I learned quickly not to ask questions. We talked about our children, spent afternoons on knitting or bead work. It was a very…lonely life.”
Noele swipes at her eyes. “How did you stand it?”
Before I can answer, there is a soft knock at the door. Nomar slips into the room, but stops when he sees Noele and the open bottle of wine. “I…shit. Can I talk to you, Lisette? It won’t take long.”
His shoulders slump, exhaustion making him look ten years older than he did this morning. “Stay with Mateen. I will be right outside,” I say, handing Noele my glass.
Nomar takes my hand, linking our fingers and squeezing gently as he leads me into the hall. It is quiet this time of night—only a single nurse at the desk and the guards standing outside the elevator.
“I have to go away for a while.”
“Where? When?” My heart aches, and an icy knot tightens in my stomach. He is so serious. Angry, even.
“Tonight. There’s a plane waiting for me at Hanscom Air Force Base. It takes off in an hour.”
The pain in his eyes terrifies me. Bringing his hand to my chest, I breathe in his scent. “How long will you be gone?
“A while.” Nomar wraps his free arm around my waist and drops his forehead to mine.
“What does that mean? A week? A month?” I try to pull away, but he holds me close.
“Six months. Maybe a little longer,” he says softly. “What I have to do…and where…it’s classified.”
“But you will call. To let me know you are okay?” Fear lends a tremble to my voice. I have only known him a week, but how can I let him go? He risked his life for me—forus.He calms me when nothing else can. I need him. So does Mateen. This new reality terrifies me, but with Nomar, I am safe.
“No, sweetheart. I won’t be able to call.” He brushes a kiss to my lips. “In an emergency, Ford might be able to get a message to me. But it wouldn’t be quick.”
“Do not go. Please?” I hate myself for asking. I should be stronger. I have Noele—for a short time. Joey and Ford. A place to live. Mateen is getting the best care. But without Nomar, how will I survive?
“I have to.” His hand slides into my hair, twisting the strands around his fingers. “I’m so sorry.”
Crushing his mouth to mine, he backs me against the wall. The rest of the world falls away. There is no gentleness to the kiss. His tongue sweeps over the seam of my lips, desperate, searching, begging me to let him in. I slide my hands up his chest, and something in my core warms when I feel the metallic barbs running through his nipples.
His hard length presses against my hip. “I wish we had more time,” he whispers. “Goodbye, Lisette. Tell Mateen…fuck. Tell him we’ll play FIFA together again one day. Tell him…I didn’t want to go.”
Nomar leaves me with one last, swift kiss, links our fingers in a tight hold, then lets them slip free. He walks backward to the elevator, his gaze on me the whole time, and when he steps through the doors, the anguish etched on his face sends my tears spilling over.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Nomar
Tension wrapsa tight band around my temples, squeezing to the point of pain. The long, dusty drive from Kabul to Mazar-i-Sharif put me in a shitty fucking mood. Faruk’s compound is thelastplace I ever wanted to see again.
Every time I clench my jaw—who am I kidding? I’ve barelyunclenchedit for thirty-six hours—I can feel the sand stuck in my teeth.
Mateen’s in isolation now. Lisette’s parents returned to France sometime yesterday. And I have no idea if she’s okay.
The burner phone in my duffel bag is programmed with only one number. An exchange in Kandahar staffed by a CIA asset I’ll never meet. I’ll call in regular updates, but once I leave here, any contact with the rest of the world could blow the whole operation—and get me killed.
Walking away from Lisette was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Harder than finding a shipping container full of trafficked women at a port in Dubai. Harder than infiltrating Al Jihad in Egypt. Harder than crawling three miles—with malaria—over the mountains in Pakistan to evade Al Qaeda.
