The faded paint on the walls of this deserted mosque makes me think it was once a happy place. Bright colors form intricate designs all the way to the ceiling, but rats have devoured most of the prayer books piled in one corner, and the floor is covered in a thick layer of dirt.
After setting tripwires along the outside of the building, Nomar passed out a few feet away. His fever spiked hours ago, and I fear for him if we do not get to his friends—and Dr. Joey—soon.
We are less than two hours from them, but after Nomar almost fell asleep at the wheel, we stopped in this little town to rest until sunrise.
Mateen whines again and rubs his belly. “I don’t like it here, Mama.”
“We will leave in the morning,mon chou. Have some more water.” I tip the canteen to my son’s lips, but there are only a few drops left.
Next to us, Nomar moans in his sleep, then jerks up with a shout, eyes wide open, gun in hand.
I throw myself over my son. “No!”
Mateen cries out and wriggles under me. “Mama! You are too heavy!”
“Fuck! God. I’m so sorry.” The bitter edge to Nomar’s voice sends goosebumps racing down my arms. I turn as he pushes up with a grunt and staggers outside. Blood stains the dirty tile floor, shiny in the light from the small lantern next to Mateen’s head.
With a heavy sigh, my son flops over onto his side. “When are we going home? Papa will be mad I missed prayers.”
Tears prick at my eyes. My heart cracks into a thousand pieces. Mateen is a smart boy. He knows Faruk hurts me. But, like any son, he wants to please his father more than anything. How do I tell him we are never going home again? Will he forgive me for taking him from all he has ever known?
His eyelids flutter closed before I can answer him. With trembling fingers, I brush the soft curls from his clammy forehead. Dr. Joey was treating him twice a day, but even if we find her tomorrow, with his body so weak, will she be able to do anything for him?
I have to believe she will. Otherwise, I will not be able to go on.
Saying a silent prayer to the God of my youth—the one I was forbidden to pray to or even speak of once Faruk took me—I press a kiss to Mateen’s temple, then tiptoe out of the makeshift shelter to find the man who saved us.
I do not have to go far. Nomar sits against the crumbling facade, gun in hand. He scans the street, his eyes never still. An engine thrums in the distance, getting closer. I drop to my knees, out of sight behind a low stone wall surrounding the old mosque. The vehicle passes, the sweet scent of tobacco lingering in its wake.
“Come back inside,” I say quietly when the old sedan turns the corner and disappears. “You need to rest.”
“Safer for you and the kid if I stay here.”
“I do not believe that.” My entire body aches as I sink down next to him. “You are exhausted, Nomar. Your wound is infected, and I am worried about you.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“Mon Dieu.Where? When?”
With a heavy sigh, he lets his head fall back against the wall and stares up at the glittering expanse of stars stretching all the way to the horizon. “We’d be here until dawn if I told you about all the times I’ve almost died.”
I use my sleeve to dab at the sweat beading along his forehead. He touches my wrist briefly, like he is not sure I am real. “Is your job that dangerous? Or are you not very good at it?”
His chuckle reassures me. He still has his faculties. His sense of humor. But for how long?
“I’m the guy they send in when shit goes sideways. I go in alone. No team. No support.”
“But you were not alone when you came for Dr. Joey…”
Nomar winces as he leans forward and watches a dog trot down the center of the road. “I retired five days ago. Should have been stateside by now. But Ford—he and Joey were a thing twenty years ago—called me when she went missing and asked for my help. He brought Trevor with him, though I’ve worked with the guy before. He used to be CIA, and we had a couple of ops together.”
We sit in silence for several minutes, close enough I can feel the heat rolling off him. It has been ten years since I have been able to sit in comfortable silence with a man. Since I have not been afraid of saying the wrong thing. In the wrong way. At the wrong time.
I want to ask about his job. His skills. The way he carries himself—like there is nothing he fears—and how he managed to get into Faruk’s compound in the first place.
But I also want him to rest so that in the morning, he can keep us safe until we meet up with Ford, Joey, and Trevor.
“I can’t let myself sleep, Lisette,” he finally says, his words so quiet, I strain to hear them. “I pointed a gun at a six-year-old boy because this fucking fever made it too hard to understand I was having a goddamn nightmare.”
