Vulnerability slipped into her bones like a winter chill she could not shake. It was both familiar to her, and yet completely new. How long had it been since any man made her feel vulnerable?
She had been a fool to think he would see past … everything to the real her. She had expected far too much of this man. Why had the curl of his lip as he’d asked that question—isn’t she though?—hurt so very much?
Kasra cursed her slowness. She should have thought to seek him out earlier, but doubt and this repugnant vulnerability kept her in the yard, alone with her thoughts and fears. Had she sent word for him sooner, he might have believed that she sought his help. Now, anything she said would be deemed manipulative and conniving. It was written all over his bruised and bloodied face.
Oh, Allah, please help.
Arms folded, he flared his nostrils.
“How did you sort it?”
“Does it matter?”
She lowered herself into the chair and sat back. Mostly to put the table between them but it served well in feigning more confidence than she felt now. “I suppose not.” She drew off the hijab and folded it across her lap. Could he see her hands shaking? She crossed her arms, knowing those pale blue eyes did not miss anything. “It took you long enough to figure it out.”
Still standing, hands hooked in his pockets, chin tucked, he stared.
This would not work—her defiant persona. They must get to the heart of the situation. What he thought of her—his disgust was clear enough—did not matter. “Did the other soldier tell you I asked to speak with you?”
Lips tight, his brow furrowed, he remained unmoving.
“Hate me if you want, but there is a problem. One that isverydangerous”—she swallowed, thinking of the captain’s terrible eyes, but knew that would not remove this mountain of disdain from the conversation—“for the others.”
He hadn’t moved still. Nor spoken.
She bounced her gaze to his. “What do you want me to say? Ask what you will of me, but this”—she motioned between them—“is ineffective and puts the lives of my people at risk.”
“I’m listening.”
She sniffed, resenting how much his hatred of her hurt. It shouldn’t. She’d endured much worse. “As I said to you before, Americans came to the compound.Hecame to the compound.”
“That’s why you were scared earlier—you knew he’d recognized you.” He shook his head. “But if he was a customer—”
“He was more than that,” Kasra said, looking down. “He had befriended Taweel. Ensured security looked the other way while American soldiers came to Roud.”
“And you were afraid he would betray you, tell me who you were.”
“No.” But wasn’t it? “Yes … A little. But I speak truth when I say I worry for the others. If Captain Hellqvist knows they are here, too—and he likely does now that he has seen me—it is very probable that he will tell Taweel. And it would put everyone at risk.” She abandoned her ambivalence and confidence. “You saw the others who escaped. We wereallsupposed to escape. But now that he has seen me …” She leaned against the table, her hijab in hand. “Tell me—have they pressured you to return us?”
He was difficult to read, and yet she could read him like a book. Though she could not say what changed, therewasa change. A near-lightening around the eyes. Maybe a loosening of the knot that held his shoulders so taut. Though, with those muscles, she was not sure that could be accurately described as “loose.” She hated the way he studied her, despised her.
“Do not speak—fine. But I see in your eyes they have,” Kasra said. “And they will continue until we are forced to return or leave. Either way, Taweel and his men will be waiting. The longer we are here, the more time he has to rally men. Wait too long, and they will attack this very place.” She balled the fabric in her hand. “For everyone’s sake, wemustleave here.”
He considered her for several long seconds, then shifted his stance. Lifted his hands. And in a slow manner, clapped. Smirked. “You’re a very good actress.”
Futility coiled around her and squeezed. “You cannot be this stupid!” she growled, banging her fist on the table.
He resumed his position. “Who do we have in lock-up?”
She deflated, desperate to get past his mistrust. “Fatina, my”?—he would not appreciate the term decoy—“assistant.”
“Uncanny likeness between you two.” He stayed on his feet. Was it designed for a sense of power and control? Or was he afraid she would use the table to pin him to the wall and attempt an escape?
All of the above.
He stretched his jaw—and winced at the injury to his mouth. “Here’s what I can’t figure,Madam Jazani.” The way his accent dragged over her name made her angry and sad at the same time. “You act like you are a saint who cares about her people—”
“I do!”
