Coman eyed him speculatively. “Then we will talk—man to man—while the women get what is needed.” He looked to his wife. “And maybe some dinner.”
With a smile, Gabina gave him a nod.
It surprised Range that the man so wholly trusted the madam. That he’d accept her word and not be angry about the stranger in his home, though—by that suspicious, narrowing gaze—had figured out Range wasn’t from around here. Then he’d offer supplies without further discussion and insisted they talk. Did this man know who Kasra really was? What she did for a living? And he didn’t have a problem with it?
Well, hehadmentioned the girls …
“American, come. Sit, talk.” In the living area, Coman folded himself onto a cushion and eyed Range as he crossed the room. “You seem comfortable in my country and with my language.”
Still speaking Pashto. To test him? Probably to keep him on his guard.
Range sat with one leg tucked under his bent knee. Easier to spring into action. “Comfortable is a stretch …” He was distracted for a moment, watching Kasra in the kitchen with Gabina, cooking up something that quickly filled the apartment with a spicy aroma. Definitely smelled curry, which made his stomach grumble.
Coman’s cheek twitched. “It is not an easy language.”
That was an understatement. Pashto was a Tier Two language right below the toughest, Mandarin and Russian.
The little boy came rushing in, showing his father a toy, which he complained it wasn’t working. With a speculative look at Range, Coman pulled his son into his lap. Helped him worked though troubleshooting the problem. The sister hurried into the kitchen … surprisingly hugging the legs of not her mom, but Kasra, who laughed and bent down. Brushed the girl’s hair from her face, said something, then kissed her cheek as she handed her a piece of fruit.
It was something so … domestic, so … weird.
“She is not what you expect, yes?” Coman said quietly as the boy scuttled off to the back room with his now-working toy.
Range dropped his gaze to the carpeted floor.
“I see on your face that you know what happens at Roud. How did you come to be with Kasra?”
The way the man said that somehow made Range feel guilty. And how exactly was he supposed to answer that?
“You arrest her?” Coman ask, his eyebrows lifted in amusement.
Range eyed the man, not feeling at liberty to discuss his operations.
“Now, you see in her a home and laughing, hugging children, just as any woman would do, and your military mind, it explodes.” Coman nodded and chuckled.
Soon, the women placed platters of food before Coman and Range, then slipped into the back room. Should he be worried that she was out of sight? But then he saw her reflection in a mirror as she packed some items in a tapestry bag. Still, he wondered if she’d use her friends to betray him. Were they setting him up while even more men came as he sat here, stuffing himself?
Arm hooked over his leg, Coman took a piece of bread, but his gaze settled on Range for a long moment. “Where are the girls?”
Direct, to the point. Range respected that. In his periphery, he noticed Kasra move into the kitchen again. She had her back to him and had gone still. Listening, no doubt, for his answer. “We did not take them … all.”
“Then the ones you did take.” The man’s chewed slowly.
“Safe.” He hoped. With all that had gone south, he had no definitive answers.
Coman bent over the steaming food and scooped up rice and chicken with a piece of torn bread. “Where?”
Eating for a moment, he wouldn’t give away vital intel. Couldn’t risk this man being some leader of a local militia or something. “Can’t answer that yet,” he eyed Kasra, hoping she heard, reminding her she owed him a name.
The two women worked at a table in the kitchen.
“You do not trust me,” Coman said.
“I don’t know you.” Which was rude. “You already proved how fast word gets around this city. That’s dangerous—to me and her. Her escape complicated things.”
“Escape?” His dark eyes flicked to the madam. “Kasra, this is true? You did this?”
Jerking her gaze to the floor, she gave a faint bob of her head.
