Somehow, she fell asleep as they barreled along Ring Road, waking only to jarring bouncing as they slowed suddenly on a dirt road. “What is wrong? What are we doing?”
He angled the car into some scrub and glanced around before jamming the gear into Park. “Sleep. Two hours. We’ll head out on foot.”
They were completely hidden from the road. “On foot? Why? The car—”
“Is almost out of gas.”
“Then webuygas,” she said slowly, wondering why he did not plan that. “Why—”
“Rest,” he growled, then reached down between the driver’s door and the seat. Laid it back. Arms folded, he closed his eyes.
Just like that.
She grunted. Just like that he decides to sleep. And does. Irritated, she secretly envied his ability to sleep at will. Then again, he had not slept last night. He deserved it. Maybe she should stay awake. Keep a watchful eye for trouble.
Shifting on the seat, she felt something in the seat poke her hip. She adjusted again, an ache permeating her lower back and neck. Turning sideways, she tried to find a better position and let her seat back as far as it would go.
“Whatare you doing?” he barked.
“The car is old.”
He scowled. “Are you kidding me?”
“Maybe steal a more comfortable car next time.”
“Nothing ever pleases you, does it?”
“Not in a long time,” she spat back, hurt piercing her heart.
Though it was dark and the engine lights were off, somehow light found his pale eyes as he stared at her. Question in his expression. Something … uncertain.
Feeling strangely exposed and vulnerable, she stuffed her hijab under her head and tried to look like she’d fallen asleep. Heard him sigh and get comfortable again. When she peeked, she was amused to see he had his ballcap on again and had pulled it down over his eyes. It was such an American thing.
His lips parted and a soft snore drifted into the confined space. Amazing how quickly he slipped into a deep sleep, his well-muscled chest rising and falling steadily. Long ago, she learned to sleep in expectation of being … interrupted. The other night, had she really dreamed, called out ‘Atia?’ She had not dreamed—not like that—in ages. She must have been very tired to do that. Still, to sleep so soundly in such a situation was very unlike her. She could not even sleep without her favorite pillow.
What had made it possible to sleep so soundly that she dreamed …? Her gaze slid again to this American, who put off a lot of rage like his name. Yet she saw a side of him that hinted at compassion—his anger about the children, the girls.
Coman had asked him about being a Christian, but she hadn’t heard his answer. It would explain a lot of things … and in a way, it matched what she had read in that small book still tucked close to her chest.
“Yes or no,” he’d demanded back in the city.
She believed his world was very black and white. For him, there was only right and wrong. No gray area. No explanations or justifications. Which meant he would never understand her world. Her life. Her.
Just let it go. She closed her eyes, decided it did not matter.Hedid not matter. Yet, she had a feeling she would find out how untrue that was.
He grunted.
Kasra started, looking to him again. She couldn’t see his eyes beneath the hat. Was he asleep, dreaming?
Another grunt. “No …” he mumbled.
What tormented his dreams? What had happened in his life that it invaded his sleep? She thought to touch his arm. But if he startled awake, he could read it wrong.
“No!” He snapped up, snatching off his hat. Roughed a hand over his face. Huffed. Slumped back down, his gaze briefly skating her way—clearly embarrassed about jolting awake. In a matter of minutes, he was asleep again.
Apparently they were both tormented.
Using the burqa into a pillow, she rested her head. Watching him. Wondering about him. Wondering if she could trust him to set aside Roud and help her. Protect her. It would take a very special man who could do that. She was not convinced it was him.
