look like someone broke in the back door. Crack the doorframe on the outside. Destroy the doorknob, the latch, and the padlock. And hurry.”
“On it,” he called over his shoulder as he ran out.
Marissa tossed the veil onto the table and turned to the boxes. She dumped the electronic parts from the first box onto the floor and spread them around with her foot. Ameen’s assault on the back door jolted her while she was dumping the third box. She raced to the front door, opened it a crack, and peered out. As far as she could see, the street was still deserted, and the noise wasn’t attracting attention.
After closing the door, she leaned her forehead against the worn wood. The house had not cooled off overnight. The dry, dusty air was already stifling. The long, black abaya trapped the heat around her body, sapping her energy. Her physical activity only made it worse. Pushing away from the door, she squared her shoulders and swiveled her head from side to side to loosen the muscles in her neck. Tension, in addition to heat, was building.
Her next stop was the cabinet in the bedroom closet. Snickering, she spun the numbers to the combination lock that she had memorized without Samir’s knowledge. He had been careless in many ways. She grabbed an AK-47, checked for a full magazine, and slung it over her shoulder. She also snatched a handgun similar to her Glock.
Ameen stood in the back doorway when she returned. His disapproving gaze bore into her, but she didn’t acknowledge it. She laid both guns on the table and figured the way she handled the weapons told him she was no stranger to them. But it couldn’t be helped. Neither spoke while she dragged a folding chair next to the table.
When she bent to retrieve her purse, a wave of lightheadedness washed over her. Heat. Tension. Black invaded her vision, and she stumbled. Before she could grab onto the chair, Ameen was beside her, his strong arm around her shoulders. He held her against him for only a moment before lowering her onto the seat.
“Hot, too hot,” Marissa murmured.
“Stupid clothes,” he muttered, pushing her head down between her knees. “Don’t move.”
Stripping off his shirt, he stepped to the filthy kitchen sink. He saturated the blue T-shirt with the brackish water and wrung it out. She sighed when he squatted in front of her and draped the cool, wet material across the back of her clammy neck.
“Better?” he whispered.
“Mmmm. Stupid clothes,” she agreed.
“Not used to them, are you?”
“Ameen, please. I don’t have the time or energy to…to tangle with you.”
“Is that what we’ve been doing?”
“Uh huh.”
He chuckled, then lifted her head and used the wet shirt to wipe away the sweat from her forehead and cheeks. He stared a few seconds too long at her lips before dabbing the sweat from above them. “I don’t think the tap water is fit to drink. Is there anything else liquid in this hellhole?”
She shook her head.
“Those idiots. I’ll go get you a—”
“No.” She caught his hand. “You must go now.”
His troubled eyes fastened on hers. “I know you’re a brave woman, but I don’t want to leave you here alone. If the others get suspicious, they could hurt you. I want to keep you safe, Baheera. I can—”
“No, you can’t do anything more. I’ll be safer if you leave. Believe me, please.” Her chest tightened. She’d been so alone in her undercover role. That part of her wanted him to stay. A bond, a connection, had formed. She felt it but didn’t want it. Now was not the time for…
“Baheera…,” he started again but gave up.
She released his hand, and he stood reluctantly. She watched him struggle to let go of what he felt he must do. Finally, he fished his wallet and a pen from his pants pocket. After writing on a dollar bill, he handed it to her. He’d scrawled two phone numbers.
“At least take this. The first one is my cell. The other, the mosque. Speak only to me.”
After
“On it,” he called over his shoulder as he ran out.
Marissa tossed the veil onto the table and turned to the boxes. She dumped the electronic parts from the first box onto the floor and spread them around with her foot. Ameen’s assault on the back door jolted her while she was dumping the third box. She raced to the front door, opened it a crack, and peered out. As far as she could see, the street was still deserted, and the noise wasn’t attracting attention.
After closing the door, she leaned her forehead against the worn wood. The house had not cooled off overnight. The dry, dusty air was already stifling. The long, black abaya trapped the heat around her body, sapping her energy. Her physical activity only made it worse. Pushing away from the door, she squared her shoulders and swiveled her head from side to side to loosen the muscles in her neck. Tension, in addition to heat, was building.
Her next stop was the cabinet in the bedroom closet. Snickering, she spun the numbers to the combination lock that she had memorized without Samir’s knowledge. He had been careless in many ways. She grabbed an AK-47, checked for a full magazine, and slung it over her shoulder. She also snatched a handgun similar to her Glock.
Ameen stood in the back doorway when she returned. His disapproving gaze bore into her, but she didn’t acknowledge it. She laid both guns on the table and figured the way she handled the weapons told him she was no stranger to them. But it couldn’t be helped. Neither spoke while she dragged a folding chair next to the table.
When she bent to retrieve her purse, a wave of lightheadedness washed over her. Heat. Tension. Black invaded her vision, and she stumbled. Before she could grab onto the chair, Ameen was beside her, his strong arm around her shoulders. He held her against him for only a moment before lowering her onto the seat.
“Hot, too hot,” Marissa murmured.
“Stupid clothes,” he muttered, pushing her head down between her knees. “Don’t move.”
Stripping off his shirt, he stepped to the filthy kitchen sink. He saturated the blue T-shirt with the brackish water and wrung it out. She sighed when he squatted in front of her and draped the cool, wet material across the back of her clammy neck.
“Better?” he whispered.
“Mmmm. Stupid clothes,” she agreed.
“Not used to them, are you?”
“Ameen, please. I don’t have the time or energy to…to tangle with you.”
“Is that what we’ve been doing?”
“Uh huh.”
He chuckled, then lifted her head and used the wet shirt to wipe away the sweat from her forehead and cheeks. He stared a few seconds too long at her lips before dabbing the sweat from above them. “I don’t think the tap water is fit to drink. Is there anything else liquid in this hellhole?”
She shook her head.
“Those idiots. I’ll go get you a—”
“No.” She caught his hand. “You must go now.”
His troubled eyes fastened on hers. “I know you’re a brave woman, but I don’t want to leave you here alone. If the others get suspicious, they could hurt you. I want to keep you safe, Baheera. I can—”
“No, you can’t do anything more. I’ll be safer if you leave. Believe me, please.” Her chest tightened. She’d been so alone in her undercover role. That part of her wanted him to stay. A bond, a connection, had formed. She felt it but didn’t want it. Now was not the time for…
“Baheera…,” he started again but gave up.
She released his hand, and he stood reluctantly. She watched him struggle to let go of what he felt he must do. Finally, he fished his wallet and a pen from his pants pocket. After writing on a dollar bill, he handed it to her. He’d scrawled two phone numbers.
“At least take this. The first one is my cell. The other, the mosque. Speak only to me.”
After
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