Edge of Courage (Edge Security Series Book 5) (15 page)

Dylan shook his head, his expression weary. “So Agent Ice is back?”

“What do you want from me?” Her voice sounded ragged, even to her own ears.

“I want you to drop your mask. I’m losing hope that I can reach you, Sarah. Let me in.”

“Let you in? Why? It can’t last between us.”

“Why not?”

Her mouth opened and then closed. Could she say it?

“Why not, Sarah?” he asked again, moving closer, his face intent. “Why can’t it last between us?”

She tried to hold the words in, but his blue gaze captured her and the truth spilled out in a hoarse whisper. “Because everyone leaves me.”

“Is that why you left me first? Because you thought I might leave you? Is that why you wrote that damn note?”

She tried to turn away, but he put a hand on her arm, not forcing her to stay, but asking her with his touch. She looked at him; his dark hair and beard made him seem like almost a stranger, until she stared into those eyes that saw too much.

He stepped back from her. “You didn’t even sign it. Didn’t you think I deserved to be told in person? Or did I mean so little to you that breaking up with me was an afterthought?”

Her mouth had dropped open. Her legs felt rooted to the floor. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I thought it was for the best.”

“The best for who?”

She froze, not sure of what to say. Leaving him a note hadn’t been the best for either of them, but it had been the safest option for her. The coward’s way out, so she wouldn’t have to face him. She hadn’t wanted to know his reaction to her accepting a deep undercover assignment, mostly because she’d feared he wouldn’t have even cared.

That he had cared was a revelation.

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “Look, just forget it. I already have. Let’s just try to get through this.”

She raised her hand to him, but he’d already turned his back.

“I’m going to shower and then I’m yours to order around, Agent Ice.” His barbed words struck true. Never did she hate that nickname so much as now. He strode to the bathroom before she could reply.

She turned from the closed door. It was good for him to find out how flawed she was, though. And really, in the long run, it was better for Dylan to want to avoid her. He was a good man. He deserved someone better than her in his life.

So why did she feel like crying?

She scrubbed hard at her face before she turned off the burner on the stove. They didn’t have time to worry about their feelings. Children’s lives depended on them.

Someone knocked on the front door. She tensed. The shower still ran in the bathroom. Sarah went to the front window and almost groaned. Amirah waited on her front step. The guard had disappeared. A quick check revealed him leaning against a car across the street. It appeared that Dylan still wasn’t completely trusted yet.

Sarah wasn’t sure she could handle seeing her friend right now, but she couldn’t leave her outside by herself. Not when the call to prayer was going to happen any moment.

She forced a smile and opened the door. “Amirah,
As-salamu alaykum
.”

“
Wa-alaikum salaam
, Sarah.” Amirah bounced on her toes. “How could you not tell me?”

“Tell you?”

“That you got married!” Amirah squealed, moving past Sarah and into the house. She pulled up her veil so Sarah could see her grin. “Ahmed told Fouad. When did it happen? Did you have a proper celebration? Is this why you were so distant the other day?”

Amirah was a whirlwind, dancing around Sarah. Excitement shone on her face. Sarah had no idea how to respond, not that it mattered, considering Amirah didn’t give her much of a chance to speak. She smiled at her friend. She would miss her when she left.

She faltered.

“Why do you look sad, my friend?” Amirah laid her hand on Sarah’s arm. “Did you not want this marriage?”

Sarah forced a smile. “No. Everything just moved so fast. He’s a…good man. I’m…happy.” She had to stop stumbling over her words. Why was lying to Amirah so difficult? “We had a dinner with my brother before he left. Nothing fancy. It’s hard to celebrate with how things are.”

Amirah stopped moving and grabbed both Sarah’s hands in hers. “I will make you a feast. We will celebrate.”

Dylan opened the door to the bathroom and stepped out fully dressed, though his hair was wet. He must have heard Amirah’s joyous laughter. He smiled while Amirah squeaked and pulled her veil over her face so only her eyes showed.

“
As-salamu alaykum
,” she said.

“
Wa-alaikum salaam
,” Dylan said. “Where is your
mahram
?”

Sarah’s eyes widened. His Arabic was improving.

Amirah bowed her head, eyeing Dylan from under her lashes. “I only live three doors down. My husband believes I’ll be safe when I come here.”

With enough arrogance to match an ISIS fighter, Dylan nodded. Then he switched to Russian. “That’s about it for my Arabic. Does she speak Russian?”

Sarah was about to ask when the call to prayer sang out. She looked at him over Amirah’s head. A muscle in his jaw twitched. He had to go to the mosque now. There was no way around it with Amirah standing there.

“The mosque is two blocks down,” she told him in Russian. “Do you know how—”

He held up a hand and nodded, leaving moments later to join the flow of men to the mosque. As a special ops soldier who worked covertly in the Middle East, Dylan should know how to pray. He would have made a sign if he’d been in trouble. But still, she didn’t like to see him go. He’d only just gotten back from the questioning and she’d snapped at him. What if something happened while he was gone?

“Well, I’ll leave now,” Amirah said, dragging Sarah’s attention back to her. “I know how you like to pray alone. But come for dinner tonight. I’ll invite Mihad and her husband too. We’ll have a mini celebration for you. Don’t worry; I’ll take care of everything!”

Sarah closed the door behind Amirah and sighed. She’d wanted to plan Besma’s rescue tonight. Now she would have to pretend to be a new bride, excited about her future. She considered canceling on Amirah, but she couldn’t make herself do it.

It was only because they needed to keep up appearances with their cover.

It had nothing to do with the fact that Amirah was her friend and this was probably her last chance to see her.

D
ylan slipped
his shoes back on and left the mosque. Though he hadn’t wanted to pray, it had only taken about ten minutes. The whole thing had been almost meditative. The guard from the front of the house prayed in the row behind him. Dylan had to concentrate on remembering all the different Qu’ran verses and the number of
rakats
needed for the prayer. He’d studied enough of the culture and religion to know the basics.

Afterward, as he walked back to Sarah’s house, he felt more eyes on him. He casually walked to a cafe that was reopening. It had a simple outdoor countertop window. Chairs and tables sat inside the cafe, already filling up with men.

“
Qahwa
,” he said, thinking Jalila would be proud of his accent. The cafe owner gave him a small metal cup for a few thousand dinars, which came to about one dollar. As he drank the bitter coffee scented with cardamon, he surveyed the area.

Men and boys moved everywhere, all streaming away from the mosque—some hurrying, others more leisurely. Very few were stopped at a standstill like him. His guard actually nodded at him from across the street. Dylan nodded back.

And then there was Ahmed.

He glared from the other side of the road.

Dylan set the cup down on the counter and strode across the street to the neighbor. He stood in front of the shorter man and stared down at him. Ahmed’s shoulders lacked muscle and sloped inward, giving him a slightly hunched look. The man’s hands clenched, and Dylan noted the smoothness of his skin. Not a soldier then. The
dishdasha
he wore covered the rest of his body, but Dylan didn’t think Ahmed hid any weapons under it.

He continued to stare at the neighbor, letting the things he’d done, the people he’d killed and the coldness he’d cultivated to do it, show in his eyes.

Ahmed stepped back, mumbled something in Arabic and walked quickly down the street. He glanced back once, and Dylan caught his eye. Ahmed averted his gaze and hurried his pace.

Dylan smiled. It looked like the neighbor had gotten the message.

No matter what he’d said, Sarah was his.

A
fter Amirah left
, Sarah went down to the basement room, carrying a boy’s
dishdasha
over her shoulder. “We’re going to move you to a safer place this afternoon,” she told Waqar in Arabic after she handed him the clean clothes. “You can wash in the bathroom upstairs.” Then she looked at Jalila. “Any chance I can get you to go too?”

The girl lifted her chin. “Not without Besma. When are you going to get her?”

“We’re going to try tomorrow.” Though the fact that she promised that without confirming Besma’s location would be another indication to Dylan that she was becoming too sentimental and it was affecting her work.

“I’ll make sure Waqar is ready.”

Sarah nodded. The boy still wouldn’t meet her eyes, but Jalila seemed to have him in hand. “We’ll leave after lunch.”

The front door opened; she froze for a moment, then pulled a knife from her shirtsleeve. The boy gasped at the sight of it and huddled even farther from her, but thankfully didn’t make another sound.

Sarah suspected it was Dylan, but she never assumed anything. She crept to the top of the stairs, knife in hand.

“It’s me,” Dylan called out in Russian. “I had a chat with your neighbor. I don’t think he’ll be bothering you again.”

She straightened and met him in the kitchen. “You speak Arabic now?”

“I don’t,” he said. “But I got my point across. By the way, we have a friend out front.”

“I’d noticed. Who does he belong to?”

Dylan nodded. “He’s one of Hisham’s cronies, but ultimately he works for Yusef al-Basri.”

Her gut clenched at the name. “You met Yusef?”

Dylan sat at the table. “He took me for a fun flight today.”

“Explain.”

“They questioned me and then Yusef took me up in a helicopter with a few of his soldiers.”

Her mouth went dry at the thought of Dylan at the mercy of Yusef. She’d seen firsthand what the man did to his enemies when she’d tracked him in Syria. She put the kettle on for tea and took out a tin of cookies, more to give her time to control herself than because she thought Dylan might want them. “Does he know you’re a pilot?”

“No. He shouldn’t. I think he just wanted to give me a demonstration about what he does with people who disobey him.”

She heard something in the tone of his voice. His gaze wouldn’t meet hers. “Dylan?” she asked softly, sitting down next to him. “What did he do?”

It was a long moment before Dylan spoke. “He made me kill one of his men.” He still didn’t look at her. His voice, the lack of emotion almost fooled her, but his hands clenched tight on his thigh, showing white bone and popping veins. Her heart twisted at the sight. This strong, honorable man had been forced to commit murder. She knew without asking that Dylan would never have done it if there had been any other choice.

“You are not a monster,” she whispered, and pushed the plate of cookies toward him. “Remember that, if nothing else.”

Dylan looked at her, his blue eyes, usually so vibrant, now flat and filled with anguish. She reached out; her hand covered one of his on his leg. There was nothing sexual in the touch. Just one human offering comfort to another. His hand turned over and squeezed hers.

He smiled at her, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “
We’re
not monsters.”

She shook her head, but it was hard for her to voice the words, to force them out of her throat. Was this just one more lie? It didn’t matter whether she thought she was a monster or not. Dylan needed to hear the words. “We’re not monsters.”

“It’s okay to believe it, you know,” he said.

How did she go from being the comforter to being comforted? He rubbed his thumb over her palm. She shivered from the touch, from his soul-piercing gaze and from the connection that sizzled to life between them.

The kettle whistled on the stove, breaking the trance she’d been in. She pulled her hand from his and stood. “The tea…”

He sighed and reached for a cookie. “My mom always gave me cookies when I was upset. You’d make a good mom.”

The words froze her, kettle in hand. Pain sliced into her that she knew she couldn’t keep off her face. At least her back was to him.

How could she be a mom when she’d never really had one herself?

“Sarah?” The chair scraped behind her as he stood.

Wake up, she snapped at herself, or he was going to start asking questions, prodding her. She poured hot water over the loose black tea in the teapot. The scent of bergamot filled the air. Earl Grey.

“Sarah.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “What did I say?”

She tried not to tense under his light touch. Should she answer? Which lie should she give him?

She forced a lightness to her tone. “Nothing.” She brought the tea to the table. Time to change the subject. “We need to move the boy today. Do you know how to lose a tail?”

He scowled and she almost smiled. Subject changed.

“Of course,” he said. “You want me to lose Hisham’s guy out front?”

“Yes, then come meet me and the boy at the entrance to the back alley.”

“Are you going to tell me the plan this time?”

“Of course,” she said. “We’re going to put him in my network. I find the kids and then give them over to a former imam who’s in hiding.”

“In hiding?”

“He opposed ISIS. They’ve killed a number of imams since they’ve been here. Rakin and I helped him evade capture and convinced him it would be better to start an underground railroad rather than to be a martyr.”

Dylan nodded. “Nice work. So what then?”

“The imam will take him to a safe house to await transport.”

“Transport? Is it something we can use?”

She shook her head. “It’s a bakery truck that has a secret compartment in its undercarriage. Only big enough to fit two or three kids at a time. The truck gets a weekly tune-up at a garage. One person brings the kids in a car. Inside the garage, they slip into the truck. The baker goes on weekly trips to Erbil.”

“He does? What about all the checkpoints?”

“He’s put his house up as collateral. Rakin and I also help fund him.”

Dylan picked up another cookie. “What does that mean?”

“Bribes for the checkpoints, of course.”

He leaned back in his chair. “I think there’s hope for you yet.”

“Meaning?”

He laughed. “You actually shared a plan. Doesn’t it feel good to be part of a team?”

Her lips twisted as she struggled not to smile. “Don’t get used to it, Cowboy.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Ghost. Now let me grab a bite to eat and then I’ll take off.”

She went to check on Waqar. He’d washed up and put on the clean clothes. Sarah brought him one of Rakin’s
kufis
. With the new
dishdasha
and clean face, he seemed like a different boy.

They left the basement just as Dylan finished a sandwich.

“You ready?” she asked.

“Where are we going after I lose the guard?”

“To a baker’s shop over on Nivenah Street. It’s a bit of a walk, but it should be safe enough.”

His eyes widened, but she noticed a twinkle in them.

“What?” she asked.

“You actually shared more information with me.”

She scowled but her heart wasn’t in it. “I’m trying.”

“Should I give you a gold star?”

She rolled her eyes. “This isn’t the time. Go get rid of that guard.”

“Always with the orders,” he said, but he grinned as he did.

Something inside her lightened to joke with him like this.

At the door, Dylan turned to her, all laughter gone. “I’ll meet you in fifteen minutes at the end of the alley.”

“How about thirty? Why don’t you give yourself some time to lose him?”

“I don’t need time. I’ll lose this guy in five.” He opened the door and yelled in Russian, “I’ll be home when I get home, woman!”

She couldn’t stop herself from giggling.

He winked and then slammed the door.

Control yourself, Sarah
.

This was serious. She glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. Fifteen minutes.

At the twelve-minute mark, she put on her veil, hugged Jalila good-bye, admonishing her to stay hidden, and then took the boy’s hand. He stiffened but within a moment relaxed.

She opened the back door incrementally. The stench of the dead dog in the heat made Waqar gag and her stomach twist up. She waited at the door until fourteen minutes had passed; then she pulled the boy out and down the alley.

They walked up to the alley entrance. It was harder to blend into the people on the sidewalk with a child in tow. And this boy wasn’t much more than a child, so he’d never be considered an appropriate
mahram
.

But she didn’t have to worry. Dylan walked by exactly as they neared the road. She and Waqar stepped onto the sidewalk behind him with no one saying anything. One veiled woman looked at them but just kept following the man in front of her.

“Tell me which way,” Dylan said in Russian.

“Three blocks, then left for two blocks, then right.”

Dylan nodded and they walked in mostly silence. Waqar’s grip on her hand was tight, but it eased as they walked. He kept his head down mostly, darting glances at the people passing, but never staring openly. Her lips twisted behind her veil. They’d trained him well as a slave.

They were almost at the bakery when she noticed people leaving the sidewalk ahead of them. Not being tall, she couldn’t see what was happening ahead. “Dalkhan?” She used his cover name. “What’s up ahead?”

Dylan cursed. “It’s a group of those fucking morality police.”

The boy must have sensed something, because he tensed beside her, loosening his grip as if preparing to run. She tightened her hold on him.

“The boy,” she said to Dylan.

Dylan smoothly moved so the boy walked between them. He laid a hand on his shoulder, looking like a fatherly gesture, but his fingers flexed and Sarah knew Dylan had him and would stop him if he tried to run.

“It’s okay,” she said in Arabic to the boy. He began to tremble. “We won’t let anything happen. Just keep your head down like you’re doing.”

She glanced up. It was four members of the
hisbah
in black
dishdashas
and turbans, with beards reaching mid-chest. Their eyes glittered with malice as they spoke loudly to a woman who wore a
niqab
, but from the sounds of it, the half veil across her face had slipped too low. They berated her and her
mahram
about modesty in women.

“Cross the street,” Dylan muttered, looking for cars as he stepped off the curb.

Sarah followed, itching to look over her shoulder at the men. “We’ll draw attention.”

“I’m afraid my lack of a proper beard will draw even more if we walk too close to them.”

Sarah nodded. The boy visibly relaxed and once again tightened his grip on her hand. “Almost there,” she murmured to him.

The bakery shop was doing brisk business. The family who owned it specialized in affordable breads, but also sweets.

Dylan frowned when she motioned to the shop. “Here?”

“Yes.” She walked in with the boy and got in line while Dylan waited with the other men near the front of the shop.

The woman in front of her shook her head. “It’s so crowded in here now that we have to bring our men everywhere.”

Sarah forced a happy tone in her voice and complained about long lines and the heat with the woman while waiting to see the baker.

The boy shifted from foot to foot, but didn’t complain. Finally it was their turn.

“What would you like?” the baker asked.

“I would like a loaf of flat bread and any breadcrumbs you might have left over. It’s for my birds.”

The baker stiffened, but didn’t drop his smile. His gaze darted first to the boy, and then to the front entrance before coming back to her. “Do you have a lot of birds?”

“Just one blue one. But I expect I’ll have two more red ones tomorrow.”

The baker looked at the boy. “Birds are tricky right now.” He packaged up a loaf of bread. “I give out breadcrumbs at the back entrance.”

She paid him and then the three of them left the store.

“What now?” Dylan asked.

“We go to the back alley,” she said. They walked casually down the block and two buildings over, went down an alley. As she glanced over her shoulder, they ducked into the laneway behind the shops.

“This guy will help?” Dylan said.

She nodded. “He’s the brother of the imam. He’ll deliver the boy to a safe house tonight. The next supply trip is in five days.”

“Will they look after him?”

“Yes.” She looked up and down the alley. No one but them right now. “These are people who don’t agree with ISIS and want to do what’s right.”

She stopped before the metal door of the bakery and rapped on it. The baker opened it and shook his head. “Sarah,” he said. “I’m sorry. I just can’t do this anymore. We’ve had visits from the
hisbah
. They know someone is smuggling girls out.”

“This isn’t a girl,” she pointed out. “Look at him. He needs you.”

The baker lifted his cap off his head and ran his hand through his hair. “Is there no one else to help?”

“He needs to leave tonight, Omar. Please.”

The baker looked at the sky. “Allah would want this.” He nodded. “I will help the boy. But he is the last one. I can’t keep putting my family at risk.”

Her shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank you, Omar.
Jazak’ Allahu khair
.”

The boy didn’t want to release her hand. “It’s okay, Waqar,” she said. “This man will help you. Do what he says and you will get back to your people soon.”

The boy’s eyes widened and he nodded, but he still didn’t speak. Sarah wondered if he’d ever feel safe enough again to express himself.

S
arah walked
beside Dylan on the way back to the house, sending a quick prayer that the boy they’d just left got back to his family. They were only two blocks from the house when Dylan cursed under his breath.

“What?” Sarah asked.

“The guard is out front on his phone. He’s probably calling for reinforcements.” Dylan sighed. “I’d better go chat him up and make him realize that I’m not a bad guy.”