Edge of Courage (Edge Security Series Book 5) (16 page)

“But you’re his bad guy.”

Dylan grinned. “You’d better go around back so he doesn’t know you slipped out.”

“Wilco.”

Sarah peeled off at the alley entrance that led to the back of her building. No one followed her and she made her way to her door. She wasn’t sure what was worse: the buzzing of the flies by the dog’s body, or the stench in this heat.

She opened her door and her senses went on high alert. Something wasn’t right. A kitchen cupboard was open. The couch pillows lay scattered on the floor in the living room.

Someone had searched the place.

The door slammed into her, knocking her sideways. A man jumped out and rushed her.

She blocked his first punch, but her veil shifted and covered her eyes. A blow landed on the side of her face and she staggered as pain seared her senses. She kept moving, stumbling into the couch as she ripped off the veil.

A man stood in front of her. Medium height. Black clothes. He hit her in the stomach and her breath whooshed out. She gasped, but there was no air.

The man shook his head. “Why is Zahir so scared of you? You’re nothing but a woman. Tell me where the pictures are and I’ll let you live.”

Realization blazed through her. It was Zahir’s lover. “
Ayreh Feek
,” Sarah said, telling him to fuck off.

“
Ya Sharmouta
,” he snarled as he called her a bitch, and raised his hand to strike her again.

Sarah was ready this time. Her jujitsu was rusty but she was an E.D.G.E. operator. All of them knew how to defend themselves.

She grabbed his hand and twisted, even as she pulled down, using his own momentum against him. He stumbled forward and past her. She tripped him and he fell flat.

She stomped her foot down, but he’d rolled away. So he wasn’t new to fighting, just fighting women. She’d use that.

He came at her hard and fierce; she backed up with each swing, not letting him get another shot in, but waiting for him to get cocky and overreach. Jab. Jab. Right cross. Jab. Jab.

She grabbed his cross and used his momentum to fling him headfirst into the wall.

He dropped fairly quickly, landing sprawled on his front, limbs akimbo and eyes closed. She pulled a knife from her sleeve and set it against his throat. It wouldn’t be long.

His eyes opened and he started. She pressed harder with the blade. “Don’t move,” she said quietly in Arabic. “Just answer my questions and you’ll live. Who sent you to get the photos?”

He scowled and shifted, so she dug the knife into his neck, letting blood well up. He obviously didn’t understand who had the upper hand. “I have a knife to your throat,” she said. “Don’t move again, or I won’t care about getting blood on my floor. Who sent you?”

“
Ayreh Feek
!” he cursed. “No one sent me. I want the fucking pictures! I’m tired of living—”

She dug the knife in, shutting him up. She should kill him, but then they would have a body to dispose of. She still had the pictures and could use the threat of them to get him to cooperate.

“I don’t care what you’re tired of. Listen very carefully. If you want to live, then you will walk out the back door and never come back or I will make those pictures public. If you do anything else, this knife will find a home in your body. Understand?”

“Bitch, I—”

She pushed the blade against his windpipe. The blood flowed, but it wasn’t too serious. “Understand?” she said evenly.

“I understand.”

“Good.” She let one of her throwing knives slide into her grip from under her sleeve. She held the other knife to his neck as long as she could while she shifted her weight, preparing to stand. Then she jumped back and landed in a crouch, her throwing knife in her right hand, the slashing blade in the other. “Now get out.”

He muttered curse words continuously as he stood. Blood dripped from his neck, but not serious enough to even need stitches. Or many. The scent of blood and his sweat filled the air.

“Go out the back,” she ordered.

“Fuck you,” he said, walking to the front door.

She couldn’t have him leave by the front. Not when Dylan was out dealing with the guard.

She lifted her throwing knife. “If you leave by the front door, then everyone will suspect me of having an affair.”

He blew a kiss at her. “Oh no. That’s too bad. They’ll stone you to death right in the street. Your
husband
won’t be able to do anything about it.”

She adjusted her stance and focused on the back of his neck. “I’m warning you not to open that door.”

“You won’t do it. I hope it takes you a long time to die.” He reached for the knob.

She threw her knife. It flew end over end and struck his back before he could turn the handle. He dropped to the floor with a thud, and made no other move. She’d hit his spinal cord and severed it, from his body’s reaction. Blood pooled around him.

Dylan’s deep voice sounded just outside the front door. Another man spoke with him.

Shit! If he opened the door, the other person would see the body. She dragged it to the kitchen, leaving a streak of blood down the tiled hall. Dylan laughed at something outside. The knob turned.

She threw her
abaya
onto the blood by the front door and blocked the view of the body.

The door opened. In a mere second, Dylan’s gaze moved from the black swath of material lying on the tiled floor and swept across the knocked-over lamp before meeting her gaze. She shook her head.

He spun in place, keeping the door mostly closed. “We will have to have that coffee another time, my friend. My wife is indisposed at the moment.”

She couldn’t hear what the other man said, but Dylan laughed once more before he shut the door.

“What the hell?” he said to Sarah, as he looked into the kitchen.

“It’s Zahir’s lover. He must have found out our address from Zahir.”

Dylan shook his head. “I leave my wife for five minutes and she kills a guy?”

She crossed her arms. “I may have killed him, but you’re getting rid of the body. It’s only fair we share the household chores.”

His eyes widened, before he laughed. “You made a joke.”

She smirked. “Actually, I didn’t. I need to get Jalila settled and then get ready for Amirah’s dinner party. You’re getting rid of the body before Jalila sees it.”

“Dinner party?”

“Oh, did I forget to tell you? We’re celebrating our marriage tonight.”

D
ylan sat
in the living room with Jalila, watching Disney’s
Mulan
in Arabic.

They’d rolled the body in a rug in Rakin’s bedroom and cleaned up the blood trail before letting Jalila come upstairs. The poor kid had been terrified. She snuggled into him. It felt oddly good to have his arm around the girl, watching the cartoon. It felt normal, as if he sat with a younger sister or cousin.

He didn’t like that they had to leave her alone tonight, but they’d be only three houses down. He’d have to send her downstairs soon if he was going to sneak the body out without her seeing.

It was almost dark. They’d have to hide the body and then go to Amirah’s. He wasn’t looking forward to tonight. This was all more than he’d planned when he’d stayed back to make sure Sarah had a safe way out of the city.

“I wonder if there’s a game on.” He’d love to have a beer and watch a hockey game. That would be way better than dressing up and playing good husband all evening. Though if it led to their playing husband and wife in bed later, he could handle it.

Movement drew his attention.

Sarah stood in the door to her bedroom. She wore an ankle-length dress with long sleeves. The deep red color emphasized her lustrous skin. A matching
hijab
in swirling reds covered her dark hair, giving her an air of mystery. He knew what her hair looked like, yet he desperately wanted to see it against the red of her dress. Her dark eyes looked luminous with whatever makeup she’d used.

Dylan stood and walked to her, pulled by the allure of her. “You’re completely covered up, and yet…”

Her eyebrows rose. “And yet?”

“You look beautiful.” And she did: the dress wasn’t tight, but it fit her well, showcasing her petite form in the deep fire of color. He wanted to peel her out of it. It drove him a little mad not to see any part of her.

She smiled and he wanted to kiss those lips. “Thank you, but I’m not dressing for you. This is for the other women. They’ll expect me to be festive.”

“Well…” He gazed at her. “You do look festive. But don’t you have to wear that face veil tonight? How will you eat?”

She laughed. “My friends never believed in the
niqab
. They only wear it in public when they’re forced to.”

He hadn’t heard her laughter nearly enough. “You know, we could postpone this celebration.”

“No,” she said. “It’s the only night we can do it.”

He didn’t understand. “But we’re not really married. It’s okay if we don’t actually celebrate our fake wedding, you know.”

She turned away and went to the kitchen. “It’s dark,” she said. “But it still seems too dangerous to move the body.”

Dylan frowned. She was changing the subject. He’d let her and then circle back around to her need to go tonight.

He glanced back at Jalila. “I don’t like leaving her here alone. But I’m definitely not leaving her alone with a dead body in the house. What if she stumbles upon it?”

Sarah glanced down at her dress and grimaced.

“I can carry the body myself,” he said, and added teasingly, “I live to serve at your whim. No need to dirty your hands with the man you killed.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You live to serve me? I think I like the sound of that.”

He couldn’t help it; he stepped closer and trailed a finger over the soft skin of her cheek. “Let’s skip dinner and I’ll show you exactly how I’d like to serve you.”

Her eyes widened and her breath caught. His heart beat hard in his chest.

“
Qobla
?” Jalila called from the living room.

“Keep watching TV, kid,” he said with a smile.

“Tee Vee!” She turned back to her show.

Sarah backed away, shaking her head. “This can’t happen again.”

Dylan frowned. “What can’t happen? Us?” She was running from him again. “Why are you so worried about us being together?”

She scowled. “We’re on a mission.”

“I realize that.” He crossed his arms and regarded her. “And what about after the mission? What then? When we get back stateside, are you telling me that there’ll be nothing between us?”

She lifted her chin and he knew. Fuck. His stomach churned as he waited for the words.

“There’s nothing between us. Now or when you get back.”

“You’re coming back with me.”

“That’s not important right now.”

“The hell it isn’t.” He wanted to shake some sense into her.

“No,” she said backing away again. “We’re talking about us. You think we have a relationship. We don’t. We had sex; that’s it.”

“It was more than sex.” He would not let her deny what they had. “I’ve had sex before. What we have is explosive. It doesn’t happen like that for everyone.”

She compressed her lips and shrugged. “So we have chemistry. It doesn’t mean we should be together.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “What are you so afraid of? Why do you keep pushing me away?”

She looked at him with cold eyes. “Maybe I just don’t like you.”

He stepped back, the blow of her words like a punch to the gut. Had he been forcing himself on her? Did she really not like his company? He ran through memories of their times together.

She had pushed him away at almost every turn. Sure, she’d liked sex with him, but she had fought against any kind of closeness with him.

Fuck. He really was an idiot.

“My mistake. I’d thought we were friends.” He had just seen what he’d wanted to. He needed to get out. To process this alone. “I’ll get rid of the body. See if you can distract Jalila.”

Sarah opened her mouth; her eyes held regret.

“Don’t.” He shook his head. “Don’t lie to me anymore.”

He left her with Jalila and went into the bedroom. He heaved the body wrapped in the rug onto his shoulder.

After a quick glance to make sure Jalila wasn’t looking—Sarah had her attention diverted—he checked the back alley.

Deserted and full of shadows. He slipped into one, holding his burden. He tried not to think, not to lose focus as he slipped from one alley to another, keeping to the dark as much as possible.

When he was about four buildings away, he heaved the body into a dumpster before jogging back to the apartment. When he stood outside the door, his hand didn’t touch the knob. He didn’t want to see Sarah. Nor did he want to go to this stupid dinner tonight to celebrate a fake marriage to her.

Fuck. He wanted a drink. And he wanted out of this fucked-up city. Why the hell had he stayed behind? Sarah Ramirez didn’t need his help. Hell, she’d told him that dozens of times. And he hadn’t listened.

Fuck this. He wasn’t going to be some wuss who mooned over a girl. Sarah was great in bed, but a fucking ice queen out of it. She’d made her decision. He would move on, starting now.

He would play out this dinner tonight and be the best fucking husband, and show her what she was missing out on. And he’d be Mister Professional, since that’s what she cherished so much.

Time to get a grip.

He opened the door. A small part of him hoped he could lie to Sarah as well as he was lying to himself.

T
he movie had finished
, so Sarah distracted Jalila with crazy eights. They knelt on the floor by the coffee table.

“You look beautiful,” Jalila said.

“
Shukraan
.”

Jalila left her cards and came around the table to her. “Don’t cry. You’ll ruin your makeup.”

What? She rubbed under her eyes. Wetness touched her fingers. She bit her lip. She had no right to cry. She’d made the best decision. Telling Dylan she didn’t like him had finally gotten the message through. She didn’t want a relationship. She should be happy right now.

She rubbed her fingers on her dress. This was for the best. Better to end it now.

“Will you be okay here by yourself?” she asked Jalila. “We’re only a few houses down. And we won’t be late.”

“I’ll be okay,” she said. “Why did Dylan make you sad?”

“He didn’t.” Sarah stood. “I need to pack up some
kleicha
to take. Would you like to help me?”

Jalila nodded. “But what did he say that made you sad?”

“I’m not sad.” She forced a broad smile. “I must have gotten something in my eye.”

“My mother said that it’s okay to cry when you’re sad.”

She gritted her teeth. “I’m not sad. I’m happy.”

“You don’t sound happy.”

Sarah walked to the kitchen and got out a cookie tin decorated with swirls of gold paint. “I’m going to celebrate my fake wedding,” she muttered to herself in English, filling the tin with her
kleicha
cookies. “With a man who now hates me. How could I not be happy?”

Jalila frowned as she tried to decipher what Sarah had said. “I’m happy,” Jalila said at last. “Because tomorrow we get Besma.”

Sarah didn’t turn, just continued to fill the tin with cookies. She didn’t want the girl to see her face. She prayed Besma would be in the same place and not married off to some fighter, where they had no way of tracking her down in time.

She took a breath and finally turned. “We will try to rescue Besma tomorrow,” she said softly. “But even if we don’t, you will leave the city with Dylan.”

Jalila’s eyes widened, and then her chin lifted. “I won’t leave without my sister. You can’t make me.”

“Don’t do this, Jalila. I want to see you safe.”

The girl crossed her arms and tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t care. I won’t go without my sister. You promised.”

Sarah held up her hands. “I promised to try, Jalila. If they’ve moved her, then it will take too long to track her down. I just want to prepare you that you might have to leave without her.”

“I won’t!”

“Keep your voice down, Jalila. We’re not out of danger yet.”

Jalila stamped her foot. “No! You promised you’d get her out.” The tears overflowed her eyes and tracked down her cheeks. “You promised.”

The look on Jalila’s face reminded her of all the promises that had been broken to her when she was a child. When a family who had promised to keep her sent her back because she’d let her anger control her and gotten into too many fights, or ripped apart her room too many times.

Darkness would descend on her when she’d spot the social worker at the door, a whirlwind of pain and fear coalescing inside her. She’d hated being at the mercy of others’ choices, of having no say in what was happening next, of thinking no one cared.

And now she was making another child feel the same way.

“We’re going to try,” she repeated, her heart breaking for the girl in front of her.

Jalila shook her head and her breath hitched. “You promised.” She ran to the basement door and thudded down the steps.

Sarah went to the basement steps. “I’m sorry, Jalila,” she called.

“Leave me alone!”

The back door opened and Dylan appeared. There was no emotion on his face. No friendliness, no anger and certainly no heat. She hadn’t realized how much emotion he had in his eyes when he looked at her until it was all gone.

He cocked an eyebrow. “I see you’re cutting all your ties.”

Her face flushed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You figure it out. I need to change before we go play happy couple.” He went to Rakin’s bedroom and shut the door.

Fine. This wasn’t a bad thing, she told herself. She didn’t need attachments. They interfered with the mission. And this was just another mission.

No matter how twisted up inside she was.

D
ylan knocked
on the door to Amirah’s house. Sarah stood beside him, wearing her
abaya
over her dress and a face veil, even though it was only a short walk. Neither of them wanted to be picked up by a random
hisbah
on their last night, so she’d worn it willingly.

She held a cookie tin. On the way over, she’d explained that it was considered rude to show up without a gift. And the type of cookies she had were Amirah’s favorites.

Not that he cared. He just wanted to get through this as quickly as possible. How the hell was he going to survive a night of happy small talk in Arabic? He clenched his jaw. In essence, this was the easiest part of the mission. He had to sit, smile, and eat food. Instead, he wanted to punch something.

Fucking get a grip, Dylan
.

The door opened. Amirah and her husband stood there. “
As-salamu alaykum,
” her husband said.

Dylan nodded. “
Wa-alaikum salaam.
”

“Welcome. I’m Fouad,” the man said in Russian.

Dylan’s eyebrows lifted. “You speak Russian?”

Fouad nodded. “Just enough to be dangerous.”

Dylan forced a smile. Great, now
he
had to make small talk.

Amirah wore a dark-green dress and black
hijab
. She greeted Sarah with a hug. She nodded at Dylan without meeting his eyes and he nodded back. “Come in, please,” Fouad said in Russian. “Our other guests are already here.”

A man in a black suit, with a dark
kufi
cap and a neatly trimmed beard, smiled at them. Beside him stood a woman in a purple dress and a deeper purple
hijab
. Fouad introduced them as Hafiz and Mihad. These were more of Sarah’s friends. She hugged Mihad while he shook Hafiz’s hand. She looked like nothing was wrong. Completely professional.

A professional liar who lied to everyone. Something he’d known about her, but had refused to see.

The women went into the kitchen and he waited with the men in the living room. They sat and Amirah came with a tray of coffee. She poured them each a cup and then left. He sipped the strong coffee and focused on the positive. He was warm, dry, and relatively safe. All good things not to be taken for granted as a special ops soldier.

The home was a mirror image of theirs, though they’d put a dining table in one end of the living room, near the kitchen. He could hear the women laughing in the kitchen about something. His gut churned as he heard Sarah’s laugh. Something he hadn’t heard a lot of. He wondered whether she was acting now.

He sat on a threadbare but clean sofa. The two other husbands sat across from him in matching chairs the color of rust.