Edge of Courage (Edge Security Series Book 5) (17 page)

“So, Amirah tells me you’re a soldier,” Fouad said in Russian. He turned to the other man and spoke in Arabic.

“
Da
.” He sipped his coffee.

Hafiz nodded. Fouad crossed his legs and then uncrossed them. Hafiz tapped a finger on his leg. The women’s laughter echoed through the rooms.

Fuck, this was going to be a long night. What he wouldn’t give to be in his bird now, swooping through the dark sky, maybe even chasing down some tangos. What was his team doing?

A clatter of dishes drew his attention to the table. The women were laying the trays of food out. Delicious smells of lamb, garlic, and oregano scented the air. His stomach rumbled.

It wasn’t long before the women called them to eat. He was pointed to a chair beside Sarah. The men sat on one end of the table while the women occupied the other. He sat across from Hafiz while Fouad took the head of the table to his left.

He understood that men and women didn’t mingle usually with the opposite sex, but in these small houses they made do with what they had.

“We’re a modern couple,” Fouad explained. “We like to eat at the same time.”

Sarah walked into the room, her smile in her eyes until she saw him. As she walked to her chair, the emotion drained from her face. She lifted her chin, almost as if she were getting ready for a fight. But he didn’t want to fight. She’d already landed the worst blow. What did she have to defend herself from? His unwanted friendship?

His hands curled into fists under the tablecloth.

Sarah sat beside him and leaned over, touching his fist gently. “Relax,” she whispered in his ear. “Smile. This is a wedding feast, not a funeral.” Then she straightened and said something too quickly in Arabic for him to catch. Everyone laughed.

He clenched his teeth, and knew his smile was little more than a grimace, judging from Mihad’s wide eyes. He focused on his plate, listening to Sarah speak to the other women.

She played the part of new bride very well, even throwing in a giggle. It pissed him off. She was such a damn good actress. It was what made her a great covert agent. But had she been acting with him? His gut twisted, because he didn’t know.

But really, what did it matter? She’d made her feelings known. They’d had a night of great sex, or so he’d thought. And now they just needed to get through the next twenty-four hours. He’d speak with Blackwell when they got out of this shithole. He never wanted to work this closely with her again. He needed to be able to trust his teammates and Sarah Ramirez was a loner and wildcard who did what she thought was best without consulting anyone else.

He forced himself to relax. He wasn’t going to dwell on this. He had to get through this meal and then plan the op for tomorrow. Sarah was doing her job and now it was time he did his. He would play the part of happy groom.

The conversation in Arabic swirled around him. He caught the odd word or phrase. Enough to know they spoke about cooking. Time to start playacting.

“Are you speaking about your cooking, darling?” He spoke in Russian, but he emphasized darling so Fouad would hear it.

“
Da
.” Fouad smiled indulgently at his wife. “The women are speaking about how they pulled this feast together so fast.”

Sarah eyed Dylan warily, though she kept a half smile on her face. “Did you want to say something?”

“Why don’t you tell them where you learned to love cooking?” he said.

It was an innocent question, something she could tell the truth about without being too specific. Would she lie anyway, though, because she was so used to it?

Anger simmered in his gut. He shouldn’t expect the truth in a situation like this, but he still wanted it. He wanted her to tell him something real.

Sarah frowned briefly, but then Fouad translated his request into Arabic so the others would understand. Dylan raised his eyebrows and nodded. He wished he understood Arabic better, but Fouad translated her words into Russian for him, his voice low and soft.

“I learned to love cooking from my grandmother,” she said, while looking directly into his eyes.

Her grandmother.
Abuela
.

He went still, forgetting the others. He watched her intently, trying to discern whether she would tell the truth to him or not.

“I would come home from school and she would always be in the kitchen, baking or cooking or stewing something.” She averted her gaze and stared at her plate. “She was always there, ready to put me to work chopping something, but always listening to me. She listened to me no matter what else was going on. I was…important to her.”

Something in those words caught his attention. Her gaze flicked to his and then away. A bright smile came over her face as she turned to the others. “She was a wonderful woman and a wonderful cook.”

He toasted Sarah’s grandmother with everyone else, even as he caught Sarah’s gaze before she averted it. The quick glimpse showed him the hurt radiating from her. It raised his protective instincts and made him want to haul her into his arms.

He forced himself to sit back and let his emotions cool. After all, this was Sarah. The expert spy and consummate liar. He couldn’t trust her no matter how much he wanted to.

S
arah hugged Amirah good-bye
, holding on longer than was expected. Her insides felt torn up. This might be the last time she saw her friend. She wanted to hold on to her forever, keeping her close and safe, taking her away from this evil place.

“Thank you so much,” she whispered in Amirah’s ear. “You don’t realize what your friendship means to me.”

Amirah squeezed her back. “You are more wonderful than you give yourself credit for. You just need to scratch beneath that hard shell and then there is a sweet woman underneath.” She pulled away with a little laugh. “It is almost as if you’re saying good-bye for good. I’ll probably see you tomorrow.”

Sarah forced a smile and blinked back the wetness welling in her eyes. Time to get this in hand. She was on an op. She couldn’t forget that. “Of course.” She waved a hand toward Dylan. “It’s just been a busy couple of days.”

Amirah nodded and a small smile came out. “Getting married does take some getting used to.” She held her hands. “I’m here if you need anything or if you need to…talk.”

“Thank you,” Sarah said. “For everything.”

Dylan stepped up beside her. “We need to let them get to bed. It’s a work night, remember.”

Sarah nodded, but couldn’t make herself let go of Amirah’s hands. Amirah frowned at her and gave her a confused laugh. “Sarah? You’re starting to scare me.”

That snapped her out of her melancholy.

She had to remember her cover. “Don’t mind me.” She released her friend’s hands and gave her a fake smile. “I’m just so happy.”

Dylan coughed. And she had to consciously keep the frown off her face until they left. She didn’t bother speaking as they walked home.

“You’re very good,” he said, his words toneless. “If I didn’t know you, I’d almost think you were sad to leave Amirah.”

She whirled to him. “Of course I’m sad.”

He snorted. “I doubt that. You are Agent Ice, after all.”

She stomped away, unwilling to play his game. She didn’t need to explain herself to him. “Bastard,” she muttered.

He waited until they were inside and then gripped her arm and swung her to face him. “I—”

She grabbed his thumb and yanked it, twisting as she did so. He released her arm, but she didn’t stop. She feinted a punch at his throat before throwing a kick at his leg.

He didn’t go for the feint and leapt back from her kick. His jaw hardened. “What is your problem?”

“Don’t touch me,” she snarled. “Ever.” She’d had enough. Enough of caring and enough of pain.

“Gladly,” he said.

Was he really that much of an asshole? “I don’t know why I ever thought we could be friends.”

He laughed, though there was no humor in it. “I don’t think you know what a friend is. Do you even have any?”

“Of course I do.”

He took off his jacket. “Name one.”

“Amirah.”

He rolled his eyes. “She’s part of your cover. Name another.”

Her mind went blank for a moment. She didn’t hang around anyone outside of work. “Cat.” She was one of the other female operators at E.D.G.E.

“My sister?” he said incredulously. “Are you serious?”

Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best first choice. But still. “Cat likes me.”

“Cat has never mentioned you by your first name.”

The words slashed across her so she wanted to physically hunch, protecting herself. Instead, she lifted her chin. “Charlie.” She named the female genius who ran the labs at E.D.G.E. HQ.

“Q?” Dylan shook his head. “She barely has any social skills. Do you even know anyone outside of E.D.G.E.?”

She marched into the kitchen. “This is stupid.”

He followed her. “Just admit that you don’t know how to be with someone.”

She took out a pot and slammed it on the counter. The crash echoed in her ears, finally silencing Dylan. “Leave me alone,” she hissed without turning around.

She didn’t hear him go, but the bedroom door shut. They needed to work together tomorrow or they’d never get out of Mosul, let alone rescue Besma.

She looked around. Where was Jalila? Had she heard them fighting and hidden downstairs?

The basement door was shut. Jalila would never do that. She opened the door. Darkness. Her nerves stretched taut. She never turned the lights off when she was downstairs. “Jalila?” she called, flicking on the light.

She ran down the steps and to the room. Inside, the cot lay in darkness. The lump was shorter than normal. Was she curled in a fetal position?

She touched Jalila’s shoulder and her hand met no resistance, sinking into the blankets because nothing solid stopped it. She ripped the blanket back. The pillow lay under the blanket, forming a hump.

Jalila was gone.

“
D
ylan
!” Sarah raced back up the steps, replaying her last words to Jalila in her mind.

He was in the kitchen, gun in hand by the time she made the top step. “What happened?”

“Jalila’s gone.” Her throat constricted until it was almost too hard to speak. “We need to find her.”

“I’ll take the front,” Dylan said. “Go out the back. Stick to the alleys. And text me if you find her or run into trouble.”

“I can take care of myself,” she said automatically.

He whirled back to her. “We are a goddamn team for another twenty-four hours, whether you want to be or not. You will let me know if you find her or if you run into trouble. I will do the same. Clear?”

“Clear,” she snapped. She pressed her lips together. Being emotional wouldn’t help. She had to get herself under control.

Dylan went out the front door and slammed it behind him. She ran to the back door, making sure her
hijab
was in place, but not bothering with the face veil. Her heart thundered as if she sprinted.

The alley was deserted and filled with shadows. Sarah moved quickly down it, not running, trying to spot any unusual forms in the darkness around her. She listened for the sounds of breathing or footsteps, anything that might lead her to Jalila.

At the end of the alley, she had an option: move right toward the main street or left toward more alleys. Where would Jalila go? She took a chance and went left.

She racked her brain as she searched alley by alley, heading toward the other main road. If Jalila had crossed that street, she could be anywhere by now. Had they lost her for good?

Bands of steel tightened around her chest, constricting her breathing. What if Jalila were caught again? She bit her lip. This was her fault. Jalila had only wanted to save her sister.

That stopped her. This was about Besma. Jalila was going to save her sister. Would she try to make her way to the brothel? Did she even remember where it was? Sarah had to find her before she got too far.

“Jalila?” she called softly. “Are you out here? Please answer me.”

There were only two more narrow alleys to check. She pulled out her phone. The light from it made her squint. Dylan hadn’t texted yet.

She moved into the alley on the right; it held piles of garbage and crates of junk. The smell of urine and rotting food overwhelmed her nose. She picked her way through it.

“Jalila?” she called again. Her shoulders slumped. What if the girl had crossed the road?

She shook her head. Enough of this. They would find her, no matter what. She texted Dylan and told him to concentrate on the alleys on the way to the brothel.

“We’re going to find you, Jalila, and we’re going to get you and your sister home,” she whisper-promised. She turned to search the last alley when movement caught her eye.

Near an overflowing dumpster, a shadow within the darkness moved. The light from the main street reflected off a small pale face.

“Jalila?” she breathed.

“Sarah?” the girl said, her breath hitching. Tear tracks streaked her cheeks. “I couldn’t remember how to get to Besma.” The girl’s voice sounded so lost and desperate. “I couldn’t remember.”

Sarah knelt in front of Jalila and held out her arms. Jalila threw herself into them and Sarah rocked back on her heels with the weight. She hugged Jalila tight, just breathing as her muscles relaxed. She stood, still holding the girl in her arms. Jalila might be ten, but the girl was slight and small for her age, easy for Sarah to carry. The girl nestled her face in the crook of Sarah’s neck.

She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “I’m taking you home.”

Jalila struggled for a moment. “But what about Besma?”

“Tomorrow, Jalila. We get her tomorrow.” And she would or she’d die trying. She would not be like the adults who’d failed Sarah as a child; she would do everything in her power to keep her promise.

Jalila settled with a sigh, as if all of her fight left her with that one breath. She trusted Sarah.

Sarah prayed she wouldn’t let another person down. She carried Jalila back to the apartment and waited till she was inside to text Dylan.

He was back within moments, kneeling down and hugging Jalila. “Hey, kiddo,” he said. “Don’t cry.”

Jalila hugged Dylan tight. He lifted her up and carried her down to her bed. Sarah trailed behind, but Dylan had already set her down and turned on the bedside light. He sat on the mattress and stroked her hair, murmuring reassurances to her.

Something inside Sarah clenched at the sight. Dylan would make a good father someday. Jalila felt safe with him, protected. Sarah had so few memories of her father but she knew instinctively that Dylan would make his kids feel safe and loved.

Whereas she was the person who had made the child run away. She stepped back toward the stairs. The movement drew Dylan’s gaze. He frowned. She sucked in a breath, hugging herself with her arms before turning and heading up the stairs, away from the two people she’d hurt.

“Goodnight, Jalila,” Dylan said, before coming up the stairs.

She wanted to run to her room and hide. It was her first instinct, and she even took a step toward it before she stopped herself. She usually listened to her instincts, but she wasn’t a coward. She forced herself to stand in the living room until Dylan came upstairs.

“We were lucky,” he said in a low voice. “That could have been a whole lot worse.”

“I know.”

His lips compressed as he studied her. “Do you? That little girl trusts you. What happens if we can’t get her sister tomorrow?”

“I’ll get her out.”

“
You’ll
get her out? You haven’t learned anything, have you?” He shook his head. “I’m not sure I know who you are anymore.” He turned and left the room.

She had to swallow a hard lump lodged in her throat. “I’m not sure I do either.”

But Dylan had already shut the door to Rakin’s bedroom and didn’t hear her whispered reply.

S
arah barely slept that night
, tossing and turning as she went over in her mind the things she’d said to Dylan. When she did sleep, she dreamt of the
sabaya
house, with Jalila in chains, asking her to save her, but Sarah couldn’t move. Not even when a man went into Jalila’s room and closed the door.

Sarah got out of bed early and took a quick shower to clean the dried sweat from the nightmares off her. Today was all about the op, she determined. She would become her old self. Sarah Ramirez. A top E.D.G.E. operator. Cool, analytical, and willing to do what it took to get a job done. She could handle this.

No more feelings. Apparently, she wasn’t good at them anyway.

“Never have been, never will be,” she muttered.

She dressed in leggings and a long-sleeved t-shirt that she could wear under her
abaya
. Then she strapped on her knives: two throwing ones on her arms and one at her waist. She didn’t take her Makarov because she needed quiet weapons.

In the kitchen, she packed tins of cookies and supplies for the tea cart. Dylan would push it while they sold their wares in the market area near the
sabaya
house. Though risky, they’d decided to do the same plan she and Rakin had done to get Jalila out.

She first had to locate Besma. Sarah planned as if she were still at the
sabaya
house, but if she wasn’t, Sarah would go to the Brigade’s headquarters and track down Besma through their records.

Once they had Besma, they’d make their way back here, pick up Jalila, drop the girls at the garage for transport out of the city and then they’d make their way to the exfil location. They should have plenty of time to make it before the drone strike tonight.

The slight sound of a footstep on the carpet alerted Sarah to Dylan’s presence before he spoke.

“If you’re found with weapons on you, you’ll be taken and executed,” he said.

“If I don’t have them and I need them, I’ll be just as dead,” she said.

Silence greeted her statement. She didn’t bother to look at him to know he had a disapproving frown on his face. She mentally tightened her armor around herself; she had no time to be hurt by what he thought.

“What’s the best time to enter the
sabaya
house?” he asked briskly. He filled a magazine with rounds for his Sig.

“Later in the afternoon. It will be busy enough that I won’t be noticed, but the girls won’t be needed full-time like in the evenings,” she said.

“I don’t like this,” he said quietly.

She faced him then. “What don’t you like? The plan? Rescuing Besma? My role?”

He didn’t say anything, just stared at her.

It felt as if he’d punched her gut when she put it together. “You don’t trust me,” she said. “You don’t think I can do this?”

He sighed. “You’ve gotten it wrong again. I trust you, but you don’t trust me. If we’re not a team, this won’t work.”

“Yes, it will. Just listen to me and push the damn cart.”

“Fuck. And that’s the way you like it, isn’t it? Everything is in your control, done your way.”

She stared at him. “Do you have a better plan?”

“Now you ask me,” he said. “Now you
finally
ask me for my input?”

“Rakin was fine with my plans. They work.”

“I see Agent Ice is back in control,” he said.

That hurt, but she couldn’t change now. She needed to be the old Sarah, not one full of doubts and emotions. “I don’t see a problem.”