Edge of Courage (Edge Security Series Book 5) (18 page)

He ran a hand through his hair; a dark lock of it flopped back into his eye. “You don’t get it,” he snarled. “You need to trust your partner, ask them for help.”

“But I don’t nee—”

“Yes, you do.” He didn’t shout but there was such vehemence in his words that she took a step back.

Emotions roiled in her and she forced them down. They had a mission. She took a deep breath and then another.

“This isn’t helping,” she said. “I will listen if you have a better idea, but this plan will work again. No one suspected the tea lady. They believed I was Aqsa and she didn’t have an alibi. She’s still being questioned. I can pull this off again. I can become another member of the Brigade if I need to.” She sounded cold and confident in the face of Dylan’s raised eyebrows and blatant skepticism.

“My gut says this isn’t right,” he said. “You’re going into the same place. Before, you could back off if things got too hot. You don’t have that option today, because it’s now or never. It’s why you’re wearing weapons.”

He picked up the cookie tins from the counter beside her. “I’ll pack these in the cart. Then I’m going to call in to E.D.G.E. before this fucked-up op starts.” He strode out the back door and down the alley to where they parked the truck they used.

Anger lashed through her. What right did he have to judge her? She’d gotten dozens of girls out over the months she’d been here. And she did trust him. She trusted him to help her get the girls out. He just had to trust her. Her plan would work.

It had to.

L
ater that afternoon
, Dylan drove the truck with the tea cart to a parking lot downtown near the souq and the
sabaya
house. His hands gripped the wheel too tight. Sarah sat silent beside him. They hadn’t spoken this morning except to confirm details of the op to snatch Besma.

He didn’t like the plan, but he was man enough to admit he didn’t have anything better. They were out of options. If they were going to get Besma out, then they needed to do it today.

Besides, with her veil on, Sarah was just one of many, easily able to slip into places. Here, he was the liability.

He parked in the lot Sarah directed him to. They unloaded the cart, using a ramp.

“Follow me,” Sarah said in Russian. From here on out, they would speak that language.

“Of course, Agent Ice.” He pushed the unwieldy cart to the sidewalk.

“Sarcasm isn’t helping.” Sarah didn’t even turn to look at him, not that he’d be able to see her expression with the veil covering her face.

“I thought it would contribute to the feel of us being married.”

“It’s not.”

He kept pushing the cart, feeling like a pack mule and nothing more. He went over the plan in his head, but the glaring holes in it pissed him off.

“Remind me of how I’m supposed to know when you’re in trouble?” he asked. “Oh right, I remember. When you don’t come out. Ever.”

“This isn’t helping. If I’m in trouble, I’ll hardly have time to call you.”

Although this was true, he didn’t like it.

“If you hear gunfire,” she said, “assume there’s trouble. In which case, you should walk away, get Jalila and hit the exfil. She’s your priority.”

“We. Are. A. Team.”

She stopped and turned to him, keeping her voice low. “No. We’re not. I work best alone. Get over it.”

He stood beside the cart. “If you’re so great, then do this by yourself.”

“Don’t be a smartass. You know I need you to get around and to help with the girls.”

“So you admit you need my help?”

Two veiled women carrying grocery bags and a man with a put-upon expression came up the sidewalk toward them.

“I admit nothing,” she whispered, glancing at them. “Let’s just focus and get this done. Then we’ll agree never to work with each other again.”

He scowled. “Those are the best words you’ve spoken all week.”

They neared the market area. Dylan pushed the cart and took the money while Sarah played the dutiful wife and handed out the tea and cookies. The men would speak to him sometimes and Sarah would answer for him. She said Chechnya often when she stepped in for his language skills.

First thing when he got back, he was going to sign up for a course in Arabic. Never again was he going to get caught in-country without knowing the language.

It took them close to an hour to meander their way to the area in front of the
sabaya
house. Sarah took a canister of tea and a tin of cookies. The knowledge of what she was about to do went through him like ice.

Before she could step away from the cart, he grabbed her arm. The veil covered her face so he couldn’t see her eyes but he let her see what was in his. “Come back.”

She gave a sharp nod, but didn’t say anything before she walked down the narrow alley to the back gate. She knocked and then looked back, right before she entered. His gut twisted.

“Come back,” he said again.

But she was gone.

C
ome back
, he’d said. The intensity in his voice and the look in his eyes had almost made the ice surrounding her heart shatter. She hadn’t been able to speak when he’d said it, her throat too tight to force words out. She’d nodded and moved away from his hand, his warmth, his protection.

She was Sarah Ramirez.

Ghost.

No emotions, only brains and skills. She could do anything, she reminded herself. She would get Besma out. No matter what. She’d made a promise to a young girl.

The guard at the gate let her in. She looked back to see Dylan by the tea cart. He would push the cart close to the back door after she’d entered and then he’d stand watch at the alley opening. Even at this distance, his gaze burned her. Her heart beat harder.

Focus, Sarah!

Her stomach churned as she walked past the guard and into the garden before entering the back door of the house. The kitchen was empty. She sighed with relief.

She took a tray from the cupboard and spread cookies on it, and poured tea into a pot. Both the pot and stacked cups went onto the tray as well. With the tray balanced on her hip, she went down the hall to the front room. Only three men sat in there chatting. They ignored her as she placed the tray on the low table in the middle of the room. She left them without saying a word.

She breathed slowly, steadying her heart rate. She didn’t need an adrenaline rush making her fingers tremble. She put on the headband that would identify her as a member of the brigade. The kitchen was empty still. A bit of luck. She kept her pace steady as she started up the steps.

“Sister?”

She froze for a split second before she slid the handle of one of her throwing knives into her hand. She turned slowly, keeping the knife hidden in the folds of her
abaya
. One of the guards waited there, his young face earnest.

“Yes?” she said.

“Will you tell Abdul that he must come down? It is time for us to leave.”

She nodded and continued up the steps, sliding the knife back into its sheath. Her heart thundered in her ears.

Calm down, Sarah.

She paused before the top step, gathering her anxious energy inside her, rolling it into a tight ball in her core to be used later. Her heart slowed.

Time to rock and roll.

The upstairs hall was empty. Another stroke of luck. And it made her nervous. Jalila had said it was the middle door on the left. Sarah strode to it. No time to waste. She paused a crucial second to listen at the door. No sound from inside. She tried the knob.

Unlocked.

She cracked the door open and saw a man atop a woman on the bed. Her heart stopped. Was this Besma? Sarah let the knife slide out into her hand, as blood thundered in her ears. She would kill him.

She closed the door silently behind her and the woman turned her head. Her dead eyes watched Sarah approach. She prayed this wasn’t Besma. This woman didn’t look as if she had the will to live, let alone escape.

The man still didn’t know his death approached. Sarah didn’t pause, just shoved the knife into his neck at the base of his head, severing his spinal cord. He went limp, his blood running down his skin and onto the woman. Sarah pulled her blade out with a grunt. The woman still didn’t move, or say anything, not even when Sarah rolled the body off her. Blood covered her neck and upper chest but she didn’t seem to care. She didn’t even move to cover herself. Her breasts sagged and silvery lines webbed her belly. Stretch marks. This wasn’t Besma, but an older woman, one who had children somewhere.

“Where are your babies?” Sarah asked in Arabic.

Something flickered briefly in her eyes. “With Allah.” Then her gaze went to the knife in Sarah’s hand.

Sarah laid it beside her. “Keep this to defend yourself. I will get you an
abaya
and
niqab
. You can leave by the back gate. Don’t look back.”

Sarah went to the door. A small pained grunt sounded behind her. Sarah stopped, but didn’t look. Not even when a soft long exhale sounded.

The woman’s final breath. Sarah had known the chance she was taking when she’d handed the woman the knife, but she’d hoped the woman would find the will to live.

Maybe she’d found peace instead.

Sarah shut the door quietly behind her.

Now where the hell was Besma? Had they moved her? Sold her into marriage? She bit her lip. She would check all the rooms.

Sarah went to the door opposite and paused. No sound. The handle was locked. A simple doorknob lock. A quick glance over her shoulder. No one yet on the stairs at either end of the hall.

She took out a small pouch of tools attached to her belt and crouched. She took two picks and inserted them into the knob. It only took a bit of a wiggle to find the right position against the tumbler inside and then she twisted both picks. A click sounded.

She twisted the knob and the door opened.

Four girls wearing long dresses lay on dirty blankets on the floor. Two sat up; one glared from where she lay in the corner and one didn’t move from where she stared at the wall.

Sarah shut the door behind her. “Besma?” she asked. “Is one of you called Besma? Sister of Jalila?”

The girl glaring from the corner sat up slowly, her eyes narrowed. “I am Besma. I’ve already told you that I don’t know where my sister is.”

Sarah smiled under her veil, but kept her voice firm. “I need you to come with me.”

“No,” Besma said. “It doesn’t matter if you whip me again. I don’t know where she is.”

Dammit, she needed the girl to cooperate. She hardened her voice. “Come with me. Now.”

Besma stood, her arms and legs too thin where they stuck out from the worn dress she wore. Her hair might have been a dark blonde, but was so dirty that it was hard to tell. She had light-colored eyes. A bruise decorated her cheek. Her fists clenched as she faced Sarah, and it made her hope. Maybe there was a chance for this girl, no matter what she’d already gone through.

“No. I’m not going to do that again. I’d rather die.”

Shit. Sarah glanced at the other girls, who watched intently. “Come with me,” she said in a softer voice. “I’ve just a few questions. No beatings. No men.”

“Why? Who are you? You’re not one of the witches who works here.”

She glanced at the other girls, wishing she could help them too, and then moved closer to Besma. Her muscles tightened with the tension mounting within her. She’d hoped to avoid having anyone else know of the rescue, but she could feel the time ticking away. She pulled out the
abaya
and veil she had hidden under her own. “I know where your sister is and I’m taking you to her. Come quickly.”

“I don’t believe you,” Besma said fiercely.

Sarah drew aside her veil. “Believe me, Besma. Jalila is safe and waiting at my home. I will get you to her and then get both of you out of the city.”

Besma’s mouth dropped open and her shoulders slumped for a moment before she straightened and clenched her fists again, showing white knuckles. “The truth?” she asked, her voice low and harsh, as if it tore something in her to ask.

“Truth,” Sarah said. “But we need to move fast. The guards could come at any moment.”

One of the other girls stood. She looked to be about seventeen, her dark hair in a single braid down her back. She swayed lightly. “What about us?”

The other girl, about fifteen with frizzy hair, crouched on her blanket. “Take us too.”

Sarah looked at them. She didn’t have enough
abayas
or veils. Her training told her to leave them with lies of returning for them later. She could get Besma out and no one would know anything. It was the logical thing to do. She couldn’t save them all, but she could save one.

She opened her mouth to tell them she could only take one at a time when the girl who’d been facing the wall rolled over. She was tall and too slender, and only a few years older than Jalila. Her gaze burned into Sarah, but she didn’t speak.

Sarah’s throat choked on the lies she’d been about to say. The old Sarah would tell the lies and hope to come back one day for them when it was safer, but something in her rebelled. She couldn’t be that person anymore. She threw the one
abaya
and veil to Besma. “Hold this. I’ll be back.”

The girl on the mat rolled away, as if her words had killed the small spark inside her. Sarah left the room, but didn’t lock it behind her. She trotted down the back stairs, filled with determination to do everything possible for these girls.

Voices floated up from the kitchen. She peeked in. Three women sat at the table, lifting their veils to eat her cookies and drink her tea.

She smiled under her own veil and backtracked to the girls to tell them of her new plan.

D
ylan pushed
the tea cart down the narrow alley and parked it by the back gate. He took a cup of tea and then went to the mouth of the alley, where he leaned against the wall of the brick building beside him and pretended to drink.

All he could do now was wait and trust in Sarah’s skills. He watched the street in front of him, noting the guard at the front of the brothel. It was getting close to five p.m. More people entered the market area on their way home from work, trying to make it before
Maghrib,
the call to sunset prayer.

He discreetly checked his watch. Ten minutes. She should be out here by now. He brought the cup to his lips and glanced over his shoulder. Still no movement in the alley. When he looked back at the street, he cursed.

A group of five
hisbah
walked down the block toward him. Everyone got out of their way, avoiding eye contact, not wanting to draw their attention. If he kept at his post, they would walk right by him.

Hisham was one of them.

With a quick glance at the street for oncoming traffic, he crossed and went into a small grocery store. Once inside, he looked back to see the group of men continue down the street without even a glance down the alley.

His shoulders loosened for just an instant before he looked again at the tea cart sitting by itself in the alley. Where was Sarah? It was past her time to check in. What if she’d been caught? Should he go in?

He waited until the
hisbah
had turned the corner before heading back outside. Sarah must have run into issues getting Besma out. But she was a good operator and knew how to handle herself. He’d trust that she was okay until he had information otherwise.

He prayed he was making the right decision by waiting.

“
I
don’t understand
, Dahab,” one of the veiled women of the al-Khansa Brigade said as Sarah ushered them upstairs.