a man I thought was dead stepped in to help us escape.
Or did I only imagine that part? Could he possibly be real?
But Laila had seen him, too.
“Mommy, I’m thirsty.” Laila was tugging at her skirt.
“I know, baby. I’m thirsty, too.” Shading her eyes with her free hand, she surveyed the jumble of houses and winding dirt paths through which they’d just come. Water would only be found at the bottom of the hill, as would paved streets and access to taxis. They couldn’t stay where they were, obviously, but what if their would-be abductors were down there, as well, looking for them?
Inspiration struck as she remembered the shopping bag with the things they’d bought at the bazaar, including the scarves she’d picked up as gifts for Miranda.
Jamming her cell phone back into her purse, she opened the bag and pulled out the two most brightly colored and beautifully patterned scarves, one in rose and gold, the other in blue and green. She pulled off the much more sedate and modest gray one she was wearing and draped the rose-and-gold one over her head and shoulders, arranging it so it covered her hair and half of her face. Ignoring the glances of passersby, she exchanged Laila’s white scarf for the prettier blue-and-green one, while Laila gazed at her with solemn eyes and said not a word, not even to ask a question.
Yancy straightened and took Laila’s hand, shifted her purse onto her hip and said, “Okay, sweetie, let’s go find some water, shall we?”
She wanted more than water. She wanted a huge glass of wine. Or maybe a slug of whiskey. She wanted to sink down with her back against the mud-brick wall and fall completely to pieces.
Not now. Not until Laila’s safe. I have to get her to safety. Somehow.
She started down the dusty street, holding her head high and putting as much confidence in her step as she could summon while her heart pounded and cold sweat trickled between her shoulder blades. They’d gone no more than twenty yards or so before a tall, imposing figure stepped out of a narrow, branching alleyway to block their path.
“This way—I’ve got a car.” His voice low and terse. “They’re probably still looking for you.”
Yancy stood rock-still, conscious only of her burning eyes, pounding heart and the small moist hand in hers. She whispered, “Hunt?”
Deadpan, he said, “Yeah, Yankee, no ghost. It’s really me. Come on—hurry up.” He waited for them to slip past him into the narrow passageway, then followed, urging them to go faster, fast enough that Laila, with her shorter legs, had to trot to keep up.
Yancy’s Irish temper sparked to life and built to a slow simmer. Not the best timing for it, she realized, but it did help burn off the fog of shock. Before her anger could reach full boil, she halted, so abruptly Hunt had to sidestep nimbly to keep from bumping into her. She heard him swearing under his breath.
“What are you stopping for? Move, move.”
Yancy tightened her grip on her purse strap. “That’s not going to happen. Not another step. Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
From the shadows between his turban and beard, his eyes seemed to glow like those of a wild animal. “Can’t you just trust me?” She stared at him without answering. He hissed out a breath. “Dammit, Yancy, this isn’t the time. I’ll answer your questions when I’ve got you to safety.”
“Okay, sure, that’s fine.” Holding herself straight and firm, tall as she was, she still had to look up to meet his eyes. “Darn right you will. But there’s someone else here I’m sure has questions. Maybe they can’t wait. Did you even think about her? Did you stop to think you might be scaring her?”
She saw him hesitate, saw his gaze flick to Laila and something she couldn’t identify flash across his eyes, though his features remained impassive. He dropped to one knee, took Laila by the arms and turned her to face him in a way she’d seen him do once before.
In a gentle voice she’d also heard him use once before, he said, “Hey, do you remember me?” Laila stared stoically back at him, rigid as a post. “Do you know who I am?”
Moments passed, filled with heartbeats and silence. Yancy held her breath until it hardened in her chest. Then Laila whispered a single word, in Pashto. “Akaa...”
There was a soft hiss of breath. He threw an unreadable glance at Yancy before turning his attention back to Laila. “That’s right. Akaa Hunt, remember? I need you to come with me now—will you do that?”
He reached for her hand, but she shrank back against Yancy, shaking her head, whimpering, “No...no...”
Hunt drew back and draped the rejected hand across a drawn-up knee. His voice was, if possible, even more gentle. “No? Why not?”
Yancy put her hand on Laila’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She nearly choked on the words. “It’s okay, baby. He’s...our friend.”
Laila turned swimming golden eyes toward Yancy and asked in a small voice, “Is he going to take me away, Mommy?” A tear made its way slowly down her cheek. “I don’t want to leave you. Please don’t make me go.”
Again, pain sliced through Hunt’s chest. He had to look away and his hand clenched into a fist while Yancy gathered his daughter close and murmured reassurances.
My daughter.
But I deserved that, I suppose.
Not that knowing it lessened the weight in the pit of his stomach to any noticeable degree.
He stood up and briefly laid his hand on Laila’s scarf-draped head. “I’m not taking you away from your mom. You’re both coming with me. Right...Mom?” He braced himself and met Yancy’s eyes, prepared for the blazing anger he saw there, knowing he deserved that, too.
No apologies, Yankee. I did what was necessary. Couldn’t be helped.
Laila looked to Yancy for confirmation, back at Hunt with her chin at a particular tilt, one he remembered well. “Okay, I’ll go,” she announced. “But I’m very tired of walking. My feet are tired. And I’m thirsty.”
“No problem,” Hunt said with a shrug. “I can carry you.”
She bristled, as he’d known she would, and her chin rose up another notch. “Don’t be silly. I’m way too big to carry. I’m eight years old. I’m not a baby.”
Yancy automatically murmured, “Laila...”
Hunt spoke over her. “You’re right—you’re not. So, we’d better get a move on, okay? It’s not much farther. Sooner we get going, the sooner we’ll be there.”
“My mom said we were going to have ice cream. Do you have ice cream?”
He glanced at Yancy, who shrugged and looked away, hiding her expression behind a swath of scarf. He gave the kid—his kid—a sideways look. “I imagine that could be arranged.”
“Pistachio?”
