The Deadly Match

by Kishan Paul

  He’d prepared an explanation for the device as well but thought better of it. Something stirred deep inside him, a need for her to trust him. A trust he knew he’d violate again, but at least for the moment, he wanted her to believe in him. “I was going to tell you I found it when I went through my things from the agency, but that would not be the truth.”

  He shifted in his seat and took in the way she watched the digital video player. The way her breath hitched. How her hand shook as she picked it up. “It was hard to locate. I made a few calls to my contacts and had it expressed over.”

  “And you did this because?” Her gaze remained fixed on the image of David.

  “Because there’s only one person who can convince you to listen to me. Back then you didn’t trust me, either, until you heard him. I’m hoping it works again.”

  She didn’t respond, much less give any indication she heard a word he said. Eddie envied the dead man. A man he could never compete against, but that wasn’t his goal, he reminded himself. His goal was to keep her alive at whatever the cost.

  “Do you remember that day?” he pushed. “You told me to leave you behind and tell your husband you were dead. I have no clue what his life was like those years without you, but I know there was nothing he wouldn’t have done for you. He’d have stood in front of a firing line if it meant you’d be safe.”

  Her eyes welled with moisture. She blinked them away but didn’t reply.

  “That’s how much he loved you.”

  She hovered her finger over the white arrow.

  “I understand you don’t trust me, but David trusted me to bring you home. And I think I’ve done a damn good job of that ever since.” His voice cracked.

  Her chest filled as she took in a breath, and he watched her throat as she swallowed. “It’s really underhanded of you to use my dead husband to manipulate me.”

  He flinched but didn’t argue with the truth.

  “If I ask you something, will you answer?”

  Warning lights flashed in his brain. Eddie considered how to respond. He didn’t want to lie to her, not yet. “If I can, I will.”

  “Is he really dead?” She met his gaze, trying to read him. “Or is he dead like Alisha Dimarchi?”

  A chill swept through him. He looked out the window, hating himself for becoming the kind of man she believed him to be. Had he done so much damage that she’d believe he’d keep her apart from her husband? “As much as I wish it wasn’t true, David really is dead.”

  She didn’t respond. The silence between them ebbed when the dead man in question spoke.

  “Ally, it’s me.” The suspicion her face carried, the wall she built to protect herself from Eddie, crumbled, revealing the woman he’d only seen glimpses of. She ran a hand over the screen.

  “Nasif told me everything. By now, you’ve met Eddie. He’s a mercenary. Your dad’s paid him a lot of money to get you out of there. Do whatever he says, trust him. He’ll keep you safe. We’re bringing you home, baby. I promise. Reya, Nik, your parents, we’re all waiting for you.”

  When David finished pleading his case, and the screen froze on his face, she started it all over again.

  He leaned back and waited until it ended a second time. “Do whatever he says, trust him.” Bastard that he was, Eddie quoted David. “Your husband trusted me with your life, and he asked you to do the same. I don’t always behave the way you’d like, and yes, I’ve lied to you. More than once. And I will again. But it’s always been done with the end game of keeping you safe.”

  She regarded the image on the screen. “I almost shot you in the head.”

  He laughed. “I knew I had to get the gun away before you figured out how to switch off the safety.”

  The corners of her mouth lifted. “And then I bit you.”

  “Bit me? You dug your teeth in and almost pulled out an artery.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Another lie.”

  He flinched at her accusation. “Exaggeration,” he corrected, “not a lie.” He leaned forward but gave her the distance she needed. “I wasn’t expecting your bite. It impressed the hell out of me.” Eddie planted a hand on the recorder, which still sat on her leg. “You are a fighter. No matter what happens. No matter how much shit is thrown at you, you find a way to take the shit and use it to your advantage and fight back.”

  “It was easier to be a fighter when I knew David was around.” She unlatched the table in the wall beside them and pulled it out. Understanding his proximity to her motivated the divide. He retracted his hand from her leg and moved away as the plastic barrier fell in place between them.

  She slipped the recorder in her purse and reached inside her tote of snacks. While she fiddled with the metal tin of food, Eddie pulled out his offering.

  “He used to hold me. Every single night. The first month of our marriage, it was cute, but by the half-year mark, it annoyed the hell out of me.”

  Eddie unscrewed the thermos and poured the coffee.

  “Having his one-hundred-eighty-plus-pound body draped all over me to the point where I couldn’t move, made me wake up thinking I was being smothered to death in my sleep.” She rested her elbow on the table and planted her chin on her palm. “I kept having to shove him to make him roll off me. Not that it mattered. A few minutes later, I was back to feeling like a pupa inside a human cocoon.”

  He slid her a cup. She stared at the black brew, lost in her thoughts. “Crazy thing is, when I got home after the kidnapping, the David cocoon became my life support. His arms, the weight of him made me feel safe. Less alone. Helped me believe it wasn’t me against the world. There was someone fighting for me. With me.”

  He lifted his drink and pointed it at her. “You still have someone fighting for you.”

  She took another swallow of her drink. “You’re here to convince me to trust you.”

  “Correct.”

  “And you’re using my dead husband’s words to persuade me.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well played.” She eyed him from over her cup. “But no more second chances, Eddie. You lie to me again, and I will make sure next time the safety on my gun is off.”

  He smiled in spite of himself. “Do you want me to lie and swear I’ll be a hundred percent honest with you?”

  She shook her head. “I know better. I do want you to honestly swear that there will be no more kissing.”

  “I swear I will never try to kiss you again.” He winked. “Unless you ask me to.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You can leave now.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t.” He grinned. “Aside from the fact we’re on a moving train and getting off would hurt, I need to make sure you get to Mumbai in one piece.”

  “Why? So you can lock me up?”

  Eddie took a sip of his steaming brew. “I wish, but no, I know better. You’re going to come to Mumbai and help us find Wassim.”

  She lowered her cup. “I’ve heard this story before.”

  “True. But that was because you wrote the story, and to be honest, your version sucked and was going to have a really bad ending. This edition is written by me, and it’s one of those good kinds. You know, with a lot of action and tension but still leaves you feeling all warm and fuzzy and alive at the end.”

  He took a sip of his coffee, aware he had now her attention. It wasn’t until he returned his drink to the table that she finally spoke.

  “Tell me more about your version of the story.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  SANAA KHALIS

  Ally stared at the pale yellow door in front of her. She gripped the straps of her purse with one hand while the other formed a fist.

  “All clear.” The male voice echoed from the inconspicuous device hidden inside her ear.

  She scanned the second-floor hallway. Groups of young nursing students, mostly women with a mix of men, congregated and chatted around other yellow doors lining both sides of the wall. Only two people had known she’d arrived in the country.
A shiver burst through her as she stared into the black lens of the CCTV camera situated on the far corner of the hall.

  Until right now…

  “You’ve got twenty minutes max.”

  She nodded at his clipped order and rapped her knuckles against the wooden surface. Ally scanned the area again, searching the students’ faces, trying to find allies among the strangers. The unit assigned to her had been kept in the dark about their mission. But how were they supposed to protect her if they didn’t know who they were protecting? After taking in a lungful of air, she shoved the thought from her brain.

  “Target’s headed your way. I’m cutting the chatter now. Just stick with the plan, and everything will be just fine.”

  She steadied herself. As encouraging as his words were probably intended to be, they had the opposite impact. Her palms were slick from clenching them so tightly. There was no guarantee how this would turn out. But the time for second thoughts had passed. The role she played needed to be performed perfectly. Ally wiped the sweat on her jeans, rolled her shoulders back, knocked a second time, and waited for the occupant on the other side to answer.

  The yellow of the door cracked opened, revealing a woman about her height. Large pale brown eyes were the focal point of her oval face, her skin the shade of chai. A maroon hijab covered her head while a pale blue salwar kameeze with tiny maroon roses embroidered on the bodice and sleeves covered the rest of her.

  Ally cleared her throat. “Sanaa Khalis?”

  The woman’s full lips stretched in a polite smile; impatience flashed in her eyes. “Yes?”

  “I need your help.”

  Perfectly arched brows rose, and the hazel orbs inspected her. “Help with?”

  She glanced across the halls at the students a few feet away. “It is a delicate subject matter.” She pulled out a picture of Jayden from her purse and handed it to Sanaa. “This is my son.”

  While the woman examined the picture, Ally held her breath. After a long lingering glance, Sanaa returned her impatient gaze back on Ally. “Miss?”

  “Irfani. Sara Irfani.”

  She nodded. “Mrs. Irfani. Your son—”

  “Aadam,” Ally interrupted her. “Aadam Irfani.”

  “…is very handsome,” Sanaa continued. “And I wish you well, but I make it a point not to give money to random people who come to my office begging for donations. If you could please move aside, I am very busy preparing for a class at the moment.”

  When she started to close the door, Ally stepped forward blocking its path with her foot. “You’re right. I am here begging, but not for your money. I need your time and your support.”

  The woman crossed her arms and narrowed her gaze. “You have ten seconds to convince me not to call campus police.”

  Ally took in a breath and began. “I am from the States and have left my son there to come to India to save his life.”

  Sanaa’s narrowed brows relaxed, but she didn’t move.

  “Aadam needs a stem cell transplant, and I have had no luck finding a match. The doctors think we will be more likely to find a match among people of the same ethnicity, which is why I am here.” Her words were rushed, and she allowed the desperation surging within her to be evident in her tone. “You can help him. If I could have ten minutes of your time, I can explain how. I’ve tried everything and have nowhere else to go. Please.” Her voice cracked at the end, and she hugged her shoulders as she waited to see if Sanaa was moved by her words.

  The woman gazed at her for a beat. Finally, her shoulders lowered, and pity flashed across her face. She stepped aside and waved Ally inside before shutting the door behind them. “Come in and take a seat, Mrs. Irfani.”

  “Sixteen minutes.”

  The announcement heightened her already nervous energy. Ally entered the small room, aware of Sanaa’s presence behind her. Bookcases lined every inch of the wall, all of them overflowing with medical textbooks and manuals. A tidy wooden desk sat at the far corner in front of a window. She gazed out the glass pane. Although only the two of them occupied the room, two others, armed with weapons, watched their every move from the apartment complex across the street. She positioned herself on the chair and waited until Sanaa took her spot in the leather chair behind the desk, her back to the window in question.

  “Mrs. Irfani, I am deeply sorry about your son. But I don’t understand what kind of help I can possibly provide you.”

  “Please call me Sara, and you’re wrong.” Evidence of the professor’s work lay scattered across her desk. Aside from the textbook and papers, on the edge sat two framed pictures of a little boy and a happy family. “You have more power than I do at the moment.”

  The woman leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Enlighten me.”

  “I need to rent the use of the banquet rooms downstairs. Something you can authorize. They are the perfect size to run a donor drive. I have already checked the schedule, and they are available tomorrow afternoon. With your backing, we can set up a drive to find potential matches for my child.” Ally pulled out a credit card from her purse and slid it to her. “I am willing to pay whatever price, make a donation to the college, whatever it entails to make this happen. This drive would be aimed at college students. Which is why having it on your campus would make it more likely for them to join. It would be voluntary of course. Those who attended would get a free hot lunch, and in return, would listen to my brief presentation about my son’s medical need. Anyone who wants to be swabbed will do so immediately, and everyone, regardless of their decision, would get a free meal. My team and I will clean up before and after, and I will pay for any unforeseen damages that might occur. Not only might it benefit my son, but so many others on the waiting list, and it would be a great PR opportunity for the nursing school.”

  Ally paused to gauge Sanaa’s reaction. She wanted to present as a scared mother willing to do whatever it took to save her child, and from the look of pity on the woman’s face, it worked.

  “Even if I authorized the rooms, how would you get anyone to come at such short notice?”

  “I have a contact who has connections with both the local and international news channels.” Ally recited her part of the script. “She would interview me and you and report on the event. She says she’d alert the other news stations about it as well. This proposition would be a positive for everyone involved.”

  Sanaa slid her computer closer and typed into it. “It sounds like you’ve thought of everything. So why has it been so hard for you to do this?”

  Ally stared at her hands. “I’ve approached several other local colleges, and they’ve all said no.”

  “Why did they say no?”

  “Most lied and said they have no availability, and the only one who gave me a real answer admitted they felt if they said yes to this cause, they would have to say yes to others asking for the same.”

  The woman’s forehead creased. “All expenses paid, great PR, helping a good cause, and the potential of saving lives. And that would be wrong? Who said no?”

  Ally shrugged. “I am not here to judge, point fingers, or comment on anyone’s conscience, Mrs. Khalis…”

  “Call me Sanaa.”

  “Sanaa.” Ally smiled.

  “Reserve the room and get out of there.”

  Ally jumped at the whispered hiss. So focused on their conversation, she forgot about the earpiece or the time constraints. “You have work to do so I will make this fast. All I want is to help my son and others in his situation.”

  She slid the picture of her child across the desk to make him as real as possible for her. “This picture was taken of him when I adopted him three years ago.”

  Sanaa picked up the image. Her grin widened the more she surveyed him. “That answers my question about why you can’t be a donor.”

  “I wish I could. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for him.” She allowed the emotions to fill her eyes and heat her face. “He is my world, and although he is not my blood, I lov
e him as my own.”

  “He is very handsome and lucky to have you.” Sanaa returned the picture to her. “If there is a way to help him, I am sure you will find it.”

  She swiped at the corner of her eye, pretending to wipe away a tear. “Having him has saved my life in so many ways.”

  “The beauty of children. They heal us. But you know this already.”

  She nodded. “Yes, they do heal us. Unless they have a need you can’t fulfill. Then the pain, the helplessness, is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.”

  “Hostile’s pulling in the parking lot, five hundred yards from you. Talk faster.”

  Ally gripped her knee to steady herself and stayed fixed on the woman across from her.

  “I have a son of my own. He’s twelve. He looks a lot like yours, actually…” Sanaa turned over one of the pictures framed on her table. “So, I can understand your agony. Tell me about more about the kind of donor drive you are wanting to do.”

  “Twelve minutes.” She pretended to admire it while the order whispered in her ear. “Cut the small talk.”

  Desperation heated her face, burning her eyes. There was so much left to be said. She reached in her purse and laid the fliers on Sanaa’s desk.

  “Aadam has a chronic disease called Aplastic Anemia. He needs a stem cell transplant. It started off as bruises that were worse than other people would get. Random unexplained bleedings. When I took him to the doctors, they didn’t think anything was wrong. Then he fainted during recess at school and didn’t wake up. It took him being unconscious for a few hours for them to take my concerns seriously.”

  While Sanaa looked through the printouts, Ally continued her story.

  “When I adopted him, I swore he would never go without. Never feel the loss of not having his biological parents, but now I realize I was wrong. Which is why I need your help.”

  “Have you tried other institutions outside of universities?”

  “Yes, religious organizations and several charity groups. Neither of which ended up with strong support or turnouts. I was hoping college students would be more open-minded and willing to learn about a subject before saying no.”