“What I am going to tell you is classified information, a matter of national security. I’ve been given clearance to share this information with you with the provision that you agree not to communicate any part of it, in any way, to anyone. If you do, you will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Do you agree to these conditions?”
When he didn’t answer, she looked up.
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I can only tell you that Ameen is…a hero. I personally owe him a debt of gratitude that I can never repay for saving my life, not once, but twice.” She swallowed hard, stood up, and turned to leave.
“Wait.”
She looked back over her shoulder.
Abdullah cocked his head and scrutinized her. “You are…Baheera?”
“Yes.” Her heart squeezed. She had intentionally not mentioned her Muslim alias. “Ameen told you about Baheera?”
A faint smile transformed his face into an older version of Ameen’s. “Yes, and you are even more dazzling than he described. Come, sister, your heart seems heavy. Sit and let us talk as friends, not adversaries.” As she sat, he continued, “Ameen is right: Your eyes are obsidian magnets.” He peered at her curiously. “But how is it that my nephew knows you as a mysterious Muslim woman whom he saved from being beheaded by some men who attended our mosque?”
“A few days ago, Ameen accidentally became involved in a covert Homeland Security operation in which I had an undercover role as Baheera. The men whom you and Ameen had been watching—”
“Samir and his hateful cohorts.”
“Yes. As you and Ameen feared, those men were terrorists. They were carrying out an attack planned by their high-ranking al-Qaeda leader in…the Middle East.”
“What kind of attack?”
“I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”
He huffed. “And what role did Ameen play? Was it related to his military service as a Navy SEAL?”
She smiled. “Ameen didn’t have an official role. In fact, I tried several times to get rid of him, but he apparently decided to take on the unofficial role of my personal protector.”
“Ah, that is because Ameen loves you.”
Her chin quivered as she pressed her lips together. Tears threatened again. “He told you that?”
“Yes, but he was slow to recognize and accept the emotion. He came to me with his heart very troubled about Baheera. You seem to have connected instantly in many ways. Ameen said you shared much passion.”
Her cheeks flamed with guilt.
Abdullah chuckled. “I speak not of the passion of the flesh, although he confessed to breaking his vow of abstinence by enjoying those pleasures with you. What Ameen spoke of was a new joy in his heart at finding someone who shared his passion for ridding the world of the Islamic extremists who threaten to undermine our religion. He believed he had found a kindred spirit in Baheera.” The old man frowned. “Is Ameen correct or was that just part of your undercover role?”
She laid her hand on his arm and gazed directly into his eyes. “He is correct. We share that and other passions. And…and I love Ameen also.” She glanced anxiously toward the double doors leading into the ICU. “I want desperately for us to have a chance to develop a relationship. But there are…issues to overcome.”
“Religion, for one. I am sure you are not Muslim.”
“No, I’m not. I have my own beliefs, but I welcome the opportunity to learn and understand more about Islam. A bigger issue is logistics. I live and work in Washington, and I know Ameen is committed to helping you at the mosque here in San Diego.”
“Ah.” Abdullah smiled knowingly. “Ameen mentioned yesterday that he’s decided to continue his parents’ work. It’s something I have been encouraging him to do. And Washington would be a perfect location.”
A seed of hope sprouted. “What do his parents do?”
Abdullah paused, his expression grim. “Ameen did not tell you about them?”
“No, but I saw a picture of them at his condo. I meant to ask him about them but, well, there was never time. Will you tell me?”
He sighed, gazing solemnly out the windows for several moments. “My brother’s family ran a charitable organization that helped Muslim immigrants learn English, achieve US citizenship, find jobs, and become productive Americans.”
“That’s wonderful,” she said, but Abdullah’s melancholy confused her. “Where do they operate their charity?”
“They operated—past tense—in New York City.”
Marissa’s heart filled with dread. She guessed the awful news coming next.
“Originally, they ran the charity out of their home. The whole family was so happy when they moved into the tiny, but official, two-room office on September first, 2001. It was a symbolic location because the first World Trade Center bombing in 1993 created much distrust of Muslims in New York. My brother wanted to show Muslim support and pride for the world-famous towers. Little did we know the achievement would bring tragedy, not understanding.” His voice cracked. “Ameen’s father, mother, and older sister died in the attacks of 9/11.”
“Oh my God. Ameen must’ve been devastated.” She covered her mouth with her hand.
“He was, but not for long. At first, he felt guilty for being out on an errand instead of at the office to die with his family. Then hatred overcame guilt, devastation, and grief. He joined the Navy, specifically to become a SEAL who would hunt down terrorists.”
“So the death of his family ignited his passion to eradicate the terrorists.”
“Yes. I took him under my wing, but if he had not joined the military, I don’t think I could’ve controlled his rage. He would’ve been out there, hunting down Osama bin Laden on his own. Now the bastard is dead, and Ameen seems adrift, without purpose. I believe that is why he left the SEALs. He has worked hard to overcome his hatred, but it is a deep well. Continuing his parents’ good work could anchor him again. Give him a positive purpose in life.”
“And you think Ameen might be willing to move to Washington to do that?”
“Perhaps. For the right reason. For the right person.”
They both turned when the ICU doors swung open. Dressed in blue scrubs and a white coat, a weary-looking doctor emerged and scanned the waiting room. All the occupants froze, wondering if he was bringing news of their loved one. His solemn gaze settled on Abdullah before he trudged across the space without making eye contact with anyone.
Abdullah clasped Marissa’s hand as the doctor approached. “Do not be afraid. Allah will reward Ameen for his defense of true Islam.”
Marissa wished she shared his confidence.
“Mr. Ali,” the doctor said and released a long sigh.
She squeezed the old man’s hand as tears stung her eyes. Oh please, God, please.
“Ameen is finally awake.”
A sob of relief escaped before she could stop it.
“Allahu Akbar,” Abdullah murmured.
“His vitals are strong. But…”
Marissa tensed.
“…he’s suffering some amnesia about the…shooting. And he seems very confused. He keeps repeating the same word over and over. I think it might be Arabic, but I really don’t know.”
“What word?” Abdullah asked.
“It sounds like ‘Ba-hee-ra.’ Does that mean anything to you?”
“That’s…me,” Marissa choked out the words.
The doctor shifted his gaze to her and arched an eyebrow. “Are you immediate family?”
Before she could answer, Abdullah interjected, “Yes. Ameen’s sister. Here from Washington.”
The doctor shot him a disbelieving glance, but smiled. “Riiiight. Would you two like to see him? He’s too weak for a long visit, but you can spend a few minutes with him.”
Marissa was on her feet before the man finished the sentence.
Abdullah didn’t stand up. “You go. You’re the one he’s asking for.”
“Are you sure? We could both—”
&
nbsp; He grinned and motioned with his index finger for her to come closer. He placed a warm hand on her uninjured shoulder. “You go alone this time. New lovers do not need an old man around,” he whispered in her ear.
Marissa hugged the imam before following the doctor through the double doors and along a corridor of the ICU. He stopped and gestured toward a room.
“Ameen may not be very coherent. He’s confused about what happened to him. Don’t try to correct him. Just keep him calm and resting. He’s not out of the woods yet.”
“I understand.”
He nodded, checked his pager, and hurried away.
Horrible thoughts struck as she reached to push the door open. Her hand stopped mid-air. What if the seriousness of Ameen’s injury has made him regret saving me? What if he resents being drawn into the op altogether? She glanced toward the waiting room and considered returning to insist Abdullah visit instead of her. No. She steeled herself. She needed to see that Ameen was okay. And she’d just have to let things progress from there.
Silently, she slipped inside and stopped. The sight of Ameen, pale, still, and connected with tubes and wires to the medical equipment, was so contrary to the strong, virile man she knew that she hesitated to approach. Her chest tightened with guilt for what had happened to him because of her.
“Ameen,” she called softly.
His eyes barely opened. “Ba-hee-ra?”
She grimaced. He didn’t remember who she really was. “Yes. May I visit for a while?”
“Sure.” His gaze darted to the door and back before he opened his eyes fully.
She took a step closer. “How do you feel?”
“Like shit.” He coughed and flinched.
“Hmmm, that good, huh?”
“Yeah. Nice sling. How’s your shoulder?”
“Just a scratch.”
“Looked like more than a scratch from where I was lying.”
Her breath caught. “You remember?”
He snorted. “Of course I remember.” His eyes checked the door again. “Are we still playing undercover or can I call you Marissa now?”
The lump in her throat strangled her first attempt to speak. “Marissa…is fine.”
“You sure are,” he said with a wickedly seductive smile. “And dazzling.”
She realized he’d done a terrific job of deluding the doctor into believing he was incoherent and confused. Her heart beat lighter. “Seriously, Ameen, do you remember what happened?”
“Absolutely. Especially what you said to me before I passed out. It kept me alive. Well, that and the doctors.” He winked. “But I played dumb since I didn’t know what fairytale Homeland Security was going to create. Are they going public with the op?”
“They’ll put out some innocuous press release about us stopping a vaguely described terrorist plot in San Diego. Maybe add something about our gratitude to the Mexican authorities to stroke them a little since they’re not giving us too much hassle about operating on their soil and extraditing the terrorists we bagged in Tijuana.”
Truly relaxing for the first time in weeks, Marissa grabbed the lone chair and pulled it beside the bed. Before she sat, Ameen snagged her arm.
“Kiss.”
She gladly obliged and then continued while leaning close. “But no way will the term ‘dirty bomb’ be used. Can you imagine the public panic even though it’s over?”
“It’d be horrible.” His expression turned grim. “Did the good guys lose anyone?”
She dropped into the chair, giving herself a moment to steady her composure. “One agent. A good man who’d just learned he was going to be a father.”
“I’m sorry.” He paused. “Khaleel? Did I—”
“He’s dead. We found the other engineer’s body near the hideout. We think Khaleel killed him. We have Fateen and Dawud in custody. We’re working to get Tareef and Masoud extradited from Mexico. Saleem, Rashad, Yasir, and Juan were killed at the Otay Mesa site.”
Ameen sighed. “I feel sorry for Safiya. I don’t think she had any idea what Khaleel was doing.”
“I agree. The Mexican authorities have her in custody, and we’ve sent someone to interrogate her. I’ve passed along my opinion to my superiors that she’s an innocent party.”
“Thanks. I’m sure that’ll help her credibility.”
Marissa cleared her throat. “You didn’t know about Khaleel either, did you?”
“I knew before I…shot him, but I should’ve figured it out long ago. I thought it was weird when he first took the job in Tijuana. And he changed so much after that. His behavior the night I took you to his house was so paranoid and not at all like the old Khaleel. And something about one of the men with scarves always seemed a little familiar. When he called me and asked questions about you, I knew for sure. But I never, in my wildest dreams, would’ve thought he’d be capable of…” He sighed heavily. “I wonder if Safiya will ever forgive me.”
“I saw how she looked at you that night. You’re her friend, too, Ameen. I’m sure you can help her through this.”
He pressed his lips together and studied her. “What’s up next for you? Are you rushing off to your next assignment?”
Her gut cramped. Moment of truth. “Actually, I was told to take at least a week to decompress. I’m staying with a friend—”
“Ben?” he asked tightly.
“Um, yes. That’s right. You’ve met.”
“Your former lover is an interesting guy.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Ben has a wonderful, live-in girlfriend named Amber.”
Ameen cleared his throat. “You were supposed to come to my place.”
“I was a little busy. Besides, you weren’t there.”
“I will be as soon as I can get the hell out of here.” He paused. “But that’s not really the point, is it?”
Their gazes connected.
“No, it’s not.” She drew a fortifying breath. “After my week off, I’ll be going back to Washington. I might get another assignment in San Diego, but…you never know.” She shrugged.
Ameen pulled his gaze away and stared at the door. His jaw set, he no longer looked pale and weak. “I used to live in New York City. My family visited Washington several times. Is it a nice place to live?”
“I love it. I feel like I’m at the epicenter of the American universe.” Her gaze followed his to the door. “Um, I should tell you that Abdullah told me about your family.”
His eyes darted back to her. “You met my uncle?”
She angled her head. “In the waiting room.”
“I see.” He sighed. “I was going to tell you. We just never had time.”
“I know. And I’m sorry for your loss. It’s easy to understand your passion for stopping the terrorists.”
He scowled at her. “Do you think that’s the only reason? Look at you. You didn’t have to lose your whole family in a terrorist attack to have the same passion. I think I would’ve been so pissed by the shame the 9/11 terrorists brought to Islam that I would’ve followed the same path with my life even if I hadn’t lost loved ones in the attack. It’s been more than a decade, and my religion still hasn’t recovered from the wounds inflicted by those bastards.”
She laughed. It felt good.
“What’s so funny?”
“You. Me. We are so alike.” She stood up and leaned against the bed. “In only four days, we’ve connected in a lot of ways. You saved my life twice. We won a significant battle in the war against terrorism. A strange combination of love and hate seems to bind us together, Ameen. And Abdullah thinks you need a new purpose in your life…and a change of scenery. So I have a…proposition.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“I hope you do. Why don’t you come live with me? Revive your family’s charitable organization and work at defeating terrorism by spreading love instead of hate. Since 9/11, the greater risk seems to be smaller, homegrown attacks. Perhaps you can fight the hatred from inside the Washington Muslim community as you
are fighting it here at your uncle’s mosque.”
“I like that idea for a worthwhile purpose and job. But what about us, our…relationship?”
“I plan to move forward at full speed. Hope you can keep up.”
“Just watch me.”
Marissa bent down, framed his face with her hands, and kissed him. “You know, stopping terrorists isn’t the only passion we share.”
“No?”
“No.” She slipped her hand beneath the flimsy hospital gown and stroked his chest. “Should I demonstrate?”
He moaned. “Best not. One of these machines might set off an alarm at the nurse’s station if my pulse skyrockets.”
She chuckled, leaned closer, and whispered, “Guess we’ll just have to settle for this.” She kissed the sensitive spot behind his ear. “I love you, Ameen.”
“I love you too.”
A bedside monitor started beeping wildly, and a red button flashed in sync.
“Well, damn. We’re in trouble now,” he muttered.
She started to laugh, and Ameen joined in.
Did you miss Ben and Amber’s love story?
Here is an excerpt from Hunted.
CHAPTER 1
Special Agent Ben Alfren entered the lobby of the San Diego FBI office with a determined smile and a resolute step. He didn’t care that it was Friday morning and the weekend was coming, because he loved his job. Was there anything better than catching bad guys for a living? That sentiment was something his professors and classmates at Harvard hadn’t understood when he graduated with an MBA and took a government job with average pay instead of a private-sector position with an astronomical salary. Of course, most of them hadn’t known his bachelor’s degree from George Washington University was in criminal justice. His grin broadened at the memory and at the thought that they probably hadn’t loved the past five years of their careers as much as he had.
The phone rang just as he sat down at his desk with a cup of coffee.
“Ben, my office,” his boss said and hung up.
The man of few words had been a terrific mentor since Ben transferred from Washington, DC, two years ago. When he strolled into the office, Supervisory Special Agent Rex Kelley was stroking his chin and staring out the window.
Targeted (FBI Heat) Page 28
