Edge of Courage (Edge Security Series Book 5)

by Loye, Trish

The Russian fell quickly out of sight. The pilot pulled on the cyclic and righted the helicopter. He flew back toward headquarters.

  “So, Dalkhan,” Yusef said. “You will follow our rules, won’t you?”

  Dylan looked him straight in the eye. “Of course, sir.”

  Yusef nodded. “Then I expect to see you tomorrow morning at the training center on the north end of the city. Hisham can tell you where.”

  “Of course, sir,” he said.

  No fucking way in hell was he going to the training center tomorrow—or ever.

  * * *

  Sarah shifted the curtains on the front window again. The guard still stood out front. It was close to noon. Dylan had been gone for over three hours. Dammit, she hated being left behind, unable to do anything.

  Where was he?

  She strode back to the kitchen, checking on the soup she had simmering on the stovetop. She stirred it. What was she doing making soup? While they could be torturing Dylan? She hurled the spoon at the sink, splattering soup on the wall.

  Was Dylan being interrogated? Had they found him out? If they were just processing him, then why was it taking so long?

  She gripped the counter and took several deep breaths. Panicking wasn’t helping anyone.

  She heard a thump and then a giggle from the secret room. She’d told the kids to stay quiet, because she didn’t know if the soldiers would come back.

  She took a tray down from an upper shelf, put some soup in a couple of bowls, added some bread and milk to the tray before she took it downstairs.

  “I’m sorry,” Jalila said. “But Waqar played a trick and surprised me.”

  The boy’s eyes were too wide and his breathing too fast.

  “It’s okay,” she said soothingly in Arabic. “I don’t mind. I just brought you two something to eat.” She set the tray on the floor. Waqar had scooted into the corner.

  Jalila smiled at him and waved him closer. “She’s a good person,” she said. “She rescues kids. She’s going to get my sister out next.” Jalila’s smiling face turned to her. “Aren’t you?”

  Sarah swallowed hard. She couldn’t smile back. “I’m going to try.”

  Jalila threw her arms around Sarah and squeezed. “You’ll do it. You’ll rescue her. You have to.”

  Sarah didn’t respond; she just unwrapped Jalila’s arms. “Eat some lunch. Stay quiet until I say. The guard is still there.”

  “Dylan?” Jalila said, her eyes worried.

  “Not back yet. I might be heading out soon to go find him.”

  Jalila gripped her hand. “You can’t. Not by yourself.”

  “I won’t be leaving the apartment as a woman.” Sarah smiled at the girl’s confusion. “I’ll be going out disguised as a boy.”

  Jalila frowned and looked Sarah up and down.

  “I’ll show you before I leave,” she promised. “Now eat. And remember to stay quiet.”

  She went back upstairs and closed the basement door. She stared at the front door, willing it to open and for Dylan to walk through. It was almost time for midday prayers. Would they stop his interrogation for prayers?

  No. She couldn’t think like that.

  She would give Dylan until after prayers and then she would make good on the plan she’d told Jalila. She’d had weeks of practice pretending to be a boy when she’d been following Yusef al-Basri in Syria. She’d have to cut her hair, which she had no qualms about. Hair grew back.

  She went to Rakin’s old bedroom and sorted through his drawers, pulling out some boy clothes they had stored there for the kids they rescued. She pulled out two sets, one big enough for her petite frame and another for Jalila.

  If she went to the headquarters, then before she left she would cut the girl’s hair and dress her as a boy before sending both kids into the network. Jalila wouldn’t want to go, but she couldn’t stay here. Especially if it turned out their cover was blown.

  She checked the clock. Fifteen minutes until prayers. They would leave when prayers were over, mingling with all the other men and boys on the street.

  The front door opened.

  She dropped the clothes and rushed out, hope flaring inside her. Dylan stood in the living room, his face drawn and haggard. He scrubbed a hand over it.

  She rushed him and threw her arms around him. He gave a little oomph but then his arms came around her pulling her tight to him. The muscles in her back eased and she just breathed in the scent of him for a moment.

  Safe.

  She stiffened, pushing away the feeling. It wasn’t real. Not for her. She pulled away and stepped back. Dylan let her, his arms dropping to his sides, his face disappointed.

  In her.

  That thought brought an ache to her chest; she ignored it. “What happened?” She tried to keep her voice steady.

  He sighed. “I’m in. I’m processed and passed their little tests. I’m not sure how long the identity will hold but it should last until we leave tomorrow night.”

  She nodded, mostly because her throat had closed up and she couldn’t speak. The kitchen called to her. She went to the stove, took out a new spoon and stirred the soup.

  “Hey,” Dylan said, entering behind her. “Are you okay?”

  Was she okay? No. She hadn’t been okay since he’d come here. She gripped the edge of the countertop. Her knuckles showed white. Blood rushed in her ears. What was wrong with her?

  “Fine,” she managed to say.

  Dylan laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’m okay.”

  “I can see that,” she muttered, but she still didn’t look at him. She forced her emotions away to deal with later. She stirred the soup again. “We need to get the kids out of here. Today.”

  “Are you going to look at me?”

  No, she wanted to snap. But he didn’t deserve her anger. Not when she didn’t even know why she was angry. She schooled her features and turned.

  Dylan shook his head, his expression weary. “So Agent Ice is back?”

  “What do you want from me?” Her voice sounded ragged, even to her own ears.

  “I want you to drop your mask. I’m losing hope that I can reach you, Sarah. Let me in.”

  “Let you in? Why? It can’t last between us.”

  “Why not?”

  Her mouth opened and then closed. Could she say it?

  “Why not, Sarah?” he asked again, moving closer, his face intent. “Why can’t it last between us?”

  She tried to hold the words in, but his blue gaze captured her and the truth spilled out in a hoarse whisper. “Because everyone leaves me.”

  “Is that why you left me first? Because you thought I might leave you? Is that why you wrote that damn note?”

  She tried to turn away, but he put a hand on her arm, not forcing her to stay, but asking her with his touch. She looked at him; his dark hair and beard made him seem like almost a stranger, until she stared into those eyes that saw too much.

  He stepped back from her. “You didn’t even sign it. Didn’t you think I deserved to be told in person? Or did I mean so little to you that breaking up with me was an afterthought?”

  Her mouth had dropped open. Her legs felt rooted to the floor. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I thought it was for the best.”

  “The best for who?”

  She froze, not sure of what to say. Leaving him a note hadn’t been the best for either of them, but it had been the safest option for her. The coward’s way out, so she wouldn’t have to face him. She hadn’t wanted to know his reaction to her accepting a deep undercover assignment, mostly because she’d feared he wouldn’t have even cared.

  That he had cared was a revelation.

  He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “Look, just forget it. I already have. Let’s just try to get through this.”

  She raised her hand to him, but he’d already turned his back.

  “I’m going to shower and then I’m yours to order around, Agent Ice.” His barbed words struck true. Never did she
hate that nickname so much as now. He strode to the bathroom before she could reply.

  She turned from the closed door. It was good for him to find out how flawed she was, though. And really, in the long run, it was better for Dylan to want to avoid her. He was a good man. He deserved someone better than her in his life.

  So why did she feel like crying?

  She scrubbed hard at her face before she turned off the burner on the stove. They didn’t have time to worry about their feelings. Children’s lives depended on them.

  Someone knocked on the front door. She tensed. The shower still ran in the bathroom. Sarah went to the front window and almost groaned. Amirah waited on her front step. The guard had disappeared. A quick check revealed him leaning against a car across the street. It appeared that Dylan still wasn’t completely trusted yet.

  Sarah wasn’t sure she could handle seeing her friend right now, but she couldn’t leave her outside by herself. Not when the call to prayer was going to happen any moment.

  She forced a smile and opened the door. “Amirah, As-salamu alaykum.”

  “Wa-alaikum salaam, Sarah.” Amirah bounced on her toes. “How could you not tell me?”

  “Tell you?”

  “That you got married!” Amirah squealed, moving past Sarah and into the house. She pulled up her veil so Sarah could see her grin. “Ahmed told Fouad. When did it happen? Did you have a proper celebration? Is this why you were so distant the other day?”

  Amirah was a whirlwind, dancing around Sarah. Excitement shone on her face. Sarah had no idea how to respond, not that it mattered, considering Amirah didn’t give her much of a chance to speak. She smiled at her friend. She would miss her when she left.

  She faltered.

  “Why do you look sad, my friend?” Amirah laid her hand on Sarah’s arm. “Did you not want this marriage?”

  Sarah forced a smile. “No. Everything just moved so fast. He’s a…good man. I’m…happy.” She had to stop stumbling over her words. Why was lying to Amirah so difficult? “We had a dinner with my brother before he left. Nothing fancy. It’s hard to celebrate with how things are.”

  Amirah stopped moving and grabbed both Sarah’s hands in hers. “I will make you a feast. We will celebrate.”

  Dylan opened the door to the bathroom and stepped out fully dressed, though his hair was wet. He must have heard Amirah’s joyous laughter. He smiled while Amirah squeaked and pulled her veil over her face so only her eyes showed.

  “As-salamu alaykum,” she said.

  “Wa-alaikum salaam,” Dylan said. “Where is your mahram?”

  Sarah’s eyes widened. His Arabic was improving.

  Amirah bowed her head, eyeing Dylan from under her lashes. “I only live three doors down. My husband believes I’ll be safe when I come here.”

  With enough arrogance to match an ISIS fighter, Dylan nodded. Then he switched to Russian. “That’s about it for my Arabic. Does she speak Russian?”

  Sarah was about to ask when the call to prayer sang out. She looked at him over Amirah’s head. A muscle in his jaw twitched. He had to go to the mosque now. There was no way around it with Amirah standing there.

  “The mosque is two blocks down,” she told him in Russian. “Do you know how—”

  He held up a hand and nodded, leaving moments later to join the flow of men to the mosque. As a special ops soldier who worked covertly in the Middle East, Dylan should know how to pray. He would have made a sign if he’d been in trouble. But still, she didn’t like to see him go. He’d only just gotten back from the questioning and she’d snapped at him. What if something happened while he was gone?

  “Well, I’ll leave now,” Amirah said, dragging Sarah’s attention back to her. “I know how you like to pray alone. But come for dinner tonight. I’ll invite Mihad and her husband too. We’ll have a mini celebration for you. Don’t worry; I’ll take care of everything!”

  Sarah closed the door behind Amirah and sighed. She’d wanted to plan Besma’s rescue tonight. Now she would have to pretend to be a new bride, excited about her future. She considered canceling on Amirah, but she couldn’t make herself do it.

  It was only because they needed to keep up appearances with their cover.

  It had nothing to do with the fact that Amirah was her friend and this was probably her last chance to see her.

  * * *

  Dylan slipped his shoes back on and left the mosque. Though he hadn’t wanted to pray, it had only taken about ten minutes. The whole thing had been almost meditative. The guard from the front of the house prayed in the row behind him. Dylan had to concentrate on remembering all the different Qu’ran verses and the number of rakats needed for the prayer. He’d studied enough of the culture and religion to know the basics.

  Afterward, as he walked back to Sarah’s house, he felt more eyes on him. He casually walked to a cafe that was reopening. It had a simple outdoor countertop window. Chairs and tables sat inside the cafe, already filling up with men.

  “Qahwa,” he said, thinking Jalila would be proud of his accent. The cafe owner gave him a small metal cup for a few thousand dinars, which came to about one dollar. As he drank the bitter coffee scented with cardamon, he surveyed the area.

  Men and boys moved everywhere, all streaming away from the mosque—some hurrying, others more leisurely. Very few were stopped at a standstill like him. His guard actually nodded at him from across the street. Dylan nodded back.

  And then there was Ahmed.

  He glared from the other side of the road.

  Dylan set the cup down on the counter and strode across the street to the neighbor. He stood in front of the shorter man and stared down at him. Ahmed’s shoulders lacked muscle and sloped inward, giving him a slightly hunched look. The man’s hands clenched, and Dylan noted the smoothness of his skin. Not a soldier then. The dishdasha he wore covered the rest of his body, but Dylan didn’t think Ahmed hid any weapons under it.

  He continued to stare at the neighbor, letting the things he’d done, the people he’d killed and the coldness he’d cultivated to do it, show in his eyes.

  Ahmed stepped back, mumbled something in Arabic and walked quickly down the street. He glanced back once, and Dylan caught his eye. Ahmed averted his gaze and hurried his pace.

  Dylan smiled. It looked like the neighbor had gotten the message.

  No matter what he’d said, Sarah was his.

  15

  After Amirah left, Sarah went down to the basement room, carrying a boy’s dishdasha over her shoulder. “We’re going to move you to a safer place this afternoon,” she told Waqar in Arabic after she handed him the clean clothes. “You can wash in the bathroom upstairs.” Then she looked at Jalila. “Any chance I can get you to go too?”

  The girl lifted her chin. “Not without Besma. When are you going to get her?”

  “We’re going to try tomorrow.” Though the fact that she promised that without confirming Besma’s location would be another indication to Dylan that she was becoming too sentimental and it was affecting her work.

  “I’ll make sure Waqar is ready.”

  Sarah nodded. The boy still wouldn’t meet her eyes, but Jalila seemed to have him in hand. “We’ll leave after lunch.”

  The front door opened; she froze for a moment, then pulled a knife from her shirtsleeve. The boy gasped at the sight of it and huddled even farther from her, but thankfully didn’t make another sound.

  Sarah suspected it was Dylan, but she never assumed anything. She crept to the top of the stairs, knife in hand.

  “It’s me,” Dylan called out in Russian. “I had a chat with your neighbor. I don’t think he’ll be bothering you again.”

  She straightened and met him in the kitchen. “You speak Arabic now?”

  “I don’t,” he said. “But I got my point across. By the way, we have a friend out front.”

  “I’d noticed. Who does he belong to?”

  Dylan nodded. “He’s one of Hisham’s cronies, but ultimately h
e works for Yusef al-Basri.”

  Her gut clenched at the name. “You met Yusef?”

  Dylan sat at the table. “He took me for a fun flight today.”

  “Explain.”

  “They questioned me and then Yusef took me up in a helicopter with a few of his soldiers.”

  Her mouth went dry at the thought of Dylan at the mercy of Yusef. She’d seen firsthand what the man did to his enemies when she’d tracked him in Syria. She put the kettle on for tea and took out a tin of cookies, more to give her time to control herself than because she thought Dylan might want them. “Does he know you’re a pilot?”

  “No. He shouldn’t. I think he just wanted to give me a demonstration about what he does with people who disobey him.”

  She heard something in the tone of his voice. His gaze wouldn’t meet hers. “Dylan?” she asked softly, sitting down next to him. “What did he do?”

  It was a long moment before Dylan spoke. “He made me kill one of his men.” He still didn’t look at her. His voice, the lack of emotion almost fooled her, but his hands clenched tight on his thigh, showing white bone and popping veins. Her heart twisted at the sight. This strong, honorable man had been forced to commit murder. She knew without asking that Dylan would never have done it if there had been any other choice.

  “You are not a monster,” she whispered, and pushed the plate of cookies toward him. “Remember that, if nothing else.”

  Dylan looked at her, his blue eyes, usually so vibrant, now flat and filled with anguish. She reached out; her hand covered one of his on his leg. There was nothing sexual in the touch. Just one human offering comfort to another. His hand turned over and squeezed hers.

  He smiled at her, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “We’re not monsters.”

  She shook her head, but it was hard for her to voice the words, to force them out of her throat. Was this just one more lie? It didn’t matter whether she thought she was a monster or not. Dylan needed to hear the words. “We’re not monsters.”

  “It’s okay to believe it, you know,” he said.

  How did she go from being the comforter to being comforted? He rubbed his thumb over her palm. She shivered from the touch, from his soul-piercing gaze and from the connection that sizzled to life between them.