Exiled Heart

by Jennifer Haynie

  “Perhaps, if you give this life of yours a chance, you will see what I mean.”

  “I don’t know.” This time, uncertainty rang in Thomas’s voice.

  Hope rose inside of Ziad. Could it be? Maybe he was changing his mind. A few more minutes slid by as the clamor behind them increased. “I know this is hard to see, but you truly do have your whole life ahead of you. This girl of yours. Perhaps she is not the right one for you. And your parents? No matter what their differences, they love you. School can be hard, but there are people to help you. The same with your job. You will find places where you belong. Can you not see that, Thomas? Can you not see a good future for yourself? A hope?”

  His words stung his own soul. Why hadn’t he preached the same thing to himself the year before?

  Beside him, just on the other side of the rip in the fence, Thomas softly wept. “I just don’t see it, man. I don’t!”

  “You will not in that water. But you will if you come with me.” Carefully, Ziad shifted to the opening and swung his feet around to safety, then braced them behind the railing below.

  He gawked at the crowd that had gathered. Plenty of firemen, paramedics, and policemen, but also the media and passerby. And Claire? Nowhere to be seen.

  He reached out and wrapped his arms around Thomas’s chest. “Come with me.”

  Before the teenager could react, he drew him off the railing, through the fence, and onto the deck.

  Cheering erupted.

  With his arms firmly around Thomas’s shoulders, he led him to a waiting ambulance.

  Only then did the shakes begin as the rumble of the crowd grew to a roar. The questions came fast and furious.

  “How did you notice the jumper?”

  “Where were you headed when you saw him?”

  “What did you say to bring him down?”

  Trembling now, he rested against the bumper of another ambulance and searched for Claire.

  “Ziad!” Her cry shot straight to his heart.

  She stood near a patrol car next to Eddie and another officer. She ran to him.

  Ziad grabbed her in a tight hug and held on as the shakes escalated. Thank you. Thank you I am safe, that Thomas is safe. He buried his face in her neck. Tonight, knowing that, and having her near, was what he needed the most.

  #####

  Two and a half hours later with Claire’s keys in hand, Ziad raced up the back steps of her house. He fumbled with the lock. The door popped open, and he burst inside as he clawed at his tie. He jerked at it, only tightening it in the process. Finally, he ripped it off. It sailed to parts unknown.

  His silver watch felt as if it burned his wrist. He slapped it onto a pile of Southern Living magazines on the coffee table. He plopped down on the couch and ran his hands through his hair as he tried to sort through all that had happened that night.

  The media hailed him as a hero, someone who saved another person’s life. Helper of the helpless is what one of the reporters had called him.

  If only they knew. If only they knew what a failure I am.

  Then it struck him. If things hadn’t happened the year before, in no way would he be sitting on the couch in the house of the woman he loved.

  He gasped as that realization caught him up short.

  Claire’s warm arms encircled him, and her perfume wafted to his nose. She kissed his hair and murmured, “I’m proud of you, Ziad. You saved someone’s life tonight.”

  Those shakes returned. “But I sentenced others to die last year!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He started shaking his head.

  “Please, please don’t shut me out about this.” She eased back, then gently pried his hands away. Still in her black sheath, she sat on the coffee table in front of him, her eyes dark in the dim glow of a lamp. They pooled with questions. Several strands of hair had come loose from her chignon. Mascara stained her cheeks.

  He clung to her hand and kissed her fingers. “How much do you know about last year?”

  “About what brought you to Charleston?”

  He nodded.

  “Your family was murdered because of the Zap case you were working.”

  For a moment, he held onto her hands and ran his thumbs across their tops. “Exactly.”

  She drew in a sharp breath.

  “Ben assisted me on a raid where we netted three suspects. They had tattoos here.” He pointed to that spot on his hand.

  “Which is why you were so curious about that a few weeks ago.”

  “Yes. We linked them to a minor prince named Prince Yasin. Thinking we had everything we needed, we took a break over the weekend. When I returned from lunch Saturday afternoon, our suspects were gone.”

  She frowned. “Why?”

  “I suspected the prince had sent someone to impersonate my commanding officer.” He lowered his head as regret slammed into him. “I thought I knew what I was doing. Sami, my executive officer, told me to wait on General al-Talil, my CO. I ignored him and went to al-Sharana where the prince was.”

  Shards of his confrontation with the prince and finding his family dead stabbed his memory. He flinched. “I confronted Prince Yasin. It went badly. They threw me out. That is when… when I called Sabirah and spoke with her for the last time. I found her an hour later. And then…” He swallowed hard and rubbed the scar at his hairline. “I was ambushed. Framed. And thrown into jail because they accused me of eight murders.”

  “Oh, Ziad.”

  He jumped up and began pacing between the island and the couch. “I rotted there for almost a year. I had plenty of time to think about what had happened, what caused their deaths.”

  “The murderers, who obviously wanted to frame you.”

  “But do you not see the role I played in it?”

  “Ziad—”

  “I was arrogant. Foolish. Impatient. I let my sometimes-hotheaded nature get the best of me. I set myself up to be framed. They ambushed me. Though everyone but Sabirah died of gunshot wounds from guns that were not mine, it was enough. Guilt over innocence. Had I been convicted, I would have been beheaded.”

  He stopped and gazed at her.

  Claire remained hunched on the coffee table, her arms now wrapped around her middle. She peered at the floor, then raised her gaze. “Ben wouldn’t let that happen.”

  “Nor would Sami. They knew I was innocent. Together, they worked to,” he scrambled for the right English words, “show that the evidence proved my innocence. The judge agreed, but it came at a price.”

  “Coming here.”

  He nodded and leaned his back against the island. “I had to retire from the SANG to restore their honor. I had to divest myself financially of my homeland to restore the honor of my sister and remove her from danger. I could not return to Saudi Arabia. I cannot go back. Never. Do you know what that is like?”

  She flinched.

  He’d accidentally hurt her. “I am sorry.” He sighed and returned to the couch. In a low, gravelly voice, he continued, “When I stayed in solitary confinement in that jail cell those next eleven months, I had nothing to do but think. I despaired. Like Thomas tonight, there were times when I wanted to kill myself. If it were not for Ben’s weekly visits, I probably would have. He encouraged me, tried to say there was a hope and future for me.”

  “But you’re obviously here.”

  “Because of Ben and Sami. They worked to show the holes in the evidence. My lawyer took it to the judge. And finally, he believed them. But a price had to be paid.” His back itched as if the scars on it mocked him. “I was whipped.”

  Claire winced. “What I saw at the beach, right?”

  He nodded. “That was painful. I stayed in bed for a week after that. The shame I felt in leaving… I lost all hope. Like Thomas, I wanted to die during that time.”

  “Yet you found hope.”

  He swallowed hard and took several deep, calming breaths. “I have.”

  She reached up and ran her hand down his cheek.
“I’m praying Thomas will find the same.”

  He cupped her hand in his. “When people hailed me as a hero, I felt like a fraud because no one knows how low I had to be brought to get to that point.”

  “But you are a hero.” She paused as if collecting her thoughts. “I believe God is sovereign—and that we live in a broken world. It’s hard to deny we’re broken.”

  He couldn’t argue with her there.

  “And I believe as well that nothing is wasted in his economy. He makes no mistakes, even though we question him and struggle against him at times.” Those words came not as someone speaking meaningless platitudes but with empathy that came only from experience. “God brought you to this moment for such a time as this.”

  He took her hand and kissed her palm.

  “That night when we first kissed, you said you worried you wouldn’t make a difference.” She slid onto his lap and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “You will. You already have.”

  He closed his eyes as the last of his emotions welled. “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” she whispered, then kissed his hair. For a few moments, they sat in silence. She finally shifted. “Let me change, and then we can do birthday presents.”

  The remaining tension released in his shoulders. He rose and followed her with his gaze. Oh, so lovely. So beautiful, in mind, body, and soul. His heart filled as he pulled off his socks and shoes and rolled up his sleeves. A match, for sure, and an evening he didn’t want to end.

  He turned off the lamp and headed onto the screened-in porch with her gifts in hand, one large, the other very small. A smile tipped his lips upwards. For now, he settled on feeling the balmy, silky breeze wafting through the screens.

  “Here. A gift for you.” Dim light filled the area as Claire turned on one of the lamps beside the couch and set a gaily wrapped box on the coffee table. She’d changed from her dress into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.

  He grinned. “Do tell.”

  “Oh, no. You’ve got to open it.”

  He eased the tape off the paper and frowned at the Arabic writing on the cardboard box. “What is this?”

  “Open it.”

  He popped the tape and raised the lid. He shoved aside the paper shreds. As he lifted one of the four heavy mugs, he stared. The white ceramic was emblazoned with the SANG coat of arms. “Where did you get these?”

  She snuggled close. “I had some help. Ben called Sami. And Sami sent them. Just call it happy birthday from everyone and an inter-continental effort. So the coffee goes into the mugs, and the spoons stir it and hopefully stir good memories as well.” She leaned forward and pecked him on the lips. “Happy birthday, beloved.”

  “Thank you.” He forced down his emotion. “And for you.”

  He lifted the larger package.

  She ripped off the paper without hesitation. “Ooooh.” She grinned as she ran her finger down a box of drawing pencils. “And totally new ones at that.”

  “I noticed you were running low.”

  “You noticed right. Thank you.”

  “And one more for you.”

  “Ziad…” She stared at the smaller box he produced. “What…”

  “Open it.”

  She took her time with this one and opened the black velvet box. A little gasp escaped her as she stared at the diamond pendant. “Oh, Ziad.”

  Carefully, she freed the delicate silver chain and held it up.

  Pleasure filled Ziad as it sparkled in the lamplight. He’d spent a couple of hours selecting the right diamond. It had cost him dearly, but Claire was more than worth it. “Shall I put it on you?”

  She nodded and slid to the edge of the couch with her back to him as she raised her hair to reveal the nape of her neck. He hooked it, then kissed that beautiful skin. “I love you.”

  She stilled. “I love you as well.”

  He reached past her and turned out the light. In the sudden darkness, he felt her shift—right into his arms. Smoothing back her hair, he kissed her again, then deepened it. Tonight, right then, despite the horrific events that had led him to Charleston, he truly felt at home in his new country for the first time.

  31

  Knocking reached Ziad. What… He grumbled and turned onto his stomach as he burrowed further under the covers. He closed his eyes. More sleep. He really needed it at that point.

  The banging resumed. “Ziad? Hey, Ziad!”

  The doorbell rang.

  Ziad finally propped one eye open as he swiped at the drool at the corner of his mouth. “Huh?”

  “Ziad, my friend. You in there?”

  Ziad glanced at the clock. Noon! Oh, no. He popped upright and stumbled around like a stunned puppy. Somehow, he snagged his undershirt off the foot of the bed where he’d dropped it when he’d staggered upstairs in the wee hours of the morning. He thumped down the steps and flung open the door.

  Resplendent in dress pants and dress shirt with his gun and badge on his belt, Ben grinned. “Looks like someone needs his beauty sleep.”

  Ziad grunted and retreated to the kitchen.

  “Not a morning person—or afternoon person—I should say.”

  Ziad scooped some coffee grounds into the coffeemaker. “I did not get to sleep until after three.”

  Ben’s eyebrow quirked upward. “Oh?”

  Unwilling to say anything further, Ziad rested his elbows on the counter and put his face in his hands.

  “You’re a hero, my friend.”

  Something skidded into his arms.

  Ziad stared at the newspaper. There, front and center and above the fold, sat a picture of him from the night before as he hugged Claire. His eyes widened as he stared at the caption.

  Charleston Police Department rookie reserve officer Ziad al-Kazim hugs Claire Montgomery after he rescues a teen-aged boy from a suicide attempt at Ravenel Bridge.

  He studied the picture. Tendons showed in his hands where he gripped Claire. He swallowed hard as he realized again how easily things could have gone the other way.

  “You even made the national news.”

  “What?”

  “It’s all over the networks. Fox. CNN. You name it. It’s there. Even al-Jazeera.”

  Ziad yanked his laptop, which he’d left on the bar, to himself. He located the al-Jazeera site. Sure enough, not front and center but a little further down, was the article. It seemed to be something standard the Associated Press had run. Al-Jazeera must have picked up the story off the wire. “Ben, this is—”

  “Incredible?” Ben asked in Arabic with a wink.

  Ziad lifted his gaze. “No. Worrisome.”

  Ben’s smile faded. “Are you concerned Prince Yasin will see you?”

  “Perhaps,” Ziad replied in the same language. “You’re investigating a Zap outbreak. He may be concerned I’m helping.”

  “If they know who is on the task force. Look.” Ben leaned against the bar. “I would not worry, my friend. This is going to be back-page news here locally tomorrow. And judging by the way the news cycle runs, it will not be anywhere on the networks in about three or four hours. Say, you still want to have lunch together?”

  Ziad groaned as he poured himself a stout mug of coffee. “If you don’t mind a long one.”

  “Hey, no worries on my end.” He chuckled and continued in English, “This will be a working lunch for me. Go get cleaned up. I’ll just get my own mug of coffee if you don’t mind.”

  As the caffeine began awakening him, Ziad scrambled upward. He whizzed through his shower in a record five minutes. Once dressed in a pair of khakis and a Charleston Police Department golf shirt, he headed back downstairs.

  “Well, don’t you clean up nicely.” Ben grinned. “Official business today?”

  “Press conference at three.”

  “I can take you there if one of your pals can drop you back here. I saw them guarding the parking lot.”

  “The PIO told the press to leave me alone, that I would be at the press conference.�
��

  “Hmmm. Well, if that doesn’t work, maybe my badge and gun will. C’mon. Lunch awaits us.”

  Once at a Tex-Mex fast food joint, they found a secluded table in the shade outside. Ben pulled out a small notepad. In Arabic, he said, “I have good news, and I have bad news. The good news is that, because of your involvement with the Zap case in Saudi, Angie and Sonja Williams convinced the task force members to read you in on where we are. But if you say a word about this to anyone, then it’s my badge on the line. Bad news is, you cannot officially be a member of the task force since you are not a sworn member of law enforcement.”

  Good enough. Ziad nodded. “I appreciate your effort. What do you know?”

  “We have hit pay dirt.”

  “How so?”

  “First off, we checked out Arthur Pullman, the owner of Pullman’s Antiques. Nothing there. He is pretty clueless, we believe. He has a clerk who goes by the name of Prissy Parker. No kidding on the name,” Ben added in English before continuing in Arabic, “She was the one who was working that day we visited the shop. She knew Daoud al-Rashid because of the way they interacted. We are pretty sure she let Yousif Ali into a back room. Not that we can verify a deal went down, except for one thing.”

  “Oh?”

  “We have more DOAs turning up at local hospitals. Four people, three of them teens, have turned up dead. So sixteen in five months. And it is about three or so weeks after we think we saw a deal.”

  Ziad nodded.

  “We also did some digging on Daoud al-Rashid. He knows Prissy, and he also knows Mike Winthrop, the guy who helped me with the Forester. Seems they lift weights together at the same gym. We put them under surveillance a couple of weeks ago.”

  “And?”

  “They are pals. And they also hang out with Prissy.”

  “Does she have a tattoo as well?”

  “Not that we have seen. Believe me, I have had our guys focus on her hands.” Ben shifted in his chair and snagged some chips and salsa. “It makes me wonder if she is a go-between and nothing more, like maybe she does not know what is going on.”

  Ziad thought about that one. “In those months I worked the case in the Kingdom, I saw no woman.”