“Prince Yasin usually does his playing in Las Vegas. Twice a year, he goes there and spends a couple of weeks, probably gambling and doing whatever spoiled Saudi princes do when in Sin City.” She tapped some keys. “That’s been going on for years. A few weeks ago, right before Thanksgiving, he flew into the country, into Dulles, matter of fact.”
“Right before the raid happened,” Ziad muttered. “To oversee his operation from a little closer.”
“Maybe.” Angie tapped some more keys. “He left the Saturday after Thanksgiving. That’s a mighty fast trip for one coming from so far, and it definitely breaks his MO. I think this warrants some checking out. I’ll get my agents in Virginia to head to the mosque, see if someone can’t place him there, especially if they saw him chatting with John Brown.”
“Angie, thanks.” Detective Rothschild straightened. “I’ve got a bad feeling this happened in retribution for the Zap raid.”
Worry unfurled in Ziad’s heart. “Claire could be in grave danger.”
“You’ll get no argument from me.” He nodded. “I’ll get some guards on her. Twenty-four-seven.”
Angie lowered the lid on her laptop. “In the meantime, I’m calling up Ben’s replacement in Jeddah. Now we officially need the SANG file on your Zap investigation, Ziad. Maybe he can demand it from General al-Talil. I’ll keep you posted.”
Good luck on that. Ziad wondered how many threats of an international incident it would take before the general agreed.
With a wave of her hand, Angie swished from the room.
Detective Rothschild picked up his notepad. “I think we’re done here. I’ll wrap things up downstairs. Go ahead to the hospital. I’m sure Claire will be glad to see you.”
Ziad headed to his 4Runner. As he waited for the heater to begin working, he tapped his fingers on the wheel. His phone pinged.
A text from Ben.
He snatched it up.
We’re on go. He nearly heard his friend’s voice. Pray that by this time tomorrow, Claire will be able to move her toes.
Ziad carefully placed the phone in the cup holder. Claire had suffered because of him. Even if he couldn’t fully connect the dots, he knew his actions almost two years before had culminated in the woman he loved nearly dying. Guilt sucked away his joy. He couldn’t face her, not with knowing what he did.
With a heavy heart, he turned his wheels away from the hospital and toward Mount Pleasant.
39
“I hate this.” Late afternoon on Christmas Eve, two weeks after surgery had restored movement to her legs, Claire sat in a wheelchair as Emma pushed her from the bathroom into her room at the rehabilitation center adjoining the hospital.
“I know.” Her sister touched her hair. “Just one more week. Once you walk, you’ll be free and clear of this.”
“And the brace,” she grumbled. Thanks to a rigid brace encasing her from just beneath her arms all the way to her hips, she couldn’t bend or twist her torso a bit.
“All in good time.” Emma parked the chair next to the bed and set the brakes. “Okay. You ready?”
Claire took her hands. “Ready.”
Emma leveraged her off the seat. Together, they shifted, and Emma eased her into a reclining position on the bed. “How’s the back?”
“Not complaining at the moment.” Claire grimaced. “Not like it did earlier today. Your pal Mike’s a taskmaster. I didn’t know simply standing without the brace could be so difficult.”
Emma smiled. “Mike works everyone hard.”
The door to Claire’s room opened, and Ben stepped through. “Hey, beautiful ladies. Santa’s here.”
Claire peered at the bags. “What did you bring me?”
“Gifts.” He set a shopping bag on the foot of her bed. “I’ll put these under the tree here.” He shoved several gaily wrapped packages beneath a small tree Claire’s mother had set up the day she moved into rehab. “Which one do you want to open tonight?”
“Oooh. That one.” Claire pointed to a large box.
“Here ya go.” He handed it to her. A grin twitched his lips.
“Okay. Now I’m suspicious.” Claire ripped away the paper. She chuckled when she pulled out a stuffed turtle. “What on earth?”
Emma eased onto the foot of the bed. “When you first got the brace, you told the doc that if you were flopped on your back, you’d kick your arms and legs like a turtle because there was no way to right yourself. I couldn’t resist.”
“He’s cute.” Claire cradled him against her chest. “Thanks, Em.” She glanced at the clock. “Hadn’t you better get going since you’re singing?”
“We’ve still got a bit.”
Claire swallowed hard as the Christmas music playing on the radio shifted to one about home and family. Before she realized it, she blurted, “I miss Ziad.” Her gaze slid to the red silk rose Emma had placed in a bud vase and set on a shelf next to her bed. “How is he?”
“He’s okay.” Ben settled on a recliner. “He’s working hard, really hard. His manager at the Quick Fill upped his hours to three quarters time. And he’s working twenty hours as a reserve officer.”
Goodness gracious. He sounded like her—before the accident.
“Was he… was he there when…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish.
Emma touched her foot beneath the blanket. “He was. He was there seconds after the accident.”
Very vaguely, she remembered his voice. And his hand in hers when she lay deep in sedation. Then nothing. “I wish he were here.”
“You know he left that rose for you. It was in your hand when you woke up from surgery.”
Bless the kindness of nurses.
Ben cleared his throat. “He passed the GED with flying colors, says he’s going to look for another job after the New Year.”
Claire nodded. Ziad, I wish you were telling me these things.
“He’s going to church,” Emma murmured. “When he can, that is. He and Ben are really talking.”
Hope ballooned.
No. She couldn’t. It’d be too easy to get shot down in that regard.
Ben rose. “Babe, I hate to say it, but we really do need to go.” He kissed his sister-in-law on the hair. “Hang tough, Claire. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Emma took his hand. “Mama said something about bringing breakfast to you.”
“Thanks, you two. I love you both.”
With a small wave, they slipped through the door.
Claire sighed. Using her control pad, she cut off all of the lights so only the Christmas lights Emma had strung above her bed and those from the tree glowed. She picked up the silk rose and rolled it between her fingers. “Lord, I know you care about us all. You are so personal and care about the smallest sparrow. Help Ziad to see that you love him so much you sent Christ to die for him just as he died for me and for Emma and for Ben and a whole bunch of others. Help him to accept Jesus as his Savior and Lord. Please!”
Tears filled her eyes. Missing Ziad’s arms around her became an almost physical ache.
“And Lord, I’m feeling really down. I miss having family here. Fill me with your presence.” She swallowed hard and swiped at the tear sliding down her cheek. She sniffled and set the rose back in the bud vase before picking up her Bible and reading the Christmas story.
“Silent Night” played on the radio.
Midnight flashed up.
She whispered, “Happy Birthday, Baby Jesus.”
After reclining the bed enough to sleep, she closed her eyes. As she drifted away, she prayed one last time for Ziad.
#####
Shortly after nine on Christmas Eve night, Ziad dragged himself up the stairs to his apartment. He’d worked sixteen hours straight that day, all because no one wanted to work on Christmas Eve. Yassir, his manager, had shrugged. “They want off. You’re Muslim like me. Why not take advantage of the day and earn some cash?”
Except earning money had only increased his loneliness as he watched families co
me and go.
No matter. He was done now. He could sleep.
After his last prayers.
Slipping into a white thobe, he knelt and began them.
His words echoed off the high ceilings into stillness. As he sat back on his heels, he peered around him.
Stark.
Black furniture. Not a magazine dared cross the coffee table.
And no signs of a woman’s touch.
No curtains, plants, or even a cheerfully colored afghan like Claire had at her house.
It doesn’t have to be that way.
Ziad frowned. He shook his head. “I am hearing things now.”
Once more, the emptiness of the room gnawed at his soul.
He pushed down his loneliness and smothered a yawn. Time to head to bed so he could be at the Quick Fill by seven.
The dream came again.
This time, Claire and Sabirah sat across from each other. The golden scales had a C carved into the base.
Then came the stones.
One on the Hasana’at tray.
More there.
He nodded. Claire was a good person.
But then came one for the Sayia’at tray. A big one tipping the whole thing.
Why?
More stones on the Hasana’at tray failed to move the scales.
“No, Claire, not you!”
Neither woman heard him.
The Sayia’at tray tipped more.
They came to the last stone.
He jumped up. “No!”
A man joined them, this one dressed in a white thobe and with rugged features and olive tones that seemed familiar to him. He carried something covered in velvet
Maybe I saw him on the streets of Jeddah.
The man knelt and set his burden near Claire’s scales. He pulled away the fabric.
Ziad gasped as he noted his own scales, its Sayia’at tray tipping more than Claire’s.
With one swoop of his hand, the man toppled hers. It melted into a glowing pile of gold.
Claire and Sabirah hugged.
The man held out his hand for one last stone.
Ziad gasped as he stared at the hole in the man’s wrist. Something red tinged his side, something that looked like…
Ziad’s jaw dropped. “Blood.”
The man took the stone and hurled it so hard it vanished over the horizon.
He touched Claire’s hair, then Sabirah’s.
He raised his gaze.
Ziad froze.
His insides quaked as the man locked him in his penetrating stare.
A kind smile crossed the man’s face. He knocked over Ziad’s scales, which melted into its own pile of gold. The man rose and held out his hand. “Come, follow me.”
Ziad’s eyes flew open as he released a hard breath. He stared into nothingness. Only the blue glow of the clock on the nightstand provided any relief. He pushed himself upright and sat there on the edge of the mattress for a moment.
Restlessness swelled within him until he could do nothing but pace. He jumped up, pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a SANG sweatshirt, and dashed downstairs. He scrubbed a hand through his hair as he muttered in Arabic, “I don’t understand. I just don’t understand.”
Suddenly, it all came flying back to him, the dream he’d had a couple of weeks before and the most recent one. Though she was a good person, Claire, standing on her own merit, would still see her bad works outweigh her good. Allah would not view her in a good light. But now? And the fate of his own scales?
Recognition dawned. “Isa.”
He’d seen Isa there with his former wife and Claire.
The way he’d looked at him…
Ziad shivered. Isa had seen into the furthest, dirtiest depths of his soul, into parts even Ziad refused to acknowledge. In a flash, it came clear to him. No matter how hard he tried under his own power, his good works never outweighed his bad. Isa had come, had died for him as only the marks could attest. Isa had done all of the work.
His heart began hammering as a passage of Scripture Ben had shared with him came to mind. I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your old men will dream dreams, your young men will see visions.
He whipped around and stared at the dormant fireplace. “God, is it true? Have you been speaking to me through these dreams?”
Ziad’s knees began shaking so badly he had to kneel. As if someone pushed him toward the floor, he bowed. His voice shook as he confessed in Arabic, “God, forgive me. Forgive me for my stubbornness, my pride, my bad works.” He collapsed onto his side. “Now I know I’ll never be able to do enough good works to get to heaven. I can’t do this on my own.” He swallowed hard. “I need Isa.” His fingers clenched the carpet. A small sob escaped him. A single tear slid over the bridge of his nose and dripped onto his hand. “Take this burden from me.”
His breath eased from ragged gasps. He lay on the carpet for a few more minutes, then turned onto his back and stared at the still ceiling fan. Was that it? All he had to do? He thought about his conversation with Ben. Yes, it was. Joy filled him, and he rested in its afterglow for a while.
Claire. Suddenly, he wanted to rush to the rehabilitation center and tell her.
That weight fell back onto his shoulders, once more nearly crushing him.
She’d nearly died because of him. He wouldn’t endanger her further.
Not then. Not ever.
40
“Officer al-Kazim, thank you for your testimony.” Sonja Williams smiled at Ziad, who sat on the witness stand of a courtroom. She turned to the judge. “Your Honor, I have no further questions.”
The judge nodded at Ziad. “Officer al-Kazim, I appreciate your candor. You may step down.”
Ziad stood. He ignored Shannon Radcliffe, the woman who’d hit him in June, as she glared at him. He returned to the gallery and seated himself behind the prosecutor’s table.
“Good job, Big Z,” Eddie murmured. “She doesn’t have anywhere to go now.”
The judge leaned forward. “Ms. Williams, Mr. Dunforth, approach the bench, please.”
As the two attorneys joined him, Ziad listened. He caught snippets of the conversation.
“It’s after lunch on New Year’s Eve,” the judge said. “I’m… no case… need a decision… or jail time… five minutes.”
“What are they discussing?” Ziad whispered as the defense attorney returned to the table to consult with his client.
Eddie rubbed his chin. “Most likely, Judge Ayers wants to adjourn.”
Ziad peered at Sonja, who leaned against the edge of the witness stand. She still wore her game face.
Brow furrowed and lips pressed together, the defense attorney approached the bench. “My client has decided to plead guilty.”
The judge peered over his reading glasses. “Let the guilty plea be entered. Ms. Radcliffe, please rise. I hereby revoke your license for a year and require you to attend an outpatient treatment program. Upon completion of that, you will be required to do a hundred hours of community service followed by three years’ probation. A DUI during your probation will result in permanent suspension of your license.”
He faced the gallery. “I now declare today’s court session adjourned until after the New Year.”
Gavel tapped on wood.
Ziad rose and shrugged into his jacket. He followed Eddie into the hall and outside. “My first true court case beyond traffic court.”
“And you did good.” Eddie clapped him on the back. “See you next year.”
Suddenly uncertain, Ziad paused at the base of the courthouse’s marble steps. What did he want to do? Returning to his apartment promised nothing but loneliness. His friends on the force already had plans. He could go see Claire—
He stopped the thought. He couldn’t. She’d ask about his role in her predicament.
“Ziad!”
He turned and found Sonja, her wool coat billowing behind her, hustling down the steps.
; She stopped. “You did a great job back there. Thanks for your work on the case.”
“It was my pleasure.” He drew in a breath.
She peered at him. “Okay. What’s going on?”
Maybe she could help. “May I interest you in a cup of coffee?”
A smile quirked her full lips. “Sure. I’ve got a little bit before I have to head home to get ready for tonight. Where to?”
They wound up at the Starbucks on King Street on the second floor and seated themselves at the very table where he and Ben had met the June before.
Sonja cocked a perfectly coiffed eyebrow. “Somehow, I don’t think it’s standard practice for you to ask a married woman to coffee. Especially the best friend of the woman you love.”
That got a smile. “I know. A year ago, this would have never happened.”
“What’s up?”
“How is Claire?”
Sonja added some sugar to her coffee. “She misses you tons. She hasn’t said as much, but every time I’ve been there, I’ve caught her looking either at your picture or that silly silk rose you gave her. She knows you’re respecting the boundaries of your faith differences.”
He swallowed hard and finally asked the question that had been bothering him for more than a week. “Does she know what happened?”
“During the carjacking?” Sonja sipped her drink. “When she was well enough, Alan Rothschild debriefed her.”
Guilt pressed down on him.
“She doesn’t blame you. Alan called you a hero, and you are. Look.” She rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I was on the Zap task force, remember? I know all about these guys we took down. They’re vicious. I don’t know another way to say it.”
He couldn’t disagree. “If Isa can forgive me, why can I not forgive myself?”
“There’s no way—Wait.” She peered at him. “Did I hear you right?”
“I…” He tried to reach for the English words to describe that night. “I saw Isa—Jesus. I now know he died for me.”
Her eyes widened, and they began sparkling with unshed tears. “Wow!”
His cheeks heated. “It is not that big of a—”
“That big of a deal?” She wiped the corner of her eye. “It is. You don’t know how many have been praying for you.”
Exiled Heart Page 32
