by Barbara Gee
At night, in the dark, was the only time he allowed himself to think about her. When he went to bed each night, he silently recited the collection of verses she’d faithfully texted him, and he tried to pray. Sometimes he felt better afterward, as if God actually was listening and watching over him, as Izzy so firmly believed. Other times, he felt he was just going through the motions, much like he did during the day when he pretended to be a devoted Muslim.
It was hard to have two different religions fighting for space in his mind. During the day, he had to be at every prayer, kneeling on the prayer mat facing the east, muttering words that meant nothing to him. Meaningful or not, it was imperative he keep all things Islam constantly in mind. He had to be ready to spew passages from the Quran whenever it was appropriate or called for. So far that had been multiple times per day. Khalud was still testing him, still waiting for him to screw up.
The man was impressed with Tanner’s explosives knowledge, but it would be a while before he trusted him with any confidential information. He hadn’t even told Tanner why he needed a bomb builder. He said it didn’t matter—he had paid his fee, and Tanner was now under his command. He was to follow the rules, continue to prove his usefulness and knowledge, and wait for further instructions, whenever they came.
It was only when he went to bed that Tanner could allow himself to relax, to finally let go of the rigid control he had to maintain during the day. At night, he could finally let go of all things Islam, and that was when he recited the verses in his head, and tried to remember the things Izzy and the others had told him. Don’t think of it as religion, Tuck had said. Think of Christ.
Tanner thought about that concept a lot. Khalud was a man consumed by religion. His every move was an effort to gain favor with Allah. And yet his beloved Islam required much different things of him than the Islam of most. One prophet, one Allah, one Quran. Such different interpretations. The vast majority saw it as a religion of peace. The ones who used it to justify their hate and violence—they were the reason Tanner was on a hard bed in a noisy house in a bad section of Washington DC, instead of at the Full Heart Ranch with the girl he loved.
Tanner pictured the peace and happiness in Izzy’s eyes. She somehow managed to find joy in each day, even the hard ones. She said that was because of Jesus, and she’d been pretty convincing when she’d insisted he could have it, too.
He adjusted his pillow yet again and sighed wearily, wondering if she was right. It seemed so far out of reach, but man, he could use a little of that peace and joy right about now.
Something banged against the wall down below, but it barely registered with Tanner. His mind was now back at the ranch. Izzy was an hour behind him, so she was probably finishing up for the day, getting ready for bed. He rolled onto his back and pressed his palms against his eyes. What he wouldn’t give to hold her. To see her beautiful smile.
Missing a girl added a whole new dimension to being undercover, and Tanner instinctively knew it could be dangerous. Maintaining focus, becoming his cover—in this case Aazim—was the key to a successful mission. For the first time, Tanner had a distraction on the outside. He could never regret meeting Izzy, but the timing could definitely have been better. He’d just need to up his game to ensure his weakness wouldn’t be his downfall.
He rolled onto his side again, grateful that the noise from downstairs had ceased, at least for now. If he was lucky, he’d be sleeping deeply enough to not be bothered if it started up again.
Three weeks and counting. He could do this.
CHAPTER 23
Six weeks in the books.
While Izzy had believed she was doing pretty good at getting through each day, throwing herself into her work and also making a point to spend time with her friends, God apparently had other ideas. He must have decided shoving Tanner to the back of her mind when she was working wasn’t enough. He must have thought it was important to provide her with a few hours every day when she couldn’t think about Tanner at all.
In order to provide her with this ultimate distraction, God had found the most off-the-charts frustrating person—one who would be able to push all of Izzy’s buttons and then find some new ones—and bring him to the Full Heart Ranch.
Izzy had to give the man upstairs a lot of credit. If a new distraction was what she needed, nothing, or no one, could possibly be more effective than Boone’s injured teammate, Vince Abbott. The man had arrived on the ranch nine days ago, and when she was working with him, it was impossible to think about anything else, Tanner included.
It wasn’t because Vince was good-looking, funny, or a good conversationalist, although he was all those things. No, Boone’s Minnesota Wild teammate took her mind off Tanner simply because he required her complete and undivided attention during every minute of their twice-daily sessions.
Simply put, Vince Abbott was a nightmare client. A nice enough guy, but an absolute nightmare to work with. After her very first day of dealing with him, Izzy had already decided Boone and Jolene would owe her for the next five years, at least, for taking him on.
Twice a day, for the entire off-week and weekend, she’d been meeting with the talented hockey player who had sustained a hand injury during the season, and more recently, been in a motorcycle accident that had badly messed up his shoulder. The hand injury had come during a game, courtesy of a razor-sharp, tendon-slicing skate blade, but the shoulder injury had occurred after he'd been put on the long-term injured reserve list. To make it worse, riding a motorcycle was strictly forbidden by his team management. He’d been fined a lot of money, and was lucky it was his first such infraction, because he’d almost been cut loose for the careless act.
Instead, Boone had convinced the team’s general manager to send him to the Full Heart Ranch for the remaining eight weeks of the off-season. The ranch was where Boone himself had recovered from his concussion two years earlier, so his team management had knowledge of the place, and they also knew Jolene. The original plan had been for Jolene to take on Vince’s case herself, but her time with Boone was already so limited, and Izzy hated to see her add another two to three hours to her workday.
In what she now saw as an impulsive and regrettable decision, Izzy had offered to work with Vince. “It’s not like I have anything better to do,” she’d said, “and it’s best if I keep busy, anyway. It helps the days pass faster.”
Then she had the pleasure-slash-misfortune of actually meeting Vince, and discovered that the big, handsome, gregarious hockey player was interested in everything except his physical therapy.
What a disappointment. Izzy had been intrigued by the opportunity to work with an athlete of Vince’s caliber, but she’d realized right from the beginning there was a problem. Most professional athletes were so panicked at the thought of not recovering one hundred percent of their abilities after an injury that they worked their butts off, and then some. The issue was usually trying to keep them from doing too much, rather than not enough.
Not Vince, though. He tried everything to distract her from putting him through the paces. First he flirted. He was very accomplished at that particular art, and if she hadn’t already been in love with another man, Izzy had to admit she might have been at least somewhat susceptible to his charms.
Once she’d managed to convince him she was well and truly taken and not interested in him in that way, Vince had switched to regaling her with stories about his past exploits. As she’d tried to get him to focus on his therapy, she heard all about women, stalkers, vacations, his cars, and his houses. When he talked, he stopped what he was doing altogether. He just sat there and ran his mouth, talking about anything he could think of—except hockey, which he never mentioned, and only reluctantly answered her questions about. The few times she’d managed to get him to go all the way through the exercises and routines she’d devised for him, he gave very little effort, and sulked noticeably.
When Izzy realized the man had no desire to work on his hand and shoulder, and hated talking about the game that en
abled his cushy lifestyle, she knew she needed to talk to Jolene. Unfortunately, she and Boone had decided to take Virgil and Kay Desmond on a ten day vacation to Alaska—ironically made possible by Izzy’s offer to handle Vince’s therapy. As a result, Jolene wasn’t here when she needed her.
On Saturday, her ninth day of working with the man, Izzy was about to pull her hair out. Jolene would be back the next day and Izzy had planned to talk with her before confronting Vince, but after another long, wasted hour of trying to keep the man on task, she finally snapped.
She grabbed the handles for the cable fly machine out of his limp hands, stopping him mid-story—which was something about his dog carrying off the “girl of the moment’s” clothes. She flung the handles aside and stood in front of him with her hands on her hips. He raised his brows in surprise but didn’t speak.
She cocked her head, looking at him speculatively. “So. Vince. While this has been a very interesting week of finding out all about the life and times of Vincent Abbott, I realize there’s one question that none of your stories has addressed, and it’s kind of important I know the answer.”
He gave a charming smile and raised his hands. “I’m an open book, Izzy. What’s your question?”
She narrowed her eyes and folded her arms across her chest. “When did you decide you don’t want to play hockey anymore? Was it after the injury to your hand, or after your crash?”
Her question hung in the air, and he stilled, the friendly light fading from his blue eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“Just asking a question, Vince, because the hours I’ve spent with you so far have been a complete waste of my time. I can’t help you if you don’t want to be helped. And you most definitely don’t want to be helped.”
“You have no idea what I want or don’t want,” he snarled, his eyes suddenly furious. “Give me those cables.”
“Why, so you can pretend you’re making an effort?” Izzy shook her head. “You’ve already wasted enough of my time. I can’t force you to care about your recovery. If you gave even a tenth as much effort as the veterans who come here, you’d already be seeing some progress. As it is, you’re holding your own at best. Certainly not improving.”
“Whatever.” He picked up his towel and stalked toward the door. “Sorry for wasting your precious time.”
“Don’t walk away from me,” Izzy said sternly, knowing she couldn’t stop him but hoping he was too much of a gentleman to disrespect her.
He stopped but didn’t turn around. “I’ll be heading back to Minneapolis tomorrow, so relax. I won’t be your problem anymore.”
She walked around to face him, glaring up at him. “You’re my problem until Boone or Jolene tell me otherwise. They’ll be back tomorrow. I suggest you stay and talk to them before you leave. Boone has already stuck his neck out for you, and it would be terribly ungrateful of you to tuck your tail between your legs and run before he comes home.”
His jaw clenched. “I’m not running. He’ll know where to find me if he wants to talk.”
She heard a hint of pain below the anger, and in spite of her anger, she felt a twinge of sympathy. Stubborn and frustrating as he was, Izzy realized she wasn’t quite ready to give up on him.
“Whatever you’re facing, Vince, there are people who can help. I’d like to be a part of the solution, but that’s up to you.”
“I need some air,” he said, refusing to meet her eyes.
Izzy decided to be harsh with him, because she felt like someone had to be. “What you need is to be honest with yourself, and talk to someone about what’s going on. About why you don’t want to get better.”
He winced as her blunt words hit him. “You don’t know—”
“I do know there’s something wrong,” she interrupted, “and I don’t believe you can look me in the eye and tell me there isn’t.”
He went to walk past her, but she grabbed onto his arm. “Vince,” she said earnestly. “Talk to me. What’s going on? For nine days, I’ve watched you struggle. You’ve tried everything to distract me, hoping to get by with the bare minimum. I’m too good at my job not to spot underlying issues though, and you’ve got a big one.”
“It’s none of your business,” he said roughly.
“No, probably not, but I want to help just the same. If you’ll let me.” She shrugged and gave him a sad smile. “We all have our own issues, Vince. Keeping everything inside isn’t healthy. I think you know that. You’re suffering, and whether you admit it or not, you want help. You need help. If you don’t trust me, maybe you can talk to Boone.”
Despair flashed in his eyes. “No. Not Boone.”
“He cares about you a lot. I have no doubt you can trust him.”
“It's not about trust. He just wouldn’t understand.”
“Then I guess I’m your only option,” Izzy said, sensing he was about to cave. “Hang on a second, I’m going to go get my stuff. Then we’re going to go my house. I’m going to cook dinner, and you’re going to spill your guts.” When he opened his mouth to protest, she held up a hand and gave him a warning look. “I’m a good listener, and you obviously don’t have anyone else. We’ll talk, and then we’ll figure out what comes next. Okay?”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Does anyone ever say no to you?” he asked, showing a trace of his usual humor.
“They find it difficult,” she replied.
“You're a freaking steamroller.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
He fought it for a few more seconds, and then his shoulders slumped as he abruptly gave in. It was like he simply couldn’t hold up under the weight of his burdens anymore. “I don’t know if you can help, but you’re right,” he said raggedly. “I’m messed up.”
***
Khalud sat back and studied the newest member of his cell, his black eyes narrowed to slits. “You’re questioning the way I run my house? My men?”
“I am,” Tanner said boldly. He knew from experience the only way to earn the respect of a man like Khalud was to come across as strong and devout, motivated by his faith and the wrongs done to his family. He wanted Khalud to see him as a driven man who would do whatever was asked of him, as long as it was the will of Allah and got him one step closer to punishing the country that had caused his family such suffering.
“What exactly is the problem, as you see it?” Khalud wondered, his voice deceptively mild.
“The infidel women constantly coming through here. Their noise disturbs my sleep and it’s too much of a risk to have them in the house. What if someone leaves the weapons room unlocked and they open the door? And why do you allow your men to get drunk out of their minds? How can you be sure they won’t spill your secrets and make the girls suspicious? Do you want a raid of this place? If you can’t be strong with your men here in the house, how do I know you aren’t compromising on other principles?”
Tanner returned the man’s angry gaze without flinching, and went on. “I’m questioning if this is the place for me. I’m sure you know there’s a strong market for my particular skills. I won’t have a problem finding another group who more closely aligns with my goals, and maintains control of its members.”
“You think I’m not devoted to the cause, Aazim?”
Tanner raised his hands, palms up. “All I know is you let your men run wild. Without discipline, we won’t accomplish what you promised.”
Khalud leaned forward, his hands tightly clasped on the table. “I owe you no explanation, Aazim. You are passing judgment without enough knowledge.”
“I know you’re taking unacceptable risks,” Tanner insisted. “I’ve devoted too many years to my work to be caught up in a senseless raid.”
Khalud studied him for another long moment, then seemed to come to a decision. “I have six men in my house. Six very loyal men. The newest one has been with me for two years, the first one came four years ago. None have ever left me.”
“Why would they?” Tanner scoffed.
“They have plenty of food, shelter over their heads, all the alcohol they can drink, and whores every night.”
“I chose them carefully,” Khalud continued, as if Tanner hadn’t spoken. “I find men who are motivated, yet patient. Content to train and be ready, even though they have no knowledge of when they will be called upon. Do you know how long I myself have been here waiting to be called? Waiting, waiting, waiting, always waiting. For six years I’ve waited, first as an underling myself, and then tasked with assembling my own team. And still I wait.”
Tanner let even more anger show. “It was my understanding you hired me because you’re waiting to receive word about an imminent job. If you have nothing in the works, why am I here?”
“Ah, are you so impatient, Aazim?” Khalud asked silkily. “Afraid you’ll be bored? Ready to hunt for a more ‘exciting’ group?”
“I’m already bored. I have no desire to sit here letting my skills go to waste. I’ve been here for six weeks, and I’ve done nothing but answer your questions.”
“That’s not true. You’ve also built some lovely little IEDs to demonstrate your skill.”
“Child’s play,” Tanner scoffed. “I’m tired of trying to prove my loyalty to the cause on such a small scale. So yes, I’m bored and wondering if I made the right choice.”
Khalud threw up his arms. “Exactly!” he said. “You’re bored and frustrated. Can you imagine waiting years to put your skills to work? How would your leader ever convince you to stay when month after month passes by, year after year, and still you receive no glorious assignment to show your devotion to Allah. And yet, your leader must be ready at all times with a trained team in place. When the call comes, he must be ready.”
Tanner tried to figure out what Khalud was saying. The man stared at him, one dark eyebrow raised, waiting for him to comprehend it.
“I have a loyal, trained team,” he said finally, leading Tanner to the conclusion he wanted him to reach. “I must keep them with me so I will be ready when called upon. Yet I can’t force them to stay.”
