Hud gave both men a quick examination. Layah’s cousins appeared comfortable with their weapons, but they were no match for him physically. He could disarm one and kill the other in the blink of an eye.
“You must stay with us,” she said, as if she could read his mind. “The Yazidi have taken a great risk by giving us refuge. They know you were a Da’esh prisoner, and they will not allow you to endanger them by getting recaptured.”
“So your men won’t shoot me, but the Yazidi will?”
“If you leave our group, yes. They will shoot you to protect their families.”
He adjusted the straps on his pack. She’d chosen to begin their journey at midmorning for a reason. She wanted him to be seen by the villagers, who would help her keep him in line. “How convenient.”
“You fault me for warning you?”
“No. I fault you for threatening me with violence while pretending you’re above it.”
Her cheeks flushed a dusky rose. “I pretend nothing.”
He studied her face, remembering her heated response to their bedroom tussle. She might not be a faker, but she wasn’t honest, either. And his body didn’t seem to care. If anything, his anger and resentment had stoked his desire. He felt outmaneuvered by her, and the caveman in him wanted to flip things around. He wanted to get back on top and pin her underneath him.
But that wasn’t going to happen, so he dropped the subject and started walking. Challenging her wouldn’t improve his situation. It would only make him want to crush his mouth over hers in retaliation. He told himself it was a normal reaction. Any man who’d been taken prisoner by a beautiful woman would think about doing her, and she’d encouraged him to kiss her. She’d given him signals. Of course he was going to fantasize about getting even. Or at least, getting off.
Layah trailed behind him, followed by Ashur and the two cousins. Hud continued down the dirt road, which couldn’t have been more than a mile long. He could see a well-worn path from the village into the mountains, used by goats and sheepherders. It would take a day or more to hike beyond the grazing hills.
After a few minutes, his muscles warmed up and his tension eased. It felt good to be outdoors again. It felt good to be alive. The air was cool and the land was green. He loved climbing. He’d rather die on the side of a mountain than in a dusty tomb. Forced labor wasn’t so bad, and the scenery was excellent.
He could almost hear his comrades’ mocking voices in his head: You’re mad about getting rescued and bossed around by a sexy woman? Dude, what is wrong with you? Did you lose your balls in that explosion?
Thinking about his team members gave Hud pause. Some of them might have died in that explosion—because of him. Because of his choices, his mistakes. He’d been so intent on catching the terrorist who’d killed their interpreter that he’d risked his own life, and the lives of his best friends. That didn’t sit well with him. He needed to stop lusting after Layah and concentrate on his main objective. He could still ditch her in the mountains. He felt strong, like he could hike forever.
As they started up the goat path, Layah fell into step beside him. “You are unhappy about our partnership.”
He arched a brow. “This isn’t a partnership.”
“I would like it to be.”
“I think what you’d like is for me to follow your orders with a smile.”
She gestured toward the summit. “Up there, you will be giving the orders.”
He glanced that direction, trying not to feel excited by the prospect. The lure of a dangerous challenge beckoned.
“The journey will be difficult, but it is the best way. Soon we will all be smiling in celebration of our success.” Her lips formed a tentative curve that was half peace offering, half propaganda.
“You don’t have to sell it to me, Doc. The threat of being shot by Yazidis already did the trick.”
“I wish for harmony between us, not strife.”
He squinted at her wording. “Did you learn English from a brochure?”
“No. I learned it in Baghdad.”
“Why do you cover your hair?”
She blinked in surprise. “What?”
“You aren’t Muslim.”
“Many non-Muslim women wear a hijab.”
“Out of fear?”
“There are other reasons. Assyrian women have been wearing them since Biblical times. I do it to be respectful, to keep the dust out of my hair and so I can travel without attracting attention.”
He doubted she could travel anywhere unnoticed, with that face. He wanted to ask more questions, to interrogate her about every detail of her life. Instead he pulled ahead, ending the conversation. She was a fascinating woman, but he couldn’t afford to get sucked in.
The steady climb kept him busy for the next few hours. He set a punishing pace to see if they could match it. They couldn’t, but there were no complaints. No one requested a break. Soon he was sweating, his leg muscles burning.
He spotted a plateau where they could rest. A glance over his shoulder revealed Layah in front of the others, flushed with exertion and struggling to catch up with him. He accelerated, leaving them behind.
When he reached the plateau, he found a motley group of refugees awaiting him. Two sturdy-looking, dark-haired men stood in front of a half-dozen women. Packs were scattered around in a circle. The men looked wary, uncertain if he was friend or foe. They hadn’t expected him to arrive alone.
Hud said hello in Arabic, which was about the extent of his vocabulary. Then he took off his pack and sat down to drink water. He was light-headed from the last push. All the refugees approached to introduce themselves, saying names he couldn’t make sense of. It was an incomprehensible mix of sounds.
“Hudson,” he said, touching his chest.
“American,” someone said. “American, yes?”
He gulped more water. “American. Yes. Hoorah.”
There were several cheers, as if he was here to save them.
