He wanted to tear the map into shreds. It embodied his feelings of anger and frustration. The journey had been stressful, dangerous and thrilling at turns. He liked Layah, and he admired her tenacity, but that didn’t mean he forgave her deception. The only thing worse than being stranded in a war zone was being stranded in a war zone without clear borders.
He folded the map and put it back. As he pulled his hand free, he felt a distinctive rectangular shape against his fingertips.
Bingo.
He found the opening of a small pocket and searched it, his pulse racing. What he discovered inside wasn’t the cell phone he’d expected. It was a pair of passports, secured with a rubber band.
He released the band and opened the first passport book. It was Layah’s. She’d been to Syria, Jordan, Israel, Greece, even France. Her travel itinerary didn’t scream “destitute refugee” to him. The second passbook belonged to Khalil Al-Farah. Hud studied his photograph. He was dark and handsome, with laughing eyes. Hud flipped through the pages, noting that Khalil had visited many of the same countries Layah had. He’d also been to places she hadn’t, like Egypt and Saudi Arabia.
Hud pictured the stunning couple on sunny beaches together, or visiting ancient sites. He pictured them on a romantic honeymoon. This was the man Layah had married. The man who’d seen and touched all the places she kept hidden.
Hud was intensely jealous of Khalil Al-Farah, who seemed very much alive in her thoughts. Two years after his death, she’d stayed true. She spoke his name in her sleep. His passbook was intimately entwined with hers.
She was still in love with him.
Hud returned Khalil’s passport to her pack and slipped Layah’s into his pocket. He wanted to separate them for stupid, possessive reasons. He had strategic reasons, as well. He needed something of hers to use as leverage. A little insurance, in case she tried to screw him. She’d promised him freedom. He had to make sure she delivered.
He emerged from the tent with a darker outlook. He’d been dazzled by her beauty, and that was understandable, but he couldn’t afford to get played. She was a very perceptive person. She sensed his desires, his preferences, his turn-ons.
She’d pegged him earlier. He was aroused by danger. He liked risky situations. And he’d always been attracted to the wrong women.
Take Michelle, for example. He’d met her at a bar, which wasn’t unusual for him. SEALs were work-hard, play-hard types, and he’d indulged in his share of one-night stands. Michelle had been fun and hot and wild. He’d wanted to settle down, but not with someone boring. They went to Vegas one weekend for a quickie wedding. He’d known she was a handful—he just thought he could handle her. He’d imagined their marriage would have ups and downs, like a roller coaster. Instead it was a train wreck from start to finish.
He shook off the bad memories and sat down by the fire, near Layah. Yusef placed the skinned carcass on a rotisserie over the flames. For the next hour, Hud stared into the animal’s dead eyes.
The mood in the camp was jovial, with lively conversations punctuated by laughter. Husbands cuddled wives. Layah stayed quiet, and she didn’t translate for Hud. She seemed lost in her own thoughts. When Aram sent around a small bottle of liquor, she passed it to Hud. The bottle was almost empty, so Hud gave his share to Ashur.
The boy drained the bottle with relish. He sputtered and coughed uncontrollably. Everyone roared with laughter except Layah. Hud understood her concerns, but he also knew how it felt to be a sad, angry kid on the cusp of manhood.
They ate well that night. Hud went to bed early, his body sore and his mind in turmoil. When Layah joined him, he pretended to be asleep. She curled up on her side, facing his back. He sensed her reaching hand, suspended near his shoulder, but she didn’t touch him. He waited until her breaths were deep and even.
Then he let himself drift.
Chapter 10
Layah woke up shivering.
It was dawn, or even earlier. She could see her breath in the chilly air. Hudson was crouched at the front of the tent, looking out. He’d taken her sheepskin and her blanket. All the bedding was folded and stacked in the corner.
He glanced over his shoulder and made a series of complicated hand signals. It appeared to be some kind of military communication that she had no hope of understanding. Then he returned his attention to the tent flap.
She rubbed her eyes in confusion. She didn’t hear any sounds, other than someone snoring, and Hudson wasn’t actually looking outside. The mesh panel at the top of the tent flap was covered by nylon, zipped up tight. He couldn’t see through it.
He was dreaming.
She didn’t want to startle him by speaking, but she was cold. She reached for the blankets he’d stacked in the corner. He caught the movement and leaped into action. Before she could draw a breath, she was facedown underneath him. He straddled her waist and wrenched her arms behind her back. Quick as lightning, he grasped both her wrists with one hand and grabbed a handful of her hair with the other.
She smothered a scream, trying not to panic. He could probably snap her neck like a twig. “Hudson, stop. It is Layah.”
He loosened his grip on her hair. “Layah?”
“Yes.”
With a muttered curse, he climbed off her. She rolled away from him and sat forward, straightening her mussed hair. He stared at her in horror. Then he looked down at his hands as if he didn’t recognize them. “I hurt you.”
“No.”
“What did I do?”
“You were crouched like a tiger, and you jumped on
