“I should kill you the way they killed him,” Ashur said, his hand quivering.
Layah bit the edge of her fist. Hud held very still, silently imploring her not to move. “I know who did it.”
“You lie,” Ashur said.
“No. I didn’t know enough about Hasan, but he was a good interpreter and a good man. He was a member of my team. I cared about him being murdered in the streets. So I investigated his death, and I went after the men responsible. I went all the way to Telskuf.”
Ashur took the blade away from Hud’s throat. “Telskuf?”
“I was convinced that the terrorists who killed your father were in a building in Telskuf. I moved in too fast, and I got trapped. I was filled with fury, so much that it made me reckless. That’s why I told you emotions and killing don’t mix.”
“Who?” Ashur demanded. “Who was it?”
Hud shook his head in denial. The name would poison the boy’s soul.
Ashur pushed past Hud and grabbed a pillow from the opposite bed. He stabbed it repeatedly, making animal sounds of anguish. Feathers floated into the air. It was a poor substitute for the bloodshed he desired.
Layah slid down the wall and sank to the ground. Her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. Hud waited for Ashur to vent his emotions. He understood the boy’s rage and frustration. He knew how it felt to lose control.
When Ashur was finished killing the pillow, he dropped his right arm. Hud moved in and grasped the boy’s wrist. After a short struggle, Ashur let go of the knife. Hud secured it and gave the boy space. Ashur buried his face in the mangled pillow. His thin shoulders shook with silent tears. Layah rushed forward and joined him on the bed. She put her hand on his back, tentative. He turned toward her, seeking the comfort of her embrace.
Hud hid the knife in his pack and retreated to the bathroom. He wiped the blood off his neck and braced his palms on the sink. Summoning calm, he stared at his reflection.
He was in Iran. He was in Iran with a homicidal kid, a band of refugees and a woman who tempted him beyond all reason. This was a total goat screw of a situation. He didn’t know what to do about any of it, especially Layah. He couldn’t seem to guard his heart against her.
He touched the cheek she’d slapped, contemplative. Despite the wrongs she’d done him, he felt closer to her than to any woman he’d ever known. He admired her daring, even when it worked against him. He sympathized with her struggle for freedom and her concerns for Ashur. He still wanted her.
Yeah. He was clearly an idiot. She’d kidnapped him, wrangled him into an impossible journey and subjected him to nonstop danger. She’d lied to him at every turn. She’d used him as a stand-in for her husband. And Hud wasn’t opposed to going another round.
She knocked on the door. “May I come in?”
He let her enter. Of course he did. He might as well lie down and let her walk all over him. She closed the door behind her, moistening her lips. Her hair was uncovered, her eyes wet with tears.
“I’m sorry,” he said stiffly. “I shouldn’t have gone off on you.”
“I should not have slapped you.”
He nodded, though he didn’t consider the offenses equal.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Thank you for your help with Ashur. You are good with him.”
Hud avoided her gaze. He didn’t want to admit that he’d been just like Ashur as a kid, quick-tempered and prone to violence. Maybe Hud was still like that, though he tried not to be. “Is he okay?”
“He is resting,” she said. “I wish to explain myself.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“William—”
“Don’t call me that. Not now.”
She flinched at his words. “I hurt you, and I am sorry.”
“It’s not about hurt feelings. You brought me to Iran.”
“There was no other way.”
He shook his head in disbelief. He’d rather have taken his chances with the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
“We are here for one day only. Tomorrow we go to the Armenian crossing. It is an open border, without fees or restrictions. No documents are required. You will be able to enter Armenia in safety.”
Hud knew what an open border was, but he didn’t trust the Iranians to follow the rules. “Is there a checkpoint?”
“There are customs booths for information.”
“What if we’re stopped before we cross?”
She didn’t have an answer for that.
“Have you been in Iran before?”
“Not since I was a child. It is not safe for Assyrians.”
“How does your aunt manage?”
“She married a Muslim and converted.”
“Is that what you did?”
Her lips parted in surprise. “No. I did not convert.”
He noticed that she didn’t deny the first part of his question. “Iranians detain and jail Americans for no reason. And those are just the civilians, who come legally. With my tattoos, I won’t be mistaken for a civilian. My presence could even be considered an act of war. If we get caught, I’ll be imprisoned, convicted of espionage and executed.”
“We won’t get caught,” she said. “I have a plan.”
He let out a frustrated breath. “You always do.”
“You can use Khalil’s passport.”
“I look nothing like him!”
“You are tall. You have dark eyes. If you shave, and cover your hair...”
Hud hated the idea. He hated everything about it. He hated her for risking his freedom, and himself for wanting her anyway. The walls of the bathroom seemed to close in on him like a prison cell. His chest felt tight, his skin crawling. He had to get out. He brushed by her and opened the door, sucking in air.
Ashur was asleep on the bed again. There were feathers all over.
What a goddamned mess.
He stretched out on the opposite bed and closed his eyes. He took deep breaths and pictured tall mountains. Not the snow-capped peaks of the Zagros, but the rugged Sierras, Mount Shasta and the sky-high cliffs of Yosemite. Hud could
