Hud flexed his fingers as he squared up with the big guard. He heard the sounds of another struggle behind him, but he didn’t take his eyes off his opponent. The man charged him and took the fight to the ground. Hud was okay with that. They exchanged a few punches, rolling across the dirt. Then Hud went for the knife in his boot. He drew the blade and buried it in the man’s thigh.
The guard cried out in pain. He’d had enough. He didn’t remove the knife. Keeping his gaze locked on Hud, he cupped his hand around the wound, which was bleeding profusely.
Layah stood behind them like a lady warrior. She held the baton over her head. The gun was beneath her boot. One guard was cradling his broken arm nearby. The other was on the ground, half-conscious.
“Give me the gun,” Hud said.
“More are coming,” she said, moving her foot aside. “Look.”
Hud picked up the weapon and trained it on the man with the knife wound. Two squad cars were tearing down the road. Someone had called them in. Hud could try to cross the bridge, but the police cars would overtake him. A tree-lined ravine on this side of the border offered immediate cover. It was his only hope.
“Go,” he said, gesturing to the bridge. “They’ll follow me and you can make it across.”
“I’m coming with you.”
He pointed the gun at her. “Go.”
She narrowed her eyes and started running—toward the ravine. She knew he wasn’t going to shoot her. He wasn’t even going to shoot these guards.
Cursing, Hud tucked the weapon into his waistband and ran after her. The guards would give away his location and description, but so be it. Hud didn’t have the heart to execute three unarmed men. He also didn’t want the heat associated with being an American cop-killer in Iran. He could evade a small group of officers over rugged terrain. If they launched an extensive manhunt, he’d never get out of this country alive.
He caught up to Layah quickly. She wasn’t slow, but he was faster. He pulled her toward the trees, with seconds to spare. As soon as they reached the ravine, they jumped together. Bullets peppered the trees above them.
Hud let go of her hand as they tumbled into the creek bed. She scrambled to her feet and almost fell down in the mud. He drew the weapon he’d just stolen. He couldn’t hit a target with a handgun at this range, but he returned fire anyway. He wanted his pursuers to think twice about following them.
“This way,” he said to Layah, crashing through the shallow water. They stayed in the ravine for several anxiety-filled moments. When he spotted a copse of trees that appeared thick enough to disguise their exit, they climbed the bank. Although he was desperate to get out of Iran, moving away from the border was a safer bet. They ran through a forest of bushy pines. He stuck to low ground as much as possible. Soon they reached a point where the only way forward was up.
He looked over his shoulder again and saw no one. “We have to keep going.”
She nodded her agreement. They climbed over boulders and continued uphill as fast as she could manage. He carried her pack, because he’d left his own behind. They jogged and scrambled and clawed their way to safety. He pushed her as hard as he dared, and then he pushed harder. When they reached a cluster of craggy rocks that might offer a good hiding space, he stopped.
He was winded. Sweating. His muscles burning. He braced his hands on his knees, sucking air. Layah collapsed behind a boulder nearby. She drank water from her container between ragged breaths. He checked the position of the sun in the sky. Several hours had passed since the altercation at the border.
After a moment of rest, he investigated the rock formation. He found a convenient nook to duck into. She joined him in the dark space, hugging her arms around her body. It smelled damp and faintly wild inside, as if an animal had lived here at some point.
“Do you think we lost them?” she asked.
He shrugged, raking a hand through his hair. If the Iranians had a team with dogs, they were in serious trouble. If not, they’d gained a short respite. Either way, their odds of escaping this little detour weren’t great.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “We did nothing. Those guards did not care to look at the passports. They did not want money.”
“They were tipped off.”
“What does this mean?”
“They knew we were coming.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. Rahim has connections all over. The Iranians might not be friends with the Da’esh, but they’ll take information from them.”
She leaned back against the rock wall. “We’ll have to cross somewhere else.”
“You think?”
Her brow furrowed. “You are angry.”
“Yes. I’m angry.”
“I should be angry. You pointed a gun at me.”
He closed the distance between them, bracing his palm on the boulder behind her. He wasn’t proud of his actions, but desperate times called for desperate measures. What she’d done at the border had been beyond reckless. Her refusal to follow his orders and her insistence on risking her life infuriated him. She’d gone too far. “I told you not to come with me,” he said in a low voice. “I told you to run across the bridge while you had the chance.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I saved you.”
“You endangered yourself.”
“What should I have done?”
“You should have left me!”
“They wanted to detain you.”
“Now we’ll both die. Is that better?”
She lifted her hand to his tense face. Like always, her touch affected him. It changed him. “I could not leave you, William Hudson.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“I could not leave you, because I—”
He crushed his mouth over hers to cut her off. He couldn’t let her say the words,
