“It’s too far to walk.”
“We can get a ride. People in Iran are very friendly.”
“Yeah, those guards were super nice.”
She smiled at his sarcasm, unoffended. They made their way downhill and reached the road at sunset. Hud kept his eyes peeled for police cars. There wasn’t a single vehicle for miles. When a truck appeared in the distance, he stuck out his thumb.
Layah grabbed his hand, eyes wide. “That is not how you get a ride in Iran!”
“How do you do it?”
She made a gesture to slow down, with her palm flat.
“What does the thumb mean?”
“It is a crude sexual suggestion.”
He held his palm flat, chuckling at his mistake. The driver pulled over immediately. Hud let Layah do the talking. Whatever she said gained them a ride. There was only one seat, so Hud climbed in first. Layah sat on his lap.
The driver didn’t seem suspicious about foreigners. Layah spoke to him in Farsi, or some other language, and she said a few words to Hud in Arabic every so often. He nodded as if he understood and tried to ignore the feel of her delicious curves against him. Memories of their last encounter made it difficult to concentrate on anything else. Her bottom wiggled and shifted with every bump in the road.
Soon it was full dark, and he was at half-mast, but Hud had no complaints. They were a safe distance from the border crossing, headed toward a town they could hide in. They hadn’t been harmed in the scuffle. It was a miracle they were alive.
He didn’t know what the future held. He had no idea how he’d get out of Iran, or if he’d ever be free again. All he knew was that he had to make the most of every moment with Layah before their time ran out.
Chapter 16
Layah relaxed against Hudson, her back cradled to his chest.
She couldn’t believe they were on the run together in Iran. He’d warned her of this possibility, but she hadn’t imagined it would actually happen. She’d expected to cross into Armenia without incident.
She considered what he’d said earlier. Maybe someone in Rahim’s circle, like Abdul Al-Bayat, had told the guards to look for an American in a group of backpackers. Hudson was easy to pick out of a crowd. The guards might have been paid to detain him at the border or even transport him to neighboring Azerbaijan. Al-Bayat was known for his ruthlessness and tenacity. The Da’esh executioner despised Assyrians and Americans. He would travel to the ends of the earth to recapture an enemy.
Her thoughts moved from Al-Bayat to Ashur, who’d been distraught at the border. She hoped he would forgive her for staying with Hudson. At least she knew Ashur was safe in Armenia with her parents and her cousins. The Da’esh would find no allies there, and they weren’t interested in her family. They wanted Hudson, their prize catch.
She couldn’t allow anyone to recapture him. She would do anything for him.
She was in love with him.
He hadn’t let her say the words, and they hadn’t made a commitment to each other. She didn’t know how long they could be together, but she couldn’t worry about tomorrow. If tonight was all they had, she would enjoy it.
They reached Hadishahr in the early evening. The driver dropped them at a small hotel across from an internet café. She thanked him for the kindness and climbed off Hudson’s lap. He winced in discomfort as he exited the vehicle.
“Is your injury bothering you?” she asked.
He shook his head, his mouth quirking. She made a mental note to examine his wound after they checked in. Then she handed him a few bills from her pocket. Miri had given her some cash before they left the hotel. “You should pay for the room. It is customary.”
“What do I say?”
She told him the right phrase in Arabic, which he repeated perfectly. He could learn the language if he applied himself. When they reached the front desk, Hudson asked for a room. The clerk said they could have one ready in thirty minutes. Layah nodded. Hudson overpaid, but Layah didn’t interfere. She tugged on his arm and mentioned the internet café in Turkish. He pretended to understand.
“What happened?” he asked when they were outside again.
“They have to prepare the room. We will eat.”
He didn’t argue with that.
“I have to send a message to my parents in Yerevan. Do you wish to contact someone? Your family?”
“I can’t risk it,” he said, after a pause. “Any communications between here and the US could be monitored.”
“Who would you notify, if you could?”
“My mom, and my commander.”
“Are you close with your mother?”
“Yes.”
Layah wanted to ask more questions, but they’d arrived at the café. “We are pretending to be Turkish.”
“I’ll just smile and nod.”
“Perfect.”
They entered the café, where Layah took a seat across from Hudson. She ordered tea and khoresh, a type of stew with rice. Her mother, who’d been born in Iran, used to make the dish for their family. Layah excused herself to use one of the computers. She wrote an email to her parents to let them know she was okay. She said she would come to Yerevan soon, and she asked them to give Ashur a hug from her.
When she returned, the stew had arrived. Hudson ate most of it, though Layah enjoyed the flavor. She couldn’t speak Turkish well enough to fake an entire conversation, so she stayed quiet. She sipped her tea and watched him. She was nervous about their night together, and eager to be alone with him.
“Do you like the food?” she asked in Arabic.
“Iaa,” he said, eating more.
She knew a few Turkish phrases. “I love you.”
He smiled and nodded.
She looked away, her throat tight. She was setting herself up for heartbreak. It was one thing to confess her desire for him. It was quite another to confess her feelings like a character in a Turkish soap opera. He had no idea what she was saying.
They finished the meal
