He knew she’d be safer on her own than with him. She was an extremely capable woman. She’d get to Armenia without any trouble. She could speak five languages. She had her looks, her connections, her wits. Her daring. He thought about the way she’d jumped to his defense at the border. She was a fighter.
He didn’t have to worry about her suffering in Armenia. She had a medical degree, or close to it. She had her family. She wouldn’t be destitute. He wished he didn’t have to leave her, but he didn’t see a path for them. He had to go home, and she couldn’t come with him. For all he knew, she’d get sent back to Iraq. He didn’t know what he’d say about her actions, or his own. He’d crossed the line with her so many times.
He pushed away those thoughts. Right now, he had to focus on survival.
By dawn, he’d traveled past the outskirts of town and cut across a series of green fields. He climbed a path that zigzagged along a rocky hill. As he came over the top, he startled a sheep farmer with his herd. The man seemed to think Hud was lost. When Hud shook his head and continued walking, the farmer followed him.
Hud increased his pace in an attempt to lose the farmer. Two squad cars appeared on the road at the base of the hill he’d just climbed. Hud’s stomach dropped as he recognized them. These were the police cars from the border. They weren’t doing a casual sweep of the area. They were moving at top speed toward Hadishahr.
Hud dived to the ground in the middle of the herd, his pulse racing. Sheep bayed and trotted around his head. He was sure the farmer would alert the authorities, but he didn’t. The man stood by with a gnarled staff, his face brown and weathered.
After the cars passed, it dawned on Hud that they were going to the hotel. It was the only one in this area, and a likely place to look. Maybe the guards had called around and discovered two guests matched their descriptions.
His heart plummeted. They were going to find Layah.
Hud leaped to his feet and tore across the hillside, leaving the farmer in the dust. The hotel was several miles away. He couldn’t catch a moving vehicle, but he ran as hard as he could. He had to get there before they left with Layah.
If these Iranian cops were clean, which Hud doubted, they’d take her in for questioning. If they were dirty, they’d deliver her to whoever was paying them. The second possibility chilled his blood.
Hud was intimately familiar with Al-Bayat’s treatment of prisoners. The Da’esh executioner had been in Telskuf during the first week of Hud’s capture. He’d supervised the torture proceedings and participated with relish. Al-Bayat had no qualms about hurting women, though he might not televise it like one of his celebratory beheadings. He wouldn’t hesitate to use Layah as bait to lure Hud back into captivity.
Hud couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let those bastards touch her. He sprinted down the middle of the road, his arms and legs pumping. The streets were still quiet at this early hour. The hotel loomed in the distance. Before he reached it, both squad cars pulled out of the parking lot and continued down the road.
He was too late.
He kept running until he reached the front of the hotel. Then he stopped, bracing his hands on his thighs. The police hadn’t seen him. They weren’t coming back. They’d taken Layah, and there was nothing he could do about it.
He entered the hotel lobby, ignoring the curious clerk, and barged into their room. There was no sign of her, of course. The bed was unmade, the sheets tangled. He sat down on the edge of the mattress, stunned.
He’d failed her.
He’d abandoned her, and she’d been captured. They’d found her sleeping naked, because he hadn’t warned her. He’d left her alone and unprotected, after using her luscious body. He’d taken what he wanted and then some. He could still smell her on the pillows. He sank his fist into his thigh, his teeth gritted in anguish.
A moment later, he heard the telltale creak of an intruder in the hallway. He leaped to his feet and crossed the room in swift silence. Standing next to the door, he drew the gun he’d taken from the guard yesterday.
His heart pumped with adrenaline as he waited to attack.
* * *
Layah dreamed of Khalil.
It was the same dream she’d had before. She was following him through the busy streets of Damascus. He kept moving farther away, getting lost in the crowd. She finally gave up and sat down to cry. Then he was right there in front of her. She stood to embrace him. He hugged her and stroked her hair.
“Why did you leave me?” she asked in Arabic.
“I didn’t want to.”
“You promised you’d come back.”
“I tried, habibi. I tried.”
She pressed her face to his chest and wept. “You never said goodbye.”
“Don’t be sad anymore.”
“Hold me for a little longer.”
“I must go,” he said, shaking her shoulders gently. “Wake up now. Wake up.”
Layah opened her eyes and sat upright. Khalil wasn’t there, of course—but neither was Hudson. It was near sunrise, judging by the light in the window. The open bathroom door revealed empty space. She wasn’t just alone in the bed, she was alone in the room.
She clutched the sheets to her chest, frowning. Something was wrong. The dream had been so vivid, as if Khalil had actually visited her. She could still feel him in her arms. The most disturbing part wasn’t that he’d come to her, or that he’d said goodbye. It was his urgent suggestion to wake up. She slipped out of bed and dressed quickly. While she was lacing up her boots, she heard a commotion in the lobby.
Several intruders had entered the hotel. They were coming
