She checked the door to make sure it was locked. Then she circled the room in a panic. There was nowhere to hide. She rushed toward the window and looked out. It was too far to jump, but there was a ledge to stand on. She glanced over her shoulder, pulse racing. A fist pounded on the door.
“Come out now! This is the police!”
She swung her leg over the window jamb. The distance to the ground appeared daunting, and the ledge narrow. The doorknob started turning. She smothered a sound of distress and climbed all the way out.
Trembling with anxiety, she stood on the ledge with her stomach pressed against the building. She tried not to look down. It was only about twenty feet, but she’d be risking a serious injury if she jumped. Men burst into the room, their voices raised. They stomped around, smashing things.
Layah assumed they’d look out the window any second. She inched along the ledge, terrified.
Where was Hudson? Had they taken him?
She reached a drainpipe that prevented her from continuing along the ledge. She could climb down the pipe, but it looked weakly supported and unsafe. While she hesitated, a man stuck his head out the window. It was the tall border guard from Nordooz. The one she’d kicked, and Hudson had stabbed.
She stared at him. He stared at her.
“Here,” he shouted in Farsi, loud enough to wake the dead.
She had no choice but to climb. She gripped the pipe and prayed for strength. The men didn’t shoot at her, which was good. The pipe didn’t hold her weight, which was bad. She got halfway down the building when it broke loose. She went careening sideways and landed in a pile of garbage bags.
It wasn’t a soft cushion, but she bounced off the pile and scrambled to her feet. She started running as fast as she could. She didn’t know where she was going. Alleyways, buildings, homes, gardens. Everything passed in a blur.
Hudson had left her. He’d left her.
She kept running and found herself tangled in a laundry line. Damp linen covered her face, obscuring her vision. She fell down hard and stayed down. Crawling behind a brick wall, she huddled in the corner of a small backyard.
She waited there, breathless, to be discovered.
She waited sixty seconds, and counted sixty more.
Then she was found—by a child. A boy of no more than three or four years. She touched her finger to her lips in hopes that he’d be quiet.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“I am Layah.”
“What you doing?”
“Hiding.”
He picked up the damp linen and waved it around like a flag. “A strange lady is hiding in the garden. Come and see!”
Layah clapped a hand over her eyes. When he continued to shout about his discovery, perhaps to get the attention of his family members, she scrambled to her feet and fled the yard. As soon as she stepped into the street, she saw them.
Two officers in uniform.
She turned to run the opposite direction and met with a broad chest. It was the border guard Hud had grappled with yesterday. His arms locked around her like a vise. She screamed and kicked, but there was no one to help. No one but a noisy little boy, gaping at her distress.
The guard picked her up and carried her down the street. She was handcuffed with a plastic tie and tossed into the back seat of a squad car. The doors locked automatically. A metal grate separated the front from the back. There was no escape.
One of the officers got behind the wheel and drove forward. They were followed by the second squad car. The border guard stayed on the street, watching their departure.
“Where are we going?” Layah asked.
“Quiet,” the man replied.
“Please,” she said, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I am a doctor. I have money. My family has money.”
The officer ignored her.
“Please, let me go!”
He told her to be quiet and said something that sounded like a threat. She didn’t speak Farsi well enough to catch every word. She repeated her plea, sobbing. When that didn’t work, she rolled onto her side and started kicking the door. She kicked the window, the seat, the door handle. The officer drove on, unconcerned.
She stopped kicking, because it was exhausting. She’d hurt herself, not the vehicle. Tears of fear and frustration leaked from her eyes.
“Where is the American?” the officer asked.
“What?”
“The man you were with. Where is he?”
She straightened, realizing they hadn’t captured him. “I don’t know.”
“He was in the hotel?”
She didn’t answer.
“Speak, you dirty rag! If you do not, I will make you.”
“He went to the police station to report your corruption,” she said in Arabic. “Now everyone knows you are a traitor for the Da’esh.”
The officer must have understood her, because he stopped asking questions and turned on the radio. Layah felt no satisfaction in his silence. She was too distraught about Hudson. They hadn’t caught him. He’d left of his own volition. He’d sneaked out like a thief in the night—after saying goodbye to her in bed, instead of with words.
Just like Khalil.
The similarities were gut-wrenching. Her dream had been a warning and a memory combined. She was ready to let go of Khalil. She was in love with Hudson. What they’d shared together had been incredible. His passion for life was infused in his touch. He’d taken her to dizzying heights of pleasure. Then he’d walked out on her before the sheets were cool!
Now she was heartbroken and abandoned, in enemy hands.
She couldn’t bring herself to regret their encounter, even under these circumstances. She didn’t regret falling in love with him. Maybe she shouldn’t have kidnapped him or forced him to be her guide. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought him to Iran. Maybe she shouldn’t have given herself to him, body and soul.
She blinked the tears from her eyes, taking a deep breath. She would not cry over the choices she’d made. She’d relished every moment in Hudson’s arms. One night wasn’t enough, but she
