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Salma had already pulled up Justice’s abaya and located the wound. She patted Justice on the hand. “There is a piece of metal in your flesh. Not deep.”
“Not a bullet?”
Salma’s eyebrows rose. “A bullet? No. I am going to pull out the metal. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Quickly. Please.”
He returned to the bedside. “Salma, what do you need?”
Salma looked up at him. “The men,” she said. “How long?”
“Not long.”
She nodded. They both understood the risk. Soon this tent would be filled with anger and accusations. Their choice was to turn Justice over to those men and keep the charity clear of the violence. Or save her.
“Quickly.” Salma began to tear at the dress.
Justice put her hand on top of Salma’s. “I need this dress.”
Justice tugged the abaya up with one hand. Sandesh came over and helped, exposing delicate pale skin, black lace lingerie saturated with blood, and a deep gash, an inch wide, below her hip.
A slice of metal filled the wound. What the hell? And Justice had a gun? She hid it under the sleeve of her abaya while her other hand clenched the scaffolding of the bed.
Salma wiped the blood from the wound. Justice flinched. Salma had snatched up a pair of forceps. She bent close to Justice. “A tiger stalking, no sound, brave one.”
Justice nodded. Digging into the skin, Salma plucked at the edge of the shrapnel, once, twice. Her face locked in concentration, Justice seemed to put herself somewhere else, like someone accustomed to dealing with pain.
The only sound from her was slow, deep breathing. Sandesh cursed to himself. What the fuck was going on? Could she be some type of operative? Salma dug in again, grasped it, twisted, then pulled it out.
Justice let out a sharp breath. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Is it over?”
“You need stitches.”
He handed Salma the alcohol, and she cleaned the wound. With steady, learned fingers, Salma sewed quick stitches.
Justice inhaled and slowly exhaled. Again and again. She did not cry out.
This was not a public relations specialist.
Outside, Sandesh could hear voices. One of the men talked on the phone.
Justice sat up. He put a hand on her shoulder and steadied her. She winced.
“Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head. She didn’t meet his eyes. “No. Don’t worry about me. Take care of Amal.”
Salma bent under the counter and spoke with Amal. She began directing all of them in Arabic. “I will hide the girl with a family I know here. Take her.” She motioned toward Justice, who had her legs under her a lot more than she should have. What kind of training had this woman been through?
“No.” Justice supported her own weight. “I’ve risked you enough. I can get out from here. But take care of Amal. She has a family she wishes to return to. I can arrange—”
Salma waved away the words. “I will arrange it. This is what I do. But you cannot go alone.”
“Sure she can,” Sandesh said, his anger building. He’d been a total idiot. “This is no woman accidentally hurt. She is an operative. Her backup is probably on its way. I’ll help you deal with the men she’s brought here.”
He shouldered Justice toward the back of the tent and steadied her. She looked haunted and vulnerable, and he wanted nothing more than to hoist her up and carry her to the nearest safe place.
No. He’d been enough of a sucker.
She wasn’t what she appeared. She wasn’t helpless. And she wasn’t a PR specialist.
He leaned into her. “I’m going to find out who you’re working for, and I’m going to have your ass.”
She smiled then, wicked and full. “Flirting at a time like this, Ranger?”
She winked, ducked under the tent side, and walked confidently into the night.
Chapter 25
Justice staggered down the dark dirt lane. Must not fall down. Must not fall down. Ugh. This sucked.
To her ears, she breathed heavily enough to make the people in their trailers think death itself stalked the streets. Her side hurt like hell.
She staggered quickly, because she knew, even as mad as he was, Sandesh would help if he saw her vulnerability. And she needed him there for Amal and Salma.
Okay. That had to be far enough. She grasped her side and let out a breath of pain. Really, not shot?
It hurt like she’d been shot. Her skin felt like it had been twisted in a vice and sewn up with hot metal spikes. Could that just be thread?
Fuck. How did Walid’s men follow her from the hotel? How did they get here before her? The only way was if Walid had already had men in the area, and somehow figured out she was coming here. That made no sense. Unless, someone from her family…
Could she have been betrayed? By who? She hadn’t told any of her team she was coming. Unless…unless someone on her team had checked her GPS. Every family member was required to have one implanted.
Usually that information was only monitored for missions by Leland, his security team, and Momma. For this mission, only Leland and Momma had had access.
But the truth was it wouldn’t have been that hard for someone in the family to figure out how to gain access to that information. Especially since they’d had similar tech implanted in themselves.
Had someone in her family, one of her siblings, informed on her and almost gotten her killed?
If so, did the traitor care? Did the traitor hate her that much? What had she missed? Who had she missed?
Stop thinking about it. Focus. Let go of the failure. One of the two Brothers was dead. That meant something. Too bad the other was well and truly pissed and might have access to the GPS that would let him know exactly where to find her.
Sh
e needed to get out of this camp. This country. And then she needed to make another plan. Walid wasn’t going to just give up and go away. She needed to get to him, take him out before he found her family and the school.
Chapter 26
Inside the medical tent, lit only by a single dangling bulb, Salma prepared Amal for what would happen next. Meanwhile, Sandesh checked out front again. He looked down the road both ways. A few locals, but not the men who’d busted in here. Why hadn’t they come back?
Salma walked over to him. “You must go after her.” She pointed out the back way. “She is in need.”
“No. Justice has people. I guarantee she’s already with them. You need me.”
She shook her head, clutched a blood-soaked rag. “These men will let me be. They will not harm a Jordanian woman, a doctor, a devoted Muslim with ties to this community. One of my sons is on his way here. He works for the government.” She held up her cell phone. “Those men will not want that trouble. They want Justice.”
She began to push against his chest, guiding him toward the back of the tent. He would’ve laughed at her pathetic attempt if it wasn’t so damn frustrating.
“No.” He refused to give another inch. “I am here for this. I changed my life to be here for you, for this cause, for people who want to make things better.”
Salma let out a frustrated sigh. “You are a good man. But stupid. Her cause and ours are the same. No matter whom she works for or why she has done what she has done. Do you not see?”
“Salma—”
“No.” She held up a hand. “When the leaves fall, you will see further. Take the advice of someone who has lived longer. Destiny isn’t always the path we have chosen for ourselves. It is the one that most clearly matches the values we aspire to protect.”
The crack of distant gunfire punctuated her meaning. Gunfire? Could that mean the men really weren’t coming back? Could that mean they’d gone after Justice?
He stared at Salma for a wordless second. She shoved the truck keys into his hand. He kissed her on the cheek and bolted outside.
