Reza rubbed the back of his neck. “I told you we should’ve handled this days ago.”
No.
“I know,” he said after a beat. “I’ll end it now.”
He paused again, listening.
“Can we talk about this later? Lulu already gave me an earful.”
Lulu? What the hell was going on?
“I’ll keep her close,” he said. “Don’t worry.” Another pause. “Of coursethe location tracker is on. I don’t trust it, though. The signal’s shit out here. We can’t afford to wait.”
She felt dizzy. A tracker. Her phone burned in her hands. She dropped it. It cracked on impact.
Reza jerked his head at the sound. Through the gap in the branches, his eyes met hers. His mouth opened. Shut. He stuffed his phone in his pocket.
“Hena.” He slipped from view, reappearing at the entrance of the pathway where she stood. He started walking toward her.
Hena took a step back.
“Fuck. Hena—listen to me. I can explain.”
“Stay away from me.”
He moved closer. She raised her palms.
“Don’t come any closer.” She edged away. The leaves, spiky and calloused, bit into her skin.
“It’s not what you think. I want to help you.”
“Help me,” she repeated. “So you haven’t been lying about who you are?”
“No! I mean, it’s not that simple.” He paused. “I was hired to protect you. It’s what I’m trying to do right now.”
“Protect me?” she said, her voice tight with fury. “I heard you. You bugged my phone.”
“That wasn’t me. Hena—”
His mouth was moving, but she couldn’t grasp his words over the roar of panic in her ears. Her vision was tunneling. The masked man in the boathouse. The gloved grip against her throat. The one she’d stabbed with a knife.
The scar across Reza’s stomach.
“You said…you said it was a fireplace poker…” she said slowly. “That man. It was…it was you.”
She had delivered herself straight to him.
Reza fell silent. His face went still.
“You don’t understand,” he said.
Except she did. A wave of nausea roiled through her. All these years, it was him. He was the one who had haunted Nasir. The reason the last three years of her life were spent in grief and pain.
Their conversations flashed before her. He’d known exactly what to say to get close, hadn’t he? He just had to flirt alittle and share stories of trauma at the hands of his father. All he needed to do was leave a fucking KitKat bar at her door, and poof—she was putty in his hands.
“Look, we’re out of time.” He stepped toward her. “I need to get you off the property. Now. You’re in danger.”
The path felt like it was shrinking around her. Reza was right. She was in danger. Reza was the danger.
