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Rapp was in no mood to argue. “Look, I’ve had about three hours of sleep in the last week and I feel like someone beat me with a baseball bat. We just need to put on a show, okay?”
He went into the bathroom and examined his face. The damage Laleh had done was holding. When he rinsed his mouth, a molar came out with the water, rolling around in the basin for a moment before disappearing down the drain. Damn Joe Maslick.
On the brighter side, no visible pus, weird odors, or fever. That meant no infection. His accuracy had been dead-on and his sprint across the school courtyard felt only about five percent off. So, in the context of his current situation—and his life in general—he supposed this was what passed for a good day.
When he entered the bedroom, Laleh was sitting on the sagging mattress with a blanket pulled up around her neck. Based on the clothes laid out on the floor with OCD perfection, it appeared that she’d actually followed his instructions. He was surprised by the intensity of the relief he felt. Another knock-down drag-out with her was more than he wanted to deal with right now.
Her eyes locked on him as he kicked off his shoes and fell into bed. Reaching for the lamp on the floor, he turned off the flow of kerosene and closed his eyes. They shot back open a moment later.
“Laleh?”
“What?”
It was dark, but he could tell that she was still sitting with her back against the wall.
“Don’t attack me in my sleep.”
“Okay.”
“I’m serious, now.”
“I said okay.”
Her answer seemed sincere so he closed his eyes again and was asleep in less than thirty seconds.
• • •
Rapp jerked awake to a loud banging.
“Eric! Open this door immediately!” The voice was muffled but unmistakable. General Ali Mustafa.
“I’m coming!” Rapp shouted, rolling out of bed and grabbing the strip of cloth he’d torn from the shade. At some point in the night, Laleh had allowed herself to lie down, but it was hard to know if she’d slept. Right now she was staring up at him with the exact same expression she’d had before he’d shut out the light.
“Put your hands against the headboard.”
“What? No. I—”
“I don’t have time to argue,” Rapp said quietly. “Do it.”
She relented when the pounding turned into powerful kicks accompanied by the sound of splintering wood. “Eric! Open the door!”
“I’m coming!” Rapp shouted while tying her hands to the bed’s flimsy headboard. He knew that she’d panic if he did a good enough job to make it hard to escape, so he kept the bonds loose. Just enough to keep the show going.
“Roll on your side with your back to me.”
This time she didn’t hesitate.
He pulled the blanket halfway down and unhooked her bra, sliding one strap artistically over her shoulder. “Good. Now, stay like that. You’re unconscious.”
He kicked her neatly arranged clothes across the floor and turned on the lamp before running out into the main room. It would have been more realistic to answer in his underwear but his well-defined muscles and patchwork of healed battle wounds weren’t exactly in keeping with an overprivileged prick from Colorado.
“Stop pushing!” he yelled. “It’s sticking.”
He freed the wedge he’d placed beneath the door and pulled it open, stepping out of the way as Ali Mustafa entered with two armed men.
“Why didn’t you—” The general fell silent when he saw the woman tied to the bed. “Ah. I see.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know it was you,” Rapp apologized. “Through the door, your voice—”
