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When it’s done, Justice swings her legs over the side. “Thank you, Salma. Please take care of Amal.”
I hear men talking outside and glance out the door. They’re back and talking rapidly into a cell.
When I look back, Salma is crouching next to Alma. “I will hide the girl with a family I know here. Take her.” She motions toward Justice, who already has her legs under her. What kind of training has this woman had?
“No.” Justice supports her own weight. “I’ve risked you all 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 waves away the words. “I will arrange it. This is what I do. But you cannot go alone.”
“Sure, she can.” I hear the words laced with my own building anger. I’ve been an idiot. “This is no woman accidentally hurt. She’s an operative. Her backup is probably on its way. I’ll stay and help you deal with the men she’s brought here.”
Moving across the room, I pull up the tent side and hold it open for Justice. Steps labored, she moves toward me. For a second, I want nothing more than to hoist her up and carry her to the nearest safe place.
No. I’ve been enough of a sucker, and it’s like Salma said earlier: I made my choice. I’m not here to fight. Justice isn’t helpless and she isn’t what she appears.
As she bends to clear the side of the tent, I lean into her. “I’m going to find out who you’re working for, and I’m going to have your ass.”
Glancing up at me, she smiles, wicked and full. “Flirting at a time like this, Ranger?”
With a wink, she ducks under the tent side and walks confidently into the night.
19
JUSTICE
Cursing myself for putting Salma and Sandesh in danger, I move behind trailers with breath loud enough to make people worry death itself stalks these streets. I feel like death, like shit. That look Sandesh gave me… As if he knew what I was. What I’d done tonight.
It hurt almost as much as my damn side does. It’s like someone holds a red-hot poker to my side. Not shot but pierced by metal. The gunshot must’ve torn off metal, which ricocheted into my hip. Not my luckiest night.
The thread pinching my skin together stings like barbed wire. If that was the worst of what I had to deal with right now, I’d be good. This situation is well and truly fucked. Hopefully, the worst of it falls on me, follows me. I wouldn’t have come here if I’d thought for one minute there was any chance I could’ve been followed.
How did Walid’s men follow me from the hotel? They couldn’t have. But I’d spotted them just before Amal and I entered the tent. It makes no sense—unless Walid had already had men in the area and tracked me somehow.
For any other person on the planet, that would seem impossible. For me? There’s always a way to know where I am. Just like there’s always a way to know where any of my family members are. GPS. Every family member has one implanted.
Usually that information is only monitored for missions by Leland, his security team, and Momma. For this mission, only Leland and Momma have access. But it wouldn’t have been hard for someone in my family to figure out how to gain access to that information. Especially since they have similar tech implanted in themselves.
My heart now aches as much as my side. Someone in my family betrayed me and nearly got me killed. And, if Momma is right, it wasn’t just any old somebody—it was one of my most trusted, most loved siblings who could be, right this moment, feeding my whereabouts to people who are trying to kill me. Or take me back to Walid, so that he can kill me. Slowly.
Does the traitor care? Who would hate me that much? What have I missed? Who have I misjudged? Gracie, Tony, Dada, or Bridget?
Stop thinking about it.I need to focus. Let go of the failure. One of the two brothers is dead. That means something. Too bad the other is well and truly pissed, smart enough not to touch anything in the room after seeing what happened to Aamir, and even now might have access to the GPS that will tell him exactly where to find me.
I pick up my pace, each step rocking me with pain as I put distance between me, Salma, Amal, and Sandesh.
A mental diagram of the camp swims through my brain, and I automatically turn toward a hidden exit. Momma’s right again, recon really is essential.
I needoutof this camp. Once out of here, I can get out of this country. Someplace where I can make another plan because Walid isn’t going to give up and go away. Hell, no. He gets me or I get him before he finds my family and the school.
Somewhere behind me, I hear the footsteps running, the shouts, and know deep in my bones they’re coming for me.
I run, sprinting down the block. Burying the pain, I weave down roads until I’m so sick with stinging sensations I’m dizzy.
Crouching, gasping, my hand against an old truck for support, I bend and release the contents of my stomach.
“This way,” I hear someone say in Arabic.
They know every move I’m making. Time’s up. Taking a chance, I try the door of the truck. It opens. I slide inside and silently click the truck door closed. Judging by the holes in the floorboard, this truck isn’t going to start, but I take a chance and try to hotwire it.
