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With a shuddering deep breath, I fill my aching lungs, trying to process her words while she picks up a penknife lying in a cup holder. She flicks it open and puts the knife to her wrist.
What the hell? I grab her hand. “Hold on. Let’s think about this for a minute.”
“Think about it? What’s there to think about?”
I let go of her wrist, wiping the tears and snot from my face. Beautiful. “Let’s not be rash. I need information. Where’d you get the tracker? How do the people chasing you have access to its technology?”
She stiffens. “I was born with it. Like an electronic birthmark.”
“Okay, well, not telling me gets you nothing since I’m not an idiot and can put two and two together. You have the tracker because it’s part of your job. These guys following you shouldn’t know about it, and they sure as shit shouldn’t be able to track you. Which means someone on your team is tracking you and reporting the information to whoever is chasing you.”
She flinches, looking shaken for the first time since I met her. She places the knife against her skin again. “That’s why I’m taking it out.”
“For Christ’s sake, wait. If you take it out and we escape, we lose a valuable opportunity. You go back home none the wiser or safer. It’s better for us to handle this here.”
“Us?”
“By setting up a reverse ambush—there’s a perfect place not too far—we can stop them from following. Hell, we might even get lucky and get some intel.”
As if all her muscles have failed her, her hand opens and the knife drops back into the cup holder, embedding itself in plastic. For a moment, she stares at me and then her open hand rises and clasps something under her abaya. “You’re offering to help me?”
“Of course.”
She whispers, “But why? I lied to you. Used you.”
The galaxies in her eyes hold me as surely as the universe holds the sky. I’ve surprised her. And, honestly, myself, too, but even after all that’s happened, I understand something in my bones. “Yes, but you also rescued Amal, and no matter what else any of this is, that wasn’t self-serving.”
Her hand fists her abaya. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”
It’s a small comfort, but I’ll take it. I pull out the knife and close it, meeting her gaze again. “This is a short-term pass. After we get these guys, we go somewhere quiet, and you answer every question I have.” I brush a finger along her wrist. “Including how you got this.”
She snatches her hand away.
“You’re going to fight me on this? Really?” Chick has teeth. I’m her only lifeline here. “I could walk away, and youmight, judging by your skills, make it all the way home to safety.”
She leans back, satisfaction and wariness on her face.
“Once there, you’ll spend every waking minute wondering who betrayed you and if these men followed you back.”
Her eyes widen—which is to say they swallow me whole—and then her rich, dark lashes lower. “An ambush sounds like a great idea. I’ll show you the way out.”
21
JUSTICE
Even in the dim light of the truck cab, I can see Sandesh’s hands strangling the steering wheel. Yeah, the road is bumpy, but not that bumpy. He grumbles something and hits the steering wheel. Not sure I want to know what he’s thinking.
I guess now that we’re relatively safe and driving toward our ambush location, he’s coming to terms with the facts of this night.
He’s got reasons to be upset, so I’ll just have to wait for my moment. I lean back and watch as the truck’s headlights cut through the night like cones of yellow glass. The road’s deserted. Not much call for traffic into Syria from Jordan these days, especially this late.
Except for the wind whining through the old weather strip and Sandesh’s grumbling, this night has turned as solemn as a tomb.
I’m sure Sandesh expects an explanation. And the thing is, Iwantto explain things. Unusual for many reasons. First, I was brought up in a secret society of vigilantes—not an open-book kind of group. Second, I don’t do relationships.
Biting back the urge to explain—and biting the inside of my cheek—I realize something has to break this thick silence. Well, if Sandesh is anything like Tony, I know how to get him to talk. “Stop pouting.”
For a moment, he doesn’t react. Then he glances at me with fury etched on that too-handsome face. “Pouting? No, Justice, you don’t get to put this on me. I want an explanation. What are you doing here? Who were those men? Why were they after you?”
