Kat Attalla Special Edition (34 page)

Soft footsteps and the tiny cry of an infant floated from an open window. The door opened slightly, and a dark haired woman peeked out.

“Aywa. Who is it?”

Lilly slipped the letter in the narrow crack. The woman took the envelope and read the contents. A few nervous seconds passed. The door closed in her face. Lilly’s heart sank. What should she do now?

Suddenly, she heard the chain slide, and the door opened again. Her hostess peered out into the hallway before speaking. “Come in, please,” she said in perfect English.

“Thank you.” Lilly entered and pulled the infuriating piece of material from her face. “I’m Lilly,” she said, offering her hand. “I’m sorry. No one remembered to tell me your name.”

She smiled as if to say, “how typically male”, and took her hand. “I am Hanan. I didn’t know Jack had married. How long has it been?”

Lilly swallowed a cough. That bit of news must have been written in the letter. “Just a few days,” she lied.

“Come into the salon and have a seat. I just have to check on my son.” She led Lilly into the living room and then left to tend to the squawking baby.

Lilly sank down into one of the brightly colored floor pillows in the traditionally  furnished room. Hand woven tapestries depicting local scenes adorned the walls. A Persian rug in red and gold hues covered a tile floor. She took a moment to formulate her story before Hanan came back.

She hadn’t prepared herself to answer questions about her “husband”, about whom she knew nothing. She had no idea what Jack had told Mustafa. Men could easily be fooled about such things but a woman would see right through a phony story.

Hanan returned holding a tiny bundle in her arms. She held out the baby towards Lilly. “Would you mind holding him while I get some tea?”

She took the infant in her arms and cuddled him close to her. “I don’t mind, but the tea isn’t necessary unless you were going to make some for yourself.” Hanan shrugged and took the seat next to her. “Maybe later, then.”

Lilly stroked the sleeping child’s cheek. “He’s adorable. What’s his name?”

“Mohammed. What else? Every first son is named for the Prophet unless that is his father’s name. So tell me about you and Jack.”

Lilly kept her eyes on the baby to hide her guilt. “There’s not much to tell.”

“When did you meet? Where?”

“Well. We sort of met through his work. I’d seen around him a couple of times, but it wasn’t until he introduced himself in
Lisbon
that he really caught my attention.” That came close to the truth.

She still lied, her conscience mocked back.

“Was it love at first sight?” Hanan asked, obviously caught up in the romance of the adventure. “I’m sorry. Jack is like a brother to me. He introduced me to my husband.”

“Really? He never told me.” Perhaps she could keep Hanan talking about herself and avoid further questions about Jack.

“Have you known Jack long?”

“About six years. He saved my father’s life. A robber came into his store late one evening and Jack happened to be there. Jack disarmed the man and held him until the police arrived.”

“That is lucky.”

“He’s been very good to us. He helped us get the fishing trawler. It had been confiscated in a customs raid, and when it went on the auction block, he co-signed the loan for Mustafa. When Jack called me last week, I sent a message to the ship to tell my husband to go even though I was about to have my baby.”

Lilly winced. “I’m sorry.”

Hanan touched her arm and smiled. “Don’t be. Mustafa couldn’t have made it back in time anyway. Mohammed was born four days ago.”

“Won’t your husband be surprised?”

Hanan smiled down at the sleeping baby. “Yes. A son. What about you? Do you and Jack plan to have a big family?”

“We haven’t decided yet. Maybe when we’re settled somewhere,” Lilly fibbed smoothly. She took no pride in the fact that she lied as unflinchingly as Jack.

“It will be good for Jack to stop living like a gypsy, chasing fugitives all over the world. Those people get themselves in trouble. If they don’t want to return on their own, why should he help them?”

Lilly swallowed the lump in her throat. What would Hanan think if she knew the truth? “Maybe they need his help to get back.”

Hanan’s expression softened. “I know. But I worry about him.”

“Me too.” She worried that he would leave her stranded, not knowing who to trust. Worried that Santana would kill them both. Most of all, she worried that if her ordeal ended, she would never see him again.

Hanan must have misread her fears. “I’m sorry. You must be tired. Let me show you to a room so you can get some rest. Jack will be fine.”

Lilly nodded and handed Mohammed back to his mother. Hanan led her through the dining room to a large bedroom, leaving her for a moment to put the baby back in his crib.

When Hanan returned, she took Lilly’s hand and smiled. “If you’re going to pretend to be his wife, wear this.”

Lilly looked down at the gold wedding band and groaned. “It wasn’t my idea to lie.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t. My husband is a good man, but he never would have let Jack stay in the same room if you weren’t married. He’s deeply religious.”

“It’s nothing like that.”

“I understand. He’s protecting you. But I think maybe he is a little more emotionally involved than he wants to admit.”

Lilly frowned. “What makes you say that?”

“Only strong feelings would enable him to lie to his friends. He’s not that kind of man.

“If it offends you, then I can sleep on the sofa at night.”

Hanan shook her head. “It doesn’t offend me. It is not a moral issue, but one of necessity. Mustafa doesn’t always see the difference, so we don’t have to let him in on our little secret.”

Lilly agreed gratefully. She nodded her thanks and lay down to take a short nap. The sounds of the city mocked her attempt to shut out reality.

Jack wasn’t anything like she painted him in her mind. He inspired trust and dedication from his friends. Chantal and Hanan were poles apart, but they shared the same latitude of unquestioning devotion. Perhaps because, unlike her, he didn’t pass judgment on people.

And what right did she have to judge anyone? She, a little coward who ran away.
To stay alive
, she told herself. What kind of life had she saved? In the past two months, she hadn’t even held an honest conversation with anyone. She was alive, but she wasn’t living.

Chapter
Seven

Jack waited in the alley for close to an hour. He checked his watch again. His contact should have met him at four o’clock. Yousef must have heard about the explosion in Nice and given him up for dead. But who would have told him? Only Stucky knew Jack’s contact.

He slipped his hands into the slash pockets of his long white robe and walked back to the marketplace. He couldn’t go looking for Yousef without putting him in danger. Jack strolled past the many vendors hoping to sell their wares in the outdoor bazaars so common in the
Middle East
.

Normally, Jack enjoyed watching customer and merchant square off in a friendly round of bartering, but today his troubled thoughts distracted him. Jack figured Santana had orchestrated the explosion to get Lilly out of the way. He’d been under a microscope for the last six months, and his clients were getting nervous. Without concrete proof, the  investigation had stagnated, and the Customs Service had decided to concentrate their efforts elsewhere. At least until Jack returned Lilly.

Taking a route so out of the way that no one could have followed him without being spotted, he headed back to Mustafa’s house. His native costume and fluency in the language allowed him to walk through the streets unnoticed. When he reached the building, he pulled off the caftan.

He greeted Hanan and her new arrival, apologizing for the inconvenience of his timing. “You should have said something. I shouldn’t be making all this trouble for you with a new baby.”

Hanan handed him a cup of tea and sat down. “Old friends are never trouble, Jack.”

“Where is Mustafa?”

She sent him a look like he should know better. “Where do you think? Down at the coffee shops bragging about his new son. He’ll be back in an hour.”

He tapped his palm against his forehead and laughed. “Of course. And my wife?”

Hanan laughed too. She waved a finger under his nose and took him to task. “Next time you want to fool me, buy her a wedding ring. She’s very scared, Jack, and if she were really your wife, she would know that there was no reason to be.”

He wished he shared her conviction. Too many things had gone wrong for coincidence. “Does Mustafa know?”

“Know what?” Hanan returned innocently.

“I thought not. Where is she?”

“Lying down. I was going to call her for tea, but I think she was crying and I didn’t want to intrude. Is she in a lot of trouble?”

“She didn’t do anything, if that’s what you mean. But her life’s in danger.”

Hanan glanced in the direction of the bedroom. “Maybe you should go see if you can cheer her up. You do know how to do that, don’t you?”

“She doesn’t appreciate my sense of humor.”

“There’s an English dictionary on the shelf over there. Look up the word c
ompassion
and try to grasp the meaning first.” He scowled at her, but she only giggled. “I told my friend next door that I would bring Mohammed by for a visit. I shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

“It won’t take her an hour to hit me over the head,” he joked, rubbing a tentative hand across the scab on his cheek.

He’d never taken the time, nor felt the inclination, to understand the crazy, hormonal whims of women, but Lilly was different from any other women. She never hid her emotions. When he upset her, she cried. If he cornered her, she fought. “You didn’t happen to leave any knives in that room with her, did you?”

She grinned and stood up. “I don’t think she has much fight in her right now.”

“You’d be amazed at what Lilly is capable of.”

“More than you are?” she asked.

“When did you get so smart, Hanan?”

“Maybe now you’ll stop laughing at that mystery of life known as women’s intuition.”

Jack waited for Hanan to leave before seeking out Lilly. He paused outside the bedroom to listen. He heard her sniffing and soft hiccups through the closed door. Her cries struck a nerve in the center of the heart he swore he didn’t possess. He tapped once, then turned the handle and entered.

She pretended to be asleep, and she might have even thought she had pulled it off until she hiccupped again. Knowing the game was up, she grunted and buried her head under the pillow. “Go away.”

“I missed you too, baby,” he teased and pulled the pillow off her head. She flipped onto her stomach and covered her face with her hands. “Come on. Look at me.”

“No. I look horrible.”

“I’ve seen you looking worse.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

That didn’t come out how he’d intended. Perhaps he should have taken a look in the dictionary before trying to cheer her up.
Pay her a compliment. Women eat that kind of thing up.
“That’s a mighty fine looking rear end you’ve got there. Mr. Levi must have designed those jeans with you in mind.”

After a long, silent pause she raised her head. “If Mr. Levi saw what it took to get into these jeans he’d laugh his own rear end off.”

“I don’t suppose it occurred to you to buy a bigger size?”

“You bought them, genius,” she reminded him.

“Oh, right.” He sat on the edge of the bed and ran his hand over her bottom. “And a good job I did at that. It fits you like a chastity belt.”

She rolled onto her back and groaned. “You’re an insensitive louse.”

“And damn proud of it.” He stretched out on the bed next to her and brushed the last remaining tear from her face. “Do you want to tell me what this was all about?”

“I want to call my family, Jack.”

He wished he could grant her that small favor. “No. It’s too dangerous.” All the hope mirrored in her china blue eyes faded in a blink, making him feel like a heel.

“What if they think I’m dead?”

“I know it seems cruel, but it’s better for the time being to let them think that you are. Do you want Santana to use them to get to you? He will.”

“Oh, God no.” Mumbled words mixed with whimpering cries. He touched her arm, and she turned into him, clutching desperately at the fabric of his pullover.

She needed reassurances, but lending moral support had never been his strongest suit. He specialized in scaring the life out of an active participant until the suspect begged to turn state’s evidence in return for freedom. Lilly wasn’t a fugitive. She’d committed no crime, so he could only manipulate her emotionally. He didn’t take great pride in frightening a young woman into obedience.

“Nothing is going to happen to your family.” He rolled his eyes. That’s certainly profound. After all the deceit, he could hardly expect her to find comfort in his words. And yet, slowly, he felt her grip relaxing. The stiffness in her limbs seemed to melt away.