Edge of Courage (Edge Security Series Book 5) (8 page)

Her father had left one day, saying he’d found a woman who loved him more. After that, her mother had started the drugs, and there was no more laughter in the kitchen. Just takeout and a little girl’s attempts at spaghetti and grilled cheese.

After her mother overdosed, Sarah didn’t spend time in any of the kitchens of the foster homes. She couldn’t. She didn’t want anything to remind her of what she’d lost, of what she’d never really had.

Only books made any difference to her in those dark years growing up. They didn’t demand trust, ask her questions, or put restrictions on her. They just let her escape. She learned to only depend on herself. That is, until she met Abuela, who’d showed a scared girl how to trust again.

Now the smells of cooking made her think of what a real home should smell like, not the stale beer and cigarette smoke of the foster home when she’d been ten. Nor the smell of too many cats of the home when she’d been twelve. She wanted her home to smell of cookies and…she inhaled. Delicate spices scented the air. But something was missing.

Cinnamon.

Cinnamon and sugar from the churros her mom had made. She wanted her home to smell of cinnamon and love.

“What’s that look on your face for?” Dylan asked.

She spun to face him and gaped. He stood in a pair of Rakin’s loose black pants, tied low on his hips. In
only
pants. His muscled arms and sculpted chest showcased the strength and power he’d used to climb the building.

It had been five long months since she’d seen that chest and those arms, had them wrapped around her. She swallowed against a dry throat.

“You looked sad.” He used a towel to dry his hair as he spoke to her. “Well, not sad really, but…wistful.” He draped the towel around his neck and stepped farther into the kitchen; his bare feet made no sound. “What were you thinking about?”

What had she been thinking about? Could she tell him? She turned back to her stove.

Tell him what? she berated herself. That she dreamed of having a home of her own one day? A family? People like them didn’t have families. Not when most homes couldn’t survive the necessary secrets and time away.

Besides, if she told him she wanted a home, he’d naturally assume she meant with him. And then she’d see him run for his exfil, whether it was safe to go on the streets or not.

“I was thinking about Besma, Jalila’s sister.” She stirred the lamb stew.

“Don’t do that.”

She turned to him. “Don’t do what?”

“You don’t have to open up to me. I’m not expecting that anymore,” he said. “But don’t lie to me. I deserve better than that.”

He left her then, and she shivered against a chill despite the fact she stood by the stove.

S
arah couldn’t sleep
. Jalila lay beside her in her bed. It was midmorning and they’d all decided they needed some sleep. She’d shown Dylan the hidden room in the basement and he and his gear were there. She had no reason to feel anxious. No one knew he was there and he was safe. As safe as anyone in this blasted city.

She stood and put her robe on. She couldn’t leave the house today. Not without Rakin to accompany her as her
mahram
. And Dylan couldn’t go out with that blond hair of his. There were quite a few foreigners in Mosul, come here to fight the jihad with ISIS, but Dylan’s fair hair and blue eyes would make him stand out too much, even though his pale skin had been tanned by the sun and a short beard darkened his jaw.

She closed the bedroom door behind her and went to make coffee. Rakin had gotten milk and sugar at the corner store that also served as their mini grocery. She usually did her bigger shopping at the souq, with Rakin following her.

She grimaced. What was she going to do all day, stuck inside with Dylan? She could just imagine the stilted conversations and awkward silences.

She heard a pounding on her neighbor’s door. A man shouted something. She went to her front window in the sitting room and pulled aside the curtain just enough to see outside.

A group of about twenty men, all wearing the black clothes of ISIS fighters, milled about on the street. The men seemed to be working in groups of three, going to each door and pushing their way inside.

Three men strode to her door.

“That doesn’t look good,” Dylan said from behind her.

“Dammit.” She dropped the curtain back into place. “Stop sneaking up on me. Go back to the secret room. Don’t come out, no matter what happens.”

He stared at her. “I won’t let them take you.”

She shook her head. “You won’t have a choice; there are too many of them.” She pushed his chest. He didn’t move. “Go hide. Trust me. I’ve survived for five months.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Don’t let them take you, or I’ll be coming up.”

The men pounded on her door.

“Go,” she said to him quietly. “I’ll be fine, but you won’t if they catch you.” He finally left and she called out in Arabic, “I’m coming.” She grabbed her scarf from the coffee table and wrapped it around her head and neck. The pounding increased in volume.

She unlatched the door and at the same time pulled the end of the scarf across her face so only her eyes showed. She opened the door and stood behind it, peeking out at the men.

“
As-salamu alaykum
.” She said the standard greeting in a soft voice, keeping her eyes down.

“
Wa-alaikum salaam
, sister,” the first man said. His gaze moved past her and into the house. “Where is your
mahram
?”

“He left for work.” She stayed by the door. The man, his full beard emphasizing his thick lips, moved farther into the house when the tall one behind him barged past and went to her bedrooms.

Her heart leapt. Jalila!

If the man checked the bedrooms, he would find her. Her mind raced, trying to think of a cover. She made a small sound of protest when he went into her bedroom, as she suspected any woman might when strange men entered her home. He didn’t immediately say anything. Had Jalila hidden?

“Do not fear us, sister,” the first man said. “We are looking for an agent of the CIA.”

She let him see her eyes widen in surprise before she lowered them again. “Do you think that he might be hiding here?”

“I found someone,” the tall man in her bedroom yelled.

The other two pushed past her. She hurried with them to the bedroom, knowing who they’d found.

Jalila stood, shivering, with her head down. The man who’d yelled had a grip on her upper arm, as if the terrified girl were going to run.

“She was hiding under the bed,” he said.

“Please.” Sarah kept her voice as soft as she could. “She scares easily.”

“Your daughter?” the man who was the leader asked.

“No,” she said, thinking quickly. “My friend is very sick and I’m taking care of her girl for a few days.”

“Very kind of you, sister,” the leader said. “Let the girl go, Qadir.” He nodded at the third man, who went into Rakin’s room.

“A man’s bedroom, Hisham.” He came to stand behind Sarah. She wanted to move so he wasn’t at her back, but that would look too suspicious.

Hisham pursed his thick lips and stepped closer to her, boxing her in. She couldn’t step back with the other man behind her. “Whose room is that?”

“My brother’s.” Sarah inched to the side.

Hisham stepped even closer. Sarah clutched her robe at her throat, held the scarf tight across her face and kept her gaze down. Anger rose as they boxed her in. She wanted to punch the asshole, but knew that would land her in prison or worse.

“There were no men’s clothes in your room. Where is your husband?” he asked.

“He’s dead.”

The men stepped back. Hisham looked her up and down. “There are many warrior brothers who need a wife.” He glanced at Jalila. “It is sad for a woman not to have a husband to care for. She is without true purpose. Is that not right, sister?”

Sarah knew that if she answered yes, she’d be brought today to the ISIS headquarters and given as a bride to whichever fighter they favored at the moment. She had to be careful about what she said.

“I am still mourning my husband. I am sure I will be ready for a husband again soon,
inshallah
.”

“I could use a wife tonight,” Qadir said. When the tall man leered at her, it highlighted the gap in his yellowed teeth. She forced herself not to shudder. She would kill these men before she ever let one of them lay hands on her.

“Qadir,” the leader said sharply. “She is a sister. Treat her with respect, as you would your own sister.”

Qadir scowled. “My sister’s a whore and Allah will see her punished.” He left the apartment.

Hisham sighed. “My apologies, sister. He is a foreigner. He will soon learn our ways. Maybe a sister like you could help show him.”

Sarah lowered her gaze and said nothing.

“
As-salamu alaykum
,” he said.

“
Wa-alaikum salaam,
” she murmured, but they were already moving to the next house.

She sighed and looked up. Her neighbor, Ahmed, stood across the road in front of his gate. He stared at her and she could feel the malice from where she stood. He started to walk across the street. She slammed her door. A glance out the window showed him standing in the middle of the road before he finally turned back to his own home.

D
ylan holstered
his Sig when he heard the men leave the apartment. They hadn’t checked the basement; they’d been so concerned with Sarah. He hated the thought of leaving her here by herself when men like that had the authority to bust in and harass her. And no matter what she said, Mosul was not a place for a woman on her own, even if she was as skilled as Sarah. The thought of her in ISIS’s hands made his blood curdle.

It had been ingrained in him by his military father to protect those weaker than himself. It was why he’d joined the military. To protect and defend. It was a part of who he was.

Sarah wasn’t weak, but she couldn’t take on the world by herself, no matter what she believed. No one could.

His high school girlfriend had taught him that lesson. And yet here he was. Trying to protect another woman who didn’t trust him to help.

He found her in the front room, peering out the window with the curtain hiding her from view. She hugged herself.

“Will they be back?” he asked.

She let the curtain drop. “Not for a while.”

Jalila went to her, standing close, and said something in Arabic. Sarah dropped to one knee and said something back.

Dammit, he needed to learn more of the language.

Sarah smiled and gave the girl a hug. Jalila stood stiff at first and then hugged Sarah back, squeezing her eyes shut.

Something in his stomach twisted at the sight of Sarah hugging the girl so close. She
was
becoming attached, and that was dangerous. It could affect her decisions.

And her safety.

Sarah hadn’t known this girl long, and yet she was more attached to her than to him, whom she’d slept with.

Fuck him.

Was he jealous of a child? He clenched his jaw. He was not that type of man. He was only concerned for her safety and that of the girl, he told himself. It wasn’t that he wanted Sarah to hug him like she actually cared.

He left them to their quiet murmurs and went to the small kitchen. Sarah had made coffee. Thank God. He took out two cups and poured coffee in both and added milk and sugar to hers.

He would keep Sarah safe. And the girl too.

He turned with the coffee in hand and stopped.

Jalila smiled at him. “
Qahwa
?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Okay?”

“O-kay.” She went to the cupboard and pulled out another cup.

Sarah stood in the kitchen doorway. “You just told her she can have coffee.”

“I did?” He looked at the girl, who frowned with concentration as she lifted the heavy coffeepot. “Kids here drink coffee?”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “No, but they like to have lots of warm milk and sugar.” She helped Jalila pour a little coffee into her mug and then watched as the girl filled it with milk and proceeded to add sugar.

“Four teaspoons?” he said. “Is that good for her?”

“You’re the one who told her she could,” Sarah said.

“Right. Want to run it by me what she said?”

Sarah spoke to Jalila in Arabic and then pointed to the kitchen table. Jalila grinned and with two hands around her mug went and sat.

“Jalila will teach you some Arabic while I shower and dress.” Sarah took the extra cup from him. One sip and her eyes closed; a look of pleasure crossed her face. A look his body recognized. A look his body wanted to see again.

Her eyes opened. “You remembered how I take my coffee.”

“We were together for a month.” He captured her gaze. “I remember every moment of it.”

Her breath caught and her eyes widened. She wasn’t good for him. Hell, she didn’t even like him, but he couldn’t stop himself from stepping closer. Her mouth parted. She didn’t move away. For the past five months, he’d dreamed of kissing those luscious lips again.

“
Qobla?
” Jalila said from the table.

Sarah jumped back, her face going red. She averted her eyes and shook her head, speaking to the girl.

Dylan dragged in air, feeling like he’d just come in from a run. “What’d she say?”

If anything, Sarah’s face got redder.

That was interesting.

“
Qobla
means kiss.” She walked past him without pausing. “I’m going to shower. Jalila will teach you the basics. Try not to teach her any more curse words.”

Dylan watched until Sarah shut the bathroom door. She wasn’t indifferent to him. In fact… He looked at Jalila. “She wouldn’t be all embarrassed unless she had feelings for me, right, kid?”

“F-uck.” Jalila grinned.

“Damned straight, kid.”

S
arah stepped
out of the shower, determined to retain control of her traitorous body. She couldn’t let Dylan affect her like that; he couldn’t get under her skin again. It had hurt too much last time letting him go.

And she would let him go. He had to leave and she had to stay. Her work was important: Not only did the coalition forces use her information to target bombing runs, but the people of Mosul needed help. The children enslaved by ISIS had no one else. Her primary mission was to gather intel, but in her heart it was to rescue as many girls as she could. And as long as she could help, she needed to stay.

She dried herself and dressed in loose, dark pants and a long-sleeved shirt. The days were still hot, and although she obeyed the dress rules of the culture, she didn’t like anything too clingy in this heat. And if it also served as camouflage to ward off the interest she’d seen sparking in Dylan’s eyes, then that was a side bonus.

She came out of the bathroom, braiding her long hair. A sound stopped her. A little girl’s giggle. Dylan and Jalila sat at the table, both grinning.

“What’s so funny?” she asked in both English and Arabic.

“This
fatah,
” Dylan said with a mock frown that sent Jalila spinning off into giggles again. “Is laughing at my Arabic.”

Even without language, the two of them had bonded. Jalila sat close to him and pointed out items while she named them. Dylan made her laugh with his exaggerated accent. As a special operator with E.D.G.E., Dylan would have to know more than one language. She seemed to remember his specialty was Eastern European languages.

She wanted to join them, but knew if she sat down it would only bring gloom to the table. She’d never learned how to be easy with people, unless it was a cover she played, and then it wasn’t herself. Though she sometimes wondered whether she was ever herself with anyone. If she even knew who she was at all.

She left them at the table and lifted the lid on the lamb stew that still simmered. She snagged a spoon so she could taste it.

“Whatever’s on the stove smells delicious,” Dylan said.

She jumped. He was right behind her. Her heart continued to beat too hard. She glanced down, needing a distraction from the large male behind her. “You could at least wear shoes,” she turned to face him, “to make it slightly easier for me to hear you.”

His blue eyes held mischief while his lips curved in a smile. “Where’s the fun in that?”

The overhead kitchen light shone on his blond hair, making it glint with gold and him look like a fallen angel from the romance novels she read in secret.

Jalila giggled again and Sarah realized she’d been staring. Dylan’s eyes no longer held mischief but interest. Warmth flooded her cheeks. Dammit. She needed a distraction.

“I’m going out today,” she blurted.

Dylan frowned, all humor gone, and stepped back from her. “Where are we going?”

She shook her head and turned back to her stew. Her breath came easier now that he’d backed away. “I’m going alone.”

“You can’t,” he said. “Unless ISIS left in the middle of the night.”

Inspiration struck and she waved her spoon. “I won’t be alone. I will get my friend’s husband to look after me. I’ll go to the store with him as chaperone.”

Dylan crossed his arms. “I’m your partner. How can I help you if you’re not with me?”

“I can take care of myself,” she said. “Besides, you don’t actually have a say in this.”

“You’ve been working alone for too long.” Dylan’s face was grim and all trace of teasing gone. Back in place was the cold man he’d become.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Rakin has been my partner for months.”

“Is he your partner, or just a convenient tool that you use?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t.” He shook his head. “You do whatever you want, whenever you want, without thinking of your teammates, or the cost to them.”

She scowled. What was his problem? Did he not think she could handle herself? “I’m just going to the store. It’s not a big deal.”

Dylan rubbed the back of his neck, his frustration obvious. “You’re not getting it. What if something happens to you? How will I know how to find you?”

“If I don’t come back, then take Jalila and get out of the city any way you can.”

His eyes widened and he stepped closer, boxing her against the counter. “You want me to
leave
you?”

Her voice softened. “You’ll have to. There’s nothing you can do if I’m taken. There’s too many of them.”

He shook his head, his scowl ferocious. “Then don’t go. Stop putting yourself in unnecessary danger. What do you even need at the store?”

She almost leaned away from him, but refused to back down. What she
needed
was to get out, to get away from him, but she couldn’t say that. Besides, she really did need to go to the store.

“We need hair dye for you. If anyone catches a glimpse of you, you’re in trouble. But with dark hair, you’ll have an easier time blending in.”

That made him pause and it gave her enough time to scoot away from him. Just a few steps, so she could breathe.

“So you’re doing this for me?” he asked.

“For all of us,” she said. “I’ll call my friend after the midday prayer.”

Someone knocked on her door. Her muscles tightened and beside her, Dylan tensed. “You expecting anyone?”

“No.” She picked up her headscarf. “Hide.”

“I don’t like this.” He grabbed her arm and stopped her from going to the door. “Something’s off.”

“Hide,” she said. “Let me handle it.” She shook off his hand and moved to the door, waving at him to go when she saw him in her living room: tall, imposing, and unwilling to let her face danger alone.

A part of her thrilled at the sight of him, but she stomped that part down. She had to remind herself she worked better alone. He was leaving soon and she couldn’t get used to depending on him.

“You’re not helping. You must hide.”

His scowl returned, but he stalked into the kitchen and she assumed downstairs to the hidden room with Jalila. She pulled her scarf across her face and peeked out her window. She frowned and opened her door.

“Ahmed? Why are you here?”

His thick brows drew together in disapproval. “
As-salamu alaykum.
”

“
Wa-alaikum salaam,
” she replied automatically. “Rakin is not here.” She started to close the door.

Ahmed put his hand out and stopped her. “I’m not here to see Rakin.”

She put shock into her tone, though all she felt was a simmering anger. “This is improper.”

“I heard a man’s voice.” He pushed her door open farther and looked over her head. “Just a moment ago. What man do you have in your house?”

Sarah had had enough. “You are mistaken. You must have heard the radio.” She shoved the door shut against his narrowed gaze.

Dylan stepped out from the stairwell. He obviously hadn’t gone to the hidden room. “He’s going to be a problem.”

Sarah nodded. “I’ll deal with him.”

She ignored Dylan’s scowl and went to call her friend.

A
mirah hooked
her arm through Sarah’s and pulled her close. She tried not to stiffen. She still wasn’t used to Amirah’s natural tendency to hug and touch those she cared for. Growing up without a family meant no one had hugged her or brushed her hair or touched her head in passing. A simple touch from a friend made her feel awkward. So she drew on her training and let her cover show her the way. She
became
Sarah Al-Dahwi. She lowered her chin since she was a humble woman, and squeezed her friend’s arm.

They walked behind Amirah’s husband to the store two blocks away that was part grocery, part hardware and part everything else. It was the place where she shopped if she needed only a few things.

Both women wore the
niqab
and face veils and gloves. Sweat slicked Sarah’s back and made her loose shirt stick to her.

“What is troubling you?” Amirah asked. “Is Rakin really that sick? Do you want me to come look at him?”

Sarah had come up with the excuse that Rakin was ill in order for Amirah’s husband to help her out. She didn’t want Amirah to ask why she needed hair dye, so she’d said that she just wanted a walk to the store to refresh herself.

Even with Amirah pleading her case, Fouad hadn’t been persuaded easily; since he wasn’t a relative of Sarah’s, it was against ISIS’s rules for him to act as her
mahram
. Amirah had convinced Fouad that Sarah needed a break from the confines of her house and her sick brother. And besides, with both of them completely covered, no one could tell who they were. As long as they didn’t run into any of the
hisbah
demanding identity papers, they would be okay.

Amirah had talked Fouad around, though now it looked as if he were having second thoughts.

She’d be giving him
kleicha
cookies tonight.

“He’s not that ill, but he’s claiming I poisoned him with my stew, the oaf.” The lie came easily to Sarah. She wondered briefly if she should feel guilty about lying to her. No. It was something Sarah Al-Dahwi would say. And Amirah was friends with Sarah Al-Dahwi, not Sarah Ramirez.

She had to remember that.

“It can’t be from your cooking. He probably just has a stomach flu,” Amirah defended her.

They made it to the store and Fouad stood at the door. “Be quick,” he told them, his eyes scanning the street.

Sarah nodded. She went into the store and grabbed the chicken broth that she’d told Amirah she needed, along with a bit of chicken and vegetables. Then she snuck into the toiletry aisle and looked at the hair dyes.