Darkest Before Dawn (KGI series) (11 page)

Next she gently applied a thick layer of the odorless paste to Honor’s swollen knee, whispering a prayer as she worked. Tears burned the edges of Honor’s eyes because the woman prayed in the language of religion. Arabic. And she was asking for Allah’s blessing and for his hand to guide her path to freedom.

When she’d meticulously applied the medicinal concoction to the many other scrapes and bruises, she instructed Honor to hold out her hands and then carefully went over each finger and rubbed the dye into the lines and cracks in her skin. Then she did the same to Honor’s feet, but then she produced a pair of shoes, the kind the natives wore, soft and comfortable, but the woman assured her they were sturdy and would withstand the amount of walking Honor had to do.

“The shoes you wore are a giveaway,” the woman patiently explained. “Not shoes a woman here would wear. Fortunately no one has seen them or they would have been noticed. But with you now wearing a different garment and shoes of a native, and the fact that you’re departing well before the sun sets, you should have no difficulty in getting way beyond the village. There are no reports of anyone departing the market in any direction being stopped and searched or questioned. By all accounts, the snakes are just lying in the grass and waiting for you to magically appear in front of them. One would think they would have learned by now not to underestimate you, but their arrogance is too much for that. They think they have the advantage now because they know your habits and your patterns, and so they’ve set a trap and are waiting for you to fall neatly into it.”

“I have you—both of you,” she added to include the husband, “to thank for my not falling into their trap because that is precisely what I would have done had you not warned—and aided—me.”

“Come, come now,” the woman said, producing the garments for Honor to wear out of the village. “They wait at one of the booths, pretending interest until you arrive. You must hurry, though. We don’t want to do anything that will arouse suspicion.”

Honor put it into high gear and within minutes she was dressed appropriately, the strap of her bag secured cross body and a new hijab and robe folded carefully over her arm. She walked briskly to the door, testing the strength of her knee now that she was to walk normally. It protested the quicker movements and more weight being borne on the leg, but it was much more bearable than before, probably due to the woman’s doctoring. But most importantly, she could maintain a normal pace without giving away her injury. It pained her, yes. But it had subsided to a dull ache and sheer determination would make it impossible for her to falter. At the door, she paused and turned back, needing to at least try to put into words her overwhelming gratitude.

“Thank you,” she said. “You risked much for a stranger. I’ll never be able to repay my debt to you.”

“May Allah be with you on your journey,” the husband said in a solemn voice. “We will pray daily for you.”

“And I you,” Honor vowed in return. “Allah be with your family always. I will never forget you. You will forever remain in my prayers.”

“Good journey,” the woman said as Honor opened the door and stepped into the sunlight.

The woman had directed her to which group to blend in with and she walked toward them, carrying her market purchases, but before she reached them, her way was suddenly blocked by a large, looming man. Her pulse leapt and her fight-or-flight reflexes screamed at her to be set free. It took every ounce of discipline she possessed to lower her head in subservience and murmur an apology in the local dialect.

“Very impressive, Honor. Doing the unexpected. Now I
understand why you’ve been able to evade capture for so long. And your accent is flawless. I wonder. How many of the languages in this region do you speak?”

The American accent, a hint of the south, a drawl so subtle it nearly wasn’t audible. But she had an affinity for languages and accents, and her ears were sensitive to subtle nuances others would likely be unaware of. But he too obviously had a talent for languages or at least the one she’d spoken to him since he’d been aware that he could detect no accent, and he’d been looking for one.

Her pulse leapt again, this time thundering like a tornado through her veins but for a different reason altogether. He was American. He knew her name. Was he here to rescue her? Had news of her survival and of the militant group turning the earth over in search of her reached the public? Had he been sent to extract her? And if so, why hadn’t he simply identified himself and stated his objective? Had he been concerned that her relief would give them away? That she’d become a hysterical, shrill twit and attract the focus of everyone in the entire village? Something about this—him—just didn’t feel right.

Trust no one.

The woman’s words filtered through her mind, dimming her excitement, and she forced herself to act indifferent, puzzled even, as though she didn’t understand the language he spoke. Daringly, she turned her head up, meeting his gaze, forcing hers into one of confusion.

She cocked her head and shook it slightly, frowning even as she said in the local dialect, “I’m sorry. I don’t understand. I don’t speak your language.”

A glint of amusement briefly flickered in his eyes before his gaze hardened and his expression became equally hard—and gravely serious.

He wore the clothing of a native and yet there was no attempt on his part to hide what he was. Caucasian. Perhaps the reason he didn’t show fear was that he was protected by his membership in a terrorist organization.

“I don’t have time to play games. You don’t have the time to waste. You were probably told that the men hunting you
are waiting until dark, when you are normally on the move and that they will be looking for an older woman with a slow, shuffling gait and that they aren’t checking those leaving the village. But that’s untrue. They’ve set a perimeter well beyond the outskirts of the village so it doesn’t appear that anyone is being investigated, but in fact, they’ve stopped every single person departing since the market opened and they are not simply waiting around for dark for you to fall into their hands. And despite the clever change in disguise and doing the unexpected, it will do you no good. They will stop your entire group and search each of you thoroughly and when it’s discovered you are with this group preparing to depart, they’ll slaughter every single one of them and they’ll take you—alive—and into your worst nightmare.”

The iron will that had kept Honor alive and moving since the day of the attack crumbled and lay in ruins around her, and she knew stark fear shone brightly in her eyes, giving herself completely away to a man whose agenda she was ignorant of. She didn’t know if he was friend or foe. And it was obvious he knew a damn lot about
her
, which put her at a distinct disadvantage because she didn’t have the first clue who
he
was. Only that he was American, which should have relieved her, but there was something in that rock-hard face, the ruthlessness she could see lurking in the shadows of his eyes. At this moment she didn’t know whom she feared more, the American or the militants lying in wait for her.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked bluntly in English as she stared directly into his gaze, trying to pick up on any tell, any indication of his intentions.

But he remained devoid of emotion, his expression utterly inscrutable. He gave nothing of himself away, which frustrated Honor. Everyone gave up something. It was always there for a trained eye to see. But this man was impossible to read, as though he’d had years to perfect a facade that no one could penetrate.

He could be military. She hoped with all she had that he was U.S. military and that his hard shell was a result of his training and experience in a region of the world where bloodshed was more common than running water.

“Because I’m going to take you with me so you aren’t captured by the men who won’t stop until they’ve captured their prey.”

She studied him for another long moment. “So you’ve come to rescue me? Who are you? Who sent you?”

He arched one eyebrow, clearly surprised by her resistance. Perhaps he’d expected her to fall into his arms, sobbing hysterically, thinking him her savior. But she hadn’t stayed alive as long as she had by blindly believing
anything
. Or taking anything at face value. And she couldn’t afford to start now. Not when she was so close to her ultimate goal of finding her way home.

“Does it matter?” he asked mildly. “All you need to know is that my men and I will get you out of the country and out of A New Era’s reach. Or would you prefer to take your chances with your group of protectors and lead them blindly to certain death?”

Honor bit into her lip, deeply conflicted. Why
wasn’t
she happier to see him? Why
wasn’t
she falling into his arms, relieved and grateful? Was that not why she was so desperate to cross the border into a country where there was an American presence? And that presence had just planted itself in her path, offering her safe passage. Perhaps it was because it had been too easy, too convenient, the timing either impeccable or coincidental. And she wasn’t a believer in coincidences. Especially when it came to her life.

“If they’re searching everyone leaving the village and if they have, as you say, a perimeter set up encompassing all routes leading out of the village, then how do you and your men possibly think
you
will be able to get past their roadblocks, impervious to the very thing you’ve sworn will happen if I leave the village with a group of people? Aren’t you a group of people just the same?”

White teeth flashed and she was reminded of a predator’s teeth set in a snarl as they closed in on their prey. A shiver of apprehension skated down her spine and she absently rubbed at one arm through the heavy material of her garment.

“I plan to drive right past them.”

Honor went rigid with fear. The people who’d awaited
her were clearly uneasy and were inching away, clearly wanting to be out of this place. And to be rid of her. They well knew what they risked by allowing her to travel with them, and now, with the arrival of this ominous-looking stranger, they were even more nervous. She couldn’t blame them. And neither could she consign them to certain death. She couldn’t take the chance that this man wasn’t telling her the absolute truth. She would not be responsible for these people’s deaths.

She waved them off, making that sudden decision when it became clear that they knew she was a death trap. The American was right. She wouldn’t simply lead her supposed saviors meekly to the slaughter when it gave her absolutely no chance of escape. He, on the other hand, was offering one, and his arrogance suggested he actually thought—knew—
he
would be successful.

It came down to the lesser of two evils. One known and one unknown. She knew what fate awaited her at the hands of the savages who hunted her. She didn’t know what the American’s intentions were, but given that her only other option was certain torture, endless agony and death, it made the decision to go with the unknown the only logical choice.

“You’ve made your decision. Now move it,” he said, no gentleness to his voice.

Somehow she’d imagined her rescue a little different. Perhaps at the hands of American soldiers who would at least acknowledge her as a sister, inquire as to her health. Not taunt her into making a decision. For that matter, shouldn’t he have identified himself as a member of the U.S. military? Shouldn’t he have identified himself, period?

She frowned. The military didn’t just order people around for their own good, did they? But then she supposed that was exactly what they did on a daily basis when rescuing captives or hostages. Time was critical, and following orders was essential to their survival.

“What branch of the military do you serve and where are your dog tags?” she blurted, even as she stumbled along beside him, attempting to match his much longer stride.

She bit into her lip to quell the sound of pain as her knee
protested the vigorous motion it was unused to. It was silly, but she didn’t want to show weakness in front of this warrior. And he clearly was a warrior. She wanted to show only strength, give him no reason to fault her, and she’d be damned if she’d slow him down.

Again his teeth flashed, but in no way was it in a smile. Quite frankly, he scared her every time he did it. He reminded her too much of the big bad wolf about to devour Little Red Riding Hood, only in Honor’s case, she’d been wandering through the desert, not the forest, and there were no wolves here. But there were plenty of demons. Spawns of Satan himself. Evil ran strong here, stained with the blood of the innocents.

“It’s a little late to be asking me for ID now,” he said mildly.

He arrived at a military-looking vehicle and for the first time her blood pulsed wildly with excitement. It looked American, and while that might sound like a stupid thought from a clueless civilian, she’d worked throughout this region for a good while and she’d come into contact with all manner of military equipment and vehicles. She’d quickly learned to recognize friend or foe by subtle things maybe others wouldn’t notice. But when your life depended on
knowing
, and assuming would get you killed faster than a stray bullet in a fight zone, you tended to fast become an expert on learning the differences between those who would kill you and those who would save you.

He all but shoved her into the back and slid in beside her, slamming his door closed while she struggled to right herself from where her head had plunged toward the floorboard and the heavy material covered her and twisted around her, preventing her from gracefully extricating herself. Then the vehicle lurched into motion, flattening her once more. Frustrated and angry with the lack of care her “rescuer” had offered thus far, she planted her hands on the floorboard and attempted to push herself upward and out of the tangle of material effectively trapping her legs and obscuring her vision.

To her shock, he planted a firm hand in the middle of her
back and shoved her even farther down onto the floor. Another man already seated in the back of the utility vehicle pushed her head underneath his legs, but he used care that the first man forwent.