Pussycat in Peril (Pussycat Death Squad Book 3) (6 page)

She frowned her concern. “But we’ll only be married for a little while…”

He shrugged again and took another bite of the apple. “I’ve been telling my mother for years that my career makes me a bad bet marriage-wise. I guess now I can show her.”

“Are you close? Your family, I mean.”

“Yeah. I’m the middle son, but Khalil, my oldest brother is only thirty-five. I’m thirty-two. Adnan is the youngest, he was the surprise baby. Khalil and Adnan are both engineers like my dad. I always wanted to be a Marine.
Semper fi
until I die. If I’m in country I try to get home for the holidays, especially Ramadan and Thanksgiving. Mama is an amazing cook.”

“My mama is a good cook, too. Unfortunately, I have no talent in that area,” she said with a wistful smile.

He gave her a dazzling smile in return. “Yeah, but you’re a helluva shot, and gorgeous, too. Being able to cook would just be too much, I’d feel insecure. Besides, I enjoy cooking. Don’t get to do it much though,” he said.

She lowered her gaze, heat rising in her face at his compliment. “Thank you. I miss home cooking so much.”

“There are a lot of restaurants that have Arab cuisine, but yeah, there’s nothing like home cooking,” he said.

“I know. I haven’t had a chance to explore the city much.”

“Right you’ve only been here a couple of months. I’ve been here a while. Ask me anything.”

She plucked a blossom from the grass. “What is this flower?”

“That, my dear, is a dandelion. Do you not have them in your country?”

“I don’t think so. It’s rather pretty, don’t you think?” She blew on it and watched the seedpods drift away on the light breeze.

“Don’t let my dad hear you say that. They’re a weed and he launches chemical warfare against them each spring.” He choked off a laugh, then reached out to touch her hand. “Come on now, it’s not that bad,” he said with a concerned frown.

Astaria dabbed at the tears that had suddenly begun leaking from her eyes. “No. No. I was looking at the way it drifts away. Sort of like me. Cast adrift from my family. My roots back in North Africa.”

“Tell you what, you have my family. Especially my younger brother. My mama will adore you. She’ll be thrilled for a break from all us loud and smelly boys,” he said.

She smiled, though it was a struggle. He really was a sweetheart and she appreciated the huge sacrifice he was making on her behalf. Which is why, on that warm spring afternoon with the dappled sunlight spreading its magic over them, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.

*****

Astaria forced herself out of the torpor of memories and came back into the present. Their driver was driving so quickly that the journey to Laria, which typically took two hours, took only a little over one. When the driver stopped at a building she was surprised to recognize a hotel she had stayed at before. Staying here was not a good idea. The management was rife with government spies, and there was always the possibility that she might be recognized. She gave Kaeden a sharp look and he nodded, then exited the vehicle. After he helped her do the same, she realized he’d left an envelope on the seat. The other man reached over the back of his seat and picked it up. He raised it to his head in an ersatz salute, and then the truck sped off at an even faster clip.

The hotel was a large glass-fronted structure with uniformed doormen helping guests exit vehicles in a formal manner. Most of the guests were in expensive business attire and she and Kaeden stood out. He at least was wearing what could be called business casual in khakis and a black polo shirt. She, on the other hand, looked a wrinkled mess in her repeatedly slept-in clothes. Fortunately her hijab covered the messy braids she’d been wearing for weeks now which were in desperate need of a re-do. Everything else though, was disreputable in the extreme. She eyed the doormen warily. One of them was bound to call law enforcement or run them off himself.

“We can’t stay here,” she said to Kaeden.

“I assumed as much from your look. I wasn’t lying about the lack of contacts,” he said. “Where else can we go?”

“Come on,” she said, hurrying toward the line of taxis queued up outside the hotel. After entering the taxi she gave the driver an address in French. When a blank stare was his only response she switched to Arabic then resumed speaking to Kaeden in French.

“He might be faking, but I don’t think our driver speaks French. I didn’t dare try English as my English is irretrievably Americanized,” she said.

He nodded in agreement with her observation. “Where are you taking us?”

“A friend of my father’s.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea? From what I understand everyone at the university has either been arrested, killed or under such close watch as to be useless.”

“This friend is not a professor. He is one of my parents’ childhood friends from long ago. It’s doubtful anyone would ever remember my father’s association with him.”

Chapter Four

As the taxi traveled into increasingly lower class neighborhoods Astaria realized another benefit as well. She doubted anyone would think to look for her in the area and such people would be accustomed to minding their own business. They took two more taxis to other hotels in an effort to shake any followers they might have picked up, but in truth the guard probably wanted to be as far removed from them as possible.

When the driver stopped at a small white washed building Astaria remembered from her childhood, her eyes welled with tears. She hadn’t been here in too many years. When a grizzled old man answered their knock at the door she hesitated. What if they didn’t remember her? But she was immediately embraced and drawn inside. Only her
Amati
Sarai and
Ami
Dawood Hamadi would welcome visitors in the middle of the night this way.

“I need to explain,” Astaria began as she was smothered in Sarai’s embrace. Sarai was not a large woman. Indeed she was significantly shorter than Astaria’s just over medium height, but her hugs hadn’t changed—they were full-fledged gestures that enveloped the whole body. Dawood was more reserved. The tall lean man had always been less effusive than his wife but tonight his hug was nearly as generous.

As she stepped out Dawood’s embraced Astaria took Kaeden’s hand and drew him forward. “Amati Sarai, Ami Dawood, this is my husband, Kaeden. Kaeden Nassir.”

“Pleased to meet you. Thank you so much for your hospitality,” Kaeden said.

“We are delighted to meet the Astaria’s husband. She is like a daughter to us. Most unfortunate that we weren’t able to attend the wedding ceremony. These times make maintaining traditions, or even little niceties almost impossible,” Dawood said.

“We were married at the courthouse, Mama and Babba weren’t there either. But let me explain…”

“No. No. No. Explanations are unnecessary. First you eat. Then you rest. Explanations can wait, but you child, you look exhausted. I think maybe your husband has not been taking good care of you.” Aunt Sarai gave Kaeden a scolding glance.

“It’s not that. He wasn’t here,” Astaria immediately felt the need to defend him.

“He allowed you to come into such a situation alone? No? Well we can discuss all this tomorrow. I know you must be exhausted. Obviously you’ve been through an ordeal. Astaria you remember where the washroom is. You and Kaeden go wash up and I’ll warm up some food for you,” Sarai said. 

Astaria led Kaeden up the stairs and down the long narrow hall to the second floor lavatory. She had always loved this house with its white plaster walls and high dark-beamed ceilings. Every room, even the halls had ceiling fans to circulate the air, a lifesaver in the desert climate. Sarai had a love for color and the floors were all adorned with amazing local floor tiles in bright blues and yellow. So cool and refreshing after a long hot day. Being that she hadn’t been to the house since she was a child she was surprised she remembered it as well as she did.

She turned to ask Kaeden if he needed to use the toilet, only to find herself suddenly wrapped in his strong embrace. Though she was surprised by the gesture, it didn’t come at all amiss. She’d spent the past couple of months frightened out of her mind and convinced she’d never make it out of Laritrea alive. Though she could barely admit it to herself she had missed him terribly. Given the fierceness of his grip, he had felt much the same. He was murmuring something against side of her neck and it took a moment for her to understand.

“I was so goddamned scared. I can’t believe I got you back. Don’t ever do this shit to me again,” he said in English. They’d been speaking Arabic since arriving at the Hamadi home.

She looked up at him with a gasp. “Well, I like that. It’s not like I got into this situation on purpose.”

“I didn’t say you did. I said don’t do it again.”

“It’s what I do, in case you’ve forgotten. It’s what you do too—” 

“Astaria. Shut up. I’m going to kiss you until we both run out of air. I’m going to come up for air, then I’m going to kiss you again. Do you have a problem with that?”

Apparently he took her look of astonishment for consent because he lowered his mouth to her and suddenly she wasn’t capable of thought or even breathing. Fortunately neither was necessary at least for the moment. His lips were firm and dry against hers and when he whispered, “Let me in, baby,” her knees almost buckled.

He slid his tongue against the seam of her lips until she granted his demand then his tongue tangled with hers again and again in a delicious motion of sensuality she felt it in every cell of her body. Inhaling the rich masculine scent of his skin, Astaria could feel her breasts swell and her nipples harden in response to her arousal. As promised he did pause to catch his breath, but his mouth descended on hers once again, this time with even greater urgency. He pressed his hips against hers and she could feel his erection hard and questing through their clothes. She was a virgin, but she was no innocent she knew exactly what her body wanted. Just when she thought he would give it to her right there he raised his head. Resting his forehead against hers he whispered.

“Ya Allah I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

“Don’t do that shit again.”

“Crudities are hardly necessary,” she said pursing her lips in disapproval. When he didn’t respond she continued, “Assuming we get out of here alive I promise I will never do this shit again.”

Before long they were seated at the table having a late evening meal. Astaria felt a rush of homesickness when she saw the lamb
tagine
and the fresh from the oven pita bread. Lamb with carrots and olives was her favorite dish; it was the centerpiece of every birthday celebration as far back as she could remember. The familiar scent of caraway, lemon, harissa and parsley was irresistible, literally making her mouth water as she realized just how hungry she was. She’d had nothing to eat since noon, nearly eight hours before.

She began to eat, and it was all she could do not to shovel the delicious food in her mouth. She glanced over at Kaeden who was attacking his food with similar ferocity; not even bothering with niceties, he scooped up the last bit of his casserole with a piece of pita bread. When he realized she was watching, he grinned and gave her a slow wink. Sarai and Dawood, having eaten earlier, simply watched while drinking some fruit juice as she and Kaeden finished off the food before Dawood spoke.

“I am so sorry for what happened to Faisal. It is just tragic that a man like Al Hakam, -- an art thief, a common criminal, a man without conscience -- has been given so much power,” Dawood said.

Astaria stared at him in surprise.

“You think I wouldn’t know? That your father would not share this information with a simple shopkeeper?” Dawood asked.

Astaria sighed. She’d forgotten Dawood’s sensitivity about his lack of education. Even so, he was anything but a simple shopkeeper. Her father had always said Dawood was the most intelligent and crafty man he knew and Faisal Ibrahim was a man who greatly admired both traits. With or without book knowledge, Dawood was a survivor as evidenced by his continued survival when her parents hadn’t made it. They had loved him and Sarai deeply but he had always been touchy about her father’s advanced degrees and higher status. “No, I knew you and Babba were close. But antiquities theft was a university matter and I didn’t know whether he would’ve shared that information with anyone. He chose not to prosecute Al Hakam, a decision he came to regret.”

Dawood sighed. “Your father was always a man of great compassion. He told me most of the stolen antiquities were recovered, and most importantly the pipeline had been cut off, he saw no benefit in imprisoning the man. We were brothers. Not of the blood, but of the heart. And your beloved mother. I couldn’t have loved her more if she were my own Sarai.”

Astaria closed her eyes as the pain of her loss seared through her with the viciousness of a new wound. Kaeden took her hand in his. Any greater display of affection would be inappropriate in front of their elders.

“Dawood. You speak of this now. The child is still grieving,” Sarai said, taking Astaria’s other hand.

“No. No. Amati. I mean, yes, it hurts. The pain is intense, but I love hearing about them,” Astaria said.

Dawood nodded. “It is good to speak of those who’ve left us because then they are forever with us. Faisal, he didn’t tell me the details until Al Hakam had risen to power. He was concerned about the vendetta he was sure the man would wage.”