Dead Reckoning (13 page)

“When you are ready.” Baseer reached into the car and withdrew a briefcase. Then he patted his son on the shoulder, met Shiloh's gaze, and headed into the hotel.

Shiloh took a step closer when Khalid didn’t move.

“I’ll be okay,” he mumbled, watching his father's receding back.

“In about six months.”

One side of his lips quirked upward. He flipped his hair from his face. “How many paces between here and the nearest chair?”

With a step back, Shiloh mentally measured the distance. “About fifty.”

With squared shoulders and fists balled, he took the first of the fifty steps toward the hotel. Shiloh swallowed. She dared not say anything. His pace was slow and pain-filled. She heard him suck in a breath every six steps or so. Her heart twisted, and she wished she could just wrap her arm around his waist and ease his burden.

“I have an idea.” Shiloh darted past him, grabbed a luggage dolly, and wheeled it back to him. “Grab the pole.”

Agony morphed to relief as he held the brass pole. No more than a dozen feet lay between them and the front door.

Ten minutes after Baseer had checked in, they rode the elevator up to the fourth floor.

“Get on.” Shiloh pointed to the dolly supporting Khalid. His eyes widened. “Get on and pretend you’re just goofing around. Your father can push you.”

His father scowled. “I will do—”

“Look at him, Mr. Khan. He either rests or keels over,” Shiloh pleaded with the two men.

“There is only one more hall,” Khalid mumbled as he slumped against the mirrored glass elevator. “Once I get to the room, I can rest.”

“Khalid! Pride isn’t worth the strain it's putting on you.”

“It is not pride; it's honor.”

Shiloh bit back her groan. This wasn’t a battle she could win. Why it had to be a battle in the first place, she didn’t know. Khalid would follow his father's wishes. He always had. Which made her wonder about his decision to turn from the Muslim faith and become a Christian. She knew it had rent his relationship with his father, but nobody spoke of it. It made her wonder how Khalid would ever get Baseer's blessing to marry her since the man seemed to resent her.

Shiloh stared at the shiny numbers on the black door as Baseer slid a key card through the reader on room 313. Was it an unlucky number? He pushed open the door and held it as Khalid stumbled into the suite. A table and chairs, small bar, and sofa welcomed them.

“Your room is there,” Baseer nodded his head and handed her a card. “You can access it from the hall or from here, and you may lock both doors. Tomorrow, I will go into the city and arrange our travel plans.” He seemed to hesitate, his mysterious eyes monitoring his son as Khalid eased onto the
sofa with a groan. Baseer pivoted toward her. “While I am gone, I’d prefer if you stayed here in the hotel. You … stand out.”

Clearing her throat, she looked at Baseer. “When will we leave for Pakistan?”

The man's eyes darkened. “If Allah wills, in less than two days.”

She relaxed her face as she met Khalid's eyes. “Good night. Rest well.”

“Good night.”

Shiloh let herself into her room and flipped on the wall switch. Light flooded the room, and she nudged the door shut behind her. She locked the deadbolt and slid on the chain lock. Two red, tufted chairs sat before the gold brocade curtains. She dropped her pack in a chair on her way to the window. Drawing the thin material aside, she unlocked the glass door and stepped out on the tiny balcony. She leaned against the ledge. Sun-warmed plaster bathed her palms. Fewer people populated the tables and vendors below. A woman bent over her cart, stretching a tarp over her produce.

Knocking drew her around. She paused as another rap thudded on the adjoining door. Khalid! She unlocked it and yanked it open with a smile.

She froze. “Baseer.” A half-smile. “Did I forget something?”

Thick brows shadowed his dark eyes. His mouth turned downward, drawing his bearded face into a scowl. “Khalid is asleep. We should talk.”

He dragged a chair to the door and sat.

I guess this isn’t an invitation.
She copied him and settled into a crimson chair. “Okay. Is something wrong?”

“I want to know what happened in the harbor.”

“I told Nisa.” Shiloh folded her hands to hide her agitation. “We were diving—the last leg of our assignment.”

“Right.” Baseer scratched his beard. “Why was Khalid shot?”

She blinked. “I have no idea.”

“Why weren’t you shot or killed?”

Although she tried to swallow, her tongue felt thicker than fried plantains. “I was underwater when it happened.”

He nodded.

“If I had been on the boat, I probably would’ve been shot.”

“You have no idea what these men wanted?”

Confusion draped her. “What men?”

His eyes widened.

“The men at the hospital?”

“Yes, yes. Tem.”

“I told you and Khalid, I don’t know what they wanted. It's my guess they want me dead because they think I saw or know something.” She laced her fingers and squeezed.

“Then you don’t know these men?”

Shiloh straightened. “Know them? How would I know them?”

“I am not sure. I would just like to understand what happened.”

“As would I, but—” A thought hit her. Her cheek under her left eye twitched. “You … you can’t possibly think I had anything to do with it, do you?”

“One wonders.”

Her mouth fell open. She stared, disbelieving. Finally, she hung her head and rose to her feet. If he thought her capable of the attack, then … “Do you intend to leave me behind?”

He sat for a minute without answering. By the look in his eyes, she could tell that very thought had crossed his mind. The affront stunned her.

“I see.” She knew Baseer had never liked her—or maybe it was more that he hadn’t ever been friendly to anyone—but to have him accuse her of the attack, of nearly killing Khalid, clawed at her soul.

“I am sorry.” Baseer looked down. “It is a path I must consider in the protection of my son.” His dark eyes came back to hers. “He intends to make you his bride, but I am not convinced you are willing or right for him. That makes one wonder if you would—”

She held her mouth tight against the trembling. “I may not be the most affectionate person, but I would never, ever hurt Khalid. It is insulting that you can equate that with murder.”

On his feet, he moved toward her.

Shiloh took a step back, bracing herself for an assault.

But he stopped short, his gaze darting to the bed. Was he remembering that propriety demanded he not be in an unmarried woman's bedroom? He averted his eyes and stepped back into his suite, pulling the door closed. “Good night.”

When the door clicked shut, Shiloh slapped the bolt into place. She whirled around, her chest pounding. How could he accuse her of murder … of intentionally harming Khalid? She stomped to her pack and jerked it onto the bed, where she plopped onto the stiff mattress. As she dug through her bag, she tried to think coherently. Her anger, frustration, and the weight of the last several days seemed to have smothered her ability to think clearly.

Is that what Brutus thought too? That she was responsible for the murders? Is that why he’d given her the phone and tracked her through the marketplace? She pulled the secure phone from her backpack. Running her thumb over the spine, she ached at the thought that she had been judged so quickly, especially by Brutus.

No, there was something about him … something different in his eyes … something more positive than condemnation or accusation.

Belief. He believed in her.

It was a crazy thought. Khalid believed in her, too, yet it was different. But how? Either you did or you didn’t. Right?

Or maybe it was acceptance. No, that couldn’t be it. Khalid knew her darkest secrets and still he had proposed. Foolish guy!

So what was it with Brutus that seemed to tear down her carefully constructed barriers?

Who cared! She tossed the phone back into her bag. Returning to the balcony, she wrapped her arms around her waist and rested her forearms on the ledge. A thick, salty breeze tousled her hair, and the fine strands tickled her almost-bare arms. The scent of the sea begged her to immerse herself in its blue-green waters. When would she be able to dive again?

With a heavy sigh, she looked at the sky. Something in the twinkling black blanket above reminded her of the night Brutus had bequeathed her the rupees and a thousand-pound box of questions. If she ever saw him again, she’d make sure to drag some answers out of him.

Maybe she could ask him if he knew anything about Baseer Khan—like did he have connections to the men who tried to kill her?

S
O, WHAT WAS THAT ALL ABOUT?” TOBY SHUT THE DOOR TO HIS FLAT.

Reece shed the jacket and hung it over the back of a living room chair. “At least you had the good sense not to talk in front of the driver.”

“Hey, I’m an embassy official, not a moron.” Toby sauntered into the kitchen where he ripped off his tie and yanked open the fridge. “How ’bout a Coke? A real one—it's even cold.”

“I’ll pass.” Reece lowered himself onto the brown leather sofa and rested his elbows on his knees. “Abdul's involved in whatever's going on.”

Toby popped the top to a glass-bottled soda and took a long draught. “Well, I could’ve figured that out.”

“Yeah, after I brought the guy down.”

Laughing, Toby kicked off his shoes and untucked his shirt. He looked like a slob as he plopped into his recliner. A tuxedo cat leapt to the back of the chair and arched into Toby's neck with a long meow. He scratched the black and white fur as the feline purred. “So, what was your clue? What tipped you off ?”

Reece slumped against the sofa, the leather letting out a mournful hiss. “Several days ago, I attempted to divert attention from the female student.” Reece prayed Toby didn’t
mention Shiloh's name. A strong possibility existed that his flat had been bugged. “She had tails and a close encounter of the ugly kind, so I set a trap.”

“Smart.”

“After what I saw on the street, I knew I had to get some heat off her.”

“Which takes heat off you.” Toby swirled the dark liquid in the bottle. “So, how does any of this connect to Abdul?”

“I called Noor posing as a doctor from St. George, told them I had a female student who, unfortunately, didn’t look like she was going to make it.”

“Ahh.” Toby set his drink down and lowered the cat to his lap. “So, when our good friend, the minister, mentioned the hospital—”

“Like I said when we went in there, I just had to get him talking. I knew he’d slip up. He might look smart, but there's a reason Chiranjivi won the election.”

“Yeah, and good thing you never mentioned that. I hear the two still aren’t talking.”

Reece processed the tidbit. It had been a heated race. Abdul tried to play on Muslim sympathies, but India had long battled to preserve their Hindu legacy. “Abdul's divulgence helped me know where to concentrate my efforts. If we didn’t look interested in the attack, they’d know that we have the girl in our court.”

“We do?” Toby's eyebrows hitched.

A shrug. “It's only a matter of time.”

“So you know where she is?”

His friend seemed a bit too interested. Reece couldn’t believe she still had the cell phone. He’d expected her to toss it after the last incident. She’d been really ticked. But he wasn’t going to force her to his side. Eventually, she’d have no choice. He only prayed she’d wise up before someone else got hurt.
Surely, she would. After all, she’d tried to turn the tables on him. Spunky.

“You do realize it's against the moral codes to spy on her like
that
.”

Reece scowled. “What?”

“That smile on your face didn’t look like it came from allowed practice.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

Toby nudged Mitty off his lap. “I might not be a spy with all the smoke and mirrors, but I know when a guy has a thing for a girl.”

“The ‘thing’ I have for this young woman is protecting her and getting her out of the country safely.”

“What about the guy who was shot?”

Quirking an eyebrow, Reece rubbed his hands together. “They’re together, with his father.”

“You don’t sound happy.” Wood floors creaked as Toby moved to the mail drop.

“It's hard to be happy when an asset is in the hands of a suspected terrorist.” Reece pushed off the couch and made his way to the kitchen where he lifted a glass from the cabinet and poured water into it.

Toby returned with a stack of letters. “Haven’t checked my mail in several days. It’ll take the whole weekend to go through these.” He tossed them onto the counter. “So you think the son is a terrorist?”

“Father. Reportedly connected to some Pakistani radicals. My theory is Sajjadi.”

Toby's eyes widened. “Osman Sajjadi? Aren’t you swinging that bat a bit high?”

“You trace the paths. The Pakistanis are notorious for covering their tracks, but more than once I’ve seen the road lead to Sajjadi. Then al Nabiri, his right-hand man, was gunned down at the Mumbai Mansion.”

Grabbing a pen and paper, Toby came around the counter. “I need the father's name and location.”

Unwilling to hand over the information just yet, Reece dumped the water down his throat and set the glass on the Formica. “Give me two days to cement this—at least.”

Challenge crossed Toby's expression. Lips taut, eyes slightly narrowed, he stared at Reece. “Our relations with the Indian government have improved since the NPT, but we still walk a fine line. Unless you have absolute proof about Sajjadi, or you can bring me your data about this girl, I can’t entertain your theories. I need names.”

The safety and life of an American college student depended on his withholding that information. Toby knew better than to ask for details. With or without the non-proliferation treaty, relations were tenuous. Of course, if Toby had the data Reece had gathered, there might be quite a bit more tension. But Reece wasn’t ready for things to heat up.

Toby eyed him for a minute and then banged a fist on the counter. “You know something.” He grunted. “I can’t believe nobody informed us about this,” he muttered, apparently realizing Reece wouldn’t give an inch. “I expected a little more respect from you.”