Dead Reckoning (37 page)

“Nobody, Reece—
nobody
can do the job that God called you to do.” She joined him at the window, her hand on his arm. “You walked away from it. You walked away from
her
.”

Glaring, he ground his teeth. “I sacrificed
everything
for her. So she would be safe.”

Sympathy softened her expression. “Well, maybe now you’ve proven your love—for God and for Shiloh. But you were made for this. You have to go back.”

Reece looked away.
God, please don’t ask this of me.
His breathing turned shallow. “I can’t.” If she died …

“I think, dear brother, that it's time for you to carry out your duties.” Julia placed her hand on his back. “I know you’re afraid of repeating the same mistakes with Shiloh that happened with Chloe, but she isn’t Chloe.”

“Trust me,” he said. “I know that. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. But I can’t. I can’t endanger her life any more.
She's been betrayed and hurt by everyone in her life. I won’t do that to her.”

“You already have.”

Reece stared at her. Each beat of his thundering heart swished in his ears. “I put her in protective custody to save her life.”

“You sent her away from the one man she grew to trust, and maybe even love.”

The revelation pierced him. “I just wanted her safe. And no matter how much it kills me, she
is
safe. Behind a steel wall in London. That's where she needs to stay for now.”

“It's not that simple anymore, Reece.” Julia blinked. “She needs you to …” Swallowing, she shook her head and forced a smile. The tear streaking down her face alarmed him. Julia never cried. “I think you should—”

He rushed to her and held her shoulders. “What? What aren’t you telling me?”

Her face contorted. More tears slipped down her tawny cheeks.

Reece shook her. “What's happened?”

“She escaped,” Julia said. “It's not good. She escaped with someone she believed was an ally. A man British intelligence thought they had a leash on. He’d sworn his allegiance to helping them stop Allah's Sword, but they fear he might’ve been a double.”

“Who?”

“Mahmud Sajjadi.”

Shock ripped the breath from his lungs. “Sajjadi's son.”

I
T HAD BEEN TOO EASY. DESPITE HER INEXPERIENCE, EVEN SHILOH KNEW
that their without-a-hitch escape from MI-6 signaled her stupidity. Hadn’t she just vowed not to trust another man, and who did she pick to break that promise with? A man whose allegiance she’d managed to sway with two simple words.
I’nsh Allah.

He's a means to an end. A means to an end.
Even chanting those words to herself as they flew through British airspace hadn’t persuaded her. As a matter of fact, the trip had dislodged them, leaving her courage hollow. The numbness in her legs and spine had little do to with the train vibrations. She’d do whatever it took to get back to India. If she could, then she’d make her way to the Green Beret camp, find Reece, and tear out his heart. After that, she’d hunt down those responsible for Khalid's death.

God, help me do this. Help me find Reece.
Amazingly, the prayer didn’t feel like it had hit a brick wall and bounced back in her face this time. Maybe God was listening.

Feeling the gravitational pull of the train as it sped around a bend, Shiloh stiffened to stop herself from sliding across the seat and directly into her traveling companion's lap. The train straightened out, its drag easing. Her thoughts flitted back
to Reece.
I love you, Shiloh. Remember that. No matter what happens.
She savored the memory of his kiss, and then she remembered his betrayal. Voices whispered around them, warning of danger.

“I have the girl.”

Heat spiraled into Shiloh's chest as the words snatched her from the dreams. She stilled her impulse to look over her shoulder at Mahmud. Who was he talking to? She didn’t hear another voice, so he must’ve made a call on his cell phone.

“I know what I’m doing!” he said in Arabic.

Shiloh wished she’d studied the language more. He continued speaking, this time something about a father and Allah. He ended the call as the train slowed.

A nudge against her shoulder. “Miss Blake.” Another nudge. “Miss Blake, this is our stop.”

Feigning sleepiness, she stretched and yawned. “Are we here already?”

Mahmud nodded, his features taut.

Grabbing her pack, Shiloh tucked aside her fear. Her idiocy had gotten her into this mess. Now she had to let it play out until she could seize the reins of control.

They plodded down the narrow corridor to the door. A uniformed man stood on the platform and extended his hand toward Shiloh. Questions about what an American woman was doing with a Muslim man clearly lingered in his dark eyes as he glanced between her and Mahmud. Her lanky companion glared back, caught her shoulder, and tugged her away.

“Speak to no one,” Mahmud grumbled as they entered the depot.

“I know In—” Shiloh bit her tongue when she saw the signs hanging over the door. They weren’t in Marathi. Or Hindi. The signs were in Arabic. Which meant this wasn’t India.

At the security checkpoint Mahmud handed over his passport. The guard glanced at the information in the official pages before he snapped a salute.

Unfazed, Mahmud nodded.

The guard considered Shiloh for several long seconds before Mahmud pressed something into the man's hand. Only when the guard looked at the object and sucked in a breath did Shiloh see a coin similar to the one Baseer had given her. The one with the symbol for Allah's Sword of Justice.

“My apologies for the delay, sir.”

“I will overlook it this time, Captain.”

Without another word, the guard again saluted Mahmud and stepped away. Shiloh took the cue and glided forward as the passport was handed back to her escort. It fell at her feet, and she stooped to retrieve it. When she saw the lettering next to the photo, her heart caught. She lifted the passport, staring at the name: Osman Mahmud Sajjadi.

His hand clamped around her wrist. Shiloh wrenched away, but Mahmud jerked her straight into his chest.

“You’re Sajjadi's son.”

“And you’d do well to come quietly and without resistance.”

Her spine stiffened with resolve. “I’m not going to do any—”

The presence of four tactical officers behind Mahmud snapped her mouth shut.

Mahmud glanced at the men, then brought his gaze back to hers. And smiled.

The checkpoint guard shouted to the others, waving the officers away and mumbling Sajjadi over and over. Shiloh's heart slowed as the heavy firepower dissipated.

“We’ve drawn enough attention.” Mahmud caught her arm and strode toward the front doors. As they passed through the glass, he released her but kept walking.

Suddenly, a hand slapped tape over her mouth. Suffocating darkness swallowed her as a hood slid over her head. A noose tightened around her neck. As her hands were yanked behind her back, she tried to scream past the tape. Hands lifted her from the ground. She wriggled and writhed, panic seizing her.

A sudden, sharp pain rammed into her head. She blacked out.

Hollow and distant noises seeped into her awareness. She moaned. Where was she? Why was it so dark?

Brilliance tore through her vision—a hood removed from her head, and with it went the disorientation. She’d been kidnapped. Taken … somewhere. Heat plumes writhed like dozens of snakes slithering through the desert. Shiloh cringed and squinted against the blaring white sand. She swept the area with her strained gaze. Several set of feet. Military tactical pants. Black shoes. Jeans.

“Are you hurt?”

The sound of that voice forced her to pause. Close her eyes. When she opened them, it took only a few blinks to clear her vision and see the man before her. She clenched her hands into fists. “What are you doing here?”

“It's not important why I’m here.” He had more salt than pepper in his hair now. His sweat-drenched navy shirt accented his striking blue-grey eyes. Eyes just like hers. “What's important is why you are here.”

Shiloh struggled for a breath not strangled by rage. “You never were good with openness and honesty, even with your own daughter.”

Stepping from the brutal sun, her father entered the tent. He bent over a small table, palms against the wood. She blanched at his posture—so hauntingly similar to an event fifteen years
ago. Him, hands on her mother's coffin, silent, unemotional, uncaring.

Why? Why did he have to resurface now?

He pointed to a map on the table. “Take a look.”

She held her place. Did he really think she’d just obey? “All these years, and this is how you greet your only child?”

“Shiloh, this isn’t how I wanted things—”

“I’m sure seeing me is the last thing either of us wanted. I left because I didn’t want anything to do with you. That hasn’t changed.” She hated the searing retort, but the ka-thumping in her chest made it impossible to move or take back the words.

“You’re angry—”

“Really? What gave it away?”

He hung his head. “Look, I’d do anything for this to be different, for you not to be involved, but this is where we are.” He jabbed the table. “There's a lethal mission you’re entangled in.” He stared at her. “Are you with me?”

“No.” But curiosity had always gotten her into trouble. “What mission?”

He cast a glance behind her. Shiloh looked over her shoulder and stiffened at the sight of Mahmud.

“He's Sajjadi's son! Don’t trust him.”

“His identity is the very reason he's here. You might want to pay attention and figure out whose side you’re on.” He glanced back to the articles on the table. “Mahmud will take you to his father's camp. It's possible you’ll be interrogated, but Mahmud reassures me you won’t be tortured.”

“Why doesn’t that reassure
me
?” She gulped at the thought of going anywhere else with Mahmud. Was her father crazy, sending her away with the son of a known terrorist?

“Don’t worry. You’ll be safe.”

“Nobody can guarantee that. I might not be a spy, but I’m not stupid. No American is safe in Sajjadi's hands.”

“Your father is right,” Mahmud said as his lanky frame filled the hot tent. “The general intends to use you to accomplish his mission.”

His words seemed to comfort him as if they were an obvious answer to this dark problem. But the meaning was lost on her. She looked to her father, who might’ve done a lot wrong where she was concerned, but he wouldn’t intentionally put her in jeopardy.

Blue-grey eyes softened. “It means Sajjadi wants you
alive
. Shortly after you left India, Ali Abdul was arrested. With him imprisoned it's impossible for the Summit of the Agreed to go forward with their plan—”

“Which is?”

“To detonate a nuclear weapon in Kashmir in four days to frame India.”

“And he thinks I’ll finish that for him?” Shiloh scoffed.

“I would not laugh so easily,” Mahmud countered. “My father has a way of making the unwilling become very willing.”

“He's right.” Her father whipped out another page. “I’ve seen that man powerfully affect leaders in ways you couldn’t dream.”

“Sir,” a woman stepped into the tent, a baseball cap tugged over her brow. “The report just came in.”

Shiloh gaped at the familiar white-blonde hair and bruised green eyes. “Edie?”

A simple nod. “Shiloh.”

Her father turned to Mahmud. “Go with Edie. Give her any guidance you can.” He moved around the tables and came closer to Shiloh.

Mahmud hesitated, dark eyes bouncing between father and daughter.

A smile, one Shiloh had recognized since childhood as fake and concealing, filled her father's face. “I’d like a moment with my daughter.” He touched her shoulder. “Please.”

Instincts warned her to keep her mouth shut and body still.

“Sir.” Mahmud nodded and then left, leaving a clear impression he wasn’t happy.

Her father hurried back to his desk. “Okay, we don’t have much time.” He drew out a black case, ran his fingers over the silver combination number, smoothed a hand along the side, and then depressed more keys on the lock.
Click! The
lid opened.

His clear eyes pinned her. “Shi, come here.”

Although she wasn’t going to play his spy games, having intel never hurt. She moved around the desk.

A green digital readout blinked at them. “It is my estimation that Sajjadi will have you retrieve the second half of the launch codes.” He pointed to the readout where a series of letters and numbers glared at them in an angry red. “Got them?”

Just like that? He wanted her to play spy?

“Shiloh?”

“You’re serious. You want me to—”

“Do you have the code?”

She flashed her eyes at him. “Yes.”

“Good.” He slapped the case closed. “You’ll need to enter it—”

“No.” The word felt foreign, yet good. Maybe not strong enough. “No,” she said again, this time with more ferocity. “I’m not doing this.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“That's where you’re wrong. I’m not one of your recruits.”

His lips narrowed. “You’re my daughter, tangled in one of the deadliest confrontations this region—
my
territory— has seen in decades.” His eyes drilled into her. “Whether we like it or not, you’re on the grid.”