Dead Reckoning (9 page)

“And smart.”

This time she turned her head. “My father taught me not to talk to strangers.” She dumped the water out in front of him, tugged up the pack, and started toward the street.

“He taught you more than that.”

She flinched but kept walking.

Reece shoved to his feet. “Where are you going, Shiloh? Too many people are scouring the city for you.”

“They won’t find me.”

“I found you.”

She stopped, her head tilted back as she stared at the sky. “I suppose you put a tracking device on me or something.” Slowly, she turned toward him, her face bathed in the pale blue of moon glow. The eerie hue made her appear vulnerable.

He shoved a hand into his jacket pocket and withdrew a phone. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it to her. “When you’re ready to talk, use that.”

Defiance hardened her face. “Do you really think I’d want anything to do with you? It's not like you’ve helped …” Her words faded. Her eyes dropped.

No, keep your head up. Always keep your head up.
Reece bit his tongue. He couldn’t guide her, although her skills outshone most he’d trained. “I’ve put a
lakh
of
rupees
in your pack. Find a hotel and food for the night, then call me.”

Shiloh studied the phone. Finally, she glanced back at him. “What makes you think I will?”

“A guy can hope.”

She bounced the phone in her hand.

By the look on her face, the questions screaming through her mind begged to be released. Who was he? Why was he helping her? Why had he intervened earlier? Could she trust him? Without those answers, she didn’t have control. And it would eat at her until morning. He bent and lifted his helmet then strutted down the beach away from Shiloh.

Noon. At the latest.

If she can wait that long to call, I’ll give her my bike.

A
BOMB? SHILOH STARED AT THE PHONE SITTING ON THE CHARPOY. HAD
he rigged the thing to blow when she used it? No, if that man wanted to kill her, he’d make sure they were face-to-face. Still, better safe than sorry. She slowly slid off the back cover and removed the battery. Everything looked normal. As normal, she supposed, as the circuitry of a cell phone could look.

What did she know about defusing a bomb? Had there really been one, she probably would’ve been splattered on the walls by now. Brownbeard had helped her with the …

Shiloh gripped her stomach.
You have a terrorist organization after you
, he had said. What on earth did terrorists want with her? With the archeological dig? The cylinder flashed into her mind. She frowned. What was that thing? Is that what they were after?

Battery replaced, she dialed the number of the American consulate. She’d memorized it before she ever stepped on the jetliner. The lights on the pad blinked and then flicked off .

She frowned. The thing had completely powered down. Shiloh turned it on, pressed the buttons, and waited as the keypad once again glowed blue. With a huff , she punched in the numbers again. It died again.

Mashing the keys, she powered it back on. This time she scrolled to the programmed numbers and groaned. Only one number was in the registry. The name simply read: Me.

Shiloh tossed the phone onto the charpoy and slumped against the thin mattress. With the toe of one shoe, she pried off the other and rubbed her feet on the dusty, frayed rug. A lone light hung from the middle of the ceiling, casting odd shadows along the walls. She grabbed her pack by the bottom, upended it, and stared at the contents splayed across the thin blanket.

Jeans, T-shirts, tanks, boots … Heat fanned her cheeks. Underwear. Bras.

Indignation welled within her. How dare he? The thought of
anyone
going through her unmentionables nauseated her, but to think of that oversized … She lifted the sock stuffed with money. It had paid for the room.

A
lakh
of
rupees
—two thousand American dollars. Did he realize how far she could get on that?

She sighed. Yes, he knew exactly how far—a hotel room, food, supplies, and a visit to the hospital. She couldn’t— wouldn’t—leave while Khalid lay injured. Did the big guy realize that? Somehow he knew she had a special connection to Khalid.

Who was the brute? What did he want?

To talk.

“Not in this lifetime.” A quick glance at the clock sent her scurrying. If she wanted to see Khalid, she needed to get moving. She shoved her clothes and belongings into the backpack and carted it to the small bathroom. With fewer guards and staff on duty, darkness also would aid her in sneaking into the hospital unnoticed.

She turned on the shower, and a tiny stream of warm water trickled out. Her muscles ached for a hot, pelting spray, one that kneaded the kinks and knots from her shoulders and neck.
At least she could wash her hair and slip into clean clothes. After she snuck in to see Khalid, she might manage to come back here for a couple hours of sleep.

Her mind drifted back to the man with the brown beard. She guessed since he shaved, she’d have to find a new name for him. Brutus. If she encountered him again, it would be one lifetime too soon.

Yet she could feel herself crumbling, piece-by-piece. Life had spun out of control. Fear tracked her through the desert of isolation like a starving lion. Her shoulders sagged. She felt vulnerable, and she didn’t like it. Shivering, she clenched her fists.

Enough. Get dressed. Find Khalid.

Shrugging into her black T-shirt, she rehearsed what she remembered of the hospital. Double front doors with Noor labels. Yellow-hued vinyl, highly polished. Slick. Forty feet to the information desk. Surgery to the right. Waiting area immediately to the left of the entrance. Side exit. She’d have to use that. No doubt Kodiyeri would be watching for her. Was there a back entrance? She had to find a way in that wouldn’t arouse attention or suspicion.

Shirt tucked into her jeans, she bent to retrieve her boots. Silently, she thanked Brutus—she couldn’t live without her Columbias. They supported her ankles, which were throbbing from all the trotting around town avoiding terrorists. The word still sat bitter on her tongue. Brutus had to be wrong. He wanted to frighten her, knock her off balance. She gritted her teeth as she secured her hair in a French twist.

Well, she had a lakh of rupees. In the morning, when life in the city rose to a boisterous level, she’d venture to Market Lane, buy back her bracelet, then head to Crawford Market and stock up.

Keeping to the shadows and with her pack slung over her shoulder, Shiloh wound her way through town to the
hospital. Alert for her pursuers, she pulled into hiding places when cars whizzed by and tucked her chin when strangers appeared on the sidewalks. Scattered and lonely cars sat in the parking lot as she cased the medical facility. Bright lights illuminated the emergency and front entrances. Her hand trailed over the wall as she crouched along the perimeter of the building. Finally, she spied a steel door at the back and watched for a few moments. No foot traffic. Confident the coast was clear, she hustled to the entrance.

Suddenly, the door swung out and hit the wall with a bang. Shiloh pressed herself against the cement siding. Adrenaline exploded through every vein.

“
Apna khayal rakhna
,” a voice inside shouted, apparently from across a large distance, for someone to “take care.” A man stepped into the night, waved, and carelessly slammed the door behind him. He never looked back.

Shiloh lunged and caught the handle. Inside, she huddled next to a thrumming refrigerator as she eased the door shut, assessing her situation. To the right, movement. She peeked over the sheen of a steel table. One … no, two men working a machine of some sort. Silence filled the left side of the room. Light from a doorway spilled across the waxed-to-a-slick-shine floors.

Lowering herself to peer under the steel center island, she spied her escape route—a semi-darkened hall. She kept her eyes on the men as she inched around the island. A cart shielded her from the workers as she calculated the speed and maneuverability she would need to make the hallway without being seen. With a deep breath, she burst across the open area, bringing herself to her full height just as her foot touched light.

“Oh!” A woman in scrubs gasped when Shiloh surprised her.

“
Mujhey bhookh lagi hai
.” Shiloh pressed her hand to her stomach, forcing a hungry look into her face. Would they believe she was visiting someone and looking for a cafeteria?

The woman considered her for a moment.

She still hadn’t eaten, so the confirmation of a growling stomach didn’t surprise her.

The woman's knotted brows eased. “I will show you.” The nurse motioned for her to follow as she pivoted and headed in the opposite direction toward the cafeteria. “Down the hall, then right.”

“Dhanyavaad.” With a nod and thanks, Shiloh breathed easier with each step that took her away from the woman.

At the end of the hall she spotted a directory hanging on the wall. According to the map, two flights up there was a station directly above her. She pushed through the door and took the stairs two at a time, reaching the third floor in less than thirty seconds.

Slowing her breathing, she stepped into the hall and paused to let her eyes adjust. Squeaky shoes approached from the left.

“
Kya mein aapki madad kar sakti?
” The nurse in blue scrubs stopped, her expectant expression echoing her offer of help.

“I know it's late,” Shiloh whispered, hoping her Marathi didn’t sound too distinct. “I’m looking for a patient. He had surgery. He's my …
mera dost
.”

The woman raised her eyebrows at the endearment, then smiled. “Come, we’ll look.” The nurse walked to the desk and plopped into a chair. “What is his name?”

Shiloh glanced around the area, hoping she hadn’t drawn attention. “Khalid Khan.”

When the nurse started shuffling papers, Shiloh's fingers itched to prance over the computer keyboard. Why didn’t she just look it up on the desktop?

Finally, the nurse typed Khalid's name. “Ah, here we are. He's”—she traced a finger over the screen—“second floor, room twenty-five.”

“Dhanyavaad.” Spinning on the balls of her feet, Shiloh stifled her glee. If she found his name in the registry, that meant he was here. Alive!

Isn’t that what Brutus had said? She shrugged.

Jogging down five steps, then around the landing, then down five more, Shiloh hoped Khalid would be alert. What if he was in a coma? The thought stalled her heart. She’d have to leave him and find a way to the American embassy on the western coastline.

Through the darkened hall and around a corner, Shiloh found the room. She slipped in, straining against the low-wattage lamp near the bed that threw light across Khalid's face. His chest lay bare, a wide bandage around his abdomen. The stark white medical tape contrasted sharply with his olive skin.

Feeling as if the world had just righted itself, Shiloh dropped her pack at the foot of the bed and heaved a sigh. “Oh, Khalid,” she whispered as she moved to his side.

For a moment she let her eyes track over his body. An IV taped to his hand pumped vital fluid and medicine into him. His hair drooped into his eyes. Without thinking, she swept the silky black strands from his face. When she withdrew her hand, she stilled. Dark eyes held hers.

“Hello,” she said, emotion thickening her words.

“You’re late.” His voice sounded dry, tired.

A smile stole into her face. “I’m always late, remember?” Why did she suddenly want to cry?

The left side of his mouth tugged upward, and his eyes slowly closed. Had he fallen asleep?

“Khalid?”

His hand moved toward her and grasped hers tightly.

She wanted to tell him everything. How the two men had tracked her all over the city. Then Brutus. Dr. Kuntz. Instead, she stood there, staring at his handsome face, disbelieving the last twenty-four hours. Maybe they’d been a dream. Here with Khalid, holding his hand—when had they ever done that?— everything seemed okay, right.

“How are you feeling?”

“Weak.” His head lobbed toward her, eyes slowly drifting open. “Mikhail?” When she averted her gaze, he asked, “The professor?”

Refusing to move or reveal more through her traitorous expressions, Shiloh stood rigid.

The foggy haze clinging to his face cleared. His brows knitted against sparkling eyes. “Are you safe?”

She squeezed his hand. “I’ll be fine.”

“Hey,” he said, his voice growing hoarse. “Miss America, you’re not invincible.”

“No, but I’m smart.”

“That's why I love you.”

Lips parting to speak, Shiloh shook her head instead. She noticed a cup of ice on the stand next to his bed and lifted it. “Here, your throat sounds sore.” Plucking out a piece, she worked to steady her nerves.

Khalid opened his mouth, but she could feel his eyes boring through her as she set a chunk in his mouth. “Shiloh …” he mumbled around the obstruction.

“Khalid, please don’t.” The words tumbled out so fast, she nearly tripped over them. She sighed and once again pushed a smile onto her face. “Just rest.” Running her fingers through his hair, she pretended not to notice the hurt reflected in his soulful expression. “You need to gather your strength.”

Silence devoured the moment. Shiloh shifted on her feet and propped herself on the edge of his bed.

“I can’t pretend anymore, Shiloh.”

“About what?” But she already knew. Only, she didn’t want to know. Again she glanced down, watching as he rubbed his thumb over the top of her hand.

He strained to sit up.

She nudged him back. “Stop being a hero.”

His grip tightened, and he tugged her closer. His IV-trapped hand swept her jaw. “I’m in love with you. A brush with death gave me a new perspective. You’re afraid of love, but Shiloh, you don’t have to be afraid with me. I know you say you hate God, but that's the anger over your dad. We’ll work through it. You’ll—”

“Khalid.” She shoved to her feet. “I just need you to get well.”

“You don’t
need
anything. You’re always telling me that.”