Raptor 6 (40 page)

She wouldn’t change her mind. At least, she hoped not. It was easy to say—even sitting here in prison—that she would not do anything that would violate her conscience. But when they resorted to torture, to rape … would she still be strong?

It scared her. She thought of how nearly she’d caved when Dean asked her to return to the States. Just to please him. Just to honor what
he
thought was best. Not because she was weak willed, but because she trusted him.

She let her mind follow the trail that led to Dean Watters. The only happy thought she could find in this dank, dark cell. His intensity. His focus. She saw a bit of the man he was in the work he did, digging out Ara’s broken body. How he’d shown up and helped in a gruesome task when he could’ve just hidden out on the base. But he hadn’t. He’d cared.

He’s a good man
.

She leaned her head back and stared up at the grimy window, etched by a halo of gray light that pushed past the filth clouding the glass. Why couldn’t she have met Dean two years ago? How different things might have been! She certainly wouldn’t be here. Maybe they’d be off in Greece or something.

Does he like Greece?

What would he do for fun? Maybe camping with his family.

Oh. Would his mom even like Zahrah? Or would his mom be the way her father was, hating every potential candidate for her affection?

She smiled at the way her father had growled that she didn’t need to get messed up with some grunt. But in that same gruffness, she heard a tinge of respect not only that the man she talked about was like her father, but also that he was Special Forces.

Zahrah shook her head.
What are you doing?
Fantasizing … No, keeping hope alive.
God, I know You told me stay, so I’m just going to trust that You have a plan here
.

Funny thing about God’s plans, they almost never matched the plan she’d laid out.

“Quickest way to make God laugh is to tell him your plan,” her father had said many times.

To which she responded, “He’s a lot like you, then?”

As fear gusted over her fond memories, Zahrah struggled to breathe without grief.
Please let me see Dean again
. A warm tear slid down her cheek. Even if it was with a dying breath. “Don’t be so melodramatic.” She huffed a laugh and pushed to her feet, walked the cell, determined to keep up her strength and wits.

“ ‘They that wait upon the Lord …’ ” She began Isaiah 40:31 as she made her circuit, not only to reassure herself with the promises in the Word, but also to challenge her mind. Stay alert. On about her twelfth circuit, she changed to the 23rd Psalm.

Her door groaned.

Zahrah’s mind erupted with a thousand questions—would they break her this time? Is today the day she’d betray everything she knew and loved because she preferred her own pain relief to sacrifice?

No. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t fail her country.
God help me
.

As the door squawked open, Zahrah tucked herself into the darkest corner and folded herself out of sight—as much as possible. She wouldn’t make it easy for them. Ever.

A half-dozen men, clustered and struggling to navigate through the opening, crowded in.

Drawing in tighter on herself, she clenched her eyes.

Thud!

Rancid air whooshed over her.

Steel squeaked and protested then locks engaged.

Zahrah slowly braved a glance—had they really left her? What did they do? Sure enough, the door was closed. Her gaze dropped to a mound on the floor. A mattress? She twinged toward it but then froze.

A body!

She yanked back. Who had they murdered this time?

A grunt startled her. An arm dragged out from under the body. The palm pressed against the dirt. A man … he pushed up. Collapsed with a groan.

Zahrah couldn’t move. Wouldn’t. Whoever this was, they wanted her to care. And she wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Not again. Not watch him die. Because of her. Back of her hand to her mouth, she leaned into the shadow. Prayed this man, whoever he was, wouldn’t see or notice her.

Again, the man pushed up. Again, he collapsed. Grunts and groans issued. He flopped onto his back. Sucked in a breath. He arched his back and froze.

Zahrah craned her neck. Had he died?

But a hand raised to his head as his chest slowly lowered. Released another long breathing grunt. Finally, his hand fell away. He rolled his head to the side as if checking his surroundings.

Her heart jammed into her windpipe. “Dean?” Her voice squeaked.

He lifted his head and looked in her direction—and that’s when she saw the damage they’d done. His left eye vanished beneath the red and bloody swelling. A deep, angry cut slashed his right eyebrow. His lip was busted and bleeding.

Zahrah threw herself across the room. “Dean!” As she scrambled closer, he collapsed. “No!” Hovering over him, she felt the tears pouring down her cheeks. “Dean, please!” He couldn’t show up and die here, not right in front of her. Not like Majeeb or the guard. She couldn’t do that. Couldn’t let Dean die. She pressed a finger to his throat, frantic to detect his pulse against the hammering of her own.

Strong and sure, his pulse thumped out the reassurance. Beaten to a pulp and lying there out cold, he had never looked more beautiful. But dead, too. Hands trembling, she framed his face with her fingers. “Dean …
Dean?
”

He groaned and his head shifted in her hands.

“Dean,” she whispered, bending close. “What are you doing here? You were supposed to rescue me.” But he was here. For only one reason. To use him to secure her cooperation. Her eyes slid closed. Twenty minutes ago, she’d been convinced she’d never surrender to their demands. Now, she knew it was only a matter of time.

She shoved to her feet and hurled herself at the door. Banged against the steel. “Open this door! Get this man out of here! He’s a”—she nearly choked on the words but forced herself for his sake to release them—“a child killer!”

Somewhere in Afghanistan

S
omething hit his cheekbone. Soft, wet. Dean blinked, words sifting into his awareness …
rescue me
. … The voice collided with a mental image—Zahrah! Blinking, Dean groaned. She hovered over him, her hair tangled and hanging free. No hijab.

“You stupid, foolish … courageous man.” He noticed she held his face. “Why … why did you come?”

Breathing through the pain, he grimaced. “To rescue you.”

She snorted through a laugh. Face twisted in grief, she shook her head. “No.” Shoved away from him. “I can’t … do this.” She stumbled to the door. “Get him out of here!”

Her screams yanked Dean off the floor. He didn’t care how much his ribs hurt. He could still breathe, so he guessed they weren’t broken, only bruised. Still, the fire hitting his lungs felt a lot like walking the fires of hell.

“Take him out. Right now!” She banged on the steel door.

“Stop,” he tried to say, but his throat was dry, and the word died before it made it past his vocal cords.

The door flung back. An armed guard shoved Zahrah backward. “Shut up!”

“Get him out,” Zahrah said as she stabbed a finger at Dean. “I don’t want him in here. He’s a child murderer!”

Stunned, Dean sat on his knees, bracing his side and hunching through the pain. Ignored the accusation. Hated that she thought of him that way.

“He stays,” the guard said with a smirk.

Recognition flooded Dean. The man from the school, the one who’d threatened Zahrah.
He knows
. Kamran had been there when Raptor team had shown up, when he stepped in for Zahrah. The last nugget of hope crumbled. Strangled by the defeat, Dean struggled to his feet. Struggled past the blinding pain. When he lifted his chin, the man’s smirk was gone. His weapon was up. Aimed at Dean.

Zahrah yelped. “No!” She reached for the weapon.

The man smirked and shoved her toward Dean. “You both stay.”

The ruse he’d planned, to remain aloof, to keep distance between them, was futile. This was what the captors wanted, the reason they’d taken Dean. They knew. Knew he’d come for her. He tucked an arm in front of Zahrah and nudged her behind him.

Nodding with a sick smile, the man slid the door closed. Locked it.

“Why—why’d you do that?” Zahrah cried. “They’ll kill you!”

“No. They won’t.” He shifted toward the wall.

“They will! They’ve killed everyone else—Majeeb, a guard, anyone I’ve looked at.” Zahrah shoved her hands through her long brown hair. “Now, they’re going to kill you, too.”

“They won’t.”

“Are you listening to me?” She came closer. “They’ll kill you just like they killed the old man who gave me a piece of moldy bread.”

“They won’t.”

“They will!”

“No, they won’t. Not me.” Dean felt sick to his stomach.

“Why? Why are you so special?” Her sarcasm was coated with hot fear.

Had to choose his words carefully. “Because they know I mean something to you.”

Zahrah stilled. Her face drained of color. She drew back. “How … how can they know that?”

“The guard who opened the door—”

“Kamran.”

“Right.” Dean gritted his teeth. “He’s the one from the school, the one I interdicted at the school when he was mistreating you?”

She nodded.

“And he’s the one who took you, right?”

Again, she nodded. Then squeezed her eyes closed and tilted her head back. “He followed me—sat in the parking lot.”

“Probably wire-tapped you, too.” Dean touched his swollen-shut eye as he stretched his jaw. “Your frantic demands to get rid of me just now probably cemented any suspicion he had about your feelings for me.”

Pink tinged her cheeks. Twisted a knot in his stomach. Scraggly dark brown hair dangled as she shook her head, gaze at the ground. “But … but they’ve
killed
the others.”

“To wear you down, test your resolve.” Dean eased against the wall and slowly lowered himself to the ground. “But they’ll use me to break you. And vice versa.”

“It terrifies me what they will force me to do.” She crumpled to her knees beside him. “I’m not strong. Not like you and my father. I can’t do this. They’ll break me. And then I’ll be the cause of thousands of lives being lost. I might as well die now because I can’t live with myself if I do that. I can’t.”

Dean heard her panic. Heard the cry of her heart in those words. He’d seen violence—he’d effected violence as a Special Forces operator against terrorists … She hadn’t. He turned to her. Saw the wide eyes. The pale, damp skin. “Hey.”

Zahrah’s chin dimpled in and out again. “They’ll make me kill my own people.” Her wild brown eyes searched his face. “I never killed anyone!” She lifted her hands to him. “They’ll cover my hands with blood of American soldiers, men like you—maybe even
you
.”

“Hey!” He slid a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her attention to his. He held her face, his heart thumping hard. “Don’t do this. Don’t deliver your own judgment. You’ve done
nothing
.” But he’d been here before. Not in this prison but in this situation. “And no matter what happens under duress, it’s not your fault.”

Tears slid down her face.

Dean tugged her neck to jog her free of that paralyzing stupor. “Got it?”

She gave a weak nod as she looked down again.

Dean let her go and settled back, too aware of his own involuntary reactions to being so close to her. “What do you know about this place?”

“Nothing.”

“Have you been outside this cell?”

“Yes.”

“What’d you see?”

“Halls, doors, stairs.”

“So, two levels?”

She nodded. “They take me upstairs to a computer. Order me to hack it.”

“What else did you see?”

“A … hole. A massive empty room cordoned off with only a rope. I don’t think there’s any stairs, but they don’t allow me to investigate.”

“Good.”

“How is that good?”

“The more we notice about our surroundings, the more we improve our odds of getting out.” He closed his eyes, closed out her vulnerability, her beauty.
So much like Ellen … yet stronger
.

Quiet drenched their cell worse than the stench that clogged his nostrils. He had to shift her away from this dark talk. “Besides, if I don’t bring you back alive, your dad will hunt me down and kill me himself.”

Her shoulders bunched as she gave a small laugh. Then she sat next to him with a long sigh.

“How often do they bring food or water?”

Zahrah drew her knees up. “I have no idea—it seems like it comes only when I feel like I might die from starvation.”

“That’s what they want you to think.”

She nodded. “I wanted to lose a few pounds, but not like this.”

“You don’t need to lose weight.”