Pussycat in Peril (Pussycat Death Squad Book 3) (5 page)

*****

Fortunately she didn’t have to wait long for the answer to either question. She was lying on the bunk in her cell anticipating another sleepless night. It was almost impossible to sleep with the frantic thoughts in her mind, and the absolute absence of sound was disturbing in a way she would never have anticipated. She’d not been given a change of clothing when captured so she lay on her bunk in the loose fitting cotton trousers with a cotton tunic that came to mid-thigh. While fighting with the LOV she’d moved from safe house to safe house, sometimes in the middle of the night, so she’d taken to sleeping in her clothes in order to expedite matters. A bit of caution she was grateful for, because she doubted her captors would have given her time to change into street clothes. She’d finally drifted into a fitful slumber when suddenly she was startled awake by clanging bells, shouting and thuds of running feet outside her cell.

“Hariq! Hariq! Fire! Fire!”

Astaria sat up on her bunk as she smelled the faintest wisps of smoke. She immediately grabbed the mask and pulled it on. This must be what the guard had warned her to be ready for. After pressing the sides of the mask to her face she placed one hand over the breathing inlet and inhaled sharply to seal the mask to her face. Even without a proper fitting it fit her well, and she had to suppose her guard, and possible rescuer was a good judge of size. Or maybe she was just lucky. Either way she was probably not going to asphyxiate tonight.

In the time it had taken her to get the mask on properly her cell had filled with smoke obscuring her vision so much she had a moment of panic. What if the guard didn’t get there in time and she wound up being burned to death in her locked cell? Just as Astaria began to calculate how much more time she had, the door to her cell was flung open crashing into the wall. A man stood in the doorway wearing a mask similar to hers. He grabbed her arm, and gestured with his other hand that she was to follow him.

Astaria paused momentarily. The hallway outside her cell was filled with flames, but really she had no choice but to trust this man about whom she knew nothing. After a quick prayer surrendering her fate to Allah, she followed her dubious liberator into the flaming unknown.

*****

Kaeden stood in the shadows outside the shisha bar, his back pressed firmly against one of the exterior walls. He had a substantial amount of cash on him and he knew that the man whom he was to meet wasn’t above killing him for it. Then again, pretty much anyone inside that bar would probably do the same. There had been a steady stream of customers into the bar on the hot summer evening, but none of them noticed him. He continued to scan the area, seeking his contact. Had he not been so vigilant he might have missed the disturbance just north of his location. Smoke and then flames were billowing out of a large white building that he knew was the Presidential Palace formerly occupied by the late Colonel al-Fariq. Alarm bells were ringing and engines raced to the scene.

Without being told, he realized this was probably part of the escape plan for Astaria. Indeed, he’d employed the same distraction strategy a few times himself, though in this situation he would’ve preferred something less likely to result in his wife being incinerated beyond recognition. He watched as the flames enveloped the building, unconsciously calculating the amount of time it would take to get Astaria out. Time stretched out with the elasticity of Silly String.

Just when he was about to panic because it was taking so long, a large Toyota Land Cruiser stopped at the entrance of the bar and his contact jumped out and started walking toward the entrance to the bar. Kaeden was about to step forward to alert the man to his presence when he unerringly changed direction and started walking in Kaeden’s direction. He’d been made so easily Kaeden was more than a bit unnerved.

“Get in,” the man said, gesturing toward the truck. Without another word Kaeden followed the directive. If they were going to kill him the location really didn’t matter. The driver gunned the engine before he had even buckled his seat belt. The vehicle sped down one of the city’s busiest thoroughfares at considerable speed, barely missing collisions with more sensible drivers on the narrow streets and leaving Kaeden more than a bit unnerved. Given the distraction and the gloomy vehicle interior it took him a moment to realize there was another person inside, and then a few additional seconds to recognize who it was. Astaria!

Everything about her looked soft and supple. Her long limbs and outsized eyes had always reminded him of the young fawns that used to frequent his parents’ farm every spring when he was a boy. She moved in the same graceful, and at times awkward, way. The animals were so shy, but could be coaxed to eat out of his hands. And then the mama deer. The does so fierce in protecting the little ones, that dichotomy of the softness and the fierceness in one had always intrigued him about Astaria. Even her coloring was a study in contrasts, her eyes were the color of a perfectly aged single malt Scotch and they stood out in stark relief from the silky softness of her dark russet skin. Her black hijab and abaya helped her blend into the vehicle’s shadows.

He hoped his host wasn’t close enough to hear the alteration in his heartbeat, but seeing her again after weeks of believing her dead was enough to make him lightheaded. From the way her eyes widened she’d recognized him as well. He shook his head slightly in warning.

“Don’t tell me you don’t recognize the lovely Ms. Ibrahim after you went to so much trouble to acquire her?” His contact inquired from the front seat of the vehicle.

“Oh, I know who she is. I’ve seen photos. Surely you didn’t think I would be so foolish as to buy a fish in water?” He spoke up quickly in order to let Astaria know that she was to pretend not to know him.

“No, I would not be so foolish. I recognized you as savvy negotiator from the first moment we met,” said the other man with a wry smile.

“Where you taking us?” Kaeden asked, gesturing toward the driver who was still driving with all the alacrity of a Formula One racer. 

“Laria.”

Kaeden shook his head. “I had not planned to leave Amaru.”

“I understand,” the other man said smoothly. “However I’m sure a man of your intellect cannot fail to understand that there must be a cover story to explain Ms. Ibrahim’s escape. And her continued residence in Amaru greatly heightens the possibility of her re-capture.”

Kaeden hesitated, then finally nodded. He should have thought of that himself. If, as he suspected, the other man was responsible for guarding Astaria then, of course he would have to have some plausible explanation for her escape.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have any contacts in Laria,” Kaeden said.

“I’m sure a man of your resourcefulness should be able to overcome such obstacles.”

Kaeden didn’t belabor the issue. If push came to shove he could always go the American consulate. Though that was really his last resort. He’d planned to escape from Amaru the way he’d arrived, by smugglers; traffickers who made their money smuggling human cargo out of various African countries and into Europe. They were more than happy to make a little extra money ferrying over the occasional operative in what would normally be an empty ship, though sometimes they did actually have to pick up a cargo of fish as a cover to their more lucrative trade.

Using official channels, especially when Astaria was not quite a U.S. citizen could be more problematic than he wanted to deal with at present. Of course, he didn’t plan to share this information with his current companion. Laria was a large, cosmopolitan city, presumably there would be accommodations to be had, and since it was port city it was sure to come with a full complement of smugglers as well. If not, surely he’d find another way to get them out.

With that thought he unconsciously checked his jacket pocket, which concealed both a powerful handgun as well as a beautifully forged passport he’d picked up from his smuggler friends. He had another passport Lelia had given him, but as it had probably come through official channels he didn’t want to use it if he didn’t have to. The passport he had for Astaria had also come from Lelia. He hadn’t been able to get another one for her, but maybe he would be able to do so in Laria.

He glanced at her again and almost smiled at the way she kept her head lowered diffidently, as though shy and afraid, while her eyes were in constant motion, assessing the situation like the good sniper she was. He wondered what it said about his character that he found her killer instincts so viciously arousing. 

Astaria huddled against the door of the truck staring in amazement at her companion. Kaeden. For some reason it had never occurred to her that Lelia would send him. And that made no sense because he was the logical choice, and Lelia was nothing if not logical. While he was supposed to be a run of the mill Marine she knew that like Lelia’s husband, Patrick, Kaeden did some covert work too and specialized in hostage rescue. He had made it clear that he hadn’t told anyone they were married and since she had no idea what his cover was, she thought it wise to allow him to take the lead. Now she just stared at him.

The three months they’d been apart was the longest separation since they got married. He looked tired. Given the circumstances, that wasn’t surprising and she was sure she didn’t look her best either. Like many olive complexioned people, Kaeden’s lack of sleep had a tendency to make him look rather haggard. Oddly enough though, it hardly detracted from his good looks. His strong bone structure was simply emphasized more, while his bright hazel eyes, which right now were showing more green than gold seemed to blaze against his dark skin. It was interesting to see her usually clean-cut Marine wearing a beard. It wasn’t a full-beard and was nicely groomed, but it gave him an air of mystery that was appealing. She wondered if it was scratchy, or silky like the hair on his head.

Their gazes collided and she lowered her head, wondering at the fiery heat she’d seen in his eyes. He’d looked at her like that before, and she still didn’t know what to make of it, but right now she was so exhausted and confused she simply couldn’t cope with anything else. Her thoughts drifted to earlier, happier times.

*****

She looked around the small park. It was springtime in D.C. and everything was in bloom. It was one of her favorite things about the city—everyone was gardening mad and if something stood still long enough, someone was bound to plant something in it. Kaeden had invited her on a picnic and they were seated on a blanket in the warm sun.

“How do you feel about getting married?” He’d taken time from a regular work day so he was dressed in his khaki-colored service uniform, which was particularly striking with his coloring and emphasized his handsome looks.

Astaria took another sip of her iced tea. She had quickly learned that Kaeden was all but addicted to the stuff, and though it was an acquired taste she was coming to like it as well. She sighed as she thought over his question. Of the sixteen guards who had eventually come to the States she was one of only three who were having trouble getting a green card. She assumed it was because they still had relatives in Laritrea and that made them a greater security risk.

“Lelia and Patrick seem to think it’s a good idea. At least that’s what they said last night. It might be the only way I can stay here. I could probably go to France…”

“Yes, but the rest of your guard is here. And Lelia is your best friend,” Kaeden said.

“Right and I really want to work with her on this new company she’s creating. If I can’t stay in Laritrea I think it would be more interesting to at least have a job in the field. I can’t imagine being behind a desk somewhere, if I could even find a job,” she said.

“So you want to stay here?” Kaeden asked, taking a bite out of his sandwich. They’d picked up a picnic lunch from a restaurant that specialized in box lunches, and the tuna
nicoise
sandwiches were delicious.

“Yes. If I can’t go home I’d rather be with the rest of the Guard.”

“Do you want to marry me?” he asked, locking his gaze with hers. She found it impossible to look away.

“Do I have a choice? It’s strange to me that you’re asking, after all you don’t have anything to gain,” she said.

“Well, as Trick said last night I’m not married or seeing anyone right now, so I’m probably the best man to do this favor.”

“It’s a huge commitment.”

He shrugged and picked up an apple. After taking a bite and chewing for a while he responded. “Not really. I’m going to be out of the country a lot. Two years will go by fast, but I don’t want to marry anyone who doesn’t want to be married to me. We have to live together and basically fake our marriage.”

She nodded. “I know. I’ve been staying at a hotel for the past few months since we got here. I’m more than ready to get out of there.”

“I have a small apartment, but my lease will soon be up, so we can get a bigger place together,” he said.

“Right. Lelia explained the process, and if I have to marry to stay in this country, I would rather it be with you. I mean, you’re good friends with Patrick and all. And you’re Arab, so we have something in common.”

“Good. Glad to hear it.”

“But what about your family?”

“My folks live in Tennessee. They immigrated to the States back in the 70s when my dad went to school at UT and never left. I’ve got a brother in Texas and another who just graduated from UT up in Knoxville, so he’s still at home. My folks are old school. It would probably be best to let them think our marriage is legit.”