Raptor 6 (20 page)

When Zarrick looked at him again, her eyebrows knotted in question. Had she seen what just happened?

A loud voice boomed over the crowd, a prayer he guessed, because the thirty-plus family and friends went to their knees again. Dean and his team took a knee out of respect to the family but not to their god. When the others rose, Raptor rose.

A quiet yet strong presence loomed to his left. Hawk had returned. “Same guys from the village.”

The gathering started breaking up to make the passage back to the house, where they’d sit with the family for a while, share in a meal and in grief.

As Dean turned away from the burial site, he nodded to Falcon.

“All the more reason she leaves.” Falcon started out of the graveyard.

“Roger that.” As they drifted from the family, Dean locked on to Zarrick.

“Cousin’s going to be a problem,” Falcon hinted as he headed up the hill.

“Got it.” Hawk shot him a grin.

Though he wanted to warn Hawk to keep it respectable, the warning wasn’t needed. Raptor team knew what was important here. Knew a slipup could cost them.

Protected from view of their unwanted visitors watching from afar, Dean kept tabs on Zarrick’s position without being obvious by staying to the side. Trailing behind as they walked the two klicks to the family’s home, Dean steadily moved himself up into position. Falcon stayed beside him to maintain propriety. Together, they fell into step with Zarrick and her cousin.

Had she noticed him? He wouldn’t believe she didn’t—she seemed too aware of her surroundings to miss that, so Dean kept pace. Waited.

“It was kind of you to come,” Zahrah said quietly.

“Mr. Mustafa extended an invitation.”

Her large brown eyes struck his. “You were wise to accept. It’s a miracle he did—he has been one of the most vocal opponents of your presence here.”

By “your,” she meant the American military. The narrow flight of stairs prohibited conversation and forced him to walk behind her. Less than two klicks left to convince her. At the top, she shifted aside and paused. Waiting for him? Something about that simple gesture slipped a noose of guilt around his neck.

“I noticed,” she began, a little quieter as she came into step with him, “one of your men leave during the funeral. Is everything okay?”

As he’d noted earlier—she didn’t miss much. Impressive.

Her gaze came to him when he didn’t answer. “Okay, you’re worrying me.” Though there was a laugh to her words, she clearly didn’t find it funny. Neither did he. She wouldn’t like this conversation. In fact, it felt over before it even began.

Zahrah turned to him. “Did my grumpy father call you again?”

He almost smiled.

“He wants me to go back, right?” She nodded to where Hawk walked with Fekiria a few paces ahead, but close enough to chaperone, and smiled. “Can’t believe she hasn’t hit him or something yet.”

“Hawk can play nice when he needs to. And no, sorry.” As Dean made his way down the road, he watched the hard-packed earth. Habit. Kept him alive. “I haven’t talked to your dad again.”

“Well, that’s a surprise.” She sounded relieved. “He hasn’t let up since I arrived. He’s afraid something’s going to happen to me. He thinks I’d be safer back in Virginia, working at a lab or something.”

“I agree with your dad.”

She stopped. Didn’t look at him. Just stopped. “Why does that not surprise me?”

Dean took a step before being bungeed back by her hand. He moved aside when an older couple eyed them as they passed. To keep things proper, he didn’t face her. Just stared out over the road. “That’s probably not what you wanted to hear.”

Cocking her head slightly, she stretched her jaw and gave an airy snort. “Talk about an understatement.”

“It’s smart. And for your own safety.”

“Captain, I belong here.” She thrust an arm back and pointed to the graveyard. “That little girl they just buried is why I’m here. Children like her.”

He leaned in. “Miss Zarrick—”

“No.”

“Please hear me out, Miss—”

“Stop it!” She stilled, closed her eyes for a second, then opened them again. In them he saw pain. From what? She looked past him. As if the wound was too much for her to accept. “I’m sorry, but I’m not having this conversation with rank and formality. My father tried that as an overbearing general-father. And you see where it got him.” A smile wobbled at the edges of her lips. “If you can’t use my given name the way a friend would, if all I am to you is a liability, then go back to my father and get the briefing.”

Stunned, Dean stared at her as his mind snagged on one word:
friend
.

“No, wait.” Her eyes held precision targeting as she shot him a piercing glare. “I’ll give you the condensed briefing:
Mission to talk Zarrick’s daughter into going back failed. Zahrah refused
. There. That’s exact enough even for my father.” She started forward.

Dean moved into her path. “Please, Miss”—he cringed—“Zahrah. Hear me out,
please
.”

She drew up, lifting her chin. Then cut him another fierce look. “Not fair. I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s better that way,” he said, feeling his heart ricochet off his ribs.
Keep it light, Watters. Keep it light
. “Operational security …” He was losing her fast. Had to crank up the charm or something. “Also, if you end up hating me, it’s no loss.”

She rolled her eyes—

“Dean.”

His name came from the side, from Hawk. Dean rounded on him, furious, but the guy pretended as if he’d never spoken, as if he wasn’t listening.

Zahrah’s fire hadn’t waned. “You expect me to listen to your advice, but you’re unwilling to even tell me your name. Clearly, it’s my mistake for thinking we were friends.” Her nostrils flared. “Do you understand that I’m not under your command,
Captain
?”

He never thought he’d hate hearing his rank spoken, especially not from her. But this felt like a samurai sword through his heart, lungs, and gut. “Do
you
understand, Zahrah,”—man, that felt weird—“that I’m trying to protect you? Keep you safe?”

“I do.” Softening around her eyes and mouth made a profound difference. “But I also know that I’m here for a purpose”—doubt sparked in her eyes for a second—“or a few reasons.” She hesitated. Met his gaze.

“It’s not safe for you here.”

“I’m well aware of the danger I’m in. It surrounds us here. This isn’t like living in the States where an isolated incident like the Boston Marathon garners worldwide attention. These people, my mother’s people, live with violence every day. I’ve been living it for eighteen months.”

“But you’ve never had the crosshairs of a sniper’s scope trained on you.”

Heart thundering, Zahrah turned toward him. “What’re you saying?”

He looked down, then away, his hazel eyes fighting the sunlight. The kindness in his expression that had always drawn her to him lay hidden behind some … she wasn’t sure what. “Can you just trust me on this? I can’t say more. But I would not be here if I did not believe you—not just any Afghan woman, but you, Zahrah Zarrick—are in imminent danger.”

She swallowed. Took a step back. “Wh–why would I be in danger?”

He shook his head, his gaze dropping once more. After a deep breath, he looked at her. In him, she saw that he wanted to tell her, but those regulations …

Figure it out on your own
. Just like always. Like with her father. He’d go all spec-ops quiet and she’d have to piece together the puzzles. What had happened? The bombing. She considered Dean—was that it? The bombing? But wouldn’t he have said something sooner?

Then … the confrontation in the school yard.

But that seemed more like testosterone fighting.

Then … the funeral. “Whoever was watching the funeral—that’s the danger?”

His jaw muscle flexed. But he didn’t answer.

“Did you find anything out about the men?” She searched his face. Traced the stubbled jaw to the small indent in his chin that wasn’t quite a dimple. Studied his eyes, a mixture of green and brown, only the brown was more goldish-orange. But the intensity. The anger roiling through his irises. “You ask me to give up everything and yet you will not tell me a single thing that will convince me.”

He rounded on her, his brow knotted. “Will anything I say at this point convince you to go back?”

He’s angry
. The thought pulled her up. Scared her. She wasn’t sure why, but just as swift, her own anger crested her frustration and coiled around her. She wanted so much for this man to open up to her. To just shoot straight and treat her like an equal. “I understand you have mission parameters, but do
not
put this back on me.”

“I’ve tried, Zahrah. I’ve tried to convince you that the danger is real. A bombing, the confrontation, and now snipers, but you insist on staying.” He planted his hands on his hips. “I thought you had more sense than this.”

Lord, have mercy, he sounds just like Daddy!

No doubt existed that he was right—she
was
in danger. From whom or what, she didn’t know, but she could feel it breathing down the back of her neck like a hot wind. Yet if she surrendered her conviction over the hint of danger, then it wasn’t a conviction. Just an excuse. If at the first sign of trouble, or in the face of a fierce Special Forces operator, she surrendered her belief that she should come to Afghanistan and serve her people, then she was no friend of God.

It took every ounce of her courage, her strength, her conviction to hold her ground. “I appreciate your concern”—Dean or Captain, which should she use? Neither.—“but I’m staying.”

“Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

“It’s not stubbornness, not in a bad way. I just have this deep conviction that it’s not time to leave.” She considered him for a moment. “I’m not ignoring the facts, Dean. They scare me, but I can’t walk away from a mission. You wouldn’t, right?” She pointed to his men. “You wouldn’t let them either.”

Hands up, he splayed his fingers. Touched them to his forehead for a second, and she could see the way he worked to restrain his frustration. That startled her. Worried her. She didn’t like him angry. “I don’t think—”

“Miss Zarrick! Miss Zarrick!”

Zahrah stepped out into the road again and spotted Rashid hobbling along on his crutches. He hopped up to her, leaned on the crutches for balance, and then extended an arm. “Madar said to give this to you.” His bright, beautiful smile warmed her heart.

In her hand, he set a three-strand turquoise bracelet. In a flash, she recalled the countless hours of writing instruction and leaning over Ara’s work to guide her, the bracelet clacking against the table or jangling as she played games in the courtyard. “Oh, Rashid. I cannot take this.”

He closed her fingers over the bracelet. “Yes, you must.
Baba
said you should have it.”

Zahrah searched the road ahead for the sign of Atash Mustafa. But then … she realized, no. Mr. Mustafa was strident in his views about Americans in his country. He’d only allowed Ara to come to the school because she was a girl, and he saw no loss in it. That Zahrah’s mother was born not far from Mazar-e helped, too.

“Rashid, hurry,” someone called.

He hobbled around and scurried off as quickly as he could with the extra set of wooden legs.

“That …” Dean’s voice croaked. “That bracelet … it’s the first thing I saw when I discovered her.”

Zahrah turned to him, her heart a mixture of grief and fear but also a flood of resolution. “Dean,
this
—what this stands for—is why I can’t leave. It stands for Ara. It stands for all the little girls and boys who need and want an education. It stands for my purpose here, and until God tells me to leave, I’m not going anywhere. Just like you, as a soldier, would not abandon your post without orders, I cannot abandon what I’m doing here.”

“What is that, Zahrah? I don’t see you being a missionary and preaching to them. Why can’t you do this in some inner city back in Virginia?”

“God didn’t ask me to.” For the umpteenth time, she felt the conviction electrify her bones. And the stirring within her that there was yet another reason she had come sizzled along the edges of her nerves. “I don’t want to make you angry. I really don’t. If I didn’t feel so strongly, I’d listen to you. I trust you—you’re a good, wise man. But I can’t leave, Dean. Not now. I love these children, and I belong here.”

“What if you die?”

Sorrow burned the back of her eyes. “If I truly belong to God, then I have no rights, which means it is not my place to put demands on how or what He does with my life.”

Those vibrant hazel eyes watched her with no little amount of frustration. She could tell his hands were fisted, though she didn’t look at them.

Seeing him like this twisted her stomach into nauseating knots. “I’m sorry. But please”—why was it so important to her?—”
please
don’t be angry with me.”

“I can’t change your mind, can I.” It wasn’t a question and had so much agitation behind it. His lips went flat and he started away. Then jerked back. “You realize this is stupid. You’re putting yourself and everyone you know at risk. Is
that
what God wants?”