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“I’m stuck in traffic, there’s an accident on the freeway,” Howie said from his cell phone. “There’s no way I’m going to get there on time.”

“Do you want me to wait for you?” Suheera asked, a slight frown on her face.

“No, you go on in. It’s going to be at least 15 minutes and I don’t want the imam to wait. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Please be careful.”

“I will. Tell the imam that I am truly sorry for being late.” Suheera relayed the bad news to Randall, who sat with her in the parked SUV.

“I’ll walk with you to the door,” Randall said.

“No, I need to do this on my own. I cannot hide forever,” she said, asking him to wait for her in the car. He wasn’t happy about it but he did like the fact that she was willing to walk alone, a first since Fahada’s threat. This was their sixth visit to the imam and still Suheera felt uneasy going out, even though nothing indicated that anyone was after her. Randall was beginning to think Fahada had made an empty threat, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

As Suheera approached the building, she noticed a man sitting on a bench, smoking a cigarette. That in itself wasn’t unusual as there were normally people on the grounds. However, it was the way he held the cigarette that caught her attention – cupped in his hand in the style she’d seen men in Iraq use. She reached up and pushed a button on her Bluetooth earpiece. “Two,” she said softly, she could hear beeps as the phone dialed.

“Are you ok, Suheera?” Randall said when he answered. He was instantly scanning the area for any threats.

“I am probably just being silly,” she said. “But there is a man on a bench and I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach…”

“Always trust your instincts,” Randall said. “Turn around and walk back towards the parking lot, as if you forgot something. I’m coming to meet you. And don’t hang up.” Randall grabbed the backup pistol from its hiding place under the car seat, shoved it in his waistband in the small of his back, and jumped from the car.

As Suheera turned, she saw the man flick the cigarette away. When she heard footsteps behind her, she walked faster.

“I’d like to speak with you,” he called out to her but she kept walking. A moment later he grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around. “It’s not polite to ignore people,” he said.

“And it is not polite to touch women you do not know,” she replied haughtily. Something about him seemed familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She hoped her fear didn’t show in her eyes. She tried to continue walking but he detained her again.

“Soon you’ll know me well enough, Suheera.”

“Have we met before?” she said, trying to back slowly away from him, stalling for time.

Insolently he looked her up and down, then reached out and yanked the veil from her face. “You are even more beautiful than Fareed said you were,” he said quietly. Suheera began to tremble; her eyes darted around, looking for Randall. “Too bad you must die.”

Suheera was startled at the mumbled Farsi curse in her ear. “Run!” Randall shouted. She darted away but was not fast enough to evade the man. He grabbed her arm and steered her towards the parking lot.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked. Suheera shook her head. “My brother wanted to do this himself, but couldn’t risk being seen with you so he sent me. I am Roshan.”

“But you are dead…” she stuttered.

“Keep him talking, distract him,” Randall said. “I’m trying to get into position to take him down.” Randall cursed again, wishing he had his sniper rifle. At this range the handgun was of little use, he risked hitting Suheera.

“Everyone believes me to be, but they are wrong, obviously.”

“Where have you been all these years?” she asked, trying to slow her steps, forcing him to pull her along.

“The doctors said I was going to die anyway, but Mother couldn’t bear to pull the plug on my life support. She told everyone I was dead, even held a funeral, but secretly sent me back to Iraq to a hospital there so I could die in my homeland. I laid in bed, unmoving, for two years. Then one day I just woke up, the doctors said it was a miracle.”

“Your mother will have to explain why she is having another funeral, Roshan, because I am going to kill you for touching me!” She tried to get away but his grip on her arm tightened. He pulled her even closer, his face just inches from hers, and laughed softly.

“Many men have tried and failed,” he said. “You are just a woman.”

“Do not underestimate me,” she warned him, but he dismissed her threat with a laugh.

“After I woke, the first person I called was Fareed. When I was well, I ran his prostitution business there for a few years. I was on my way to Farhan to pick you up when that damn singer stole you from my idiot cousin Miskeen,” he sneered. They neared a small white van; he unlocked the doors with the click of a button. “Come, we have business of the sexual kind to see to before I kill you. Fareed had the pleasure of raping you, and so will I.”

Randall could hear the conversation as the man was close to the Bluetooth earpiece Suheera wore. “I’m coming, stay calm,” he whispered. “Don’t get into the van without a fight.”

“You will be condemned to hell for this,” Suheera said. “You are on sacred ground.”

“I will be in hell anyway for a very long time before Allah forgives me,” Roshan said. “This is just one of many sins I have committed.”

His words did not comfort her, so Suheera tried once more to break away but his grip was like iron. Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement, she prayed it was Randall.

“I know all about your bodyguard, Suheera. Tell him to not do anything stupid.” He pulled a gun out from underneath his jacket. Suheera felt the cold metal as he jammed it into her back.

Suheera took a chance that Randall spoke French - and that Roshan did not. “Dites-moi quelle manière de vous déplacer ainsi peut en avoir à un projectile propre après lui.” (Tell me which way to move so you can shoot him.) She was happy to see that Roshan didn’t seem to understand her message.

“Je ne peux pas le tirer quand il a le pistolet dans votre dos,” Randall replied. “C'est trop dangereux. (I cannot shoot him when he has the gun in your back. It is too dangerous.)

“Il va me tuer de toute façon. Améliorez maintenant qu'après qu'il me viole,” Suheera said, resignation in her voice. (He is going to kill me anyway. Better now than after he rapes me.)

Randall swore again in Farsi. “I’m coming out from behind the car, don’t do anything rash,” he said loudly in English so that Roshan could hear him. Randall slowly eased from behind a parked car, his hands in the air.

“Put your gun on the ground, and then turn around,” Roshan said. “I just want the girl, I won’t hurt you.”

Randall didn’t believe that for a second, he’d seen that look before in the eyes of men who wanted to kill him. But he didn’t have a choice as Roshan’s gun was pointed at Suheera’s head. Slowly he laid his weapon on the ground at his feet and turned his back. He felt the sweat begin to run between his shoulder blades, despite the chill of the day. Any second he expected to feel the impact as the man shot him.

“Take three steps forward,” Roshan said and Randall did as he was told.

“Could I please ask you a favor?” Suheera said to her captor. “Before we go, I would like just one last kiss from my lover before I die…”

“He is your lover?” Roshan asked, incredulous. “He is twice your age!”

“Age does not matter when you are amazing in bed,” she said, a seductive smile on her face. “He has taught me so many things…” She let the sentence hang in the air, hoping it would stir his imagination – and lust. She knew men often didn’t think straight when sex clouded their thoughts.

Suheera saw lust ignite in his eyes and knew she’d guessed right that sex was a motivating factor in the man’s psyche. “Alright, but don’t try anything – I’ll have the gun aimed at you the whole time.”

As she sauntered up to Randall, she heard his whisper in her ear as their phones were still connected. “Diable vous pensez-vous faites-vous?” (What the hell do you think you are doing?)

“L'avez-vous mis derrière votre dos ? (Did you put it behind your back?)

“Oui, mais ne faites rien stupide. Je peux manipuler ceci.” (Yes, but do not do anything stupid. I can handle this.)

With her back to Roshan, Suheera gyrated her body up and down Randall’s backside, hopefully distracting Roshan as she eased the gun out and stuck it into her own waistband, then pulled her short tunic down to conceal it.

“Turn around,” she ordered. When he complied, she pulled his head down and kissed him.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” Roshan ordered Randall.

“My pleasure,” Randall said, who then ran his hands down her back and grabbed her butt. Suheera suppressed a squeal; she needed to stay in character. Just as she tried to transfer the gun to Randall’s waistband in front, Roshan interrupted them.

“That’s enough, you’re making me ill,” he said with a growl. “Get back here, now!”

Suheera did as she was told, but not before one last kiss. “Trust me,” she whispered against his mouth.

Roshan had the gun trained on Randall as Suheera climbed into the front seat of the van on the passenger side. Randall could only watch helplessly as Roshan opened the driver’s side door and slid into the seat. He laid the gun in his lap as he started the engine.

“Give me your phone,” he ordered. Careful to keep the gun concealed, Suheera pulled the cell phone from her pocket and removed the earpiece. Roshan threw them out the window.

Randall suddenly realized Roshan wasn’t as smart as he thought he was – he had to back out of the parking space and then drive past him to exit the parking lot, putting him on the vulnerable side of the vehicle. As Roshan pulled forward, Randall saw he had both hands on the wheel – which meant he didn’t have the gun pointed at Suheera any longer. He dove for his gun and came up shooting, managing to hit the door with several rounds before the vehicle got away.

When the van didn’t stop, Randall realized he hadn’t hit Roshan. As he dialed 911 to alert the police to the kidnapping, he ran after the van to see which way it turned. Suddenly he heard the loud retort of a gun. With his heart in his throat, he dashed towards the street, getting there just in time to see the van careening wildly out of control. A moment later the van jumped the curb and crashed into a parked car.

Randall ran down the street, approaching the van with his gun drawn. He circled around to the driver’s side; the shattered window was covered in blood. He ran around to the passenger door and wrenched it open. Suheera was conscious, bleeding from a cut on her face. He looked to Roshan; the back of his head was gone. He slid the Colt back into the holster.

“Thank Allah for airbags,” Suheera said, a little dazed but grinning like a fool. She slid the ammunition clip from the gun and handed them both to him. With a grim look on his face, he laid them on the ground next to the vehicle. Randall muttered something under his breath as he checked her over for injuries. “That was not a very nice thing to say.”

“Don’t tell me you speak Farsi too?”

“And Pushtu,” she added. “My father sent me to school in Baghdad but the only subject he would allow me to study was languages. He thought it might come in handy for him one day. I am fluent in French, Italian, Spanish, and of course English and Arabic.”

He was happy to see she appeared to be unharmed. “Where did you learn to handle a gun?” He was as impressed with the easy way she’d handled the Berretta 9mm as he was with her command of languages. Suheera unloaded his gun as if she’d done it a million times before.

“I grew up working the opium fields. When I was old enough to be out there alone, I was given a gun to protect myself from wild animals - and the human animals,” she said, anger in her eyes. “It was not uncommon for young children to be kidnapped from the fields and sold into slavery. I learned to use a handgun to protect myself and the other children. Roshan is not the first man I’ve killed,” she said softly.

Before he could respond, several police cars screeched to a halt in the street. The officers jumped out, crouched behind the doors, and pointed their weapons at him. Randall put his hands in the air to reassure them he meant them no harm.

“It is ok, he is my bodyguard,” Suheera shouted, climbing from the vehicle. “The bad guy is in the van.” She began to shake as the reality of what she’d done finally sank in. Her knees gave out and she slumped to the ground, leaning against the side of the van.

An officer ran over, his gun still pointed at Randall. “There’s a gun in the holster under my left arm and a knife on my right calf.” The officer carefully disarmed him, patted him down, and then let him put his hands down. “The weapon used in the shooting is by the front passenger side door.”

“Let me see your ID,” he demanded.

“There’s definitely a dead guy in the van,” the other officer said, coming around to assist.

“I’m the one who called,” Randall said. “I’m Miss Karimi’s bodyguard. The dead man is Roshan Shakir, the brother of the man who assaulted Miss Karimi a couple weeks ago.”

“And who shot Mr. Shakir?”

“I did,” Suheera said. It was only then that she realized she was covered in tiny droplets of blood.

“I might have,” Randall added. “I shot at the van as it drove away – there should be several rounds in the door from my Colt.”

“Are you ok?” the officer asked Suheera as he helped her to her feet. She was a little unsteady so Randall came over and put his arm around her.

“I think I need to go sit down for a while,” she admitted. “I am feeling a little nauseated.”

Randall picked her up and carried her to the side of the road, where she promptly threw up. He held her hair and talked soothingly until her stomach finally stopped heaving.

“Are you ok?” Suheera nodded. “That was an incredibly stupid thing that you did!” he growled.

“I am sorry…” She hung her head, ashamed.

“And incredibly brave as well,” he added softly. “You did good.”

An ambulance pulled up and the paramedics examined her, reassuring Randall she was unharmed. After they left, she started shaking again so he put his arm around her and held her tightly. A few moments later he felt her relax and fall asleep; exhaustion was a common reaction to extreme stress.

The imam came running up. “I saw all the police cars – what’s happened?” he asked, out of breath.

“Miss Karimi was kidnapped just steps from your front door,” Randall said. “So much for your assurances she’d be safe at the mosque.”

“Is she hurt?” He looked down at the woman, alarmed to see her covered in blood.

“No, but I think she needs to be somewhere quiet for a bit. Is there anywhere inside…?”

“Yes, yes of course.”

Randall asked a nearby officer if he could take her into the building. “That’s fine; just don’t leave because we could have more questions for the both of you.”

The bodyguard was concerned about the crowd that was gathering. He knew Suheera would have an even harder time assimilating into the mosque if they knew she was involved in a shooting. He took her hijab and draped it over her face.

“Bring her this way.” The imam hurried away towards the building.

Randall had just picked her up when he heard someone calling his name. He turned to see Howie running towards him.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked. He paled when he saw that Randall held Suheera in his arms.

“We’ll talk inside, everything is fine. Let’s not make a scene out here, ok?” He hustled them all into the mosque where the imam showed him a worn leather couch in a small room off his office. He laid her down, removing the hijab so Howie could see her face. “She’s just asleep, she’s going to be fine,” he assured Howie.

“Did they try to get her?” Howie felt the lump in his throat would choke him.

Randall nodded. “Let’s go in here to talk, but leave the door open so we can hear if she wakes up.” He led Howie into the imam’s outer office. Before he could tell his story, one of the police officers entered.

“Mr. Meyers, I have a couple more questions…” Randall nodded. The officer opened his notepad, pulling a pen from his pocket. “You didn’t exchange shots with the victim before he got into the vehicle?”

“Mr. Shakir is not the victim here, just to make things clear,” Randall said. “He kidnapped my client and told me he planned on raping her before he killed her.” He glanced at Howie, all the color had drained from his face.

“I understand that, Mr. Meyers…”

“No, I didn’t shoot the bastard before he got into the van because he had his gun pointed at Miss Karimi. I saw an opportunity as he pulled away and fired four rounds in the general direction of the vehicle. I saw three holes in the door but when the van didn’t stop I figured I hadn’t hit him.”

“Actually, you did. The medical examiner just removed the body from the van, and Mr. Shakir had two bullet wounds in his left side, one of which entered his upper chest,” the officer said.

“So that might have killed him.”

“It’s possible, but the autopsy will tell for sure. Miss Karimi’s shot just made sure he was dead,” the officer added.

“She shot him?” Howie said, his voice cracking. “She was carrying a gun?”

“Blew off the back of his head,” the officer said. Howie felt his knees go weak and he sat down quickly.

“I’ll fill you in later,” Randall said. He turned back to the police officer. “Miss Karimi was not carrying a gun when Roshan attacked her. After I confronted him in the parking lot, she managed to get my spare gun before he forced her into the van.”

“How did he not see her get the gun from you?”

Randall colored slightly. “It was in tucked into the small of my back and she removed it when she umm, when she kissed me good-bye – and then hid it beneath her tunic.” He glanced over at his boss. “I’m sorry, Mr. Dorough, it was just a diversion, I swear.”

“I understand, Randall.” Howie was having a hard time taking this all in. He heard Suheera moan softly and went into the next room to check on her. Randall finished up his interview and went in to join them. “Is this normal? I don’t see how she could sleep at a time like this.”

“Everyone deals with trauma differently. I’ve seen trained military personnel just lay down and sleep for hours after a traumatic event. She might sleep for a long time, or maybe just for a few minutes.” He checked her vital signs. “She’s breathing normally, her pulse is fine so we’ll just let her rest for a bit and then try to rouse her.”

“So you knew the man who attacked her?” Howie asked.

“It was Fareed’s brother who was supposedly dead,” Randall said, remembering what he’d heard through Suheera’s earpiece. “He’s been hiding out in Baghdad, running a prostitution ring for Fareed.”

“Apparently Fareed and Roshan are cousins to my friend Saleena, and her evil brothers,” Suheera added, startling them both.

“How do you feel, sweetheart?” Howie asked, taking her hand.

She struggled to sit up, Randall assisted her. “I am ok, just a little dizzy.”

“Let me get you some water,” Randall said, giving the couple a moment alone.

“I am so sorry, Howie, to worry you. I should have let Randall walk with me into the mosque but I wanted to be brave…”

He hugged her close, thankful she was unharmed. “You are the bravest woman I’ve ever met,” he said softly. He wanted to kiss her but knew it was not acceptable in the mosque as they were not married. He drew back from her when he heard footsteps in the outer office.

“She is well now?” the imam called before entering.

“Please come in,” Suheera called.

“Praise be to Allah for keeping you safe,” he said. “We can reschedule your session for another day.”

“No, I want to do it now, if you do not mind,” she said, looking to Howie for assurance. He nodded his head. “If we reschedule, we won’t be able to have our wedding as planned.”

“As you wish.” The imam shooed Randall out to the hallway and closed the door.