Page 22 of Asher

“But he’d still kill me,” Marlowe surmised thoughtfully.

“Yes, after he tortured you for days. Think about it. Ibrahim al-Jamah gets off on inflicting pain, not murder. He’s a sadist. He’s ten times worse than Baghdadi, and he knew you weren’t working alone, that someone with money was behind the helos flying illegally into and out of his kingdom. It wouldn’t take long to do an internet search and find me. Even I could. I don’t hide.”

“How do you know all this?” Murphy asked.

“Because…” Alex turned to the whited-out windows, but his eyes weren’t seeing anything. It was as if he’d tuned out. Until at last, he said, “The son of a bitch sent a package to my house three weeks ago. Inside was a USB flash drive that contained explicit clips of two young women, stripped and hanging in the dark, mutilated beyond recognition, whimpering, but not yet dead. He included a note with that flash drive. Said he can’t wait to meet my ‘two sweet, little children,’ his son of a bitching words, not mine.” Still facing the window, Alex tapped his fingers on his desk. “Which is why I’m going back.”

Harley jumped to his feet. “Boss, no.”

“Not without me, you’re not,” Mark said firmly.

“Like hell, you are,” Murphy hissed, on his feet and shaking a stern, gnarled finger at Alex. “Guldarn it, every man and woman on my side of the house will be on that C-130 with you, so don’t go sneaking out of the country without us.” For an older gentleman, he had quite an ugly sneer on his whiskered face.

Asher’s arm circled tighter around Marlowe’s waist. “Don’t you dare,” he growled.

She turned to look into his eyes. “But I have to go with him, don’t you see? I’m the bait. Once Ibrahim What’s-His-Fucking-Name knows I’m back in—”

“Ibrahim al-Jamah.”

“Yeah, okay, if you say so. Him. Once he knows I’m back in Afghanistan, that I’m still helping women escape from his—”

“I said no.”

“Asher, honey.” This time Marlowe used his word against him when she cupped his jaw, while everyone else was busy arguing with Alex. “I’m sorry, but you are not the boss of me. I know it sounds trite, but I’m not a little girl who needs to be told what to do or how to think. I make my own decisions. I’ve been doing it for years. I made promises to those women, and I intend to keep them. Surely you understand that.”

“You still have women in hiding, waiting for you? Even now?” He ran an exasperated hand over his hair.

“No. I meant that in a philosophical, theoretical way.”

“So there are no women stashed in a cave somewhere waiting for your return? You made promises, but only in a general sense?”

“Well, yes. No specific women are waiting. I didn’t mean it that way. But trust me, plenty of women are still trapped over there. They very much want their children to grow up in America, and I’m going to help them achieve that dream.”

“You can’t even see out of both eyes yet,” he reminded her quietly.

She appreciated that calm, quiet quality about Asher. Yes, she’d felt and looked like a Cyclops for days now. She was glad he hadn’t drawn attention to her current disfigurement in front of everyone. “One-eyed or not, it’s time for me to get back to work.”

“If you go, I go,” Asher murmured against the side of her head, his breath warm through the beanie.

“No,” Alex roared. He was on his feet now, furious, and his fists clenched. “Me. Just me. I started this and I’ll finish it. Alone.”

“Except me. I’m going with you,” Marlowe replied sweetly, risking his wrath and getting glared at for her audacity. Alex’s blue eyes were laser-sharp and extra nasty now.

“And me,” Asher added just as calmly. “Where Marlowe goes, I go.”

“And me, damn it.” That came from Harley, forcing Alex to pivot that nasty glare to his right.

“If Harley goes, I go, Alex,” Judy said firmly. “We’re a team, and you might need someone with trauma experience, so get over yourself.”

The moment Alex opened his mouth to snarl, Marlowe wasn’t sure at who, Mark cut in with, “I don’t need to check with Libby. My schedule’s open.”

Alex looked down at the floor, and between gritted teeth, he snarled, “You’re all fired. Get the hell out of my office!”

Chapter Eleven

Asher didn’t go home that night. Instead, he took Marlowe to her room and made sure she was comfortable and asleep. He suspected whatever Dr. Houston injected into her IV helped him make a clean getaway. He was in the hall outside her room when his cell phone rang.

“Asher,” he answered.

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