Page 51 of Veiled Fantasies

Going to visit the spice souk? he’d asked.

Somewhere as far as possible from the spice souk.Jill had cringed as she said it. The criminal from their flight had a contact there.

He fought away the cold fear gripping him and punched the hotline number into the phone again. He left a message, stumbling over the words at first, then getting it all out. Escaped criminal. Spice souk. Yuri. Erik’s name and hotel.

It took less than three minutes to grab what he needed from his room and set out into the night.

Chapter Seventeen

Jill huddled beneath the bathroom sink, sawing listlessly at the handcuff with the tiny nail file she’d found. Every jarring scrape of metal came with a wish. She wished for Erik. She wished for home. Above all, she wished for this nightmare to end. She’d been scraping for what seemed like hours and had only just scratched the metal.

It was no use.

The cold of the tile floor had long since crept through her, chilling her from the outside in. The tiles were cracked. She could feel the canting edges. What else had been dashed against them, once upon a time? The smell of urine wafted past artificial lemon, overshadowing the more distant scent of exotic spices. All of them standing by to usher her out of this life and into the next.

She had moved beyond panic and gone on to self-abuse. All the stupid mistakes and poor judgment calls of her life had led up to this miserable minute. She should have stayed in the safety of her hotel room, like Louise, and waited. She should never have introduced herself to Erik. She should never have strayed out into the streets. That’s what taking risks got you—trouble.

Deadly trouble.

Faced with a horrible end, she made a thousand vows about every change she’d make if somehow granted a second chance. She’d tell her family how much she loved them. Appreciate the little things, like fresh clothes, familiar faces, and the cool, nourishing air of home. Above all, she would get real and stop squandering her energy on childish fantasies that would never be. So what if she was destined to be alone forever? Just being alive was enough.

She was a runner, all right—awfully good at running away from ugly realities. The world was a scary, evil place. At least Erik faced it head on. A man in a deluge, half washed away. And Jill? She just popped open an umbrella and skittered away, pretending.

Well, pretending wouldn’t work this time. She had to do something. Anything!

Her eyes wandered listlessly around the dim room. She needed a new tactic. Shout, break free, start a flood, anything.

No, no panicking!She fought that tidal wave away and tried to think.

There was no way to saw through her bonds. The pipes? She examined the underside of the sink. The fittings were massive, blocky things she couldn’t possibly manipulate with the tiny sliver of metal at her disposal. Breaking them was the only way. Quietly. Surely she could rip them out of the wall if her life depended on it.

Not if. Her life did depend on it.

She gave a long, steady tug, but the pipes didn’t budge. She wrapped both hands around the metal and pulled again. Nothing. Twisting, she put her feet against the wall, trying again. A creak? A movement? Hope kindled in her core. She pulled for all she was worth and heard a faint metallic groan. It was working!

Jill was about to pull again when a sound made her freeze. A soft step outside. Someone was approaching. The Armenian?

The doorknob turned, slowly.No! Not yet! Please!

She pulled against the pipes so hard, her body was nearly off the ground, willing them to give.

Behind her, the door opened with a creak. She gave up on the pipes and twisted in her handcuffs. The nail file protruded from one hand, a pathetically short sword. But it was her only—her last—weapon. Her last stand.

* * *

The desert night was crisp and clear, but restless. Wary. Dubai was a city of contrasts, even at night. Brilliantly lit in those places where its architects chose to highlight their masterpieces, deadly dark in the corners they wished to conceal. Erik’s eyes scanned the streets, tuned in to the smallest incongruity. The problem was, everything here was unfamiliar. A faceless city, a maze. A place to lose track of place and time.

He couldn’t afford to lose track now.

While the main avenues blazed with headlights, shadows filled the side streets with eerie shadows. Erik’s heart pounded as fast as the thump of car tires as his taxi sped through the night. The driver was singing along with an Arabic tune on the radio, all aching, nasal cries. The man drove with the same reckless trust in Allah that all local drivers seemed to adopt. Right now, fast and furious suited Erik just fine.

As the taxi raced along ever-narrower lanes, he wrangled his fear into something more useful—a gritty, determined calm. There was no better way. If not him, then who?

The cab slowed and let him out before an arched gateway.

“Wait here.”

He left the driver with a bill and turned, pausing outside the gateway. Even out here, he could sense the rich tapestry of textures, scents, and sounds inside the marketplace, all reaching into the street like a heavy arm.

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