Page 21 of Zain

***

Well, this tooka turn.

When they’d switched to the less-distinct vehicle and called Brick, she’d thought they were in the homestretch. That escaping Jaysh was as easy as crossing an invisible line into another country.

Boy had she been wrong.

Although the air outside was cold, inside the trunk, it was thick and stale. The heavy wool blanket was scratchy on her neck and chin, but she gripped the edge tightly, ready to dive underneath when they stopped. As if a blanket would hide her. If the trunk opened, they were screwed.

The vehicle bumped along the gravel road, and every pitch and sway made the undigested protein bar hit her stomach lining, as if a toddler were throwing a plate of food at it. If they made it intoPakistan, she’d surely get sick.

After a few minutes, the car slowed. The brakes squeaked, the high-pitched noise only agitating her nausea further. She pulled the blanket over her head. Her rapid breath made the confining walls shrink around her.

Please, God. Let us get through.

***

Zain kept hishand loose on the wheel as he inched toward the border crossing. Every muscle in his body clenched, ready to attack. His rifle sat on the passenger seat next to him—too far away for his comfort.

Thankfully, carrying a weapon was normal in these parts. Pointing one at the guards, however, would be a problem, so he’d avoid that unless necessary.

He’d promised Dana he wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. And while he’d meant every word, he didn’t like promises. The fact that he’d made one at all, let alone to a woman he didn’t even know, was stupid.

A guard approached his car, and Zain rolled down the window. Lights from lampposts lit the checkpoint like a concert stage. The desert around them was nothing but black sand and black sky. With a machine gun held loosely, as though it were simply another appendage, the man motioned for Zain to hand over his ID.

He dipped his fingers inside his shirt pocket and pulled out his passport. The guard read the identification stating he was Yusuf Syed, native of Pakistan. Zain had no doubts about the ID. It would pass any security system with flying colors because it had come from the best—the CIA.

No, the heartburn heating his chest wasn’t a result of the damn passport. It was the result of the stowaway in the trunk.

The guard lifted his steely brown gaze. Something flashed in his eyes. Zain lowered his hand to his lap, ready to snatch his weapon and shoot. Tension vibrated the air between them. He focused on making his breath even, not taking his eyes off the guard. If he flinched, he’d look guilty as hell. If he reached for the gun a second too late, he and pretty miss blue eyes were dead.

“Out of the vehicle,” the guard shouted in Pashto.

Sweat dampened the back of Zain’s collar. His muscles bunched. If he got out of the car without his weapon, he might as well just hand himself over. “Something wrong?”

Distaste twisted the man’s features. “I said, out!” He shouted something else over his shoulder, and another guard approached.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

For a moment, indecision paralyzed him, but then he pushed open the door and stood next to the car with his hands up. There was no easy wayout of this. All he could do was hope the bastard wasn’t trigger happy and that he could talk his way out.

“What’s the holdup?” Zain asked. “I’ve got somewhere to be.”

The guards mumbled to each other, and his brain worked to process the fast-speaking Pashto. The only word he could pull from their conversation was a name: Isaad.

Fuck. These men were eyes and ears for Jaysh. And his gun was several feet away.

“Open the trunk,” the first guard said, gesturing.

Hell no.

Zain clenched his teeth. He shouldn’t be surprised that Jaysh’s men had gotten word to the border-crossing guards. Maybe he should’ve tried crossing through the mountain, but they’d likely have expected that as well. And Pakistan didn’t take kindly to illegal crossings.

He had to act. A cloak of calm spread over Zain’s shoulders. He didn’t normally lead with emotion. The only reason he was bent out of shape right now was because of the helpless woman he’d somehow become responsible for.

He never went down without a fight, and this time would be no exception. With that conviction in mind, the calmness became satisfaction. He’d already killed ten men today—what were a few more? He did a quick, subtle survey of the area. Atthis hour, there weren’t many people around.

In the next lane was only one car; the man in it spoke to a guard. Including the two guards Zain was dealing with and the one operating the arm barrier, there were four he’d have to take out.

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