Page 80 of Lone Spy

“We have a helicopter arriving nearby. You just need to get us past the perimeter.”

“No.” Ash raises a brow. Victoria shakes her head. “It’s not that simple. This won’t stop when you’re not on the property. And we can’t. I can’t. I’m not in a position to help.”

“If you can escort us off the estate that will be a great help.” Ash’s voice is even—reasonable. Not even a hint of fear. Meanwhile my heart has moved into my throat and set up a drum circle at the base of my tongue.

Victoria takes a step forward, frowning. “You know they won’t stop.”

“I do,” Ash says.

I feel like the child in the room with her parents arguing over her but not truly understanding what the fight is about.

Victoria turns her focus to me. “Angela. I can help you off this land, but you’re in serious danger. They are…it’s not…things are in motion.”

Omar interrupts. “Angela, may I speak to you privately for a moment?” I glance at the closed bedroom door. “I understand time is of the essence, but I believe I can help. If you’ll just spare me a few minutes.”

Victoria nods at me. She thinks I should hear him out. Ash doesn’t give off even a hint of what he’s thinking. I might as well be looking at a statue trying to figure out what it thinks I should do. “Okay.” I nod.

The bedroom is musty and shadowed with just one curtained window providing weak gray light. Omar walks over and clicks on the bedside lamp, illuminating a brass-framed bed covered in a blue quilt.

He returns to where I stand next to the closed door. Omar takes my hands and then frowns. “Your hands are so cold.” He looks honestly concerned—brow drawn down, eyes tight.

He lifts my hands to his mouth and kisses my knuckles, his lashes fanning. Tingles of awareness travel down my arms. He is gorgeous if nothing else.

“Angela, this isn’t how I wanted to do this,” he says, lowering our joined hands. “But you need security. And I can provide it. No one can protect you the way I can.”

I’m not sure what he’s saying, offering, asking for, so I stay quiet, keeping my eyes wide and expression innocent. “The moment I saw you, I knew I’d ask you this question.” He smiles, self-deprecating and almost shy—but not quite. “But I’d hoped to have more time to win you over, to help you see what I knew the first time my eyes landed on you.” His gaze is intense, beautiful. “Angela, please marry me. If you agree, I can keep you safe. Forever.”

“Marry you?” I ask, my voice pitched higher than normal.

He smiles, eyes sparkling. “Yes.”

“We hardly know each other. This is…” I pull my hands free and he lets me. “I mean, I see what’s in it for me. Literal survival. But what do you get out of it?” I’m trying to buy time, trying to sort out what is happening.

“You.” His eyes are wide with wonder that it isn’t obvious. “A stunning wife. A brave and powerful partner who understands our world. Who can help me create the story we want to tell.”

No mention of love—but that’s good. He couldn’t love me. Omar wanting to use me for what I am is better than him being deluded into thinking he wants a love marriage after so few hours spent together.

“I don’t know your world,” I protest. Because it’s true. “I’ve never been to the Middle East. I’m not Muslim.”

“You can convert. My mother did.” I shake my head. Take another step back. “They won’t stop coming for you.”

Omar reaches for me, but I scoot away from him, knocking into the bedside table and unsettling the lamp. It crashes to the ground, the bulb popping, dropping the room into deeper shadows.

“Angela.” His voice is gentle. Like I’m a frightened horse and he a steady trainer. But I amnotlivestock. “Think strategically,” Omar begs. “Please.”

“I’m not putting my head into a noose to avoid the guillotine.” It comes out a hissed whisper.

His frown deepens. “Do you think marriage to me would amount to strangulation?”

I shake my head. “I’m. No. But. I don’t want to stop working.” It sounds so stupid. So very stupid. I don’t want to give up on my dreams. That’s what I mean. I don’t want to be a princess. I never wanted that.

I want to make films. Make my own money. Have my own power. It’s not that I crave normality—I don’t. My whole life I’ve felt different, apart. Separate from other people. Losing my parents young, growing up looking the way I look, with the family history I have. My innate ability to take on characters as if they were my own. As if I was them.

I’ve always been an outsider and that won’t change no matter whose ring I wear on my finger. But I want the life I planned for, the one I pined for, not this…

Omar watches my face, intent on every micro expression. He thinks he wants to marry me. That he can have some kind of meaningful relationship with me.

“They will come for you again.” It sounds like a promise verging on a threat. “You can’t hide. You won’t be safe.”

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