Page 9 of ELITE Protection
They had called her mother a whore because she touched men who were not her husband. The woman was an emergency room physician. Of course she touched men, several times a day. She also saved their lives, but the radicals didn’t approve.
One of her mother’s assailants chastised her because she wore American clothing and did not cover her body head to toe in an abaya. Hannah hated the attitude of extremist Muslims toward women. That was why she had joined the Syrian People’s Protection Units, specifically the all-female YPJ.
She had been welcomed with open arms since she had been born in a Syrian refugee camp. She was also a citizen of the United States of America by birth. Her father had been born and raised in the USA, working for the CDC in Iraq when he’d met her mother. Even then, she had been an emergency room physician. The two had worked together and quickly fallen in love. Theirs was such a beautiful love story. Their affection for each other was evident every day in their touches, openly kissing in front of her and her brother. That was the kind of relationship she’d known all of her life and she wanted the same when she chose a husband.
Hannah thought she had followed in her mother’s footsteps. Aziz had practically swept her off her feet. At twenty-one, she was thrilled to have captured the attention of the handsome Syrian army captain in his mid-thirties. Although she was not a virgin, she was definitely naïve when it came to a man as experienced as him.
Thanks to her American education, she had risen quickly through the officer ranks of the YPJ since women in the Middle East were given little opportunity for schooling. As they were the same rank, and Aziz’s charismatic personality made him a favorite, their affair was shrugged off by senior officers.
Until she had revealed him as a traitor.
Smack. Smack.
The wind had kicked up and Hannah already knew that sound came from the external dryer vent. It had about scared her to death the first night she spent alone in the large house.
She heard the sheets rustle in the bedroom across the hall. Having Isaac so close was comforting and disturbing at the same time.
A board squeaked in the hallway, and Hannah reached under her pillow to grab her H&K mini submachine gun. She crept to the doorway and plastered herself against the wall. Peeping out, she saw Isaac looking down the sights of a fifteen-round Sig Sauer.
“Isaac, it’s just the dryer vent,” Hannah said in a normal voice as she stepped out of her bedroom, gun nestled into her shoulder.Trust no onehad been her motto since arriving in Syria four years ago. Only once had she let her guard down, and she was now being hunted because she’d trusted a man. Never again. Not even if he was supposed to protect her.
“Holy fuck!” Isaac lowered his gun. “I could have shot you. You should’ve stayed in your bedroom.”
Hannah laughed as she let her gun drop down next to her thigh. “Let you wander all over this house clearing every room? I’ll never get to sleep.”
In the dim hallway lit by the half-moon reflecting off snow, she could see the tension ease the lines on his face. “Sometimes talking about your worries helps them go away.”
A deep noise burst from within Hannah. It wasn’t a chuckle but could have been perceived as one. “I don’t think talking about the brother of the ISIS Caliphate is going to stop his family from hunting me down and trying to kill me.” She let out a heavy sigh. “But maybe a strong drink will help me sleep.”
Without turning on any lights, she walked to the wet bar in the corner of the living room. She laid her gun on the granite counter and removed a half-empty bottle of Maker’s Mark bourbon from the glass shelf above. “Want one?” She turned the label toward Isaac.
He shook his head. “I’m on duty.”
She grabbed a second glass. “I hate drinking alone. Besides, after that adrenaline rush you just had, you’ll need something to bring you down to normal.”
“You’re right.” Isaac was so close to her, she flinched. She hadn’t heard him move. Damn, but she was off her game. If she wasn’t more careful, she could end up dead.
She poured the golden liquid into a glass and handed it to him.
“I take it you know how to use that one, too?” He asked and held the glass to his nose, sniffing appreciatively.
Smiling as she poured the alcohol, she admitted, “I’m a damn good marksman with almost any weapon.” She turned to face him. “But my favorite is my custom-made, Barrett 82A1. For a .50 caliber, it doesn’t have much recoil and fits very nicely in a lightweight case. I can carry that little baby all day long, and all night.”
She curled up in the corner of the couch tucking her feet under her, resting the small machine gun across her lap. She’d shocked him. She loved surprising men with her abilities. They always underestimated women.
Well, not always. Aziz had known exactly how to play her. She had been the one to underestimate her foe.
Isaac had followed her to the seating area, and to her surprise, he settled at the other end of the couch after laying his gun on the coffee table in front of them.
“Why is ISIS after you?” Isaac had obviously decided to cut straight to the point.
After a moment of consideration, she decided she liked that. No games. No small talk. She decided to return the favor. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, he’s the Caliphate of ISIS.”
Isaac nodded. “The self-professed direct descendent of Mohammed who, in 2014, declared himself the leader of the Islamic faithful because the Taliban was not fundamentalist enough for him. What about him?”
That was an excellent summary. Hannah was happy she didn’t have to give him a Middle Eastern history lesson. She let out a long sigh. “Because of me, his brother is dead.”
With her eyes now adjusted to the darkness, Hannah watched Isaac’s jaw drop.
