KORD THREW A SWEATY TOWEL into a bin at the workout room of the Saud mansion. He’d finished a five-mile run on the treadmill. His left arm protested from the flesh wound, and he couldn’t lift weights. Exercise stoked his mind to work harder on the criminal activities surrounding Prince Omar. Yet firing neurons hadn’t given him the answers he needed. Parvin Shah had died with answers, and Youssof Dagher’s family was condemned if he breathed a word of truth. Did Shah have a brother here in Houston or was Youssof lying?
His phone alerted him to a call —HPD. “Special Agent Davidson.”
The officer introduced himself as the one who’d reported a security cam picking up the license plate of a car that had left the area of the Coffee Gone Dark café. “Wanted to give you an update. Officers found the car abandoned in an alley three blocks from the incident. It was swept clean.”
Kord thanked him before laying his phone aside. Youssof hadn’t worked alone, and whoever else attacked him and Monica last night was still out there.
He’d hoped Prince Omar and Ali might scare Youssof into spilling his guts. But the young man’s brainwashing stopped him from exposing those who barked the orders. Kord walked into the workout room shower while his thoughts explored the who and why.
On the return trip from the hospital, the prince shared he’d be in Houston for at least three more weeks. Longer if his mother survived. With the attacks since the prince’s arrival, every day brought new problems, deadly ones. Enemies in the Middle East ridiculed the US and Saudi Arabia for not ending the assassination attempts, calling their investigative skills inferior and laying groundwork for the two countries to turn against each other.
“With the investigation showing progress, I’m postponing sending my sisters home,” the prince said. “Especially with my mother’s dwindling health.”
The word indecisive crossed Kord’s mind.
Prince Omar had arranged the video interview with Youssof’s mother and her two daughters for the following morning, evening in Riyadh.
Concern about Monica’s health, her perfectionism, and especially what he’d learned about Liam Fielder hit hard. People and mistakes went hand in hand, a part of the human DNA. He’d made his share. For Monica, he saw a woman hurting and unable to forgive herself. Choices and consequences balanced the scales and forced a person to grow stronger or slide downhill.
Kord asked himself if he wanted to help her crawl out of the misery hidden behind those blue eyes. His attraction to her took him down a road he wanted to avoid —the thought of family. While he feared the temptation of turning to alcohol when life overwhelmed him, he also promised himself it wouldn’t happen. He’d never tasted the stuff. Never intended to. The picture of a falling-down drunk out of control and making a fool of himself wasn’t worth it.
He was hunting for the purpose of life. Like discovering the motivation of a criminal, he craved a reason to crawl out of bed each morning. One day, he wouldn’t have this job, and he didn’t want to be still searching, investing his self-worth in his work. God had become more real as he explored who or what set the standards for right and wrong. But he was plagued with confusion. The injustices in this world warred against the possibility of a loving God. He wanted to understand the origin of creation, and what it meant for him.
How many times had he deliberated the meaning of life? If all he had to look forward to was a cold grave, wouldn’t it be better to have faith in a God who claimed life eternal?
Dealing with his feelings for Monica meant exploring why he wanted what he swore he didn’t, a battle of his heart. Liam played a huge role as the fiancé who’d used her and spit her out. Yet Kord sensed her hurt went deeper than Liam —something else added mortar around her heart. Kord saw the guarded look that went beyond betrayal —a primal fear. He wanted to help even if he didn’t understand the depth of why. For sure she wasn’t aware of what he sensed or she’d unload her S&W on him.
He wanted to help her end the turmoil. Then he had to stop debating the reality of God. Stop putting it off.
God, if You’re real, show me. I want to find meaning in my life. If it’s not You, I don’t know where to look.
At 7:30 p.m. Monica woke, groggy but stronger. Then reality choked her. The doctor had insisted the IVs be in place through Tuesday, and he stated it would be Friday or Saturday before she felt better. Not Thursday for the rodeo event. What a wrench in her protection detail.
No matter, she’d manage her responsibilities without the doctor’s permission.
All the think time with no action hammered at her typical pace. Parvin Shah and Youssof Dagher . . . Neither appeared to have the aptitude to pull off the assassination. What had been determined after the second interview with Youssof?
She loathed lying in bed as an invalid. A knock sounded at the door in the common area. She heard Fatima and Prince Omar. A moment later, Kord stood alone in the doorway to her room.
“The prince is having coffee with his sisters, so we can talk.”
“I could use the company.”
“The company or me?” He grinned.
She treasured the sparkle in his eyes. “I wouldn’t want to damage your ego.”
“Let’s start with the latest updates.”
She’d like to capture his smile and bring it out on rainy days. “Same thing.”
He moved into the room and pulled a chair to her bed. “How’s the coughing?”
“Manageable.”
He pointed to the meds on her nightstand. “Do you need —?”
She shook her head, then broke into a cough that ripped at her stomach muscles. Finally she could speak. “Tell me about Youssof.”
“He’s not doing well. My guess is he’s given up the will to live. He’s permanently disfigured and condemned to spend the rest of his life in jail.”
“What happened with the prince?”
“Prince Omar talked to him, threatened his family. He confirmed what little we already have: internal Saudi with an Iranian assassin.” Kord told her about the threat to Youssof’s family if he revealed any names and about Parvin Shah’s no-name brother.
“Hard to say if he told the truth.” She coughed again, this time clutching her chest. “Has Prince Omar made the interview arrangements with the women?”
“In the morning at ten o’clock.”
“That’s 6 p.m. for them,” she said. “But you know what? The evening means they could be tired, more prone to open up. What else?”
“Tell me about Liam Fielder.”
She stiffened, couldn’t help herself. “Why? We’ve had this conversation.”
“I think it’s interfering with your state of mind.”
If she had the strength, she’d black his eyes. “No, it’s not. What is it with you anyway? My personal life has nothing to do with this protection detail.”
“Monica, you’re lying to yourself if you remotely think his betrayal hasn’t affected your role in the CIA or your personal life.”
She would not face the reality about Liam with Kord. She needed an exit ramp. Now. Worse yet, she refused to admit the hurt and damage to her relationship with God. “It’s inconceivable.” Her words sounded disgustingly weak, like she felt.
“Isn’t confession good for the soul?” He scooted the chair closer.
“Being inches away from me doesn’t mean I’ll talk about Liam. Last I checked, you’re not a shrink.”
“I’m a friend.”
A friend who’d kissed her multiple times. Carried her up the stairs when she collapsed with this disgusting pneumonia. The challenge of opening up about Liam meant revealing the extent of her hurt. How could Kord ever understand the depth of her mistakes when he didn’t have a relationship with God?
“While you’re debating it, here’s my take,” he said. “Monica Alden is a dynamic woman. She can go on being miserable, not trusting anyone. Or she can work through the past and shake it off.”
“Since when have I given the impression of being miserable?”
“I can see it in your eyes when you think no one is looking.”
Her heart thudded. “I’m fine.”
“And I’m a world intellect. I’m surprised God has allowed you to get away with all the denial stuff. Doesn’t He do the accountability thing?”
His words knocked at the wall around her heart. She choked back a lump in her raw throat. “Where is your firsthand info about God?”
“Closer than I’ve ever been. You and I have been through hell and landed on our feet several times. The last few days are part of it, and the danger’s not over. Give me a chance to help you with this.” The tenderness in his eyes should have spelled caution, but the hint of release nudged her forward. “You are the strongest woman I’ve ever met, but you’ve allowed someone to assume power in your life, someone who doesn’t deserve it. What hit you so hard that you can’t get past the punch?”
Her eyes watered. “I’ve never admitted all of the story to anyone.”
“You value your privacy. I get your reasoning.”
“Why, Kord? What’s in it for you?”
“To see you happy.”
Seemed like a lame excuse, but she really wanted to believe him. Dare she move forward when her insides curdled? Tell a man she barely knew the ugly truth? “Why do you care if I’m happy?”
“Because I don’t understand this crazy attraction to you. Because I’m looking for God and what a Christian worldview means. Because I have a hard time figuring out life too.” He took her hand, and she clung to his.
Maybe she could find an escape from the nightmares.
She’d move forward. “Liam’s betrayal paralyzed me, especially when recalling his every word added another rung on the ladder of lies. I believed him. Put him higher in my life than he should have been. I thought we were a divine team destined to bring down enemies of the US. Then I picked up intel pointing to him as a monster, taking thousands of dollars from a known terrorist who’d been suspected of biological warfare. I followed it up. Confirmed his guilt. I tried to confront him, but he disappeared. I went to Jeff with the findings and led a team to bring him down.” She squeezed his hand in an effort to keep her emotions intact. “The faces of the dead men, women, and children will never leave me. Not a day goes by that I don’t see them again.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“There’s more. From the moment he showed interest in me, I let my faith slip. Liam said he was a believer, but he preferred a motorcycle ride in the country or a walk in the park over a church service. At first, I protested. Wasn’t long before I allowed him to dictate what I did not only on Sunday but every day of the week. The things I valued about my faith fizzled. We lived together, though I swore I’d never give myself to a man without the sanctity of marriage. I thought he loved me as much as I loved him.” She stopped to breathe and manage the debilitating weakness hammering against her lungs. “I put Liam in God’s place. When I realized my stupidity killed so many people, the guilt and shame rested on me for forsaking my faith.”
“From what I’ve learned, God is forgiving.”
“You’ve uncovered quite a bit.”
He started to speak, then shook his head. “I’ll tell that story on another day. Am I right in assuming you can’t forgive yourself?”
Her stomach burned. “I pushed God aside for a man who was the devil incarnate.”
“You blame yourself for something out of your control.”
“Are you sure you’re not a shrink?”
“I need one myself.” His denial soothed her.
She glanced away, then back to him. “My actions won’t leave me alone.”
“Has your God indicated you aren’t worth His time?”
“It’s not Him.”
“Are you a candidate for change?”
She wanted to be one. If only she could get past the blackness that mocked her. Had the time arrived for her to accept His forgiveness and herself? She looked into Kord’s eyes, the man who’d offered to spoon-feed her when her hands trembled. The man who confused her in far too many ways. The man who’d found a place in her heart.
The worst needed to be said. “I’m afraid the shot I fired into Liam was more about my personal vengeance than preventing a man from killing others.”
“Why?”
She thought about truth setting her free. “I’ve often thought I should resign from the CIA. Taking a life to get even is motive for a criminal.”
“What if you hadn’t pulled the trigger? What would have happened?”
She’d considered the same thing. “He was on his way to take botulism to the Sudanese government when we caught up to him.”
“I’m listening.”
“You’re not an interrogator. I’ve come this far. Might as well finish. Liam was hiding in a small village. We located the hut, and I asked for an opportunity to confront him. Thought I could talk him into surrendering. If we engaged him in a firefight, innocent people could be killed. Getting Liam to confess and give intel would’ve helped us stop those involved.”
“So you approached him alone?”
The whole nightmare replayed, the villagers grabbing their children and scurrying to their huts. The heat and the smell of Africa. “I called out to him. Asked him to put down his weapon. No one else needed to die. He laughed. He reminded me of my weakness and stupidity.” She recalled her threadbare faith and how she’d felt too undeserving to ask God for help. “I made it to the opening and walked inside. I was deadly calm. Filled with rage. He aimed his firearm at my chest. A rustle outside the hut caught his attention, giving me a moment to take the advantage. He lost his balance, and I dove after him. He fired into my shoulder. I sent a bullet to his head.” She paused to rein in her emotions. “The blood covered both of us.”
“His death was not your fault.”
She swiped beneath her eyes, and he handed her a tissue from the nightstand. “I hated him for his lies.”
“You loved him, and he tore out your heart. But if you hadn’t pulled the trigger, you’d be dead along with probably countless others.”
“That seems cold, callous.”
“When we’re hurt and don’t understand the actions of those we love, nothing seems rational.”
She feared dissolving into a puddle of despair, and she blamed her illness. But Kord was the voice of reason, although she had no idea how or why she’d unloaded the story. It must be to pave the road to freedom and peace.
He towered over her. “I’m leaving you alone to take care of business.”
“Are you sure you’re not a believer?”
“Working hard on it.”
“You’re a lot closer than you think.” She bit into her lower lip. “Keep me updated.”
“I will.” He turned to leave.
“Kord, do my struggles deter your faith?”
“You have a grip on God, and I admire it. I think the problems you’re experiencing are more about your perfectionism than the reality of a creator God. Your secret’s safe with me.”
When he left the room, she sensed a profound loneliness. Except the emptiness had nothing to do with Kord but about the condition of her soul. Perhaps the ugly past happened to draw her close to God again. And in the stillness, the pain in her body subsided to a renewal of spirit. The memories would remain, dim as time passed, but they’d always serve as a reminder of what evil people tried to accomplish.