Page 25 of Asher

“Honey…” Libby said that soothingly, like a mother with a grumpy child. “You have a laceration that runs the width of this poor foot, from your big toe to your pinky toe, right below each of your medial phalanges.” She took hold of Marlowe’s hand and traced the area of her palm below her fingers to show where she meant. “I’m sorry, but I need to give you something to deaden the pain and re-suture this wound. It won’t take long. Lean back for me. Let’s check that eye while we’re at it.”

“No.” Marlowe could be stern, too. “My feet are okay. I’ve wasted enough time. Just bandage or put a sock on them, something that’ll keep them clean. I have to go.”

“Marlowe, get serious,” Judy cut in gently.

“And that’s another thing. Why’s everyone being so nice to me today? And why are you two dressed like you’re on vacation? Where’s Asher?”

Knock, knock, knock.

“May I come in?” A brown-haired, dark-eyed woman peered through the still partially opened door. She wasn’t much taller than a school-girl, but she had the deepest, darkest brown eyes. Darned if she wasn’t dressed as casually as Libby and Judy. Were they all going to their country club?

Marlowe didn’t want to offend this visitor for some reason she couldn’t come up with. She almost yelled,‘Hell, no.’But Libby called out, “Come in, Kelsey, and meet the woman everyone’s talking about. Marlowe Rich, do you mind if Kelsey Stewart visits for a minute?”

Well, damn. ‘Yes, I mind,’seemed a rather cruel comeback, so Marlowe offered a polite, “No, sure, come on in.”Everybody else has.“But I’m being released today. This morning,” sheemphasized, glaring at Libby, who smiled like she was dealing with a spoiled brat. Which Marlowe was not. She’d never, ever been spoiled. “So I won’t be here long. What do you want?”

Kelsey stayed at the doorway. She had one of those gentle smiles that made Marlowe feel extra-mean. “I won’t stay if you’re busy. I just wanted to meet the miracle worker who saved my friend.”

“Your friend?” Marlowe cocked her head. TheWonder Womanand miracle worker bullshit was getting old. “Who would that be?”

“She’s right here with me, but she’s shy and…” Kelsey leaned back and asked someone in the hall, “Are you sure? She’s sitting right here, and she’s going to be released this morning. This might be your only chance to tell her.”

“Tell me what?” Marlowe asked loudly enough for shy whoever-she-was to hear. “Come on in. Might as well.”

The dark-eyed woman she thought she’d never see again peered timidly around the corner, and the instant she saw her, Marlowe’s eye filled with tears. Kelsey’s friend was Farrah, one of many women the Taliban had hunted after her husband had refused to betray the American Marine who’d saved his life. Farrah, one of Marlowe’s precious sisters.

Kelsey was not a large woman, but beside her, Farrah was tiny, even swathed in her lovely, deep purple robes and hiding behind a corner of her veil. Not a black, heavily masked veil anymore. Instead, a pretty, sheer violet veil with a gold-striped edge. Farrah’s long, thick hair gleamed beneath it. She looked so much better.

“Farrah,” Marlowe cried, her arms extended, needing her friend to get her butt inside the room. “Come here. Let me see you. Allof you. You’re beautiful.” And such a sight for sore eyes. Make that eye, damn it. “Libby, get this eye patch off. I need a good look at my friend.”

Farrah hurried to Marlowe’s bedside. The moment Marlowe had her arms around one of the women she thought she’d never see again, she buried her face in her veil and broke down. “You’re safe. My God, you’re safe, and you look so, so good. And your little ones, Layla and Hanna? Are they as happy and as pretty as you?”Please tell me they’re still alive.

“They are quite happy, and they are at home with their father,” Farrah replied, her voice choked with emotion as she clasped Marlowe tightly. “Because of you, my little ones are fat. They are not afraid at night anymore, and they eat like little pigs. They tease their father and— Shukran. I can never, ever thank you enough, my lovely grouchy sister. You gave me my life back. How can I repay you?”

Marlowe couldn’t help the tender feelings rushing through her. “It was my privilege. Trust me, you don’t owe me anything.” She choked back another darned sob, striving to be the grouchy sister she’d had to be during Farrah’s harried run to Alex’s helicopter instead of the bawl baby she’d turned into. Unbeknownst to Marlowe, until the second Farrah broke cover that day and ran to the helicopter, the Taliban had been hard on her trail. They’d nearly caught her, and if they had, there wouldn’t have been a thing Marlowe could’ve done to save her.

“It’s been what? Ten months?” she asked, her voice cracking at the near disaster she’d witnessed. If not for Alex Stewart’s helicopter lifting up and charging those assholes, poor Farrah would’ve been publicly whipped and possibly beheaded. Along with her babies.

Still holding onto Marlowe, Farrah tipped back enough to swipe at her own cheeks. “Yes, yes, it seems like forever, but then” —she shrugged— “it also seems like yesterday.”

“Those were scary times.” Marlowe turned to Libby, who had pulled the blanket over her feet, probably to not offend some law of the prophet. There were so many rules concerning what Muslim women needed to keep covered in public, which under the current regime, seemed to be every part of her body, even her toes. “Libby Houston and Judy Mortimer, this is my good friend, Farrah al-Rabbani.”

“Hi, Farrah,” Judy answered. “It’s good to see you again. But Marlowe, we’ve known Farrah and her family since they arrived in America. Because of everything you did over there, you have many, many friends living close by. Arzad and his wife. Their daughter, her husband, and their kids. It’s too bad you’re leaving. All of them are here because of you. I wish you’d stay long enough to get reacquainted.”

Marlowe nodded, torn between her mission to save every last endangered woman still in Afghanistan and getting to know Farrah better. It would be so good to just sit and talk. “Yes, but I have work to do. Important work. There are others.”

“My girls will be sad they didn’t get to see you,” Farrah whispered, “but they will understand. They are tough little ones.”

Yes, but darn. Those little sweethearts were only tough because of all they’d seen and lived through. The fear. The hiding and running for their lives. Going without enough food, clean water, and even fresh air. Believing in monsters, because in their country, monsters were very real. Marlowe ached to see those girls. They’d been so small. So very vulnerable.

“Let’s get that bandage off,” Libby said, quietly changing the subject. “You can see Farrah better then.”

“Yes, please,” Farrah said. “I have been praying for this day.” She squeezed Marlowe’s arms and stepped back beside Kelsey, who put an arm around her shoulders because Farrah was crying.

Darn it. Marlowe wanted to be the one hugging her friend. She needed to be on her feet and capable, not simpering helplessly in bed. But woman to woman. Instead, she leaned into her pillows and let Libby peel the tape away from her face, carefully not upsetting her beanie. The darn thing had to go. But Marlowe didn’t want to shock Farrah.

Libby was up close and personal, her focus on Marlowe’s injured eye. The perfume she’d spritzed on that t-shirt was flowery and light, and it dawned on Marlowe then, that her poor nose was working. She could smell again. She sniffed as more subtle fragrances came to her. The slightest sting of antiseptic cleansers. The absence of rank sweat and body odors. Just sweet clean American air.

This country was so different from Afghanistan. Common sense ruled here—most of the time. Logical laws were enacted and enforced. Order, cleanliness, and kindness ruled. People were free to live astheychose. Freedom was everything.

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