Page 8 of Deceptive Lies

Who had somewhat reluctantly reached out to them when they were asking around.

Who now sat before him with an inscrutable expression Cooper couldn’t decipher and a relaxed demeanor that belied their paranoid interactions before he arrived here.

Frustrated and close to the end of his rope, his patience snapped.

Before Professor Mahmoud knew what was happening, Cooper was out of his chair, had a hand around the man’s throat, and his back shoved up against the wall. “For almost two decades, I have thought of little else but clearing my mother’s name and proving she didn't do what she was accused of. I'm not playing games. You are going to tell me everything you know about her and what happened to her or I am going to cut you apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left of you.”

July 10th

9:12 A.M.

Yes, please do that.

The thought ran unapologetically through Willow’s mind as she watched the big American man threaten Professor Mahmoud from her spot chained and gagged in the corner.

Not so tough now, are you?

Satisfaction soothed away some of the pain from this morning’s beating. Despite her promise to herself that she would fight until the end, Willow was starting to realize that the end might be coming sooner than she would like.

Already, her body was becoming too weak.

So far, Professor Mahmoud had been careful not to hit too hard, break bones, or cause internal damage. He wanted her alive and suffering for as long as he could draw it out. But a blow to her armthis morning when she’d instinctively thrown it up to protect her face, had sent nauseating pain spiraling through the limb and out into the rest of her body.

Broken?

Maybe.

There were no outward signs of a break, but that didn't mean the bone hadn't splintered. Without the benefit of an x-ray, there was, of course, no way to confirm, but she was sure that at least a couple of ribs were cracked, and the throbbing pain in her face from yesterday’s beating told her that her cheekbone might be fractured as well.

Besides that, she was positive she was a tapestry of black and blue from her head to her feet.

The endwascoming.

Definitely sooner than she wanted.

But what if this man, towering over Professor Mahmoud, who was trembling like the coward he was, was in fact, the answer to her prayers?

Was it possible he was here for her?

It wasn't like she had come traipsing to Egypt without telling anyone where she was going. Willow had to tread carefully with what information she shared with her friends and colleagues. Professor Mahmoud was well-connected. A celebrated Egyptologist, he traveled the world lecturing as well as working for one of the top schools in the country.

Messing with him was dangerous, but it was more dangerous to allow him to keep doing what he’d been doing. It wasn't even a question of whether or not he was doing it, Willow knew that he was, she just needed proof if she was going to stop him.

Which was why she was there.

Only she hadn't expected to get caught and wind up a prisoner of the man who knew exactly what she was doing there.

When she hadn't returned home or checked in, she was sure that at least one of her friends or colleagues would have reported her disappearance to the cops. They knew enough to know that she was investigating the professor for ties to a terrorist organization. Surely, when the cops learned that they’d pass along the intel to the appropriate agencies. Then someone would come for her.

It was a hope she’d been clinging to valiantly these last two weeks, and now she hardly dared to believe that this man could be here to rescue her.

From his height and the muscles bulging beneath his black T-shirt, stretching it to the limit, and the confidence he exuded with every movement, every word, there was no doubt that he was military. If he was here for her then likely special forces. It wasn't like the government could start a war over one missing journalist, but surely, they’d do something to try to rescue her.

“Tell me what you know about my mother,” the man growled again, this time his words registered.

His mom.

Whoever the American man was, he thought the professor knew something about his mother.

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