Page 56 of The Matchmaker

“You are angry,” Khala whispers. “I am so sorry, my child.”

“I’m…I’m not…”

I want to deny it, but Iamangry. I’m furious. I think back to the countless evenings sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, or at the agency when we worked side by side. She had a million opportunities to tell me the truth. She kept it to herself.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” I say. “I need…I need to be alone.”

She moves to reply, but I brush past her. Into the foyer. Out the door. The cool night air presses against my face as I stumble onto the front porch. I let out a ragged breath. With trembling hands, I unlock my car, then pause. I forgot my purse. But going back into the house? I’d rather swallow broken glass.

The phone rings in my pocket. Borzu.

“I can’t talk,” I tell him.

“Wait! Don’t hang up!”

“Borzu, I don’t—”

“Listen!” His voice is frantic. “We know who it is. The person stalking you.”

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “Are you still at the office? I’ll be right over.”

I hear him typing. He goes silent. Then—“Nura, are you at your aunt’s house?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t go outside. Stay where you are. Call the police. Now.”

“I’m already outside. There’s no one—” I hear the crunch of feet over gravel.

I turn.

“Hello, Nura.”

Sixteen

A man. He’s standing inches away from me. He’s desi. From the glow of the streetlight in the distance I can make out close-cropped hair, a crisp white shirt tucked into khaki pants. My phone is still on. Borzu’s shouting through it, but something inside me—the animal part of who I am—knows not to say a word right now.

The neighborhood is quiet. I’m not sure I’ve ever properly appreciated how far apart the homes here are. Azar’s old house across the street stands a good acre away, and judging by the darkened windows, no one is home. I glance at Khala’s house.

“I wouldn’t,” he cautions. “Not if you want the people in that home to be safe.”

“You.” That same deep masculine voice. The hint of amusement beneath the surface. A chill goes through me. “You made the recordings.”

“I was hoping you’d heard them.” He breaks into a grin. “Narcissists like yourself surely have an alert set up, right?”

My Mace.I move to grab it, then remember I left my purse in the house.

“My cat—” I break off. “What did you do to her?”

“Your cat is fine. I’m not a monster, Nura. I figured taking her might get your attention.”

“What do youwant?”

“I want what you took from me.”

Took from him?“Did you apply for our matchmaking services? I’m sorry if we didn’t take you on as a client, but we can work something out. We can talk about it.”

“Me asyourclient?” The amused expression is gone. His eyes narrow. “Fuck no. Why would I want that? My dad’s guzzled the Kool-Aid, thinks you’re some kind of miracle worker. I know bullshit when I see it.”

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