Page 13 of Deadly Betrayal
Kaden approached the man. “Salaamalaikum,” he said in greeting.
“Walaikum assalaam,” the beggarreplied while keeping his gaze lowered. Kaden recognized his accentas Dari, and although he lacked Jake’s command of the language, heknew enough to get by.
“I’d like to propose a trade,” Kaden said inDari.
The man slowly raised his gaze to Kaden’sface, his expression guarded but curious. “I’m listening.”
“Your clothes for mine.”
The man wore the nation’s traditionallight-coloredshalwar kameezand a loose gray vest, alongwith a brownpakol, a round soft-topped hat common amongmany of the ethnic communities in Afghanistan. It was the perfectoutfit in which to hide in plain sight.
After checking Kaden out from head to toe,pausing to admire Kaden’s favorite custom-made leather jacket, theman fixed on Kaden’s boots. “Not the footwear. Your feet are muchtoo large.”
Kaden grinned. “Deal.” He followed the maninto a nearby alley behind a restaurant. A few minutes later, thebeggar, now wearing Kaden’s jeans and jacket, left the alley. Whenhe shoved his hands into the pockets of the leather coat, his feetstalled. Kaden watched as the man pulled out his hand, cupping themoney to keep it from prying eyes. The man turned and took a steptoward Kaden.
But Kaden just smiled and waved. He’d leftthe money there intentionally. His heart lighter, Kaden hurried outthe opposite end of the alley, and keeping his head down, heblended in with the crowds.
After a long, dusty walk, Kaden stood ahalf-block away from Azita’s clinic, trying to figure out a way tosneak in without being seen. Even in local clothing, his size madehim conspicuous. The building was small, made of whitewashed mudbricks over a wooden frame. Narrow steps led up to the front door,where women inchadrisand headscarves bustled smallchildren in and out. That the clinic was busy helped him; that itwas for women did not.
First step: some recon. After crossing thestreet, he hurried behind the nearest building, a store that soldhousewares. If there was an alley or if the properties wereconnected, he’d be able to get into the clinic through a backwindow or door.
His pulse gave a slight jump at the sight ofthe service alley behind the row of businesses. Acting like hebelonged, Kaden trudged along the edge of the narrow road until hereached the back of the clinic and slipped behind a pile of garbagebags. The back door opened. He gritted his teeth as rats scurriedaround his feet, but made no sound that could give away hisposition. Arching his neck, he peered over the garbage to see who’dstepped out.
A scowling old woman propped the door openwhile she dumped a bucket of dirty water on the ground. Kadenshifted onto his knees and twisted to get a better view through theopen door. A long corridor divided the building in two. Glancingalong the outer wall, he saw a series of small windows. Offices?Exam rooms? Regardless, they weren’t a viable option; his shoulderswould never fit through the frames. That left the back door as theonly possible point of entry.
When the old woman reentered the clinic, heprayed the lock wouldn’t latch. He could break it, but that wouldmean leaving the women and children inside vulnerable. The doorclosed and he smiled, noting the crack between it and the frame—andthe wedge of wood propping it open. Quietly, he rounded the pile oftrash and walked with his back close to the wall. He peeked throughthe gap, and when he was certain the hallway was empty, he pushedopen the door and slipped inside.
Adrenaline raced through his veins, fuelinghis muscles. His mind focused on the task, on the mission. Get in.Make contact. Get out. He hadn’t done anything covert in years, notsince leaving the military, and he missed it.
During his two tours in Afghanistan, he’dlearned enough Dari to read the signs on the doors lining thecorridor. Most were just numbers, indicating they were probablyexam rooms. But several were names. Scanning each, he searched forAzita’s office. Twenty feet away, a door cracked open.
Shit.He pressed his ear to the doorbehind him, and, not hearing any movement, he took a chance andentered. The room was a supply closet and, thankfully, empty.Leaving the door slightly ajar, he monitored the hallway. Azitastepped out, her arm around the shoulders of a crying woman whoheld a wailing baby. She smiled and murmured to the woman as shestroked the child’s head. Within seconds the child quieted. Themother beamed at Azita. “Tashakor, Doctor.”
He could see only Azita’s profile, but it wasenough to make his stomach clench. She was even more beautiful thanhe’d remembered. The blue headscarf she wore matched the color ofher eyes, and the olive tone of her skin made them even brighter.The boxiness of her lab coat did nothing to hide her curvaceousbody. He wanted to touch her, to breathe her in, to do to her whathe’d been dreaming about for two years. His cock stirred. Caught upin the fantasy, he started to take a step toward her, only to havehis reverie shattered by the howls of a child in another exam room.Azita winced, but otherwise ignored it. She touched her fingers tothe baby’s cheek, and after one last hug, the woman left.
Finally, they were alone. This was his chanceto talk to Azita. Maybe his only chance.
Since her back was turned, she still hadn’tseen him. He eased open the supply closet door and started to closethe distance between them. Would she recognize him? Or would shescream bloody murder?
His steps faltered. Maybe this wasn’t thebest way to approach a woman he hadn’t seen in two years. Before hecould come up with an alternate plan, the knob of the door acrossthe hall turned, and the door creaked as it was cracked open.
Shit. He couldn’t get caught. It would ruineverything. Lunging forward, he covered Azita’s mouth and yankedher into the supply closet. She clawed at his face, his neck, andhis hands in the darkened room. Footsteps approached the door andhe could hear the murmur of voices. He had two seconds to get thesituation under control before everything went FUBAR.
His training took over, and in a splitsecond, he had her pinned between his bigger body and the wall. Shewas scared. Hell, so was he. Both their lives depended on them notgetting caught. He hadn’t come all the way to Afghanistan to getkilled in a fucking supply closet surrounded by brooms andbandages.
Azita fought against the huge man shoving herinto the storage room. Her feet connected with his shins, her fistsbattered his shoulders, and her nails scraped at his skin. But itwas no use. Her struggles didn’t elicit even a grunt from him.
When the door closed, leaving them indarkness, panic rolled over her in a thick malevolent wave.Desperate, she grabbed at the hand covering her mouth. Her onlychance to survive this attack intact was to scream to alert adoctor, an orderly, or a patient, someone, anyone who could helpher.
The hand on her mouth clamped down moreinsistently while the heavy body pressed her into the wall,surrounding her, suffocating her. Even though her eyes were open,all she could see was the outline of a massive chest. The man bentdown, pressing his mouth to her ear.
Allah save her!
Her worst fears were coming true. He saidsomething, his tone urgent and hushed, but the blood rushing in herears made it impossible to comprehend.
“Shh,” he whispered. “It’s all right.”
Was that English? Shocked, she stoppedstruggling and stared up at the intruder. He sounded American, yetthe material she gripped in her fists was not a uniform. Rather, itwas the rough cotton of locally made clothing.
