Chapter 1
Kiera Lane
I saw the helicopter hidden under a canopy behind the building. It was a beacon of freedom that gleamed in the low moonlight.
I swallowed dryly, my heart pounding furiously. I reported back to Noura that I was ready to run. She’d assured me the door would be open.
Don’t fall apart.
I sniffled and did my best to pull it together. I could cry later. Man, was I gonna bawl my eyes out. Holy crap. Okay. Here we go. The green light. Noura told me to run, so I pushed away from the wall and ran for my life.
Dogs barked in the distance.
Panic tinted the edges of my senses, and I barely registered getting inside the helicopter.
I panted and blinked, taking in my surroundings.
Three rows of simple leather seats. I dove for the back and got down on the floor.
I wedged myself between the rows. It was a tight fit, not to mention an uncomfortable one, but if this got me home—or at least out of the country—I wasn’t gonna complain.
I brought the radio to my lips.
“I’m in hiding,” I whispered. “Over.”
Some static came through. “I am glad, sweet girl. You won’t have to wait long.”
My eyes welled up. It was too soon to break down.
I wasn’t out of here yet. A simple search by the pilot would reveal my whereabouts, and I trusted no one, except Noura and her husband and brother.
They’d been there for me ever since my convoy had been overrun.
They’d taken me in. They’d kept me hidden for months.
I could still hear the shots popping off, hitting concrete and people.
“Thank you for everything, Noura,” I croaked. “As soon as I get home, I’ll contact you. I can still help.”
“Focus on getting home,” she urged. “The pilot will be there soon.”
I sniffled again and nodded to myself. “I’ll reach out when I can,” I whispered. “Out.”
I switched off the radio and let out a shaky breath.
It was quiet out here. Many buildings had been abandoned in the great escape—when we’d left Afghanistan.
Officially, at least. Plenty of Americans were still in the country.
Noura’s husband was an informant to an American private military agency in DC that had helped translators and their families flee.
It was how he’d learned about this property and the helicopter.
I didn’t know the details, and neither did he.
We just knew that an American pilot was coming here tonight to fly this helicopter out of the country, presumably into Pakistan or Uzbekistan.
I closed my eyes and did my best to steady my breathing.
I missed my dad so much. He must be worried sick.
He’d never wanted me to take a job in this field in the first place.
He’d kept warning me that things always went wrong, how unsafe it was for women, and…
and that was the whole point for me. I’d read about how girls were treated here. It broke my heart.
It’d also once detached me from my sleepy reality back home, where I’d been the nurse who strolled into work each morning to change catheters and administer blood thinners to an aging population in a tiny town.
Where the biggest danger around for miles was a coworker who stole my yogurt from the fridge. Damn Charlotte.
Since then, I’d moved a couple times, and my bills were currently sent to Annapolis. Not that Dad ever missed an opportunity to ask when I was moving back home.
If anything, this was all his fault. I’d heard his stories too.
He’d never divulged much about his years in and out of combat zones, instead focusing on memories of the people he’d met.
The cultures he’d experienced. He could get wrapped up in a story about the scents of teas and the wild atmosphere at a market.
Kids and chickens running around, calls to prayer mingling with haggling and hollerin’.
He’d been all over the world, and I’d wanted that for myself.
I took a breath and let it out slowly—
My eyes flashed open as I heard a creaky metal sound not far away from here. It sounded like a big door was being pushed open.
Just like that, my heart was hammering again.
Please don’t find me.
I pulled up my feet as much as I could in order to take up less space. The pilot was likely going to peer inside, right? The cabin area was walled off from the cockpit, so I was hoping I could at least stretch out once we were in the air.
Someone was out there. I heard more sounds, a voice and boots against cracked pavement, and then the door to the cockpit opened.
I sucked in a breath. American. He was the pilot.
He was in contact with someone to report he’d made it to the location.
Operator Hyatt, he called himself? Noura’s husband had said, quite dismissively, “They are all former military.”
I went rigid as the door to the cabin was opened.
“Affirmative on the fuel,” he was saying. “Wilco.” The door was shut once more.
Holy crap, someone have mercy on my heart.
Moments later, a screeching, mechanical sound invaded my ears, and I instantly knew it was the canopy above opening.
Hope flooded me. He hadn’t spotted me. He was starting the engine.
We were about to fly out of here—or whenever the helicopter was ready.
I didn’t know how these things worked, despite having hitched a ride several times.
My first year as an international aid worker, my team and I had flown in and out of Syria on a similar aircraft, and they were popular because only one pilot was required.
My stomach flipped as the helicopter shook, and then we were off the ground.
A rush of emotions surged through me, tears blurred my vision, a grin took over my face, and I gripped the base of the row of chairs in front of me.
I didn’t know if the shit-eating grin was from relief at getting out of here or the sheer excitement of flying incredibly fast. Holy hell, I hadn’t expected this.
Operator Hyatt took off as if he were being chased, and maybe he was.
Or rather, he might have hostiles guarding the air space.
I rolled forward against the next row since the operator flew pitch-down. My dad had explained it to me at an air show once. Nose down, rotor forward, quick speed ahead.
I couldn’t help it. I let out a hysterical laugh and promptly slapped a hand over my mouth. There was no way Operator Hyatt had heard me, but still.
Six months of hell were over.