Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
July 11 th
6:47 P.M.
This time he wasn't walking away until he was sure he’d gathered every piece of intel to glean from Tarek Mahmoud.
“Hey, Coop, you gone inside yet?” the voice echoed inside his ear from the comms unit he was wearing. Tonight, he was going into the professor’s home wired. Anything the man said would be heard by all three of his brothers and both his stepbrothers. Cassandra had opted out, although they never hid anything from her, she had decided to take a different path in life than the rest of them, and they all respected her boundaries and her desire to keep out of danger and away from the filth that littered the earth.
“No, just pulled up outside,” he answered Connor’s question.
“Good, we got an ID on the guy following you today at the pyramids,” his twin informed him.
“Cass is still jealous that you got to see them, and she hasn’t,” Cole added with an amused chuckle. “You're going to hear all about it when you get home. ”
“Don’t doubt it,” Cooper replied, a small smile curling his lips up.
If there was one thing you could say about his sister, it was that she wasn't shy about making her needs and wants known. Growing up with six big brothers, she’d had no choice but to learn how to stand up for herself if she didn't want to get lost in the crowd. That confidence was going to help her get whatever she wanted out of life, and already she was on her way to making her dreams come true.
“So, who is the guy?” he asked. After walking around for a solid hour at the pyramids, making sure the man was still following him, he’d risked an encounter with him. Doubling back abruptly, he’d left the man with no choice but to either make a run for it and make it obvious what he’d been doing or stand his ground.
The young man—who looked like little more than a college kid—had chosen to stand his ground, and Cooper had managed to get a close-up picture of him. Wanting to see how he would react, he’d then asked the kid if he would mind snapping a few pictures of him with the pyramids in the background because he didn't want to pay one of the men who worked there to do it for him.
Although looking extremely uneasy, the kid had complied, which gave him a fingerprint that he’d been able to send to Prey for them to run through databases. While he was no forensic analyst, Cooper was grateful for the few things he did know because now he had an ID that could be the key to getting the professor to talk.
“He’s a twenty-year-old by the name of Aston Duncan. Just finished his sophomore year at the same college Professor Mahmoud works at,” Connor informed him.
Coincidence?
Nope.
Not a chance.
“What's he in the system for?” Cooper asked. If they could ID the kid through his fingerprints, then at some time in the last couple of years he’d committed a crime.
“A couple of possession arrests during his freshman year,” Cade replied. “No charges were ever pressed. Dad’s got some money and made a deal for his son to do rehab instead. Seemed to have worked. No arrests at all this year, and he’s passed all his drug tests with flying colors.”
“He in any of the professor’s classes?” he asked.
“Nope. Not a one,” Connor answered.
So, what was the kid doing here in Egypt following him around tourist sites?
The college was a connection between the young man and the professor, but how would they have met? And did the fact that the kid had been on drugs at some point play into it in any way?
“All right, I’ll see if I can use that to get Mahmoud talking,” he said as he unsnapped his seatbelt and climbed out of the car. One thing for sure he wouldn't be missing when he got back home was driving. These Egyptian drivers didn't bother following any of the alleged road rules, and they’d never met a horn they didn't enjoy using. If you weren't able to drive assertively, you’d never make it over there.
“Remember we’re listening in on everything,” Cole reminded him as he strode purposefully across the street.
“I’m going to put you guys on silent now,” he told his brothers. Just because they’d be listening to everything he said didn't mean he wanted anyone to hear what they were saying. There was no way that Mahmoud didn't know who he was or who he worked for, but he also had to make sure the professor believed that his reasons for being there were personal only.
The last thing he wanted when he was alone over there was for things to spiral out of control.
Depending on what he learned, he may take it home to his team and Prey, and see if they needed to plan some sort of op. But for now, he was there merely on an intel-gathering mission and didn't want things going sideways.
After pressing the buzzer, he waited. How the professor approached this unexpected visit would hopefully tell him just how deeply involved the man was in whatever had led to his mother’s death.
Nervous.
That’s how Cooper would describe the older man when he came hurrying down the front path .
“Ah, Mr. Charleston, I was not expecting another visit from you,” Mahmoud said but still unlocked the gate and allowed him to enter.
“I think we have a couple of things we need to discuss,” he said, voice low, a hint of menace in his tone.
The man’s eyes flared but he gave a nod and ushered him toward the front door. “Yes, yes, of course, I actually would have reached out to you again anyway.”
“You would?” Cooper asked, not believing it in the least. There was no way the professor had any intention of ever contacting him or his siblings again. Whether it had to do with his mother, the figure in black, or something else entirely, he was pretty sure that Tarek Mahmoud was rethinking his decision to reach out in the first place because he had secrets he wanted to keep hidden.
As he walked through the house, he couldn’t not wonder about the figure in black. No matter how many times he tried to convince himself it wasn't his problem, that he was there to clear his mom’s name, he couldn’t get the person out of his mind.
They were in trouble, he was sure of it, and it killed him not to be able to do anything about it. But again, he was there on his own, his siblings were counting on him to get this intel, and he couldn’t let them down. Not for anything.
“Yes, yes, of course,” Mahmoud babbled as they entered the kitchen.
Immediately, Cooper’s gaze moved to where he’d last seen the figure in black, and just like before, it was there again.
This time it was huddled right in on itself, looking more like a pile of black material than a human being. But it was a human. A person who he was positive was not sitting in the corner of the room, swathed in material, of their own free will.
“I was looking for photos,” Mahmoud continued.
“Photos?” he asked, tearing his gaze away from the figure in black. “What photos?”
“From my wedding,” the professor told him. “After you left, I felt bad that I hadn't had much to give you so I thought I’d go through photos and see if I could find some of your mother.”
“And did you?”
“I did.” Nodding at the table, Mahmoud took a seat and pushed what looked like a photo album forward.
Intrigued, Cooper took a seat and opened the album. Flipping through the first few pages, which were all photos of the bride and groom and their families, he then found some of the guests. Scouring the groups of people sitting around tables eating and drinking, he finally spotted her.
His mother.
Just as he remembered her.
She was wearing a bright green dress, in line with what all the other women were wearing, and even though she was at the back of a table, barely noticeable, he could see how it brought out her eyes. No wonder she’d stood out that night, she looked gorgeous, those stunning eyes were enough to stick in anyone’s mind because they were such an unusual and almost unnatural shade for a human’s eyes.
But was it really the reason Professor Mahmoud had remembered her almost two decades later? And why had she attended his wedding in the first place? It wasn't like the two were friends, and this had to be the final mission she ever worked for the CIA before she was arrested and died.
Feeling like he had opened Pandora’s box and had no idea what the consequences would be, Cooper fixed a hard stare on the professor and asked the most pressing question. “Why were you having me followed?”
July 11 th
7:08 P.M
“Uh …” Professor Mahmoud stammered, his gaze darting all around the room but not settling on anything.
Willow was listening to the conversation only because she was waiting for the perfect opportunity to make her move.
Determination was flowing through her system. It was giving her strength her body so badly needed and was dulling the pain throbbing inside her, almost stealing her ability to function.
There was no time to waste on resting.
As nice as it would be to just curl up in a little ball and close her eyes, drift away into sleep, and forget for a little while that she was in danger and had to constantly watch her back and be prepared for the next assault, that wasn't possible. If she wanted to live, she had to fight for her life.
Maybe she wouldn't win that fight, but she was going to give it everything she had.
So, she clung to that determination and forced her mind to focus.
She didn't really care what the two men were talking about. Not that she wished the American any ill will. She hoped he would find the answers he needed to be able to get closure on whatever had happened to his mom almost two decades ago, but she couldn’t let that be her focus right now. At the moment, she had to use every drop of strength she had left to get herself out of hell.
If he helped her, she’d certainly do anything she could to help him find the answers he sought. But right now, she had to just focus on surviving. So, whatever the two men were talking about was only relevant to her in that she had to time this perfectly if she wanted it to work.
One chance.
That’s all she had.
If she blew it, it would be gone along with her hopes of rescue.
Willow still wasn't even sure if this man would help her, like her, it seemed he only had one purpose, and he might be prepared to sacrifice her—a complete stranger whose story he didn't know—to achieve his goals.
Even if he did decide to help, what could he actually do? Besides the professor, there were a couple of the men who had been beating her earlier still there. Some had scattered when the American showed up, but others were in the house, waiting in case Professor Mahmoud needed help.
Though she was positive he was military, he could only do so much if he was outnumbered. And maybe he wasn't even armed. The professor and his friends most certainly were, although they preferred using their fists on her, she had seen the guns lying around.
Reaching out to the American would be putting his life at risk, but it was the only chance she had. She just hated that it made her feel selfish because she really might get him killed.
Hope wavered inside her.
No, don’t give up .
She couldn’t.
Giving up meant certain death.
Blinking away the tears threatening to blur her vision and give her yet another disadvantage, Willow hardened her heart. She didn't want to put the American in danger, but she also had to do what she had to do to survive.
“I … don’t know what you're talking about,” Professor Mahmoud said with a nervous laugh.
“So, the name Aston Duncan doesn’t mean anything to you?” the American asked.
Even from there, with her head down, mostly covered by the niqab she had been forced to wear, Willow could see the professor’s pupils dilate in fear. He knew the name all right.
Clearing his throat, Professor Mahmoud tried to make his voice strong but failed miserably. “No. It doesn’t.”
“Twenty-year-old kid, just finished his sophomore year, goes to the same school you work at. Does that sound familiar at all?” the American pushed. His voice did, in fact, come out strong, full of confidence, and completely calm. It was like he knew he was in the presence of a potentially dangerous man, he just didn't care.
That was exactly the kind of energy she needed right now.
Chancing a glance at him, this time around Willow took the time to really look at him. Even though he was sitting down, she could tell he was tall, and this time, like last time, he wore a T-shirt that showed off his muscled chest and arms. There was no doubt he was fit and strong, and she could tell from the way he carried himself that he had the training to back it up.
If anyone had a shot at saving her, it was him .
If he wanted to.
She even believed he had the skills and abilities to get her out of there even if they would be outnumbered.
Again, if he wanted to.
Lifting her gaze to his face, she searched for signs that he was the kind of man who had a heart, who would care that she was in trouble and take her out of there. He had scruff and brown hair that was longer on top, but it was his eyes that captivated her.
A pretty shade of gray that reminded her of the sky right before a thunderstorm. There was anger in them, and she shrunk in on herself at the sight of it even though she knew it wasn't directed at her. But there was more there, too. Honor, integrity, and loyalty, everything she needed to see to know that this was a man who could be trusted.
Unless she was seeing only what she wanted to see.
Only right now she didn't have time to worry about it.
She had to take this chance.
Had to.
It was the only one she was going to get.
The American might not return, and if he didn't, and her one shot at escape disappeared along with him, then she’d never be able to forgive herself. Whether she continued to stand up to Professor Mahmoud and his friends or not, her self-respect would be left in tatters, and right now, that was all she had left.
“Doesn’t sound familiar,” Professor Mahmoud said, leaning back in his chair and waving a dismissive hand. If he was aiming for nonchalance, he was failing miserably.
“I don’t believe you,” the American said.
“You can believe whatever you want but I?—”
Slamming his fist into the table loud enough to make both the professor and her flinch from the sound and the violence behind it, the American leaned closer to Professor Mahmoud. “I said I don’t believe you. I think you know exactly who the kid is, although how he’s connected to you, I have no idea. You told him to follow me, I want to know why. What are you hiding, Professor Mahmoud?”
She could answer that question .
Would if her mouth wasn't currently covered with tape in an attempt to keep her silent.
Given that he knew she’d been thinking about trying to contact the American to beg him for help on his last visit, Willow knew the professor would be a lot more confident if she wasn't there. Unfortunately for him, the American had shown up without warning, and he hadn't had time to return her to her cell. His own need to have her close so he could lord it over her, how she was his prisoner, was coming back to bite him.
Now, she lifted her head and shifted her body as best she could while chained to the wall.
The American noticed her movements and turned to look at her, something flared in his eyes as their gazes met. If nothing else, then the fact that her eyes were blue when the vast majority of the population of Egypt had brown eyes had to give him at least an inkling that something wasn't right.
Quickly realizing things could fall apart in an instant, the professor stood, moving between them and breaking the connection their gazes had made.
“Darius,” the professor called out.
Almost immediately, another man appeared in the doorway.
“Take her,” Professor Mahmoud ordered, inclining his head in her direction.
“You have a woman chained up in your kitchen?” the American demanded, shoving his chair back and pushing to his feet. “What the hell is going on here, Mahmoud?”
Whatever excuse the professor gave, Willow wound up not being privy to it. Jerked to her feet fast enough her head spun, she was dragged out of the room before she even properly got her feet beneath her.
Instead of taking her back outside, Darius pulled her into the office at the front of the house. She’d been in this room only once before. The night she was captured while following the professor, tied up, thrown in the back of a van, and brought there.
Tonight, she was bent over the desk as Darius planted a foot between hers, preventing her from closing her legs. One of his hands moved to circle her neck while the other shoved at the long black dress she was wearing, pulling it up to bare her backside.
Hot breath touched the side of her face while a hand connected with her backside. “I've been waiting to have you all to myself,” Darius whispered in her ear.
Was this it?
Was she going to be killed now, while her chance at surviving was only yards away in another room?