Chapter Sixteen
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 you want ?”
“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 as your client?” 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.”
Is Borzu hearing all this? Are the police on their way?
“You took her from me,” he continues. “Brainwashed her into falling in love with someone else with your fucked-up arranged marriage trap.”
“Avani?” He already broke up their wedding. What will it take for him to move on? “Wait”—understanding dawns on me—“are you…are you talking about Lena?”
“Bingo.”
I rack my brain. Did Lena have a scary ex? How did I miss this? I take in his narrowed eyes. “Wh-where is she? What have you done to her and Tanvir?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know? It took me years, but I was getting so close.” He takes a step closer toward me. “We were finally friends. She was finally starting to get it. That we were meant to be together. I’d worked up the nerve to ask her out. Got us reservations for a romantic dinner. That’s when she dropped the bomb on me. She told me she was working with you. Said you were going to find her ‘the one.’ I warned her it was cultish bullshit. That you’re a snake oil salesman. I said she should look at the people who were already in her life. I was too late. She got mad at me for wanting to help her. Told me to leave her alone. If it wasn’t for your meddling, she would have been mine.” He glares at me. “And then you have the nerve to try to set me up? That’s a bridge too far.”
“I haven’t tried to set you up!”
“Uh-huh.”
“I haven’t,” I insist. “I don’t know who you are!”
“My dad thought he could run my life. Try to get me matched up behind my back. Nice fucking try. Bad enough you ruined my chances with Lena. Then you tried to fuck me over? No way. You’re not going to get a chance to hurt anyone else ever again.”
Matched up behind my back. I move to protest, and then I grow still.
Oh.
I take in this man’s set jaw. His glowering expression. So similar to the man I spoke to just over a month ago. The one with the graying goatee. I remember how he leaned across his desk. How he glared at me and demanded I set up his son behind his back. Basit Latif.
“If your father is Basit Latif, he did reach out to us,” I tell him. “But I told him no. I never signed you on as a client.”
He doesn’t reply. It’s as though he can’t hear me. As though my words are mist in the air. He’s clearly out of his mind. There’s no point in reasoning with him, but I think of Lena and Tanvir. I have to get through to him. I have to try.
“How is hurting Lena going to make her see things your way?” I ask him.
“Ever heard of staging an intervention? I tried with the podcast. I thought for sure the fallout with Avani and Dev would’ve brought her back to her senses, but by then she was in too deep with you. My emails bounced back. She blocked my number.” He moves even closer. We’re practically nose to nose. I fight the urge to shrink away. To move back. There’s no telling what he’ll do, but smelling my fear will only embolden him. “I thought if I could get some time alone with her to explain, I could make her see we’re meant to be.”
Lights turn on in Khala’s house. Her front door swings open.
“Auntie!” Lilah hops onto the front porch. “You forgot your purse!” She holds up my leather bag.
“Go inside, Lilah!” My knees go wobbly. “Now!”
The man pulls something from his pocket. My blood goes cold. A gun. He holds it low. “Get in the car. It’s you or her.”
Nina joins Lilah on the porch. “Nura, come back. Let’s talk.” She pauses as she sees the man. Confusion crosses her face.
In a split second, I feel the cold metal press sharply against my midsection.
“I’m fine, Nina!” I call out. “Nothing to worry about. Just…catching up with a neighbor.”
Please don’t come closer. Please close the door.
She frowns. Wordlessly, she ushers Lilah inside. The door shuts. A sob escapes my throat.
“Doubt she bought that piss-poor performance. She’s probably calling the police,” he mutters. “Get in the car. If you care what happens to them, you’ll do as I say.”
“Listen, I get it,” I tell him. “You’re furious. But I can’t make Lena fall in love with you. Hurting me isn’t going to get you what you want.”
“It’s probably too late for Lena. That’s my tragedy to own. I’ll make my peace with it.”
“What does that mean?” My voice rises. “Have you hurt them? Are they all right?”
“Stop talking!” he barks. “In the car. Now. I’m going to stop you from hurting anyone else ever again.”
I need to hold him here a little longer. There’s no telling what will happen once we’re in that enclosed space together. He’s clearly capable of anything. Surely the police are on their way. They’ll be here any second. The porch light turns on. My mouth goes dry. If they come out again, he’ll kill them. Tears fall freely down my face. I open the car door.
“Attagirl. In we go.”
A car screeches in the distance. A red Jetta. Darcy’s Jetta. She bursts out of the driver’s side. Races toward us.
“Back away, asshole!” she screams.
“Darcy!” I cry out. “No!”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” The man’s face reddens. He turns from me. Moves toward her. “I am not in the mood for this shit.”
He lifts his gun. Aims his weapon at Darcy. There’s a cracking sound, like thunder.
Dots cloud my vision.
No.
Not Darcy.
No.
Before I can move, the man jerks backward. His eyes widen. Like a puppet without its strings, he slumps to the ground. Blood blooms across his shirt. He sputters, trying to speak, and then he’s silent. His mouth forming a perfect O.
Darcy. She’s lit up beneath the glow of the lamppost. The silver of her gun glints against the streetlight. She’s trembling head to toe, then collapses into herself, sinking to the ground as blue-and-white lights flash in the horizon.
Everything sweeps by in a blur from there. Lights flicker on in nearby homes. A voice on a loudspeaker from a police car orders Darcy to raise her hands in the air. Officers race out of their cars. In a matter of seconds, she’s cuffed.
“Wait!” I scream. “She saved my life!”
The cops surround the man’s lifeless body. Neighbors assemble in the distance, wearing bathrobes and watching with bafflement the police activity in this sleepy neighborhood.
They’re pulling her into the back of a cruiser. My breathing grows shallow. The police don’t know the whole story. They didn’t see what almost happened. That he was about to shoot her. That she’s the reason I’m still alive. I move toward the police car. There’s a squeeze on my shoulder. My khala. She wraps her arms around me.
I need to go to Darcy, I want to say. The words feel stuck in my throat. Nothing comes out. The police car pulls away. She’s gone.
“Let’s get you inside. You need to drink some water,” Khala says. “And you need to change your clothes.”
I look down at my outfit. Blood. There’s blood splattered across my blouse. My pants. His blood.
“Come inside, sweetheart,” she whispers. “The police need to speak with you.”
I don’t want to go inside. I want to be anywhere but here. But it’s as though I’m a child again. I let her guide me up the front stairs. The police are speaking to me in hushed voices. I try to follow along, but it’s hard to focus when what I want more than anything right now is to fade into oblivion.
But I have to talk to the officers. Clear Darcy’s name. We have to find the missing couple. Though he never answered my question. Did he spare Lena’s and Tanvir’s lives? Or, when he realized it was futile to try to win her back, did they meet the fate that I was about to meet myself?