11 - Margaret #2
Noor paused, her dark eyes flashing with a mix of old pain and new, fierce defiance.
She glanced toward the twin girls, Yasmin and Amina, who were playing blocks alongside Flora’s youngest daughter, Amelia.
“The man who held me doesn’t like to lose what he considers his.
I was trying to save my daughters from him when he beat me.
He broke my arms, left me for dead and unconscious with internal injuries.
I miscarried then. He took my girls, intending to sell them to a child trafficking ring.
He would still see me dead if he could find me. His name is Faisal.”
Margaret blinked, her gaze drifting momentarily to the flickering firelight casting shadows on the walls. The name “Faisal” lingered in the air, hanging heavy alongside the brutal image of Noor’s broken arms and stolen children, but comprehension took a heartbeat longer to settle in.
Margaret’s breath caught in her throat. The name hit her like a physical blow, a cold, sharp shock chasing away the warmth of the fire.
She lowered her wine glass, placing it with exaggerated precision on the polished wooden table.
Her hands, which had only just begun to steady, started to tremble violently again, a visible tremor she fought to control.
“Did you say Basra? A man named Faisal?” Margaret whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant crackle of the fire. The children’s giggles and the clatter of their falling block tower felt impossibly far away, muted by the sudden roar in her ears.
Noor looked up, her brow furrowing slightly at Margaret’s sudden pallor, her direct gaze piercing. “Yes. Why?”
Margaret’s mind raced, a terrifying kaleidoscope of memories.
For years, Charles had kept his work entirely separate from their life.
His home office was a fortress, the heavy oak door always locked, the security keypad recently upgraded to a retinal scanner.
Whenever she’d asked about it, he’d offer a condescending smile, patting her hand while claiming it was due to strict financial privacy laws and complex client data she just wouldn’t understand.
The humiliation of her past ignorance was a bitter taste in her mouth now.
But she understood the tone of his voice when he thought she couldn’t hear.
Margaret’s mind raced, the name Faisal echoing from Noor’s story twisting through her thoughts. Was it the same Faisal? Did it have anything to do with her husband? Her carefully arranged world suddenly felt fragile, threatening to collapse under the weight of a terrifying possibility.
“Basra. My husband,” she began, throat dry and words tentative, as if testing the truth out loud.
“He, um, made I don’t know, several I guess, sudden business trips to Basra over the last couple of years.
A few months ago, I happened to walk past his office and noticed the door wasn’t fully latched.
” She swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue.
“He was yelling into the phone, shouting about ledgers and missing transfers.”
Her voice wavered slightly, and the women exchanged uncertain, questioning looks. It was clear none of them knew what to make of her words.
She looked up, searching Noor’s steady gaze with a desperate plea for reassurance, silently praying she would laugh it off and say they weren’t the same. “He kept calling the man on the other end of the line Faisal.”
The silence that followed Margaret’s words was suffocating, broken only by the crackle of the fire. The distant giggles of the children now felt like a cruel irony.
Elena and Noor exchanged a sharp, dark look, their casual ease utterly gone. Noor’s posture stiffened, the graceful curve of her back vanishing into the rigid stillness of a survivor who had just caught the scent of an old, deadly predator.
Flora didn’t gasp or express shock. Instead, a chilling clarity washed over her face.
Being married to Bear meant she knew the difference between a simple coincidence and a five-alarm threat.
The name Faisal Al-Dosari, attached to Margaret’s husband, was a massive, flashing red strobe light.
The men were in the War Room right now, trying to figure out who was hunting Margaret, and the missing piece had just dropped right into their living room.
“Margaret, sweetheart,” Flora’s voice was impossibly calm and steady, a testament to years of managing crises both large and small.
She stood up and set her wine glass on the coffee table.
“Bear needs to hear this. Will you come with me to tell them? Since they are video conferencing, it will be easier for you to go in with them than for them to come out here.”
Margaret’s heart pounded so loudly she feared it might burst from her chest. Her hands trembled uncontrollably as cold dread surged through every fiber of her being.
Suddenly, words she hadn't meant to say escaped her in a frantic rush.
"What about my children? Emily and Charles, Jr.?
Are they safe?" Her voice cracked with desperation.
The image of leaving them with her husband, believing he was only angry with her, shattered apart.
Terror gripped her but beneath it a fierce urgency ignited. This was no longer just her pain; it was a battle for her family’s safety. She gulped down a trembling breath and pushed herself up from the sofa, determination hardening her resolve even as her legs threatened to give way.
Flora turned and walked briskly out of the living room, her soft footsteps muffled by the rugs.
Margaret followed, a sense of grim inevitability propelling her forward.
As they moved through the kitchen, Flora glanced at Margaret with a hint of warmth in her eyes and offered a brief, reassuring smile.
“We’ll get through this,” she said quietly before continuing on.
Passing the island, Flora stepped into the sprawling walk-in pantry.
She moved past the neat rows of canned goods and bulk flour bins to the very back wall.
Reaching behind a heavy wooden shelf, she pressed a concealed switch.
With a soft, pneumatic hiss, a section of the shelving swung inward, revealing a heavy steel door. Flora knocked, three sharp, rapid taps, then stepped back, a silent message exchanged.
She waited less than five seconds before the heavy locks disengaged with a solid clunk and the door was pulled open.
Bear stood in the doorway, his massive frame practically blocking the entrance to the dimly lit, monitor-filled command center.
Behind him, she could see Dog, Link, and Moose gathered around a large central table, and the glowing faces of Will, Hank, and Swede on the video conference screens.
Margaret’s gaze darted to Dog, and for a fleeting second, their eyes met across the intense space, a silent acknowledgment passing between them.
Bear’s eyes darted over Flora’s face, his expression instantly shifting from tactical focus to raw, husbandly panic. In all their years at the farm, Flora had never once interrupted a secure briefing.
“Flora?” Bear’s voice was low, tight with sudden fear.
His hands reached out, gently gripping her arms. “What’s wrong?
Is it one of the kids? Is Sammy okay?” Then his eyes fell on Margaret, standing stiffly behind Flora, pale and trembling.
A frown deepened on his face, confusion warring with a flicker of anger; why would Flora bring her here?
“The kids are fine. Everyone is fine,” Flora said quickly, placing her hands on his chest to soothe his racing heart. Then, her eyes hardened, meeting his gaze with absolute seriousness. “But you need to pause that meeting. You all need to hear what Margaret just told us.”
Bear frowned, his protective panic giving way to deep confusion. “Flora, we’re in the middle of?—”
“I know,” she interrupted softly. “But Noor was just telling Margaret a little about her past. About Basra. And the man who held her captive.”
Link stepped up behind Bear, his posture suddenly rigid at the mention of his wife and the man that had tried to kill her. “What about him, Flora?”
Flora looked past Bear to the rest of the men, her voice clear and ringing with the gravity of the revelation. “Margaret knows him. Her husband has been taking secret trips to Basra. She heard him on the phone, screaming about ledgers and missing transfers, to a man named Faisal.”