Behind the Lies (Montgomery Justice #2)(13)

“Very well.”

“His daughters?” Farzam asked.

“You care for Pendar’s children?”

“It is my duty.” Farzam refused to let him see how much he cared.

“It is their duty to serve. If they do well, perhaps they will be returned. Perhaps not.”

Khalid waved his hand, walked back into the building, and closed the door. Two guards pulled Setara’s screaming daughters into what looked like a men’s barracks.

They would be unable to wed after being held here. Of this, Farzam had no doubt.

His eyes burned as he stared at his sister’s torn and shredded body. She had been so smart, so beautiful. His father and mother had dressed her as a boy so she could attend school. Her education had been her downfall.

He let his gaze fall to his brother-in-law. The fool. The idealist. He had believed the CIA goon who had convinced him they would be safe, that Pendar and his family would be welcomed in the United States. Zane Morgan had caused this calamity.

He had brought dishonor and tragedy on their entire family.

Farzam would never be welcomed back at the university as a professor. His entire life had been ruined already. Once Pendar’s fate was learned, any hope of salvaging the life he had lived was gone. Khalid would see to that. His influence went well beyond the borders of the tribal lands.

The guard shoved him toward the exit. He was leaving this place. He had half expected to be taken before the firing squad as well.

He was alive.

The guard blindfolded him and led him back through the pass, through twists and turns, thoroughly confusing Farzam. Finally, the guard removed the covering over Farzam’s eyes.

“You can walk from here.”

“Water?” he asked softly.

Surreptitiously, the guard glanced from side to side. He shoved a small bottle at Farzam. “Make it last. It will be dusk soon. I wouldn’t be on the road after dark.”

Farzam started toward Kabul. Step by step he left the bodies of his family and the ruined lives of his nieces farther behind him.

Zane Morgan owed their family. He would pay.

An eye for an eye.

On his honor, Farzam would make the American suffer and die as Pendar and his sister had.

There would be no reprieve. Except in death.




Zach scanned the street, searching for anything out of place before stepping out of the taxi in front of his La Jolla mansion’s privacy gate. Behind the tall iron entrance lay the refuge Theresa had discovered for him six months ago. The ocean breezes swept across his face, the bite of sea air and salt nipping the tip of his tongue. Good to be home and not at the wrong end of an Uzi…or a knife…or suffocating.

He hadn’t almost-been-killed this many times in one day since the Dark Avenger movie—if his luck held.

Which was why he couldn’t stay. He had to outfit his truck and get to his Colorado safe house before anyone found him.

With a twist, he slipped a few bills from his wallet to pay the cab driver. The movement tugged at the cut across Zach’s chest. A drip trickled down his skin. Great. He’d reopened the wound. He needed a few butterfly bandages before making the trip.

The taxi revved and pulled away.

He dug his keys out of his pocket then scanned the front of his home, checking for signs of any intruders. The vehicle gate was closed. He eased closer. The infrared sensor positioned at the entrance didn’t indicate any tampering. Zach checked the settings. A bit of movement, but the gate hadn’t been opened from the inside or outside since he’d left months ago. Wind, a dog, a cult fan trying to get in perhaps.

He reset the sensor and pushed through the small, hidden door at the side of the driveway. Once at the front door, with practiced fingers, he ran the tips around the doorjamb and perused the sensors hidden in the hedges on either side of the threshold.

No sign of intruders.

So far so good.

He pushed inside the house and closed the door behind him. A loud beep sounded from the security system. Zach hit the code and scanned the log. No one had tripped the system.

Safe, for the moment.

Zach kneaded the muscles at the back of his neck in an attempt to stave off the building headache. First things first. He crossed the tile and headed straight for the bar. He placed his 1911 on the marble, pulled a longneck bottle out of the small refrigerator, and slammed a swallow of cold brew down his throat. With a flop he landed in a large leather chair and rubbed at the stubble on his chin.

Maybe he’d let it grow out. Fewer people would recognize him that way.

Another swig and he sighed. A beard wouldn’t stop his enemies. He couldn’t stay here. Too many people knew about the address. Hell, he was on the B-movie-star tour of fame.

He tapped the half-empty bottle and hit the remote for the large-screen television. A scan of the national and local news revealed nothing about the abandoned airplane or two dead bodies at Montgomery Field. No locking down of the San Diego airport. No security concerns.

Someone had to have found the plane by now, which meant Theresa had done a thorough cleanup job. Now he had to do his part.

Thank God for his backup plan. Under an assumed name, he’d purchased a small piece of property hidden on the western edge of the Holy Cross Wilderness in the Colorado mountains. Just in case.

He’d always hoped he’d never need it unless he retired there.

Zach placed the bottle on the coffee table and stood. He stretched his back and made his way to the rear door. Could he afford the time for a soak in the hot tub to ease the aftereffects of oxygen deprivation?