Hell for Leather (Black Knights Inc. #6)(55)
Of course, when Agent Duvall whispered into her earpiece, “Z, he’s in the garage of the house directly across from you,” any respite he’d enjoyed lit out of him quick as a hiccup. The fact that Mr. Timberlands was holed up inside a house meant Ozzie and Zoelner were going to have to kick in a door. And that was a tricky business, especially seeing as how a guy never knew what he was going to find behind that door. It could be Christmas morning or World War III…
***
“You must get out of there,” Haroun hissed the moment Qasim answered the phone.
“Why?” Qasim asked, jerking forward, the plastic chair squeaking in objection.
“I was not able to secure Miss Fairchild, and now I am forced to evade,” Haroun relayed, and Qasim glanced around the darkened, dust-heavy room. Forced to evade… Never a situation one wanted to find oneself in but a situation Qasim and all the others were used to since joining The Cause. They’d effectively been forced to evade nearly every Western government for years.
“Forced to evade the motorcycle fanatics?” he asked, motioning and barking at Sami and Jabbar to begin gathering their belongings. He didn’t question Haroun’s orders when it came to something like this. If his second-in-command said it was time to go, then it was time to go.
“The heavily armed motorcycle fanatics,” Haroun clarified, and Qasim’s blood ran cold. He’d figured as much, but to hear it confirmed was another thing entirely. “They saw me attempting to drag the woman from Sander’s backyard and opened fire. I am wounded.”
Qasim sucked in a ragged breath.
“It is nothing,” Haroun assured him. “A flesh wound only. But plans have changed. This place is no longer safe. If they have not called the police to report my assault already, then they will soon. This town will be swarming with men in badges. You must retreat to our second location.” Their second location… Praise Allah, we have one. “I will come to you once I have secured Miss Fairchild.”
“No.” Qasim shook his head even though Haroun couldn’t see him. “Forget about her for now. Just get yourself to safety. We will try different torture methods on Theodore. It has only been a day. We may still get him to talk by—”
“Ah, habibi,” Haroun chuckled softly. “I always say you worry like a sitto.” And, yes, Haroun was known to compare Qasim’s continual fretting to that of an old grandmother. He was the only man in Qasim’s circle who would dare. Years ago, Qasim had killed men for such insubordination, and his reputation still preceded him. But, Haroun…well, Haroun had been by his side since almost the beginning, and as such was allowed certain latitude. “By all means continue to try make that old Marine talk, but in the meantime, allow me to carry on with my mission. I will use the signal on the phone attached to her motorcycle to follow her like her own shadow. And when the time is right, I will grab her.”
“You have already attempted to grab her twice before,” Qasim reminded his second-in-command, wondering if they’d gotten so close to reaching their goal only to be thwarted at the last minute. Allah might be on their side, but unfortunately, qadar was now living up to her reputation as a fickle mistress.
“Yes.” There was a note of indulgence in Haroun’s voice. “But what is that American phrase you like to use about the third time someone attempts something?”
Despite himself, despite the left turn their mission had suddenly taken, Qasim felt the corners of his mouth twitch. Haroun was one of the few people who knew of his secret fascination with the English language. “They say the third time is a charm.”
“Yes. It is indeed. Now, go. I will call you again when I once more have the woman in my sights.”
Qasim could only hope it would be that easy. “God be with you, brother,” he said.
“And with you, habibi.”
Qasim punched the “end” button on the phone and turned to find his men had already packed up their meager supplies. They were standing at attention, awaiting his next order.
“Put the old Marine in the car,” he told them. “We are retreating to our secondary location.”
“And Haroun?” Jabbar asked, his black eye now swollen almost completely shut.
“Will meet us there with the woman.” At least Qasim hoped that would be true. A troubling sense of foreboding had invaded his spirit since disconnecting the call. But he thought perhaps it was just because he worried like a sitto…
***
“Be careful, Z,” Chelsea whispered, standing with Mac and Delilah on Sander’s back porch. She didn’t care that the CIA technician listening in on the line could hear the distress in her voice. Screw it. Let him hear. This is a distressing situation, after all. Made more so because it was Dagan out there in harm’s way. Dagan, the only field agent who’d ever looked at her as something more than a bespectacled computer lab rat. Dagan, the only man who’d ever made her feel like, maybe, just maybe, there was something…sexy…about short, plump, mixed-race smart girls. “From what we can tell, he’s sitting in a car. He could run you down if you approach him from the front. I suggest engaging from a side or back entrance, if that’s possible.”
“Chels?”
Chels… Her heart tripped at the familiar nickname. “Yeah, Z?” She licked her lips.