Page 137 of Deadly Betrayal

Annoyed, Khalid shot her a quelling glance.“Hush, child. Azita made her choice.”

“What of my choice, uncle?” The child’sacerbic tone had him looking at her again. Her narrow shoulderswere pulled back, her chin raised, and she met his eyes, unafraid.How had Azita’s independent streak rubbed off on the girl in only afew short days? Well, he’d nip that in the bud. Immediately.

He chucked her chin in a dismissive gesture.“You, my dear, have no choice. By law, you are mine, to raise as myown daughter.”

“No!” Laila cried and tried to pull her armout of his clasp.

The child’s hysterics put him on edge.“Quiet!” he thundered and gripped her hand more tightly.

“Azita! Don’t let him take me.” Laila twistedand shouted over her shoulder as he tried to drag her around theAmerican’s oversized body.

Azita ran forward and placed herself betweenKhalid and Laila. “Agha Khalid,” she pleaded. “You are scaring thechild. Have some pity. We just buried her mother.”

Khalid stared into her lovely blue eyes forwhat would perhaps be the last time. The thought left him emptyinside. Wearily, he shook his head. “And I have lost a wife. Youand your new… husband would take my daughter too?” He steppedaround Azita. “I cannot allow it. Laila and I are going home.”Smiling at Laila, he added, “Gulnazjanand Samirajanare waiting for you.”

Laila arched back and held her hand out tothe American. “Please Kadenjan, you said we’d be a family.That I’d be safe.”

Khalid stopped at the news. The man had goneso far as to use the child’s fears and affections to win Azita?“How cruel,” he said, not hiding the sneer that curled hislips.

The American knelt in front of the girl. “Imeant it. He’s not getting you and neither is Tariq.”

Azita stood behind him, in a disgusting showof unity. “We won’t let you go, Laila. Trust us.”

The American stood up. “Khalid, it’s gettinglate, and it’s not safe for the women to be here. I’ve rented asuite at the Fardosi Hotel. Stay there with us tonight, and we’lltalk this out.”

“No,” Khalid shook his head. “We must hurryto catch the last flight to Kabul.”

Laila turned her big tear-logged eyes on him.“Please, Kaka. I cannot bear to leave Azitajantonight.”

“Please, Agha Khalid,” Azita added.

One of the local men approached and whisperedin his ear. “Agha, the airport has been closed. Somethingabout an attempted attack.”

“Tashakor, agha,” he thanked the man.Could things possibly get any worse? “I have my own rooms just upthe street.”

“Agha Khalid, please let me spend one lastnight with Laila. Besides, what do you know about how to care for agrieving girl?” Azita said.

Not much, he had to admit, if only tohimself. “If I agree, do you promise there will be no tricks?” Hisgaze flitted from Azita to the American.

The big man held up his hands. “Notricks.”

“I promise,” Azita said, placing a protectivearm around Laila’s shoulders. She’d make a good mother someday.Sadly, it would not be to one ofhischildren.

Chapter 32

Someone had put out an alert for him and hismen. If Tariq hadn’t had the foresight to use a fake name at theairport, he’d probably still be detained. Just after sundown, thecar he rode in arrived at the empty graveyard of the mosque nearCamp Marmal. He slammed his hand on the dashboard and swore. “Theyare gone!”

Ishaq pointed to two fresh mounds of earth,on top of which glowed small candles. “Both bodies were buried hereand the candles are still lit, which means we didn’t miss them bymuch.”

His bride had to be was near. Tariq knew itlike he knew his name. But with every minute he’d wasted beinginterrogated by that ball-less donkey of a man at the airport, he’dsensed his chances of getting Laila back diminish. Mazar-e Sharifwas a big enough city to easily hide one small girl.

But he would succeed. No matter the deal he’dmade with Agha Khalid, Laila was his.

Unless they’d hidden her on the militarybase, Tariq would find her. He would erase the shame the Americanand that woman, Azita, had brought down on his family. Because,yes, he believed Khalid now. The ruination of his wedding day hadnot been the man’s fault. He was too clever to go against Tariq,not when his election to the presidency depended on Tariq’ssupport. And it had not been Khalid who’d killed Zardab.

A twinge of loss pricked at Tariq’s chestlike a pesky mosquito. In the heat of the action, he had not takencareful enough note of the attacker’s features to identify him. Itdidn’t matter though. All Westerners were the same. He’d kill asmany as he could, and his revenge would be served.

“Send some of the men to all the hotels andupscale guesthouses,” he ordered Sher Dil, who sat in the backseat. “Have the others scour the streets.”