Page 66 of Deadly Betrayal

Rangeen cleared his throat. “In Kunduz.Today.”

Tariq forced himself to appear calm in frontof his men. He could not show fear or worry. “Dagar, fetch Lailakhanomand bring her here immediately.”

“Right away, Khan Tariq,” he said, bowing lowas he left the dining room.

Ishaq made a shooing motion with his hand.The men jumped to their feet, and the room emptied. Moments later,Freba and Laila arrived, the girl hiding behind her mother. Dagarfollowed, his hands gripping the sides of his pants. “I’m sorry,Khan Tariq. Her mother insisted on coming too.”

“As she should. Please leave us,” he said tothe boy.

Ishaq pushed the used dishes toward thecenter of the tablecloth to clear two spots for the women. Tariqindicated the space in front of him. “Please, sit.”

Once the women had settled themselves, hebegan. “Did you enjoy your dinner?” They’d eaten, along with AghaAfrooz, in their room.

Freba nodded stiffly. “Very much, Khan Tariq.Thank you.”

“And you, Lailajan? Are youwell?”

When she didn’t respond to his questions,Freba gave her daughter a sharp look. The girl’s hand shook whereshe held her headscarf under her chin. “I-I am, Khan Tariq. Thankyou for your concern,” she said in a soft, quavering voice.

As casually as he could, Tariq slid the phoneacross the tablecloth. “I thought you might enjoy this photo.” Ifshe didn’t recognize the woman, he would explain about the moviestar. After all, what young girl wasn’t impressed with dashing menin films?

Laila and Freba hunched over the smallscreen, squinting as they tried to make out the small image.Simultaneously, Freba gasped and Laila squealed.

Tariq held his breath.

“It’s her!” Laila said.

He formed his lips into a benign smile. Quitea challenge when everything inside him was on edge. “Who?”

“No one.” Freba clasped her daughter’s elbow,her fingers turning white. Laila moaned in pain.

Tariq admired a strong mother, but not whenshe interfered with him getting the answers he wanted. He slammedhis fist on the floor. The dishes rattled and his glass of teatipped over. He paid it no mind. “Tell me!”

Laila’s gaze was fixed on him, like a Talibanfighter’s who knew his death had come. Tariq smiled to relax her,but she cringed and tightened her headscarf until it dug into theflesh of her neck. “Laila,” he ground out.

“She is Azitajan, my father’s secondwife.”

Khalid’s old uncle lumbered into the diningroom. “I was worried when I couldn’t find you,” he said to thewomen. His gaze fell to the half-eaten meals before landing onTariq. “Is there a problem?”

“Not at all. I was just showing my fiancée aphoto of an American movie star.”

Laila grabbed the phone and examined theimage again. Her hand flew to her mouth. Clearly she’d recognizedthe man. “Do you know who that is, Lailakhanom?”

She pursed her lips and bobbed her head. Thisconstant struggle to get her to talk was grating on his nerves.“What is his name?” His molars were so tightly clenched his jaw wasbeginning to hurt.

“Nic Lamoureux.”

Finally. “Very good. How would your father’swife know a movie star, I wonder?”

He stared at her until she looked away. Hisgaze swept over Freba and Afrooz. Both faces were equally blank. Hewanted to scream, to shake the information out of them. But Khalidhad extracted a promise to treat them as guests until the wedding.If nothing else, Tariq was a man of his word.

“Does she often travel to Kunduz?” he asked,taking another angle.

Afrooz shook his head. “As far as I know, sheis too busy at the clinic where she works to travel so far fromKabul.”

Ah yes. He remembered now. The lovely Azitawas a doctor, trained in Tehran. She stank of money and privilegelike her brother-in-law. Women like her, educated women whobelieved they had the same rights as men, were nothing but trouble.“You may leave,” he said to the women.

They bobbed their heads. “Thank you, KhanTariq.”