Page 59 of Kiss Her Goodbye (Frankie Elkin #4)

T HE NEXT FEW HOURS PASS in a blur. Police, EMTs, Detective Marc. Me scrambling to check on Petunia, who, fortunately, seems no worse for the wear. I coax her into her room, strawberries all the way, as first responders and spiky lizards don’t mix.

Marge gets to stay in the guest bedroom, basking in her new, larger digs with the door firmly shut.

I manage to wrestle up eight out of twelve baby pythons.

Having done my research beforehand, I set up heat lamps to attract the remaining four.

Which may or may not work. But then Bart isn’t exactly the type to complain about a stray snake slithering across his bed.

What we’ve done to his house, on the other hand…

Speaking of which, Bart must’ve finally checked the video feeds from his home cameras, which earns me an immediate call.

I’m not in the mood to explain things I don’t have the words to explain. Just, “Everyone’s okay. All good. Well, not Daryl.”

More irate chatter.

I provide a rough assessment of Daryl’s condition, which hospital.

Bart demands to know name of doctor, surgeon, pretty much the entire board of directors.

Way above my pay grade. He clicks off, I’m guessing to rustle up the trauma surgeon of his choice.

What is it Daryl had said? Bart takes care of his own.

Please let that be the case.

Dr. Richard asks to ride in the ambulance with Sabera’s body. Dead, apparently, is not dead, until the authorized official makes it so. I don’t want to know. I can’t even…

Daryl is rushed away, as well as Aliah.

EMTs gaze at me with concern. I keep waving them off, shaking my head. I catch a brief glimpse of myself in a hall mirror. Twin tracks of gore down both sides of my face. I give my attacker points for symmetry. I look like a clown crying rivers of blood.

Then there’s the puncture wound on my neck, my shoulder.

I don’t pause, I don’t consider.

My outside matches my inside; I’m wounded all over.

Furtive calls from Genni. Given the hour, Zahra is sound asleep in the front of Genni’s truck, which Genni is apparently driving around aimlessly, waiting for the all clear.

It makes me testy with Detective Marc, who’s in a foul mood of his own, till we’re nearly shouting at each other. What the fuck happened?

Ask his sister.

Are we seriously that stupid?

Ask his sister.

He stops speaking to me sooner versus later. I don’t complain.

Two uniformed officers lead our intruders away, already looking way out of their league. I’m guessing it won’t last for long. FBI, CIA, DOD, hell, some organization with initials bigger than TPD is bound to take over.

It’s not my problem. None of this is my problem. I’m here to locate Sabera Ahmadi.

Who just died on my watch.

I roam the compound over and over again, the drying blood on my face making my cheeks itch.

Finally, I sit outside Petunia’s room, just a girl and her iguana, while we wait for all the assorted experts to get the hell out.

Finally, as the last official departs…

Genni returns with Zahra, easing the slumbering girl out of the front of her truck, cradling her in her arms. A four-year-old child who’s now lost her mother and her father, not to mention the damage done to Aliah, whom she trusted, and Daryl, whom she adored.

I feel like a total failure, fraud, failure all over again. I feel…

I can’t do this. I shouldn’t have done this. Who am I trying to fool?

“Now what?” Genni asks.

And I realize our next problem.

LILLA ASKED POINTEDLY for Zahra twice. Zahra, who remembers everything, including her grandmother’s cryptic matrices and her mother’s more recent riddle.

Sabera may be gone, but Zahra…

Lilla knows about Zahra. Lilla, who’s been here.

And other members of the Habib–Taliban cabal? I have no idea.

But Zahra, beautiful, sweet, precious Zahra.

I’m exhausted, concussed, traumatized, but in a curious sort of way, the most alert I’ve ever been. Zahra’s not safe. Not here, not anywhere.

I just watched Zahra’s mother die right in front of my eyes, a woman who wouldn’t break for anything. I’ll be damned if I can’t at least protect her daughter.

With Zahra passed out between us on the massive U-shaped couch, Genni and I debate options. Zahra is vulnerable here. Zahra is vulnerable anywhere. What to do, where to go?

It’s Genni who comes up with the answer.

Where do people never search?

The place they believe they’ve already looked.

With that, we’re off and running again.

FOR ZAHRA’S SAKE as much as my own, I shower first. The cuts on my face sting, bleed more, not to mention the knife wounds to my throat, my shoulder. Afterward, Genni inspects the damage.

“You probably need stitches,” she announces.

We both know that’s not going to happen, so she makes judicious use of butterfly closures instead.

She has a steady, adept hand. I wonder how many of her own wounds she’s tended over the years.

Is there anyone who goes through life without accruing a patchwork of scars?

Given my specialty is supposedly human nature, I search through Zahra’s backpack. Sure enough, the bottom of a side pouch, a single house key…

This is it.

“You shouldn’t stay here,” I advise Genni. “Someone might still come looking.”

“Honey, I don’t run, I don’t hide. Rusty blades, remember? Let ’em try.”

I want to share her bravado. Mostly I feel eviscerated. Generally my searches end in identifying the dead. Only two have resulted in finding the living. But this, discovering the living to watch her die…

I can’t do this ever again.

Zahra, sweet, exhausted, gray-eyed child.

Genni loads her back up in her vehicle. She drives us to our destination, stands watch as I work the key, pop open the front door.

A final wave.

I can tell Genni’s trying to hold strong. It’s easier to fight for yourself than to fear for others.

We can’t linger, however, which might risk drawing attention.

Genni departs as quickly as she arrived.

And I carry Zahra’s disoriented, half-conscious form over the threshold of her family’s apartment. Full circle. At least tomorrow, the girl will wake up in her own bed, even if it’s to a world that will never be the same again.

I will have to tell her about her mother. Her father. Aliah. Daryl. How do I find those words? Good news, four-year-old kid who remembers everything. You’re still alive. Everyone you love, however…

And where do we go from here?

I don’t have the answers. My cheeks hurt.

I tuck Zahra into bed. Her eyes open wide, peer deep into mine. She doesn’t ask about anything or anyone. Her hand reaches out. Very lightly, she touches the bandages on my face.

And I swear, in that moment, she knows everything.

Zahra closes her eyes, rolls onto her side, curls into a ball.

I gently close her bedroom door, then take up position on the sofa.

All I want to do is sleep. Close my eyes, let the world, and all my failings, drift away. Instead, I will myself to stay awake. I must stand guard. It’s the least Zahra deserves.

Just in time for the front door to burst open.

Spymaster Lilla strides brazenly into the Ahmadis’ apartment. And she is not alone.

IT TAKES ME at least a minute. If not two or three. Because I’m not an international woman of mystery, and in my world, people who die generally stay dead.

But now:

Lilla, Sabera, and Dr. Richard.

I say what first pops into my head. “Thank God. And I fucking hate all of you!”

Lilla positively beams. Sabera and Dr. Richard at least appear chagrined.

I don’t have the patience.

“I took a dagger for you and am doing everything in my power to protect your child. Start talking, and don’t stop till I’m fully satisfied.”

“Habib found me,” Sabera begins apologetically. “And if he knows, others know.”

“The key is still alive and now resides in Tucson.” I’m almost this smart.

“They won’t stop,” Lilla agrees seriously. “This would be the beginning, not the end.”

“Unless you’re dead. And in fact, there are witnesses to your death.”

Sabera shrugs uncomfortably. Dr. Richard has a hand on her shoulder. “Not our first choice,” he provides. “But given the options…”

“And your brother?”

“You know how you keep a secret a secret? By keeping it a secret.”

I want to punch someone. But on the other hand, I was just wishing if only Sabera could still be alive.

“I don’t get it,” I manage finally. “All the smoke and mirrors; I’m not cut out for this spy shit. Are you pregnant or not?” I finally ask.

“Isaad’s memory will live on,” Sabera answers, which I think means yes.

“Are you crazy or not?”

“My struggles are genuine. When I first saw Habib standing alive on the sidewalk here, I so wanted to believe that was another hallucination versus the ghost in my head. But Dr. Richard and Dr. Porway have been working together on my care. I have challenges. With the proper regimen, however, I do better than I’ve possibly let on. ”

“Because it’s easier for people to think you’re crazy? Let them doubt or underestimate you. Which is why you released her medical records?” I stare at Lilla, then scowl at Dr. Richard. “But also took them back.”

“Covering all bases,” Dr. Richard says, while Lilla states:

“Warring on all fronts.”

“You people are terrible,” I inform them. Then, because their actions were not without merit: “What now?”

“I’m dead,” Sabera states. “I must stay dead.”

“Fair enough.”

“I’ve arranged transport for Sabera and Zahra to the UK,” Lilla inserts smoothly. “We returned here merely to gather some belongings, then determine how best to grab the child in the morning.”

I roll my eyes.

“Sabera and Zahra will be safe with me,” Lilla continues unabashedly.

“A last favor to your friend.”

“Something like that.”

“You really loved Maryam.”

“Something like that.”

“And Farshid?” I have to ask, my gaze going to Sabera. “I’m still confused. Is your brother alive or dead, because you only know half of the rare earth elements puzzle. Correct?”

Lilla answers that question as well. “I have searched for the past four years. To the best of my knowledge, Farshid died during the fall of Kabul.”

“But you implied you saw him grabbing Aliah!”

“Think of it as high art,” Lilla provides. “Direction. Misdirection. Followed by direction. Misdirection. Resulting in…”

“No one knowing what the hell to believe.”

“Now you’re getting it.”

I had previously vowed never to work for a serial killer again. Now I add spy to the list.

“But half a set of coordinates is still better than no coordinates,” Dr. Richard continues. “The Taliban would love to have even that much, and of course, no one wants them to have a head start on locating such a valuable resource. The British government has incentive to keep Sabera safe.”

I gaze from Sabera to Dr. Richard to Sabera again. He stands close to her, clearly protective. And perhaps she leans slightly into him, but… Another place, another time, I think. Which must echo Dr. Richard’s own thoughts, as he flushes.

“I’m sorry for your troubles,” Sabera says.

“You didn’t ask for me to get involved,” I allow grudgingly. “And it’s not a terrible thing to be so loved. All Isaad and Aliah wanted was for you to be safe. You’ve made their wishes come true.”

Sabera acknowledges my words with a slight nod.

“What do I tell Aliah?” I ask, though I’m pretty sure I know the answer.

“You cannot,” Sabera begins.

Lilla all but flashes her pistol again.

“All right, all right, got it. Aliah, Daryl, Genni. They will raise a glass in your honor each year, I’m sure.”

Sabera appears miserable again. She crosses to a small side table, opens the top drawer, and pulls out a batch of ragged-looking notebook pages, each folded into thirds and meticulously tied together with a ribbon. “I would like you to have this,” she states abruptly, thrusting the bundle at me.

I take it reluctantly.

“I’ve been documenting,” she begins, “moments of my life before the Taliban came. Letters to Zahra, trying to explain what happened and how much I love her, should the worst happen. It is not the greatest reward to bestow upon someone who has sacrificed so much on my behalf, but perhaps it will help you understand my journey. The choices I made. The true gift you have given me.”

I’m honestly dumbstruck. “I can’t take this. These writings are for your daughter—”

“Thanks to you, she will have me. I think she would agree that is a much better result.”

My hands start to shake. Tears sting my eyes. I clutch the tied pages close to my chest, honestly too choked up to murmur a reply.

I’ve never… I can’t…

I wonder if my own mother had ever thought of doing such a thing, and I wish that she had. Because there’s nothing I would like more, now that she’s gone, than to hear her speaking to me, even if it were only words on a page.

“We are in agreement?” Lilla arches a brow.

“I saw nothing. I know nothing,” I acknowledge. “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”

“Always liked you, poppet.”

“Always terrified of you, Lilla No Last Name.”

That earns me a grin.

“And now?” she states crisply.

I can take a hint. I rise slowly off the sofa, nearly staggering from exhaustion.

“Tell Zahra she’s my favorite four-year-old.” I don’t have to ask that she remember me, or Daryl or Genni. We all know she will. I just hope someday those memories will make her smile.

Dr. Richard has a vehicle tucked just around the corner.

Another awkward round of farewells.

Then we leave Sabera, Zahra, and their new handler to the business of disappearing.

Dr. Richard drives me back to the compound.

He doesn’t speak the entire way, and neither do I.