A few yards in front of her stood Faris, dressed in black slacks and a white collared shirt unbuttoned at the top, his expression stoic. He gripped a gun in one hand, and with his free hand, he motioned at the round glass table in front of a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows.
“Tea?” he asked.
CHAPTER 35
In the shade of a giant umbrella, Leila sat at the round glass table. The morning sun glared down on the patio, and with no breeze, Leila was grateful for the bit of shade. Standing in the sun, she was starting to sweat—though she wasn’t sure it was just because of the heat.
Faris set the pistol on the table before him, then crossed his legs at the knee and leaned back in his seat. “Before we continue our discussion from last Monday, I think we are long overdue for a heart to heart, Leila.”
She scowled and crossed her arms. “Go to hell where you belong.”
Faris clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “I’ll be the first to admit I’m no angel, but that is rather harsh, isn’t it?”
“No angel?” Leila stared at him for a moment. That was the understatement of the year. Her fingers twitched. How she’d love to jump across the table and grab the gun. “You blew up the Egyptian Museum. All those people died because of you. You threatened to kill me, too. You ruined my family. You’ve ruined my life.” You killed Xander.
A smug smile flickered over Faris’s face. “Threatened you? Of course, there’s no denying that. The rest, well, that’s debatable. Much of what you mentioned was your own doing.”
“You’re delusional. You planted that bomb. You sent me on this… this quest. You sent Montu to kill Xander.”
“Montu? Never heard of him.”
Leila narrowed her eyes. “Don’t play stupid.”
Faris leaned forward on one elbow, his jaw tight, his voice dangerous. “I’m not the stupid one here.”
Leila bit back a retort as a servant approached the table. She and Faris remained silent as the lady in a black, knee-length dress set tea in front of them. Ruby red liquid in a glass. Egyptian style.
The lady turned to leave, but Faris stopped her with a finger on her arm. He muttered something in Greek—the jerk could speak it, too—and then the lady nodded, her face expressionless, and went on her way.
Leila’s gaze wandered to the gun on the table again. Unlike at their last meeting, he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to use it. He probably already knew he wasn’t going to get the scrolls. Soliman had probably already told him they had been destroyed. So, Faris was confident—confident he had won.
The man chuckled, reaching out to pick up the gun. He must have noticed the direction of her eyes. “Yes, someone is going to die today. But don’t give it too much thought.”
“Why are you doing this?” Leila whispered. It was hard to believe she was actually sitting here, having a conversation with this man. She needed to get her hands on that gun and shoot him.
Faris examined the firearm, turning it slowly in his hand. Then he locked his gaze on her. “Because I want peace.”
Leila blinked. “Peace?”
“Yes.” Faris nodded. “Peace.”
“Peace for what? To keep up your artifact theft? To keep killing off the people who bother you? Peace to blow up more museums? Peace to ruin the lives of not just a few people, but hundreds?”
Faris tapped his chin. “I suppose I haven’t told you enough for you to understand. I don’t really expect you to, even if I did. But this has less to do with you than you think.”
“If this doesn’t have anything to do with me, then why drag me into it?”
“Because you meddled. Because you killed my son,” Faris snarled through his teeth. “You don’t deserve to live. You don’t deserve happiness. You don’t deserve to achieve all your hopes and dreams.”
“That’s not your decision to make.”
“Then why did you get to decide to kill Amir?”
“I only shot him in self-defense. He had just stabbed Xander. He was coming at me with the knife. What was I supposed to do? Let him stab me too? Amir was a monster you created. He wouldn’t have killed my dad if you hadn’t conditioned him to do it.”
Faris slammed a fist on the table. Drops of tea splattered on the surface, and a lock of his black hair fell in his face. “All you had to do was stay away from us.”
“Maybe I would have if Amir hadn’t dragged me to your house and threatened to kill me! You keep blaming me, but it’s all your son’s fault. All of it. There’s no reason to kill other people for his sake. The world is better off without him.”
“He was my son. Why do you act like my pain is worth less than yours? Why can’t I feel the pain of watching someone I trusted steal the woman I love first? Why can’t I feel the pain of my son’s death?”
“Because I don’t kill people when I’m in pain.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“I’m here to stop you.”
“From what exactly?”
“From everything.” Leila glared at Faris. Why did this man always have to talk in circles? It was infuriating. “Why are you doing it? Why are you bombing museums?”
“You keep asking me that.” He tilted his head quizzically. “And it’s a very good question, but one that I cannot answer. You’ll have to—”
“Leila!”
As that familiar, musical voice rang out, Leila looked up. Her mother stood at the top of the steps, outlined in blinding rays of sunshine like some sort of otherworldly being. She ran down the steps and rushed across the patio.
“Mom,” Leila breathed. Forgetting Faris, she stood, just as her mother reached her and threw her arms around her in a tight embrace.
