“All right. You can wait here while I go. I’ll come right back when I’m done.”
“You can’t. Not by yourself.”
“It’s okay. I can handle it. You just watch from here. Then your brother won’t be mad at you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. I won’t let anyone mess with me.”
Amina opened her mouth to speak, but before she could protest, Leila pushed through the bushes and walked toward the tents. Curious gazes followed her.
“Tahir Awad?” Leila asked the frowning, weather-worn faces of the three men lingering in front of the first tent. One man silently pointed toward the last tent in the row. She thanked him and continued on, her heart pounding. She already disliked this camp. None of the warmth and homeliness of Amina’s. Maybe she should have insisted on someone coming with her, after all. Who knew what else the guy smuggled besides weapons.
When she reached the end of the row, she stopped in front of an open-faced tent where a mustachioed man sat cross-legged in the shade. A fire crackled in front of him and the metal kettle hanging over the flames steamed angrily. Wooden crates had been stacked up in the tent behind him with blankets tossed over top in a half-hearted attempt to conceal the contents. Leila’s back tensed. A long, black metal tube stuck out of one of the crates.
The man pulled the mouthpiece of a shisha pipe from his lips and slowly blew a white cloud from his nostrils, filling the air with a thick, sweet scent. His fox eyes anchored on Leila and she held back a shudder.
“Well, habibti? How can I help you?”
Leila fought a wince at his use of “sweetheart.” This conversation was already off to the wrong start.
“Sorry to bother you. I was just…” Leila swallowed the shakiness in her voice. “I was just wondering if you have a phone I could use.”
Tahir flashed her a wolfish grin of yellow teeth. “Your accent. Are you American?”
Leila nodded. She should probably forget the whole thing and write a letter. But as creepy as the guy was, she couldn’t just walk away, not when possibly her only chance to speak to Xander was within reach.
CHAPTER 17
Here goes nothing. Leila quickly explained a few details of her predicament, as well as she could in Arabic, stressing the point that people were out looking for her.
Still smiling, the smuggler slid his fingers over the glossy hairs beneath his large, crooked nose.
“And what do I get in return? These calls are not cheap.”
“I’ll pay you for the call, of course.” Leila’s stomach somersaulted. What was she doing? It would be best for her to stop talking and turn around and run. Instead, the only thing that ran was her mouth. She had to make that phone call.
“I can get you cash or wire the money once I’m home.”
“It could be a very high amount.”
Despite the urge to scowl, Leila kept her face emotionless. “I understand.”
“No matter the price?”
“What would it cost?” The guy was going to milk this, no doubt about that.
“One, two thousand.” He shrugged. “Maybe three.”
“Uh… Egyptian pounds?” That would be doable. Expensive, but possible.
He pressed his lips into a thin line and eyed her steadily. “U.S. dollars. Cash.”
That, not so much. Leila clenched her teeth. She had to call Xander. She would deal with the money later.
“You can send me the bill.”
The man scratched the side of his nose. It looked like it had been broken once or twice. He finally nodded, stood, and walked to the back of his tent.
“I will need your full name and address,” Tahir said while he searched through one of the crates. He pulled out what looked like a walkie-talkie.
“I can write it down for you.”
He stared with sly eyes down at Leila, greasy curls of his long, dark hair sticking out of his checkered headscarf.
“Make it quick.” He held out the device.
She stared at the apparatus in his hand cautiously. With no fancy screen or other features, it reminded her of a larger version of the old Nokia phone she once had as a teen. Slowly, she reached out for it, fully aware of the man’s penetrating stare as she took it from his hand.
In an attempt for privacy, she turned and walked a few yards, until she was sure he’d be out of hearing range. Soft plastic buttons dotted the face of the phone and a thick, long antenna stood out of one corner. Finally. Xander was only a phone call away.
Hope rose in her chest and she excitedly punched in Xander’s number. In a few moments she’d be able to hear his voice. Her heart pounded in anticipation as she listened to the dial tone. Yet after one ring, there was a click, and his voicemail message began to play. Even though his voice was the most beautiful sound she’d heard in days, her vision blurred. He wasn’t there. His phone was off. Why would he have his phone off? Maybe he was still in London, still working. Maybe he had no idea she was gone.
Stop being such a pessimist. Xander might not have a signal. She threw a glance over her shoulder to make sure Tahir wasn’t eavesdropping, but he was busy with the steaming kettle.
Certain he wasn’t able to hear, she left a rushed message after the beep, telling Xander about her plan to go to Saint Catherine. He only needed to know where he could find her, after all. As soon as she was done, she turned back to the smuggler, who now watched her with his arms crossed.
“One more, please?”
