She leaned down and brushed black strands of hair from Amina’s face. “Talk to me. Please.”
Amina lifted a shaking hand with a soft moan. Her cracked lips moved to form words, but no sound came out.
“We can’t stay here.” Leila wrapped her hand around Amina’s cold fingers. “I’m going to take you back to the house. Do you think you can walk? I’ll try and carry you, but…” She looked up and scanned the square. Abdullah would have heard the shots. He would be here any second. She could scream for him but the shooter—
“Leila, why don’t you come out now?” a honeyed voice called into the square.
Her heart turned to ice.
“My aim is improving. So, it would be easier for you,” the voice went on, confident, gloating, “for me, and your friends, if we ended this now.”
Amina’s breathing grew ragged, and Leila pressed her free hand against her clammy cheek in reassurance.
This is all my fault. He was after her. He didn’t care who got caught in the crossfire. She swallowed against the lump in her throat, her eyes burning.
“Who are you?” she yelled, her voice thick.
“You don’t remember me?” The shooter sounded offended but she could hear his smile. “But we’ve met before. Briefly.”
Leila closed her eyes as she searched her memory. How was she supposed to remember a voice? Didn’t he have a name? His accent was British, but there was no way she could place him without knowing his face.
“Maybe you need a reminder. It was a year ago now. At the Cairo Museum in the Neferkheri exhibit. Like I said, it was a brief encounter.”
With her eyes still shut, she furrowed her brow. She’d been there a few times, right after getting out of the hospital. It wasn’t possible to spend a lot of time in the exhibit like she had wanted. With doctor visits, court appearances, plus getting her studies back in order—everything was a blur.
Yet one visit to the museum still stood out to her. She and Xander had made dinner plans. It was their first time going out. And Xander was late.
So she had done what anyone would do—wandered around the exhibit. The only strange thing that had happened was someone had spoken to her, out of the blue. A tall, lanky man with white blond hair and eyes she’d never forget. Blue as ice. Streaked with lightning.
“You remember now?”
That hadn’t been the first time she’d seen those eyes. Once in the abandoned Weston Manor, when she went in to search for clues linking Xander with Faris. She’d been caught, and the only thing she saw of the man were his eyes, so light they nearly glowed in the dark.
No, she’d never forgotten those eyes, nor the frozen feeling they overpowered her with.
She sucked in a lungful of air. Why on earth was he doing this?
“What do you want?” she cried, lowering her head. A heavy breath quaked beneath her, and Leila squeezed Amina’s hand. She squeezed back.
Stay with me.
“I think you know exactly what I want,” the man’s voice drawled. “Why don’t you come out now so we can stop playing this game?”
The man was delusional. There was no way. She studied Amina’s ghostly face, streaked with blood.
“You’re going to be okay,” Leila whispered, then added another layer to the bandage. The cloth was soaked, her own hand stained red. But she kept her palm firmly against the wound. She would stay right here at Amina’s side. She’d never show herself to the shooter. As long as she stalled, they still had a chance. Abdullah couldn’t be far off.
She lifted her chin and glared at the roof. “First tell me why.”
“Why?” the man huffed. “Well, that’s a long story and I don’t plan on sitting here all day. Either you step out now or I—”
“Amina!” Abdullah’s scream echoed off the buildings.
Leila whipped her head around. A black robed figure ran across the courtyard.
“Don’t,” she cried out. Another gunshot cracked over the square.
Abdullah threw himself behind the shriveled tree. Bullets hit the trunk, sending shards of wood flying in all directions. Abdullah shrugged his gun into his hands, tucked it between his chin and his shoulder. No hesitation. He aimed and fired.
Once the echoes faded, Abdullah slipped out from behind the tree. He grabbed Leila’s shoulder and pulled her away from Amina, then knelt by his sister’s side. His gun clattered to the ground and he placed a hand on her cheek.
Amina’s chest still rose and fell, her breathing louder, more labored than before. Without a word, he gathered her into his arms and strode off.
From her spot on the ground, Leila stared at the gun, smoke still rising from the barrel, reeking of hot metal. Did he hit the shooter?
She didn’t want to stick around and wait for him to pop back up again. Before she could lose sight of Abdullah, she grabbed the gun and hurried after him. As she left the cover of the overhang, she looked up.
The man had vanished from the rooftop. She slung the gun’s strap over her shoulder and ran. Instead of going across the courtyard, the way they came, Abdullah ducked into the alley directly next to the building.
Leila followed, keeping as close to the wall as possible. Amina’s hand hung limply, slapping against Abdullah’s leg with each long step.
Hang in there.
Abdullah rushed through the dizzying maze of narrow streets and alleys. When they arrived back at the house, Leila ran ahead to hold the door, then shut and locked it once they were all inside.
After that, all she could do was watch, helpless, as Abdullah lay Amina on the couch, the entire front of her dress now stained a bright red. Abdullah knelt on the floor, holding her hand to his face.
“What can we do?” Leila asked, searching the living room and kitchen for something that could be used for more bandages. Anything until they could get Amina to a doctor.
