“He is a historian.”
Abdullah flicked off a chunk of wood. “Not because he’s interested in its history.”
“Gold can be a pretty powerful motivator.”
“It’s not gold he’s after.”
“What is it, then?”
“You ask too many questions.” With a scowl, he dug his blade into the block of wood.
“At this point, I think I deserve to know.” Leila’s voice hardened. “You’re the one who dragged me out here. I’d be on my way home now if you hadn’t freakin’ kidnapped me.”
“I should have killed you.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“Maybe I will.”
Leila clenched her teeth, the words he wasn’t saying churning in her stomach like a writhing viper. He wasn’t doing this for no reason. That wasn’t how he ticked. If only she could figure out what was going on in that mulish head of his. They fell silent, the only sound the ringing of the knife as Abdullah scraped and twisted and cut. Though his words ended the conversation, she felt a small glimmer of hope. He’d had plenty of opportunity to kill her. If he really wanted to like he said, something was stopping him. But what?
“You’re not going to.” The words left her mouth before her brain could convince them not to.
Abdullah’s eyes shot up and fixed on her, his gaze a cryptic blackness.
“You didn’t kill that monk.” He remained silent, so she continued. “You could have shot or stabbed him, but you didn’t. He probably made copies of the journal. Maybe he’d already shared it with others. Who knows how many people know about—”
“I didn’t kill him because it’s too late. It no longer matters. No thanks to you.”
“You keep blaming me.” Indignity caused her to stiffen. “You’re the one who should have destroyed the journal before it could ever get this far.”
“There are a lot of things I should have done.” His voice had softened. Remorse?
Leila shook her head and dropped the conversation. Whatever he was planning, she didn’t want any part of it. All she could do was to keep her eyes peeled and wait for an opportunity to get away.
By then, the chunk of wood in Abdullah’s hands had taken the crude form of a camel. After a glance at the pink glow in the sky, he tucked the camel into his bag, returned his knife to its sheath, then stood.
He jerked the rope attached to the zip-tie and Leila rose, every bone objecting. Without him needing to say anything, she stepped over to Amina. Slipping the ankles into the crook of her hands, she helped lift the body, and they walked, each of them carrying one end.
Leila trailed behind Abdullah, their progress slow. Her eyelids grew heavier as the day went on, but she fought to keep them open. She couldn’t miss a chance to escape. By midday, the snow flurries had stopped, though the sky remained thick with clouds.
In the hope that, somehow, Xander wasn’t far behind, Leila cast an occasional glance over her shoulder. What if she stopped, put Amina down, turned around, and left? Maybe Abdullah would let her go. But when she gazed across the snowy mountaintops, she knew it was useless. She’d never find her way.
Whenever Abdullah wasn’t looking, she’d tried marking the trail, dragging her feet through the snow. It was probably pointless with the fresh snowfall, but the marks would at least leave dents.
While soaking in one last look toward the west—Xander must still be in that direction—she stopped short, her breath caught in her throat. Something in the distance had moved. A dark spot near the top of an incline shifted to the side and vanished into the rocky terrain.
Had they walked past there? Did one of them drop something and the wind was blowing it around? She set Amina’s feet on the ground and watched for a moment, hoping to see it again, certain she hadn’t imagined it. But the red and white landscape remained still and silent.
A crunch of footsteps came from behind her.
“Are you listening? Move,” Abdullah barked.
“There’s something out there,” she answered, not taking her eyes off the rocks. Would it be too much to hope that Xander was right behind them? Her pulse quickened at the thought of him. Would Father Marcus have told him about the tomb? If yes, Xander would definitely be close.
Abdullah stepped up beside her, eyes narrowed as he scanned the area.
“Mountain goats,” he muttered and turned away, tugging at the rope connecting them. “Now hurry up.”
She couldn’t let the opportunity slip away. On the off-chance it could be him, she inhaled deeply. “Xander!” she screamed. “I’m here—”
A grimy hand clapped over her mouth and her screams faded in an echo. The now-familiar blade of his janbiya pressed against her neck.
“Do you want to cause an avalanche?” he snarled in her ear.
She didn’t even try to answer.
“If you want to die right here, do that again.”
Point made. She shrugged, and he shoved her away.
They wound through valleys, narrow gorges, and across ledges. Her feet and legs were numb from the hiking and cold, but Abdullah mercilessly pressed on. Finally, as the sky began to lose its light, the crisp, white path sloped up the side of a mountain. Muscles burned in protest of the climb, her knees bloodied from the countless slips on the wet rocks.
The clouds rolled closer as they ascended, shrouding the peak of the mountain in a gray mist. The air grew colder, thinner, her lungs gasping with each step. On her right was nothing but white mist. To lose her footing would mean a three-hundred-foot drop to the unseen valley below.
When she thought she would collapse from exhaustion and lack of oxygen, the path curved inward, leading between two craggy walls of rock. She followed the trail, grateful to at least have shelter from the biting wind and not be terrified of falling to her death.
After another fifty yards, the walls of the mountain closed in around them, forming a cave wide and tall enough for them to walk through comfortably. Instead of the rough surface expected of a cave, the walls were unnaturally smooth. Before they reached the end of the moonlight, the path stopped with a thick, rectangular frame that had been carved into the center of the wall. Two doors sealed the entrance.
