Now. Leila slid her hand up the back of the passenger seat, pressed the button to the headrest, and ripped it out. With as much strength as she could muster, she slammed the pointed sticks into the window. Glass shattered in all directions, stinging her legs.
The woman hit the gas and took a sharp turn, toppling Leila off the bench. Wedged between the front and back seats, Leila pulled herself up. Wind whipped through her hair as the driver sped through the streets.
Time for Plan B.
She threw her arm around the woman’s neck, then squeezed as hard as she could. The car swerved. Something stung Leila’s arm but she held onto the woman’s neck with an iron grip. A loud bang shook the vehicle as they drove over a curb and flew toward a thick metal lamppost. Then came the impact.
A deafening boom filled Leila’s ears. Her head smacked against the headrest and glass rained down around her. Her head throbbed as she crawled to the window and dragged herself out of the car, ignoring the pain from the broken glass that dug into her belly as she wriggled through.
The driver’s door opened once Leila found her footing on the grassy median. She staggered across the street, adrenaline easing the pain enough for her to break into a run down the sidewalk, in the direction of the glowing lights of a souq.
CHAPTER 4
Everything became a blur. The cars, the trees, the buildings. She reached the outskirts of the market, which wound its way into the narrow streets, colorful banners hanging above them, and slowed her pace as she converged into the crowd. The boom of the crash still echoed in her ears as she wove in and out of the rows of vendors selling the fruits, vegetables, and spices of the day, while others cooked takeaway on steaming griddles.
The intoxicating smells of meat sizzling on the open grills filled her senses while voices haggled over the price of sugar cane. Somewhere among the stalls, a busker sang along to light percussion while another street musician plucked away on a zither. Once she was several rows within the market, Leila stopped behind a stack of wooden crates, gasping for air. Her lungs and legs burned. Her head swam. Realizing this would be the perfect time to call the police, she searched through her bag. The phone was gone.
I must have dropped the stupid thing in the car. She muttered a curse.
Leaning against the crates, she peeked around the corner. Down the row of market stalls, the taxi driver stepped into sight. Dressed in black, the woman’s head was turned in the other direction, her right hand hidden in her pocket. Could she have brought a gun?
Leila ducked back behind the crate, biting down on her bottom lip. Time for Plan C: find help now.
A giggle came from her right. A boy sat on the step of a porcelain shop, playing on his phone. He smiled and grimaced at the glowing screen, tapping away with his thumbs.
Leila checked over her shoulder to make sure the woman was out of sight, then darted over to the boy.
“Hey.” She dropped to her haunches, wishing her voice would stop shaking. “Could you help me? I need to make a phone call.”
“No way.” The boy stared at her with wide, confused eyes. Then his eyebrows pinched together and he recoiled. “Why is your face bleeding?”
“Look, just one call,” Leila pleaded. The boy shook his head. Leila released a soft growl, opened her purse, and pulled out two colorful Egyptian bills. “How about two hundred pounds?”
The boy stared at the money. “Only if you sit right here.”
“Sure.” Leila nodded. “I’ll give it right back when I’m done. I promise.”
The boy reached for the bills when a shadow darkened the doorway. They both looked up and froze. A woman stood over them, hands on hips, her features blazing.
“Ahmed,” she snapped. “Get inside.”
The boy jumped to his feet and dashed around the woman’s legs, disappearing into the shop.
“How dare you.” The woman swatted at Leila with a rolled up newspaper, striking her on the cheek. “Stay away from my son. Get out of my sight, you disgusting street rat.”
Leila scrambled to her feet and ran, her pulse racing.
Ask someone else, anyone.
She turned into another row, only to swallow down a scream at the sight of her pursuer heading her way. Digging her heels into the cobblestone, Leila spun around and darted in the other direction, barreling straight into a woman carrying a basket. The woman screamed as the basket flipped out of her hands. Fruit flew everywhere. A chicken squawked and flailed past, its white feathers hanging lazily in the air. Bystanders began yelling, waving their hands as others bent over to pick up the fruit.
Taking advantage of the unintended chaos, Leila ducked behind a stall and flattened herself against the wall, her chest heaving. Something lightly brushed across her shoulder and she jumped. She peered up to see a colorful display of scarves, then yanked one from its hanger. Wrapping the silky, flower-patterned cloth around her head, she didn’t even look at the price tag, and tossed one end over her shoulder. Once the stalker was gone, she’d put it back.
She was still tugging the ends lower over her forehead, making sure her hair was completely covered, when a pair of black shoes stepped into view. Her heart froze. She’d been caught. Her gaze followed the legs upward, until she looked into the face of a plump woman, a scowl twisted over her face.
“It’ll be one hundred pounds for the scarf,” the woman said sharply.
“Sorry. I was just trying—I need help,” Leila whispered in Arabic, praying the woman would listen.
“Help? No, it looks like you need discipline,” the woman yelled, pointing a finger at her. “Pay me for the scarf, you thief.”
Over the lady’s round shoulder, a few people glanced their way. Leila shook her head and fished through her bag with quivering hands until she found her wallet again. She shoved a wad of cash into the stall attendant’s outstretched hand, hoping it was enough to silence her.
The woman studied the bills, gave Leila one final glare, and returned to her stall. As the woman retreated, the taxi driver prowled into view. With thin lips and narrowed eyes, she looked left and right, hunting for her target. She pushed past other shoppers, her hand still in her pocket.
Leila ducked back behind the display of scarves and plucked at the ends of one still hanging on the rack, pretending to be examining it closely. Instead, she clamped her eyes shut and whispered a prayer.
“Please keep walking. Please keep walking.”
Ten seconds, then twenty passed. Leila slowly opened her eyes. She leaned forward enough to see into the street. The woman’s back was to her as she wandered farther down the row, pausing, searching, then continuing.
That was close. All Leila had to do now was try not to draw any more attention to herself and ask someone for help. She turned away from the scarf rack and scanned the row of shop fronts.
The sight of an ancient Egyptian statue across the street drew her toward it. The window was full of touristy replica statues, ancient Egyptian-themed bookends, lamps, and vases.
Leila stepped inside and the bustle of the busy market faded to a murmur. A man worked behind the counter in the back of the shop, reorganizing the display behind the glass facade.
“Excuse me?” Leila stepped around a spinning rack full of sterling silver ankh pendants.
