Amina couldn’t be gone. Why her? They’d stood right next to each other. The man could have just as easily shot Leila instead. Why couldn’t he have left Amina out of this? Before Leila’s knees could give out, she leaned against the wall, covering her mouth with one hand.
Maybe Abdullah’s made a mistake. Amina could still be alive, just unconscious. Every second counted now.
“We need to find help,” Leila finally managed, her voice shaking. “I’ll go—”
“I said there’s nothing you can do,” Abdullah said, dangerously calm. He straightened his shoulders, moving away from Amina’s form, folding her limp hand over her chest.
“I can ride ahead. Find a doctor.”
“You understand nothing, don’t you?” Abdullah rose to his feet. His back was still to Leila, his arms hanging at his sides as he looked down at his sister. With her eyes closed and hands resting on top of her chest, one might mistake her for sleeping—if it weren’t for all the blood. Leila took a step away from the wall. He couldn’t give up on Amina like this.
“We have to do something.” Her voice cracked. She had no idea what could be done. But this wasn’t right either. “She’s lost a lot of—”
“Shut up!” Abdullah pivoted and faced her.
Leila’s heart jolted. Abdullah squeezed his hands into fists and, although dry, his bloodshot eyes accentuated the dark rings under them.
“This is all your fault,” he spat.
Her throat tightened. He might as well have slapped her in the face. Because he was right. She should be on that couch. Amina should be back at the Bedouin camp. Or at a university, studying medicine. Abdullah stepped closer, so close she could feel his hot breath against her face. In one swift movement, he pushed her with his forearm on her collarbone until her back hit the wall again. The curve of a razor-sharp blade pressed against the center of her neck.
“I knew you were trouble,” he said through bared teeth, digging his janbiya deeper into her skin. His arm pressed down on her lungs. “Anyone dragged out of Cairo like some vile mutt could only cause problems.”
Abdullah’s face was a blur through her tears. With one jerk of his hand she’d be finished. He was probably going to leave her to bleed to death on the floor.
“I didn’t ask for this,” Leila croaked, keeping her eyes locked on his, pleading. “I just want to go home.”
“I should have left you in the desert. You’ve only brought us pain.”
His words confirmed what she already suspected—he regretted ever saving her. His behavior the entire time she’d known him had told her that.
“Then why didn’t you?”
Abdullah was silent for a moment, as if struggling with an answer. He eased the pressure on the knife but kept her pinned to the wall. He slowly shook his head, his lip curled in disgust.
“Drake brought you to me.”
“Drake?” Leila whispered, her gut churning. He didn’t mean who she thought he did, did he?
Abdullah didn’t answer, only glaring at her with a look of poison.
Leila swallowed, momentarily feeling the scrape of the blade again. She hadn’t given her kidnapper much more thought since being rescued by the siblings.
“You mean that woman who dumped me in the middle of the desert?”
Abdullah’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Dumped in the sand like the worthless dog that you are. I left you to die. Why should I waste my time and risk our lives for you? But Amina found out. She’s the one who insisted I go back for you. If only she’d known.”
“What do you mean?” Leila broke eye contact, trying to make sense of this. That woman, Drake, hadn’t dumped her randomly in the middle of nowhere. She’d brought her out here to hide.
Though she could spend ages pondering this new bit of information, it was overshadowed by the fact that help had been that close, and he first chose to let her rot.
“I spent two days lost in the desert. You tried to kill me.”
“If only.”
“You know her? Drake?” Leila wanted to scream. “How?”
Abdullah pressed his mouth shut and it was clear that he wasn’t going to answer the question.
Great. Someone is either going to stab me or shoot me. How was she going to get out of this mess?
“I don’t know what’s going on.” Leila’s voice shook. “I don’t know who wants to kill me. I don’t know why she, this Drake person, brought me out here. I don’t know, okay? You, on the other hand, seem to know a lot more about what’s going on than I do.”
Abdullah stepped back, lowering his knife, his glare still burning enough to set a house on fire. “You led this murderer to us. Believe me. Next time, I won’t rescue you.”
Leila choked back a sob. “You think I wanted this? Drake, or whatever her name is, brought me to you. Why don’t you go dish it out with her?”
Abdullah returned to his sister’s side. Leila wasn’t going to get any more answers from him right now. At a burning sensation on her neck, she placed her hand on the spot. Wet. She stole a glance at her hand. Her gut churned at the sight of the bright red stain. She covered her mouth and hurried out the door.
After losing what little was inside her stomach, she mindlessly allowed her feet to carry her down the steps in front of the house. They led her to the heavy wooden doors of the stable, so she cracked them open and slipped into the manure and straw scented darkness. As her eyes adapted, she settled her gaze on the camels. They rested on their bellies, eyes half-closed in content. They turned their heads in her direction but otherwise showed no interest in moving.
Although her initial thought was to mount her camel and head for Saint Catherine alone, she found herself sitting on the floor next to Fatma. Exhaustion, shock, and confusion muddled her thoughts. Besides, she had no idea which way to go. A few minutes passed, her foot began to tingle. She adjusted her position and something tightened around her chest. The gun was still strapped to her back. She pulled the strap over her head and set the weapon on the ground next to her, then rested her chin on her knees. With her arms wrapped around her legs, she wished it could be Xander. He’d hold her tight. He’d tell her it wasn’t her fault. All of this was beyond her control. He’d know what to do next. That is, after he beat Abdullah to a pulp.
She released a shaky sigh. None of it made sense. Why would that woman, Drake, try to save her? Why would she bring her to Abdullah, the last person on the planet who would help? Who exactly wanted her dead in the first place? All she now knew was that whoever it had been on the roof and at the cave wasn’t Faris. Probably had no connection to him, either.
But it had been someone just as determined to get rid of her. If not more so. Was the shooter even still alive? Abdullah seemed certain he had hit him… but that didn’t mean the man was dead. He could still be here, somewhere in this forsaken town.
And she had to find him.
Her heart fluttered, warning her not to go looking for danger. Not after Amina had been so heartlessly shot down. It seemed so unfair. Amina deserved better. Leila wiped her face with her sleeve. No. She couldn’t let the murderer keep following them. Even if she did make it home, she’d be putting Xander and others in danger. This had to end. Now. Before another innocent was killed. Before he followed her back to Xander, Emma, her family… she had to go to him.
With resolve building in her mind, her body warmed and her strength returned. She picked up the gun and slipped back into the empty street.
When she neared the plaza, Leila flattened herself against a crumbling plaster wall and held the gun to her chest, trying to calm her racing pulse. Her hands twisted around the cold metal, her sweaty palms squeaking softly from the friction. It was hard to believe she was doing this. Going to the murderer was asking to be killed. With a deep breath for good measure, she peered around the corner.