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.
The mustachioed man glanced up and flinched.
“I need help.”
“I can see that.” He watched her, frowning.
How bad do I look? She shook her head. There was no time to care.
“Someone is following me. I need to get out of here and call the police.”
The man nodded, gesturing for her to join him behind the counter.
“Nashwa?” he called out and a woman appeared in the doorway of the backroom. “Can you handle things while I help the young lady?”
“Of course,” the woman said, and the man led Leila into the backroom.
With boxes stacked on top of boxes and shelves full of more statues and vases, it was the perfect hiding place.
Leila turned to the man. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“I’m happy to help.” The corners of his eyes crinkled and his mustache lifted. “Wait here. I’ll get my phone.”
Once she was alone, she leaned against the wall. Her limbs shook and her breath rattled.
If only she hadn’t dropped her phone. How she ached to hear Xander’s voice now, telling her everything would be okay. She rubbed at her face, the sting reminding her of her injuries.
A door between a stack of boxes stood open, so she crossed the room and peered inside. With a mirror on the wall, a hose, and a squat toilet in the corner, it was all she needed for the moment.
She slipped inside and shut the door, turning the key in the handle to lock it. A sigh of relief escaped her lips. She was safe. A cricket’s song echoed in the tiled room, drifting inside through the small window of milky glass, cracked open enough to let in the light breeze.
She placed herself in front of the mirror and her mouth dropped open. Bloody scratches covered her forehead and cheeks. Her dark hair stuck out from beneath the scarf, falling in damp twists around her face.
Muffled voices came from outside the bathroom door. The man spoke with someone… a woman with a familiar deep voice.
“Don’t lie to me. I saw her come in here.”
Leila took a step closer to the bathroom door, leaning one ear toward it.
“Out of the way.”
“I said you can’t go back there. What are you—” A crash broke him off.
The handle rattled. A bang shook the door.
Curses. Leila bolted to the window. She shoved it open and lifted herself through, her shoulders scraping against the wooden frame. With a thud, she landed on the sidewalk of a quiet street. Ignoring the smarting pain in her arm, she scrambled back to her feet.
The sound of blood thrummed in her ears. She cast the occasional glance over her shoulder, but she didn’t see anyone behind her. Checking the road signs for a clue to her whereabouts, she broke into a jog. Even though she didn’t recognize this part of Cairo at all, it didn’t matter. She just had to find a train or bus station and get away from here.
And hopefully find someone who will actually help me. Her pounding footsteps fell in sync with her racing heartbeat. The glowing street lamps ahead looked similar to the ones that lined the bridge leading across the Nile. Encouraged, she sped up. There must be a good distance between her and her pursuer by now.
A beat against the pavement thumped behind her, growing louder by the second.
Leila risked another peek over her shoulder and her heart jumped into her throat. Her stalker ran yards behind her, so close Leila could see the look of determination etched into her features.
She whipped her head forward and focused on the street lamps ahead. There was no way she would make it. She had to try and shake the woman off again. Leila bolted right and dashed along the side of a building, dodging dumpsters and carts parked in the dark alley.
Heavy boots pounded the sidewalk, nearing until she could hear each heavy pant from the woman’s mouth. The path turned into a long, narrow staircase descending between two buildings. Leila bounded down the steps three at a time, emerging onto a sidewalk at the bottom.
Sweat burned in her eyes and her twisting gut urged her on. Flight instinct had taken over, her mind only focused on escape, her feet carrying her down the street faster than she thought possible. Yet the steps behind her told her of the closeness of her pursuer. One stumble, one mistake, could mean she was a goner.
Two headlights turned a corner farther up the road and headed in her direction. Leila’s gaze locked on the other side of the street.
The vehicle accelerated, speeding closer, and she darted off the sidewalk. The horn blasted, the sound deafening in the quiet street. Leila made it to the other side with seconds to spare. Just behind her, the truck swerved, still honking, tires screeching. She couldn’t see the woman anywhere.
Not waiting to find out what happened to her, Leila ducked into an alley, hoping to double back and head for the bridge. She managed a few strides down the alley and stumbled to a stop. A brick wall blocked her path, too tall to climb over. Whirling around, she searched for a hiding spot, expecting the woman to catch up at any moment. Her sight locked on the dumpster to her right.
She lifted the lid, the mildew stench engulfing her, and stopped. This would be the first place her stalker looked.
Footsteps approached. Her time was up.
She dropped the lid and shrank into the shadows, into the space between the dumpster and the plaster wall, trying to recall the techniques from various attacks in her self defense classes.
It would be a desperate attempt. She couldn’t remember all of the moves. But it was either that and have a chance to escape, or die cowering.
A black silhouette stepped into the alley. The stalker stood with her feet spread and gun raised, blocking the exit. She took a single step forward, her eyes trained on the overflowing dumpster.
Scratches from the wreck slashed across her cheek as if she’d been clawed. She skulked past the dumpster, turned, and looked the back wall up and down.
Seeing an opportunity, Leila lunged, grabbed her stalker’s arm, and twisted.
The woman growled in surprise. Leila spun around and yanked, keeping a death grip on her arm. Her antagonist landed with a satisfying thud on the ground.
Now focused on getting the gun out of the woman’s hands, Leila wasn’t prepared for the boot that swung. The sole smacked her jaw and her head whipped to the side.
Her ears rang, and her knees buckled. When her body crumpled to the ground, another kick knocked the air from her lungs.
“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” the woman sneered as Leila looked up at her from the grimy cobblestone, clutching at her chest.
The gun was now trained on her, the assassin’s finger on the trigger. This couldn’t be happening. Leila scooted backward, away from the woman, though she knew it was hopeless. There was no way out.
These were going to be her last moments, stuck in an alley in downtown Cairo. If she hadn’t canceled the call with Xander, she wouldn’t be here. What she wouldn’t give to hear his voice one more time.
“Why are you doing this?” Leila croaked.
“I have to kill you.” The woman took a deliberate step toward her, now so close Leila could smell the cigarette smoke that saturated her clothing. “Someone sent me to do it. Any idea who? Or why?”
Faris had to be behind this but Leila couldn’t bring herself to say it. Her eyes burned as she held back the tears. She swallowed the painful lump in her throat and raised her chin defiantly. Her heart felt like it would burst. Why did this have to happen now, only hours before she’d see Xander again? Slowly, she rose to her feet. She wouldn’t go down like a mouse.
The woman squared her shoulders, taking in a deep, agitated breath. “I don’t like to kill innocents.”
An assassin with a conscience? That had to be a first. Leila swallowed, and unable to help herself, she managed to rasp out, “Then don’t.”
The woman’s lips curved downward and she tilted her head studiously. After a moment, she lowered her arm.
Leila watched her in disbelief. She was going to let her go? Just like that?
In one swift movement, the woman swung her arm around, striking Leila across the face with the gun.
She stumbled back, her hand flying to her cheek. As the shock wore off, her face began to burn with pain. She glanced at her fingers, red and wet, and her stomach hardened with dread.
The assassin swung again. Leila leaned away, arms flailing, unable to avoid the blow to her neck.
The woman held her against the wall, her fist pressing on her neck. Leila squirmed but it was useless. A sting pricked at her skin, growing in intensity and rooting her to the spot until the woman finally backed away.
Weary darkness overcoming her, Leila’s knees scraped the pavement and her vision blurred. The last thing she saw was the empty syringe in the woman’s hand, before everything went black.