Targeted (FBI Heat) Read Free Page B

represented. The sticky blade of Samir’s knife against her leg provided reassurance.
    Safiya laid her hand on her husband’s arm and smiled up at Marissa. “You are welcome in our home. We are pleased to help a Muslim woman in need.”
    Khaleel shook off his wife’s hand and stormed out of the room.
    Hastily, Ameen guided Marissa down the hall into a bedroom.
    “Do not mind Khaleel. He doesn’t trust strangers and wants only to protect his wife. I’ll be close by. You are safe here,” he said as he left and shut the door behind him.
    Marissa wasn’t so sure.
    Holding her breath, she listened with her ear pressed against the bedroom door. Ameen’s voice was intent but quiet; she could barely hear his words. Khaleel ranted about the risks of sheltering a strange woman. Safiya spoke in a soothing voice of reason, trying to temper her husband’s tirade.
    Marissa listened for any mention of the earlier violence, but heard nothing about knives, guns, or killing. Could she trust Ameen not to tell his friends what had happened? Not to share even her name. Would Safiya throw them out if she learned the true circumstances of their meeting? Was Khaleel more of a danger than Ameen realized? Those and a hundred other questions kept her ear glued to the door until all three voices became whispers and defeated her eavesdropping.
    Sighing, she surveyed the tiny bedroom. The furniture was sparse and cheap, but the room neat and clean. The one window was large enough to allow escape. Unfortunately, the door had no lock. Marissa yawned and decided she really had no better option than to spend the night. She glanced warily at the door. If necessary, she would defend herself.
    She slipped the knife, phone, and wallets under the covers. Exhausted, she removed the veil, crawled between the sheets, and stared at the ceiling.
    Almost beheaded. Her skin turned clammy. Her whole body began to shake. Shock? Adrenaline crash? Sleep seemed impossible, but she had to try.
    *  *  *
    “Whatever possessed you to bring that infidel to my home?” Khaleel hissed.
    Ameen considered him calmly. His friend had changed since moving from San Diego to Tijuana several months ago. His Islamic beliefs and practices were more fundamentalist, more extreme. The man’s personality had also grown aggressive and almost paranoid. Ameen wished he knew what was bothering his friend so he could help. He’d talk privately with Khaleel and attempt to identify the problem as soon as he could. But right now, Baheera was the pressing problem. “How do you know she’s an infidel?”
    “Was she not outside her home without a male family member escorting her?”
    “She may not have been unescorted by choice, but by circumstance. I don’t know. Many Muslim women in today’s world are in public without escorts. Are they all infidels?”
    “Perhaps not, but they shall pay for their disobedience.” Khaleel huffed. “We know nothing of this woman. Why won’t she tell you her name? Why must she keep it a secret? I find that very suspicious.”
    Baheera was hiding many secrets, but Ameen couldn’t admit that or his overly protective friend would throw them out of his house. And he needed a safe place to keep her. Other than making the time-consuming drive back across the border and north to the mosque, he didn’t have any other good options. “Is it not enough to know a Muslim woman is in need of our help? Would Allah want us to deny her solely because we do not know her?” Ameen asked.
    Khaleel dismissed the thoughtful questions with an impatient wave of his hand. “She is filthy. What if she brings disease into my house?”
    True, Baheera’s abaya was slightly dirty from the fight, but Ameen didn’t think for a moment that she was filthy or diseased beneath it. He envisioned the flawless, olive complexion of her upturned face, the full soft lips only inches from his own. He shook the tempting image from his mind and swallowed hard. “Are you offering her a