Page 43 of Rogue Operator
“Be quick,” the message says. His voice is raspier than I remember. Strained. But still so familiar. I hear it in my dreams most nights still.
“It is…me.” I do not dare use his name—or mine. “It has been so long. A lifetime, it seems. We are…happy here. But I still hope that one day I will see you again. You made me feel safe when my life was in ruins. I…miss you.”
If I say more, I will start to cry. For months, I held out hope he would return. That the kisses we shared meant as much to him as they did to me. But as the days stretched into a year, then two, and now three, I locked my feelings away so they could no longer hurt me.
“Lisette?” Fleur knocks softly on the storeroom door. “Oh, honey…what is wrong?”
Fleur took a chance on me a year ago. I had no work history. No experience. No confidence. But she saw something in me she recognized. She knows I escaped something terrible. That there was a man who saved me. A man I thought could be a part of my future.
“Every six months, I call him,” I say, staring at the darkened phone screen. “But he never answers.”
She folds me into her embrace and lets me cry in her arms. After all this time, I should be stronger.
“I built a life for myself, Fleur. For Mateen. We are happy here. I should be able to let him go.”
Patting my back gently, she sighs. “When two hearts come together, distance and time mean nothing. If it is meant to be, he will come back to you.”
* * *
Nomar
“I…miss you.”
Fuck.
I shut the phone off, tuck it into my vest pocket, and secure the flap. Her voice leaves my hands shaking. I should know better by now. Every six months, I contact Ford. Usually a call or a text. Email’s too easy to spoof. And within half an hour, I get a message from Lisette.
The first one, there were tears. The second…anger. After that, resignation. She knows I’m never coming back. Yet she asks. Every time.
If I were stronger, I’d tell Ford to stop giving her my number. But I’m not. Ineedto hear her voice. To know she’s okay. To remind me why I’m hiding behind a burned-out car in the dark, for the third straight night rather than booking the first flight I can get to France.
On my knees, I slam my fist into the hard-packed dirt. Pain sings up my arm. It’s not enough. It’sneverenough. Since I faked my own death and left Shapur, I’ve been shot, stabbed, and tortured with a car battery. I’ve gone months without a proper meal, a full eight hours of rest, or any semblance of a home. But every time I fall asleep, I dream of her.
That last kiss…sometimes, I can still taste her. I hear her voice in the wind. In birdsong. In the moments between the screams.
Fifty meters north, a man slings a Kalashnikov over his shoulder and lights a cigarette. The reddish glow flickers over his beard and his dark eyes. He’s the only one guarding the exterior, but there could be up to five armed guards inside the Karachi warehouse. Along with more than two dozen men, women, and children trafficked into forced labor.
I creep closer. The moon rises in an hour, and I’ll lose the cover of total darkness. Crouching down behind a Land Rover that’s seen better days, I check the smoker’s position.
He’s staring at his mobile. Idiot. Some of these assholes make it too easy. Flicking my wrist, I send a stone skipping along the edge of the asphalt. Smoker tenses and turns.
In two seconds, I have my arm around his neck, cutting off his air. His cigarette tumbles to the ground as he claws at my sleeve, but he could gouge half my arm away and I wouldn’t let go.
His body goes limp. Fuck. He’s heavier than I expected. I drag him back behind the Land Rover, zip tie his wrists and ankles, then press my knife to his throat. After a few seconds, he groans softly.
“Not another sound.” His eyes snap open, but to his credit, he remains silent. “How many inside?”
His gaze darts to his left, but I jerk the blade, opening up a shallow cut. “They can’t help you, asswipe. How. Many?”
“Three,” he whispers.
I can handle three. Hopefully they’re as poorly trained as this idiot. Pulling a scrap of cloth from my pocket, I smile at him. “Open wide.”
“Please,” he says through clenched teeth. “If you leave me alive, Rayan will kill me. Slowly.”
“Not my problem.” I dig my fingers into either side of his jaw. A weak cry escapes his lips, and I shove the rag into his mouth. But before I can tie a length of rope around his head, I see the fear in his eyes.
Shit.
