Page 108 of Fatal Mistake
Her negative response would only serve to anger him, so she didn’t say anything.
He frowned and waved his handgun. “Come inside. Now!”
She brushed past him, making sure she focused ahead to avoid looking into the evil lurking in his eyes. She surveyed the cavernous space filled with large cardboard cartons and wooden crates in neat stacks. The musky scent of incense lingered in the air, and the lights were low. She looked for an incense burner but soon realized the smell came from within the crates. She saw no indication of bomb-making materials, but she suspected Oren was more careful with his supplies since the pump house incident.
She turned to look at him. His gaze flicked over her like a serpent’s tongue, leaving her feeling dirty and unsettled. His dirt-brown eyes were rimmed in red, his chin jutted out, and a challenge was building in his body language.
Needing to stall and at the same time figure out how to get away from him once he’d deactivated June’s bomb, she forced a calm into her voice that she didn’t feel. “What is this place?”
He arched a brow, his narrow face appearing longer. “A warehouse.”
Duh! She bent down to read an address label. “What does Unique India Arts do?”
“It’s an online business specializing in quality Indian imports.”
She remembered Cal saying that Nabijah Meer might have been Indian. “This is your connection to Nabijah.”
“Wait.” He shot across the room so fast he blurred in her eyes. “Say that again.”
“Nabijah Meer. Your accomplice. This is where you met her.”
“You are not fit to say Nabijah’s name.” He hauled back a hand and swung it toward Tara’s face, but she stepped back before he could connect.
His rage sent panic rushing through her veins, but she took a breath and let it out. “She’s special to you.”
“Special?” He seemed confused. “Oh, I get it. You think she’s my girlfriend, and you’re jealous.”
“Right,” Tara said to keep him talking.
He scratched his head, shifting the cap and messing up pageboy bangs that he must have hoped would cover his receding hairline. “Nabijah and I are only friends with the same goal.”
Now they were getting somewhere. “Which is?”
“To kill women who have turned their backs on the Islamic faith and let American infidels have their way with them. The way you did when you turned your back on me.” His words flew out like a curse, letting her see the depth of his anger, not only at her, but at these women, too.
“So that’s what your bombs are all about?” she asked, pretending calm when fear inched along her nerves. “Women who renounced their faith to have a relationship with American men?”
“Not a relationship. Letting these so-called Christians defile their purity.” He shuddered. “Nonmarital sex is punishable by execution, so they have to die, don’t you see?”
“I can see where in your very deluded mind that this makes sense, but how do you justify killing my friends? They weren’t Muslim. They’d done nothing wrong.”
He waved his gun in the air, and his eyes lost focus. “No, but they still fornicated.”
“Please. Bombing them was all about getting back at me.”
He gasped and advanced on her, his eyes narrowing into cold shards of ice.
She’d pushed him too far. She backed away, putting a large crate between them.
He raised his gun, pointed it at her forehead. “We’ll see who gets back at who.”
His focus fixed on her, he eased around the box like a large cat hunting its prey.
Panic cut deep into her being, sending her head spinning, but she took a breath. Then another. She refused to give in to the terror that he obviously wanted. He placed the gun against her forehead and smiled. His minty fresh breath wafted over her. Odd. She’d thought the odor would be as foul as his attitude.
“Turn around,” he commanded.
She complied, and the gun came up against the back of her head.
