Her blood boiled at his condescension, and her apprehension evaporated. Taking a deep breath in through her nose, she pushed it out through tight lips.
If she had any idea how to face down the man following her on her own, she would. But since she didn’t, she had to convince the lieutenant to help.
Taking a firm step toward him, she pointed her finger toward his chest, but stopped about two feet short of touching him. She wasn’t that brave. “Listen to me. I’m in trouble, but it’s not just me. I don’t know the name of the man who’s after me, but I know that I heard him plotting to blow up something here in San Diego.”
“Do you speak Arabic?”
“Just enough to get by for two years in Lybania.”
He squinted at her, leaning toward her still-outstretched finger. “Then how do you know you didn’t misunderstand what he said?”
“He was speaking English.”
* * *
Tristan snapped his full focus on Staci at her words. “Was he American?”
“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate.
Could she be telling the truth? “How do you know?”
“How would you know an American? He spoke like an American, used words like an American.”
“Did he have an accent?”
She looked toward the ceiling, worrying her lip between her teeth before answering. “Not that I noticed. He wasn’t from the South or Boston or New Jersey. He sounded like a national newscaster, polished and smooth.”
Rats. This girl honestly thought she’d overheard something. Whether she was really being stalked or not, there was no denying she thought she was in trouble.
But he wasn’t the right one to help her. Getting involved in something like this could only spell trouble—mostly with his commanding officer, who had already warned him once about being too friendly with rescued hostages.
He scrubbed his fingers along his scalp, a vain attempt to relieve some of the pressure building there. She wasn’t supposed to be there. He was breaking all the rules already by speaking one-on-one with a rescued hostage. If his CO found out, he’d be knee-deep in a serious mess, and no matter how pretty she was, she wasn’t worth risking being grounded for the next mission or worse.
He didn’t like telling a scared woman that he couldn’t help her, but what other choice did he have? It was highly likely that the danger was all in her mind, even though she’d convinced herself that it was real. It would be wrong to give up the chance to go on missions that made a real difference just to help her fight imaginary enemies.
She flicked a strand of dark hair over her shoulder, blinking huge green eyes up at him. Her full, pink lips pressed together, wrinkling her nose slightly. It took everything inside him not to smile at her, to put her at ease and give her the assurance she craved.
But that wouldn’t do either of them any good.
“Look, Ms. Hayes, I am sorry that you went through that experience. I’m sorry about what happened to you in Lybania, but I already did as much as I can for you. Now you have to keep living your life. Do you have a pastor or priest you could talk with? Maybe he could help you work through this.”
Her shoulders fell, the last remnant of hope in her features vanishing. “All right. Thank you for your time.”
She turned, shuffling toward the office door, and a band around his heart squeezed. He’d done the right thing sending her away. So why did it feel so wrong?
Just as she reached the door, she tucked a hand into the pocket of her colorful skirt. As she spun on the spot, she held out something that she’d pulled from within. “I almost forgot. One of the guards dropped this in my cell after talking to the American man.”
He reached for the scrap of paper and unfolded it to reveal a crude sketch.
“Doesn’t it look kind of like—”
“—the harbor,” he finished for her. There could be no doubt about the docks and shoreline. He’d run along the beaches in the sketch for nearly ten years. He knew every ship and slip.
And apparently someone else did, too.
“But I don’t know what that says.” She pointed toward a line of scrawled symbols.
He squinted at the text. “It’s not Arabic, but it’s not far off, either.” He pointed to the third and fourth word on the page. “This looks like one and two, but it’s not. It’s different.”
“You read Arabic?”
He glanced up from the words written on the map. “Enough.” That was a bit of an understatement. He was actually almost fluent in it and could read nearly anything. But she didn’t need to know that. A few secrets always came in handy.
“I think it’s a dialect from the hill country. I only picked up a few words of the different dialects while I was there, but it would seem to fit.”
He nodded. “Might be right.” So why was someone writing in Lybanese on a map of his harbor? His gut clenched as he realized her story might be true after all. But why would they be after Staci? Who would think her a real threat?
“What did you overhear exactly?”
Her eyes shone for just a moment before she blinked her hope back under control. “One of the guards said something about the pieces needed to build the bomb. He said they had almost everything they needed, and when it went off, everyone would know they wouldn’t be intimidated by America’s military. And then the American said he’d place it, and it would be just like fireworks.”
That wasn’t much to go on. “What else?”
She chewed her lip again, running a finger over the side of her face for the tenth time. “I guess they were talking about this map. I think the American was pointing out landmarks and such.”
“Then what happened?”
“They were still talking when someone else came into my cell.”
His stomach jolted, his hands forming fists completely on their own. He didn’t want to know, but he had to ask. “What did he do?”
“He tried to get me to confess to breaking the law by giving away bibles. When I wouldn’t confess, he left and the other guy, the one who had been talking to the American, came in to take his turn. He was angry I wouldn’t give in, and I don’t think he noticed when he dropped the map. I scooped it up when he had his back turned. After that, everything is kind of fuzzy until you showed up.”
“You mean, this all happened the day of your rescue?”
She nodded.
“Did the Timmonses hear the American, too?”
“No.” She locked her hands in front of her, her skirt swishing like a bell as she swayed. “They had separated us after our second week.”
“Why?”
She looked away, and he felt the gut punch as sure as if one of the other guys on his team had thrown it. That was a stupid question. Pretty girls in Lybania being held by ruthless terrorists...
He’d seen enough of that country to know, and he could only pray that she’d been spared the worst, that her physical scars were deeper than her emotional and spiritual ones.
His pulse pounded in his ears, suddenly ready for a fight. But he’d already taken on the guys responsible for the pink spreading