“Rashid, is my father alive?” Zohra asked him again. He was obviously holding onto something if not deliberately doing it.
She stared at him and well, scientifically, he was hiding something. Contempt lines formed around his lips. Cal Lightman, right? Spots liars, so did she.
“What is it you’re not saying, Rashid? I can see it in your eyes.”
Rashid was silent for a moment, time which he was weighing options on how to broach the subject, considering possible courses of actions and immediate ramifications. He had not gotten involved on his volition. He had been coerced and if he loved his precious life he had to play by the rules.
Well, if he had to remain what she knew, he had to convince her he was not what he appeared to be. If he cared about her as much, if he did not want to appear to have betrayed her father, if, if, if… so many ifs.
“Ahem,” Rashid cleared his throat. There was no better way to do it. The deadline was fast approaching like a timed bomb waiting to detonate. All what he had to do was spell it out, what they needed to do for the release of her father, how much they had to pay, the drop off point and that she was the one who was supposed to drop it, her and her alone. No police and definitely no one else.
“What? Rashid…” she rose from the bed tearing the dressing of her bullet wound. The blood seeped out the dressing, and imbued the white of the bandage a dark crimson.
“There was no way out of it. They said that it had to be me, and you, failure to which we will both die, after your father of course.”
“You bastard. How could you…” Zohra’s head was spinning.
There was so much on her mind. The ransom wasn’t the question, but Rashid’s part in the whole business. How deep was he involved?
For how long had he been involved in the whole plot? What was his share in it?
“Zohra, I need you to understand. I had no choice…”
“The hell you had no choice. What about my kidnapping? You had no choice, too?”
The question hung in the air, the accusation ringing out loud.