"Where are we going?" She doubled her pace to match his long-legged strides without tripping.
"To headquarters for you to speak with our military counterintelligence personnel about your request."
Military security? Her blood chilled with every step deeper into the building toward the inner offices. She stopped. "Please wait." She panted, from racing feet and heart. "I do not want to speak with them. I want to talk to you."
"Too bad. That's not how things work here."
"But I chose you. I trust you. I have no reason to trust them." Her attempt to leave the country after her parents' deaths in the flu epidemic had been foiled by a mole in the American embassy to Rubistan, another spy loyal to Ammar.
"Well, your choosing ended once you placed that note in my hand. We have procedures." He stared down at her, disbelief slipping past the hard mask. "Did you expect me to tuck you in a suitcase for a trip over the border?''
She sniffed back indignation. He didn't need to make her sound foolish. But now was not the time to roll out her diploma. "Actually, yes, I expected something very much like that. It has been done before, so there is no need to mock me."
"Well, put away your Samsonite luggage, lady, because it's not going to be done today."
How dare he treat her like a truculent child? If grief aged a person, then she had many years on anyone here.
"Wait," she demanded, desperation shaving the edge off her original intent to appear ditzy and humble.
"What now?" His words rode an exasperated sigh.
Apparently this man did not respect youth, so she pulled herself taller to make use of every bit of her five feet, two inches of height while attempting to add years and command to her voice. "We need to speak first before you dump me into the hands of your security persons."
His brows slammed down. "Listen up, I've had just about enough of this Queen of Sheba shit. I don't take orders from you. You made an irrevocable step back there when you put that note in my hand. Do you want to go with dignity? Or do I call security forces to 'escort' you? Your choice."
Time to switch tactics again. Temper never worked with men, anyway. She lowered her gaze, peered up through her lashes. "I'll do anything."
His eyes narrowed, exasperation hardening to a cold mask, no sign of warmth in those ice-blue eyes. Oh, my. She was out of her depth, but that didn't mean she would stop swimming.
She slowed her words to give her brain time to restart, and clarified, "I will cook for you."
He winced.
Her stew.
Wrong suggestion and time was short. Desperation grew. "I'll clean for you, watch your children."
"Considering you and my daughter are about the same damned age, that's not much of an offer."
Same age as his daughter? She studied him again, took in his sandy brown hair, the handsome angles of his face perfect enough for some Hollywood poster except for sun-strengthened lines that made him all the more attractive in her eyes. "That is not possible."
He snorted. "Trumped-up flattery may have worked on one of those privates back in the mess hall, but you picked wrong in coming on to me if you expect that kind of eye-batting crap to win me over. I respect one thing. Honesty. Now let's go."
Honesty? Uh-oh. But since he would not find out her real name, no need to worry.
The grip of his hand on her elbow certainly didn't indicate any failing age. Besides, in her culture, women often married men far older. Age equated with wisdom, wealth, power. Safety.
Marriage?
That was the last thing on her mind. Never again did she want to be under anyone's control. Without question, marriage signified a loss of rights in any culture.
And she only had seconds left to persuade him to keep embassy officials uninvolved. "Do you not realize what will happen to me if it gets out that I attempted to defect? Word will leak, make no mistake, if you carry this to others. It always does. There are no secrets from the warlords here. There must be something I can do to earn your assistance. I have money."
Money spoke all languages. Every one of those hungry Rubistans shouting at the gate was a threat to her security here. Any of them would sell her out for a jug of water and a few slices of bread.
"Sheba—'' a rusty laugh scratched free and tickled her senses "—if you saw my paycheck, you'd know I'm not in this line of work for the money. None of us are."
Full fear bloomed. She'd been so certain of her plan. Her mind scrambled for a recovery, options, prepared answers to shield her connection to Ammar at all costs. "Please. If we keep this between the two of us, then if I am returned to my hell, at least I will be allowed to live."