Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 126823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Her dogs pressed close to her in an effort to comfort her. Harlow touched her shoulder gently. “Honey, today would have been difficult for anyone. It was pure torture with Bale and his crew coming, and you handled it like a pro. On top of that with the murderer doing some sort of ritual sacrifice that involved items from the Middle East, naturally you would be upset. I’m upset and very leery. I certainly don’t want you to come alone out in the forest the way you always do.”
Shabina shook her head, which sent a piercing jab of pain straight through her temples. “I think about all the times I sat in my café and visited with students and tourists from various countries, happy to see them. I was happy to be able to serve them food I knew brought a little bit of home to them. I loved to hear them talk about their homes and their families. Just the conversations would make me feel closer to Mama Ahmad. I’d be sitting there in the café, surrounded by the fresh-ground coffee and the cookies I’d make from her recipes, and it would make not only them happy but me too.”
“That’s beautiful, Shabina.”
“But it isn’t that way now.” Her right hand crept up to circle two inches above her left wrist. Her thigh throbbed and burned. “Now just seeing those men, hearing their voices, I find myself terrified. I really am, Harlow.”
“Then I admire you all the more. You didn’t act it in the least. In fact, you were composed the entire tour. Your voice was calm and controlled when you delivered the information on the various birds and their habits. I know you, and I wouldn’t have guessed that you were triggered by the presence of the men at all.”
Shabina despised the word triggered. Her therapist used it often when she referred to post-traumatic stress disorder. She was well aware she suffered from PTSD and that she was experiencing an ever-increasing episode, no matter how hard she tried to stop it.
She had the now-familiar physical symptoms: shaking, pain throughout her body, nausea, even sweating. She couldn’t sleep, and when she did, she had vivid nightmares. She had heightened sensitivity and awareness of her surroundings. Paranoia. All were definite signs of PTSD. She was having flashbacks, intense flashbacks, as if the trauma were happening to her right at that moment. Those were brief, but so severe the experiences seemed real all over again. She couldn’t eat anything. When she tried, it came right back up. She’d been lucky that her friends hadn’t noticed that while she cooked for them, she hadn’t done more than push food around on her plate.
She had wanted to isolate herself but was grateful that her friends had sought her out, although she’d worried that she might have a nightmare and wake them. Not that she screamed. She had learned not to give Scorpion and his men the satisfaction. There were times she couldn’t stop tears, but most of the time they were silent. The more she could do to defy Scorpion’s expectations, the stronger she felt.
Scorpion despised resistance. He didn’t want anyone standing up to him, especially a female. That meant he wanted to enjoy her suffering. If she didn’t scream and cry, how could he possibly get the satisfaction he needed?
“Harlow, I really think the FBI and Rafferty suspect I had something to do with the murder. I think they already had someone identify the flowers and feathers.”
Harlow didn’t just dismiss her concerns. “Raine is worried. If she’s worried, there’s good reason, although you have an airtight alibi. You couldn’t have committed the actual murder. You would have to have had an accomplice.”
“If Bale is the one behind this, one of the students from the university would provide the perfect fall guy, wouldn’t they?” Shabina speculated.
“Or Zahra.”
“She could prove she was at work. And everyone knows she doesn’t hike unless we drag her around with us,” Shabina protested. “If Bale is really orchestrating this, he wouldn’t consider implicating Zahra. It would never work. He’d think an outsider from another country would be perfect.”
Again, Harlow took her time thinking it over. “I would hate that Bale could be that sick, but I know it happens. Sometimes people are twisted, Shabina.”
She sounded as tired as Shabina felt. Worn out. Shabina studied her features. Harlow was a beautiful woman. She rarely dated. The friends she had were the same ones Shabina had. Harlow stayed in that tight circle. She was always friendly. Always gracious. She was an amazing photographer, and her name was growing in the art world. Even the few pieces of pottery, which she didn’t care to show others, sold for a mint when she did allow a gallery to display them. She was creative, yet she had a reputation for being one of the best surgical nurses on staff.