Free Dead Reckoning by Ronie Kendig

face, the questions screaming through her mind begged to be released. Who was he? Why was he helping her? Why had he intervened earlier? Could she trust him? Without those answers, she didn’t have control. And it would eat at her until morning. He bent and lifted his helmet then strutted down the beach away from Shiloh.
    Noon. At the latest.
    If she can wait that long to call, I’ll give her my bike.

6
    A BOMB? SHILOH STARED AT THE PHONE SITTING ON THE CHARPOY. HAD he rigged the thing to blow when she used it? No, if that man wanted to kill her, he’d make sure they were face-to-face. Still, better safe than sorry. She slowly slid off the back cover and removed the battery. Everything looked normal. As normal, she supposed, as the circuitry of a cell phone could look.
    What did she know about defusing a bomb? Had there really been one, she probably would’ve been splattered on the walls by now. Brownbeard had helped her with the …
    Shiloh gripped her stomach. You have a terrorist organization after you , he had said. What on earth did terrorists want with her? With the archeological dig? The cylinder flashed into her mind. She frowned. What was that thing? Is that what they were after?
    Battery replaced, she dialed the number of the American consulate. She’d memorized it before she ever stepped on the jetliner. The lights on the pad blinked and then flicked off .
    She frowned. The thing had completely powered down. Shiloh turned it on, pressed the buttons, and waited as the keypad once again glowed blue. With a huff , she punched in the numbers again. It died again.
    Mashing the keys, she powered it back on. This time she scrolled to the programmed numbers and groaned. Only one number was in the registry. The name simply read: Me.
    Shiloh tossed the phone onto the charpoy and slumped against the thin mattress. With the toe of one shoe, she pried off the other and rubbed her feet on the dusty, frayed rug. A lone light hung from the middle of the ceiling, casting odd shadows along the walls. She grabbed her pack by the bottom, upended it, and stared at the contents splayed across the thin blanket.
    Jeans, T-shirts, tanks, boots … Heat fanned her cheeks. Underwear. Bras.
    Indignation welled within her. How dare he? The thought of anyone going through her unmentionables nauseated her, but to think of that oversized … She lifted the sock stuffed with money. It had paid for the room.
    A lakh of rupees —two thousand American dollars. Did he realize how far she could get on that?
    She sighed. Yes, he knew exactly how far—a hotel room, food, supplies, and a visit to the hospital. She couldn’t— wouldn’t—leave while Khalid lay injured. Did the big guy realize that? Somehow he knew she had a special connection to Khalid.
    Who was the brute? What did he want?
    To talk.
    “Not in this lifetime.” A quick glance at the clock sent her scurrying. If she wanted to see Khalid, she needed to get moving. She shoved her clothes and belongings into the backpack and carted it to the small bathroom. With fewer guards and staff on duty, darkness also would aid her in sneaking into the hospital unnoticed.
    She turned on the shower, and a tiny stream of warm water trickled out. Her muscles ached for a hot, pelting spray, one that kneaded the kinks and knots from her shoulders and neck.At least she could wash her hair and slip into clean clothes. After she snuck in to see Khalid, she might manage to come back here for a couple hours of sleep.
    Her mind drifted back to the man with the brown beard. She guessed since he shaved, she’d have to find a new name for him. Brutus. If she encountered him again, it would be one lifetime too soon.
    Yet she could feel herself crumbling, piece-by-piece. Life had spun out of control. Fear tracked her through the desert of isolation like a starving lion. Her shoulders sagged. She felt vulnerable, and she didn’t like it. Shivering, she clenched her fists.
    Enough. Get dressed. Find