Free Secret Soldier by Dana Marton

involved was he in his youngest brother’s activities? How westernized had he become while attending university in the U.S.? Could he be, given sufficient incentive, turned against his brother?
    Spike sat and crossed his legs, his right calf on his left knee. He rested his left hand on his ankle, his sandal and the dozen or so bugs in the secret compartment within easy reach. He retrieved one and pressed it on the underside of the table while reaching for his glass with his other hand.
     
    ABIGAIL CLOSED THE door behind her. Gerald wasn’t back yet. Good. He’d been invited to join the men after dinner to enjoy the water pipe. She hoped he’d stay a while. She needed a little distance from the man.
    Spike? She grinned and shook her head at the nickname. There had to be a story behind that. The man was full of surprises.
    The kiss for one. What on earth was that about? And she couldn’t really blame him. It wasn’t as if she’d been screaming no. On the contrary, she’d nearly melted on the spot. So they had chemistry. Now what? Ignoring it seemed like the best thing to do. He would make his
    documentary and be gone, hopefully soon. Then she could return to her ordinary life—after the few years it would take to forget him.
    Once she had the foundation’s money and made a few improvements in the village, if all went well the mullah would be impressed enough to let her stay, even without a husband in residence. A man traveling for work and leaving his wife behind for extended periods of time wasn’t all that unusual.
    She walked to the bed to drop her armload of clothes on the sumptuous coverlet, touched’ by the women’s extreme generosity. They had neither seen nor heard of her before today, and yet they treated her as a longtime friend. She’d been taken by Jamal’s wife and sisters-inlaw back to his sisters’ rooms. The two girls—one seventeen, the other nineteen—had not been present at dinner, not allowed in the presence of a strange man, as they were unmarried.
    She sat next to the pile and looked at the white phone on the carved bedside table. She’d been invited to make as many calls as she liked. She picked up the receiver and dialed her parents’ number. Since she’d last talked to her mother—fought with her, more specifically—she’d been nearly killed twice. Once by the bandits and once by the fire. She would never actually tell Mom that, or she would never hear the end of the nagging, but she felt the need to touch base. To make things better between them than the last time they left it.
    The phone rang five times before the answering machine picked up. “It’s me,” she said. “Just thought I’d check in. Everything is okay here. Miss you.” She took a deep breath. “I love you both.”
    The door behind her opened and closed. She set down the receiver and turned around.
    “Anything exciting?” Gerald asked with one of those disarming smiles that always stole her breath.
    “Not here.”
    He threw her a questioning look, amusement glinting in the comer of his eyes. “About—before we went to dinner—”
    “Would you like to use the phone?” She shot up from the bed and gathered the clothes in her arms. She should hang them up before they got wrinkled. “We could buy a new battery for your cell phone while we’re out shopping together. Or you could ask Jamal if he has a charger that would work. You probably have people to check in with.”
    He shook his head. “No family. No significant other.”
    Great. She had meant to imply someone like his boss at the foundation, and not come off sounding as if she were fishing to find out whether he had a girlfriend at home. But now that he had volunteered the information… His quick “no significant other” was awfully hard to believe. She had no doubt whatsoever that women threw themselves at him wherever he went.
    He kicked off his sandals and stretched. “Ready for bed?”
    She dropped the clothes back on the coverlet. Not on