Connor held out his hand. “May I see?”
The boy trustingly dropped whatever it was onto Connor’s palm.
It was a little car. The chassis was a small piece of bamboo. Plastic bottle caps had been nailed into it to serve as tires.
Connor nodded, met the boy’s gaze, gave him back his toy. “That’s a nice car. Did you make it?”
The boy smiled—and dashed back to his mother, who sat near the front entrance.
Connor found himself wishing he had his old box of Hot Wheels from home. There must be a hundred little cars in that box. His mother had saved them for the day when he had children of his own, but that wasn’t going to happen.
Cruz’s voice sounded in his ear. “O’Neal, this is Cruz. There’s flooding out here. We might have trouble getting back to the vehicles.”
Shit.
Connor put on his rain gear, making sure he still had quick and easy access to his concealed Glocks. Then he checked in with Segal, who said the vehicles were high and dry. “Let’s hope we’re out of here before it gets much worse.”
The helicopter was scheduled to arrive in less than an hour, which meant they needed to be back to the vehicles by then.
From inside the room, Connor heard the interpreter recounting new horrors.
“… slit her husband’s throat and shot her children…”
Twenty minutes later, the door opened, and the last witness stepped out, veiled head to toe with only her eyes showing, her gaze on the floor.
Shanti appeared a few moments later, Noor behind her, both women’s eyes filled with shadows, lines of grief on their faces. “Thank you, Noor. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“I’m glad to be able to do something to help.”
Shanti gave her a hug. “I’ll see you here tomorrow morning.”
Connor spoke into his mic. “Jones, meet us out front. We’re moving.”
“Copy that.”
A crowd had gathered under the broad awning that stretched out above the hospital’s front entrance, men, women, and children taking shelter from the downpour.
Without a word to Connor, Shanti opened her umbrella, stepped out from beneath the awning, and started down the hill. What had been a path was now an ankle-deep stream of muddy water.
“Be careful.” Connor was glad that most people had gone inside. It gave him fewer potential threats to watch. “It’s going to be slick.”
They all slipped and slid down the path, cold water filling his boots. From overhead, he heard the thrum of a helicopter’s rotors.
“Right on time.”
Shanti looked up, raindrops on her face.
No, not raindrops. She was under an umbrella. They were tears.
She was crying.
He couldn’t blame her for that.
As they neared the bottom of the hill, the torrent rose until it reached her knees.
“Take my hand.” Connor took her cold, wet fingers in his, steadying her as they made their way back to the camp’s entrance, Cruz and Jones keeping a sharp eye out.
By the time they reached the vehicles, Shanti had gotten control of her tears, her emotions now cloaked. She closed her umbrella, shook it out, and climbed inside the Land Rover, handbag over her shoulder. Her jeans and boots were soaked.
Connor sat beside her, wet to the skin despite his rain gear. “Let’s roll.”