Obi followed them up the stairs and inside, his mouth falling open at the sight of the high ceiling, marble floors, and the uniformed staff.
The staff stared back, probably shocked by Obi’s ragged, filthy clothing and Kristi’s dirty scrubs. Or maybe a fighter in camo and face paint with a rifle in his hands made them nervous. Kristi couldn’t blame them either way.
Malik led them to the elevator, punched the call button. “We’ve got a couple of suites upstairs—one for us and one for David’s bodyguards.”
It sounded like heaven to Kristi. “As long as there’s modern plumbing and a bed.”
How strange it was to stand beside Malik again after all this time. It had been more than a year since she’d seen him or spoken with him.
And still he came for you.
The elevator doors opened, making Obi smile.
Kristi stepped inside, Malik close beside her. “Have you ever ridden in an elevator, Obi?”
“No, miss.” He followed, his grin widening when the doors closed and the car began to move.
The motion exacerbated Kristi’s dizziness. She threw out a hand to steady herself, but a strong arm went around her shoulder.
“I’ve got you.”
The elevator doors opened, and Malik led them to a door down the hall and to their left. He unlocked it and stepped aside to let Kristi and Obi enter first, then followed them inside.
Malik shut the door behind him and began to peel off his tactical gear—eye protection, chest rig, body armor. “My room is through there. There’s a bathroom with a shower and lots of clean towels. I think there are some toiletries, but feel free to use my stuff. I’ll get Obi settled.”
“Thanks.” Kristi walked into his room, closed the door, and made her way to the attached bathroom.
At the sight of the shower, she couldn’t get out of her filthy clothes fast enough. She stripped, turned on the water, and stepped under the hot spray.
Oh, it felt good!
She shampooed and conditioned her hair, a big, tender goose egg on her scalp where she’d hit her head. Then she scrubbed her skin until it glowed, the water at her feet running muddy brown as she rinsed off. It was only when she wrapped herself in a fluffy white towel, stepped out of the shower, and saw her bruised face in the mirror that the weight of the past four days hit her, images running through her mind.
Peter dragging her past slain security guards to the SUV. An enraged Jidda telling her to accept her fate as his concubine. Peter shooting Jidda, striking her, dragging her toward the hut. Peter pointing a pistol at her head, then falling dead to the ground.
Four endless, awful, terrifying days.
And Kristi broke, sobbing, all of the tears she’d held back finally spilling down her cheeks.
* * *
Malik sat on the sofa,elbows on his knees, chin resting on his hands, only half listening as officers from the NPF questioned Obi about his time with the bandits, David actingin loco parentisfor the kid. The doctor had arrived with a nurse a half hour ago to check Kristi. Malik had wanted to stay with her, to support her. He’d heard her crying in the shower earlier, her sobs making his heart constrict, making him want to hold her. But they hadn’t seen each other for eighteen months. So, he’d held back, uncertain where they stood. He didn’t want to crowd her or invade her emotional space.
Instead, he’d washed the paint off his face in David’s bathroom and had gone with Bruno to a nearby mall, where he’d bought clothes and toiletries for both Kristi and the boy, who owned nothing but the rags on his back. The kid had already taken his first shower and changed.
He’d emerged smiling ear to ear. “I make baff up.”
David had translated the Naija. “He says he’s all dressed up.”
“You look good, man.”
Malik was glad the boy hadn’t gotten caught in the crossfire.
Malik’s phone buzzed.
Shields.
“Jones here.”