The women looked at each other as he jumped out of the driver’s seat and ran to open the doors for them. On shaky limbs, Laila followed the other women inside the house, carrying the car seat with her sleeping baby.
“You’ll find everything you need here,” the man said as they congregated in the main living area. “Keep the shades drawn and do not open the door. I’m the only one with a key. If anyone who is part of Mischa’s organization stops by, they’ll knock on the door leading from the basement, not the front door. There’s plenty of food, water, and other amenities, such as diapers.” He looked directly at Laila. “Do not contact anyone. We’re going to try to get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible, but until we do, it’s imperative you all remain here to ensure your safety.” He paused. “Goodbye, ladies.” He spun on his heels and opened the door leading to the basement.
The remainder of the night passed at a sluggish pace. The women congregated in the living room, all of them trading the semi-privacy of a shared bedroom for the security of being together. It reminded Laila of the days they spent in the shelter. She missed having that bond with another human, but she didn’t miss the uncertainty. In an instant, she had been transported back to that time in her life, every sound making her jump, never knowing if the door was about to open, someone who wanted to do her harm standing on the other side.
An entire day had come and gone. The man in the suit visited a few times to check on them, still refusing to answer any further questions. They were all anxious for answers, to know how long they would have to stay here. Just as they came up with a plan to find out, a knock on the basement door tore through the living room. It was in the same pattern the man in the suit had used back at the church.
They shot their heads toward the door in unison. Laila could feel her heart thumping in her chest.
“What do we do?” one of the women asked.
“Answer it,” Laila responded.
“But what if—”
“We’ve been waiting for answers. Whoever’s on the other side of that door may have them.” She jumped up, her little boy in her arms, and strode toward the door. She knew the fear each of these women dealt with right now. She had lived with that same fear for the past several years. But she had put her life on the line and escaped Afghanistan so she didn’t have to live suspended between two worlds. She refused to go back to that way of life.
Glancing over her shoulder, she gave the women an encouraging smile, then faced forward, placing her hand on the doorknob. She took a deep breath and turned it.
A tall, slender brunette stepped into the room. Her brown eyes were full of compassion, sorrow, and even a hint of relief.
“Who are you?” Laila asked.
“My name is Olivia Burnham. Mischa Tate was a very good friend of mine.” A few quiet voices translated in Pashto to those who didn’t understand English very well.
“What happened?”
The woman took a deep breath, briefly closing her eyes before looking around the room at all the women. “As you may have already heard, she was murdered. I apologize for all the uncertainty and lack of communication, but it was imperative to get all of you to a safe house in case her death was related to her work with you.” She paused. “Based on the autopsy results, I fear it is.”
“How did she die?” one of the other women asked.
“The official cause of death was blunt force trauma to the head causing severe cerebral hemorrhaging. The method is what got my attention.”
“Which was?” Laila asked, her skin crawling with nerves. She pulled her son closer to her.
“The police believe she was stoned to death.”
Several of the women gasped. Laila shared in their horror, her stomach queasy just thinking of what Mischa had endured. She glanced at Fatima, one of the other women Landon had helped save. She was the reason he started the shelter in the first place. She had been a victim of stoning, but she had survived, albeit barely.
“After discussing with one of the only other people who is aware of, well, all of you, he agreed it was most likely related, that Mischa was probably…” Olivia trailed off, closing her eyes before regaining her composure. “She was probably tortured by someone desperate to find one or all of you, then murdered. We didn’t know whether any of your identities or locations had been compromised, so we erred on the side of caution and brought everyone to a temporary safe house. We’re in the process of securing a safer option for each of you. It’s best that no one return home until we can ensure there’s no longer a threat to your safety.”
“How long is that going to take?” Laila asked.
Olivia opened her mouth to answer, but something stopped her. She stepped farther into the room, heading toward Laila.
“You must be Selena,” she said in a soft voice. “Mischa told me all about your little boy.”
Laila opened her mouth to correct her, then closed it. For the past thirty-six hours, she had been living in a vacuum, all but forgetting about her new life here in the States, including her new name.
“He’s my life,” she said, holding her baby a little tighter against her. “I don’t want his life to be tainted with the darkness that has followed me. He needs to know that good really can overcome evil.”
Olivia tilted her head and gazed at the dark-skinned little boy. “What’s his name?”
Laila peered at her son, then met Olivia’s dark eyes. “Landon,” she answered. She believed it fitting to name him after the man who saved her life. “He was born here in the States, so he’s an American. I wanted him to have an American name. I probably wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for—”
“That’s a beautiful name,” Olivia interrupted, giving her an encouraging squeeze on her arm. “And I promise, I’m going to do everything I can to keep you, Landon, and the rest of the women here safe from harm.”
“I can’t go back,” Laila pleaded. “Little Landon… His father…” Her body began to tremble as she was forced to face memories she would rather leave buried.
She gazed down at the boy with all the affection a mother could bestow on her child. A family should be built on love and devotion, not honor. Family should not toss a loved one out for not wanting to marry a man fifty years her senior, for not wanting to be subjected to daily abuse, for wanting to be a normal teenage girl.
“He won’t find you,” Olivia assured her. “I promise. Mischa swore to always keep you safe. And I promised Mischa I would carry out her wishes if anything ever happened to her. She was a wonderful woman with a beautiful heart. Looking around this room, I see her legacy, her life’s work. I will not let her sacrifice, or her brother’s, be in vain.”
Chapter Thirty-One
December 20
10:00 AM