buried her in Arlington so that she and Dad could be together again one day.” She hadn’t meant to get emotional about it, but tears rushed unbidden to her eyes and spilled over. Embarrassed, she dabbed her wet cheeks with her napkin.
“I’m sorry,” Ike murmured, looking uncomfortable. He put his fork down, pushed his plate away, and brooded.
Here it comes, she thought, sensing the words building in him. He was going to tell her something of himself now.
“I was wondering…”
“Yes?” She realized she was holding her breath in anticipation of his disclosure. She was that keen to get to know him better.
“Did Stanley ever teach you how to shoot?”
The question was so unexpected that her mind went blank for a moment. All she could do was stare at him, disappointed. “No,” she finally managed, expelling her held breath. “He-he tried teaching me Hapkido when I was a teenager, but I figured I had him to keep me safe. Why do you ask?” She was curious despite herself.
“I want to teach you to shoot.”
“I thought I had you for that,” she said stiffly.
“You do.” He blinked as though just realizing that she was annoyed with him. “We ’ll can talk about it later,” he suggested.
“No. That’s fine. Obviously this is something you’ve been thinking about.”
His expression was a mix of wariness and determination. “Look, eventually you’ll have to go back to your own life,” he said, distancing himself with his words rather than drawing nearer. “You should learn to defend yourself. What would it hurt?”
She had to concede that learning to shoot couldn’t hurt anything. The thought of returning to D.C. as vulnerable as when she’d left it terrified her. “Fine,” she agreed. “You can teach me how to shoot.” She envisioned what that would look like—lots of one-on-one time with Ike. Maybe it just took time to get to know him. “When do we start?” she asked, her optimism returning.
“Tomorrow.” He excused himself from the table.
Eryn watched him wash his plate in the sink. “Did you like your dinner?” She knew he had, she just wanted to hear it.
He glanced up, obviously surprised. “Dinner was excellent,” he assured her, making her glow inwardly. Drying his hands, he felt over the top of the kitchen cabinet and came away with a gun. “This is a Glock,” he said, carrying it toward her and extending it out for her to take. It fit snugly in the palm of his hand.
Eryn refused to take it from him. She’d never talked weapons over dinner before. Her gaze flickered to the rifle he kept hidden under the sofa. “How many more weapons do you have tucked away?” she asked him tartly.
“Plenty,” he admitted, avoiding her searching look.
His answer underscored how very different their worlds were. She had grown up with a silver spoon in her mouth. He’d grown up as his older brother’s punching bag. Their differences put a gulf between them where Eryn craved some commonality. Did she and Ike have anything in common, aside from their mutual affection for her father?
“I’ll clean up supper,” she offered, slipping from the table and turning her back on him.
Or did she just crave a friend right now to stave off her loneliness and fear?
**
Returning to his parents’ home, Shahbaz Wahidi logged into the fictitious online email account, eager for the Teacher’s feedback about Imam Nasser’s sermon.
Just as he expected, the Teacher had scripted a lengthy and caustic retort about the imam’s weak interpretation of the Qu’ran . Following his rant, the Teacher gave Shahbaz his first assignment: to approach Mustafa Masoud in person and ask him if he could please discover where the Commander’s daughter had disappeared to.
Shahbaz’s heart trotted with excitement. As it turned out, he knew
“I’m sorry,” Ike murmured, looking uncomfortable. He put his fork down, pushed his plate away, and brooded.
Here it comes, she thought, sensing the words building in him. He was going to tell her something of himself now.
“I was wondering…”
“Yes?” She realized she was holding her breath in anticipation of his disclosure. She was that keen to get to know him better.
“Did Stanley ever teach you how to shoot?”
The question was so unexpected that her mind went blank for a moment. All she could do was stare at him, disappointed. “No,” she finally managed, expelling her held breath. “He-he tried teaching me Hapkido when I was a teenager, but I figured I had him to keep me safe. Why do you ask?” She was curious despite herself.
“I want to teach you to shoot.”
“I thought I had you for that,” she said stiffly.
“You do.” He blinked as though just realizing that she was annoyed with him. “We ’ll can talk about it later,” he suggested.
“No. That’s fine. Obviously this is something you’ve been thinking about.”
His expression was a mix of wariness and determination. “Look, eventually you’ll have to go back to your own life,” he said, distancing himself with his words rather than drawing nearer. “You should learn to defend yourself. What would it hurt?”
She had to concede that learning to shoot couldn’t hurt anything. The thought of returning to D.C. as vulnerable as when she’d left it terrified her. “Fine,” she agreed. “You can teach me how to shoot.” She envisioned what that would look like—lots of one-on-one time with Ike. Maybe it just took time to get to know him. “When do we start?” she asked, her optimism returning.
“Tomorrow.” He excused himself from the table.
Eryn watched him wash his plate in the sink. “Did you like your dinner?” She knew he had, she just wanted to hear it.
He glanced up, obviously surprised. “Dinner was excellent,” he assured her, making her glow inwardly. Drying his hands, he felt over the top of the kitchen cabinet and came away with a gun. “This is a Glock,” he said, carrying it toward her and extending it out for her to take. It fit snugly in the palm of his hand.
Eryn refused to take it from him. She’d never talked weapons over dinner before. Her gaze flickered to the rifle he kept hidden under the sofa. “How many more weapons do you have tucked away?” she asked him tartly.
“Plenty,” he admitted, avoiding her searching look.
His answer underscored how very different their worlds were. She had grown up with a silver spoon in her mouth. He’d grown up as his older brother’s punching bag. Their differences put a gulf between them where Eryn craved some commonality. Did she and Ike have anything in common, aside from their mutual affection for her father?
“I’ll clean up supper,” she offered, slipping from the table and turning her back on him.
Or did she just crave a friend right now to stave off her loneliness and fear?
**
Returning to his parents’ home, Shahbaz Wahidi logged into the fictitious online email account, eager for the Teacher’s feedback about Imam Nasser’s sermon.
Just as he expected, the Teacher had scripted a lengthy and caustic retort about the imam’s weak interpretation of the Qu’ran . Following his rant, the Teacher gave Shahbaz his first assignment: to approach Mustafa Masoud in person and ask him if he could please discover where the Commander’s daughter had disappeared to.
Shahbaz’s heart trotted with excitement. As it turned out, he knew
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