Delgano: The Intro - Page 103

CHAPTER

TWENTY-NINE

Sayeda sat up in the hospital bed, still groggy despite it being days since she arrived. Her mother had stationed a guard outside her door and then left with no indication of if or when the witch would return. Because it was just her, Mora didn’t appoint someone like Novi or Paoli to keep watch. So, she’d done the only thing she knew to do—a couple of days ago, she used the room phone and dialed one of her two lifeline numbers.

When she first woke up, there’d only been slight soreness in her chest. She’d peered underneath the hospital gown, and there had been no gauze, wounds, or blood where she remembered being shot. She’d felt a sting, so the bullets could have been rubber, but her mother had delivered the news before leaving.

Hannah was dead.

Adrían was gone.

That meant nothing was left for her in Morocco.

The door opened, and a man entered. He was tall with dark, curly hair, olive-brown skin, and he wore what appeared to be a security uniform. When he spotted her, he stopped abruptly. Then, he shook his head as if clearing out cobwebs.

“I brought the atlas you ordered,” he said.

Her ears perked up. “What?”

“You ordered an atlas.” He retrieved something from a bag she hadn’t noticed slung over his shoulder. “Put these on.”

They were green scrubs, rubber clogs, a mask, and a surgical cap large enough for her to tuck her twists under.

More than ready to escape her mother’s clutches, she slid off the bed and shrugged out of the hospital gown. The man’s eyes widened, and then he faced the opposite direction, but she didn’t care. Then, when she was done, she let him know she was ready.

He turned. “That’s better.”

“What’s better?” she asked.

“You look like someone I know. I was ready to wipe out this hospital.”

“And Atlas sent you?”

“Yes. Follow me.”

They headed for the door.

He popped the top on a canister and rolled it out into the hallway. Soon, a series of coughs followed, and visibility diminished. Staff shuffled past the door, and he shut it slightly, waiting until the hallway was clear.

“Come on, Eesh.” He held out a hand. “Let’s go.”

“Who?”

“Never…never mind.”

She followed so close behind him, she nearly stepped on the back of his shoes several times. The man could have been leading her to her death, and she would still blindly follow him to get away from Mora.

They didn’t stop moving until fresh air snaked its way into her lungs. The people around them spoke Arabic, the signs were in Arabic, and the buildings sported Moorish architecture. One of the buildings adjacent to the hospital had “International Hospital of Marrakesh” in Arabic and French.

The curly-haired man reached for her hand again, and they wove through dozens of bodies entering and exiting the hospital until they came to a cab. The man told her to slide in and handed her a device.

She grabbed his wrist. “You’re not coming?”

He looked into her eyes, searching them, bouncing from one iris to the next. “You’re okay from here. I have to stay and brush away the breadcrumbs.”

“But—”

“Trust me. You’ll be okay.”