“Please, we should go. You’ll be late for your aerobics class.” She steered her toward the gate. “Besides, we’ve been poking around for too long. People get nervous, you know. Someone might call the police.”

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 17

Huda pulled the seat belt over her shoulder, and hoped Ally couldn’t hear her heart thumping in her chest.

“When that old man looked at the nurse’s photo, it seemed like he recognized her.” Ally slid into the passenger’s seat. “Didn’t you think so?”

“Not really . . .” Huda jammed her keys into the ignition and pulled out onto the road. She tuned the radio to Youth FM. The crooning of Spandau Ballet filled the cabin.

“I always liked this band,” said Huda, as fish and flatbread did anxious somersaults in her stomach. “The singer has such a beautiful voice. Not as good as Bryan Adams, of course, but still very nice.”

A car turned onto the road behind them. Huda glanced in the rearview mirror. Were Abu Issa and the Bolt Cutter checking up on her? She’d seen them before, tailing her.

“Is it possible there’s another Eighty-Second Street?” asked Ally.

Huda shook her head. The old gardener hadn’t said much about this nurse called Yusra, just a couple of words, but it had been enough to make Huda bite the inside of her cheek.

“Her family used to live here, long ago,” the old man had muttered. “But their house was bulldozed. . . .”

He’d lapsed into wheezy silence, but Huda knew the words left unsaid—traitors had their houses bulldozed. That’s why, when Ally knocked, people closed their doors and slammed their gates. What was she doing with a traitor’s photo in her handbag? Did she have any idea how dangerous that was?

“I felt like the old man recognized Yusra.” Ally twisted toward her. “Maybe we can come back another day and try again.”

“I put your lemon tree in the trunk of my car.” She tried to change the topic. “That old man sure knew how to drive a hard bargain.”

“Oh, thank you.” Ally fumbled for her handbag. “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing. It is a gift.”

“That’s very kind. But, please, I want to pay.”

“Keep your money,” said Huda. Abu Issa had told her to keep Ally in her debt. He said it would make her easier to control. “Remember, Abdul Amir and I are always happy to help when you want to buy something. Otherwise, those merchants will take the skin off your back.”

“You mean, the shirt off my back?”

“The skin is more painful, no?”

Huda navigated toward an elevated freeway. The car behind them peeled away. In the shade of the looping on-ramp, a young boy watched over a flock of yellow-eyed goats.

“Did you know that Rania Mansour’s mother suffered a stroke?” said Ally. “She’s in hospital in Baghdad.”