“The chicken is burning!” she cried, and bolted out the door.

She steeled herself for the thud of boots, for Abu Issa’s hand on her shoulder, for the Bolt Cutter to grab her by the throat. She flung open the back door and hurried across the patio.

“What’s going on, Abdul Amir? Why are the mukhabarat here?”

“Leave me alone.” He turned his back to her. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

He knows.

“Why are they here?” She checked the kitchen window. “What’s happened?”

“Leave me alone.”

“Please, tell me.”

Abdul Amir covered his eyes. His mouth contorted. A sob slipped out.

“Go away,” he muttered. “I can’t bear to look at you.”

Huda’s heart bucked like a train leaping the tracks. Had Abdul Amir turned her in? Why else would the Bolt Cutter be here, with bloodlust shining in his eyes?

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I truly am.”

“You’re not as sorry as I am,” muttered Abdul Amir. “Please, I told you to leave me alone.”

“Tell me you haven’t—”

“Go, Huda.” His voice split like wood under an axe. “The mukhabarat want to talk to you.”

* * *

Abu Issa threw open the back door.

“What’s going on here?”

Huda backed away, head swiveling left to right. She eyed the path at the side of the house and asked herself, Can I outrun them?

“I can’t do this.” Abdul Amir hung his head like a beaten dog. “How can I live with this on my conscience?”

“What’s done is done.” Abu Issa frowned.

“I should never have told you.”

“We would have found out on our own, eventually.”

The Bolt Cutter’s bovine face loomed in the kitchen window. Huda wondered, had he come to drag her away? Or would he kill her in her own backyard? Someone whimpered. A moment, later, she realized it was her.

“I can’t look my wife in the face.” Abdul Amir clapped his hands to his eyes. “And God help me, what will I do if my son finds out? I can’t do this. I’m going to the coffee shop.”

He stumbled toward the back door.

“Don’t go, please.” Huda grabbed his elbow. “Please, don’t leave me.”

He shook her off and pushed past Abu Issa into the kitchen. Through the window, Huda saw the Bolt Cutter turn and stomp after him. Moments later, the front door slammed. Abu Issa advanced across the patio.

“What did Abdul Amir tell you?”

“Nothing.” Huda sidled toward the side of the house. “Nothing at all.”

“You’re a bad liar,” he said. “My partner will bring your husband back. We don’t want Abdul Amir opening his mouth about any of this.”

“Please, Abu Issa, I—”

“Your husband should have been more vigilant. This problem could have been nipped in the bud.”