Guarding the Soldier's Secret by Kathleen Creighton

his room, where he accessed the secret cubbyhole that housed his computer and COM link. As he waited for the system to power up, his mind was busy composing the report of the day’s events he’d be sending off to central command. That, and the questions he wanted answers to.
    Was it Laila those men were after?
    Or Yancy?
    Was it a random kidnapping, revenge or part of a much larger plot?
    And, most important, who is behind it—the Taliban or al Qaeda?
    * * *
    Laila was awake, but she didn’t open her eyes. Not yet. She was thinking. And she felt scared. And she didn’t know why. There was something scary lurking in her memory, just out of reach, and she knew that if she tried too hard to see it, it would only shrink back into the shadows. Whatever it was, it made her feel cold and quivery in her stomach.
    She thought maybe it was a dream, and if she opened her eyes it would be gone. So, even though she was afraid to do it, she summoned all her courage and opened her eyes.
    The scary dream-thing went away, all right, but now she didn’t know where she was. This wasn’t her room back in Virginia or her mom’s room or even the hotel room they’d slept in the other night. Her bed was a soft pillowy thing, and when she reached out her arm she could touch the floor.
    Laila pushed herself up on her elbows and swiped her hair out of her eyes, and there was her mom, standing a little ways away, smiling at her and brushing her pretty red hair.
    “Good morning, sweet pea.”
    Her mom always called her silly things like sweet pea and pumpkin and honey . She said it was because she had grown up in Virginia, and that it meant you loved someone very much. Laila just knew it made her feel warm and good inside, and hearing it now made her smile.
    And also she remembered.
    Her mom was wearing the same brown dress from yesterday, and the pretty scarf she’d bought at the market was draped around her shoulders, instead of over her head, covering up her hair. Laila remembered she’d had to wear a scarf over her head, too. She remembered the men who had crowded around them, and how her mom had stumbled on purpose and tripped one and made them fall, and how she had grabbed hold of Laila’s hand and they had run very fast.
    She remembered Akaa Hunt.
    This was his house.
    “Come on, sweetie pie. Aren’t you going to get up and dressed?” Her mom dropped her brush into her purse, which was sitting open on the pillowy mattress beside her. “I’m sure breakfast must be ready.”
    Laila scooted herself up onto her knees. “Is Akaa Hunt going to eat breakfast with us?”
    “I imagine so.” Her mom looked in her purse, found a lipstick, opened it, stared at it, then put it back. “If he hasn’t already eaten.” She was frowning the way she did sometimes that meant she was thinking hard, not that she was angry. Then she looked up and smiled. “Okay—how about a bath?”
    Laila found the bath very interesting. It was in the floor and made of tile and had little steps to go down into it, like a very small swimming pool. Her mom ran some water into it, which wasn’t very hot, only just warm. Laila stretched out in it on her stomach and let it lap against her chin while she thought about her mom and Akaa Hunt. She wasn’t sure why, but she liked having them with her. Both of them. Together. They made her feel safe. And happy.
    Almost like...
    But she pushed that thought out of her head, because she didn’t want to wish for something that probably wasn’t ever going to come true.
    Still, she watched them closely while she ate her breakfast of eggs cooked with vegetables, sweet flat bread and soft cheese with raisins, sitting on the cushions on the floor the way they had last night at dinner. She pretended not to watch them, of course, making a point to study each bite carefully before putting it into her mouth and closing her eyes while she sipped her cup of sweet milk and tea. But she listened.
    Akaa Hunt said he would take them to