Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

A fter a shower and some time in prayer, Derrick emerged from the bedroom. He'd started the fire as soon as he'd awakened, thinking he'd sit by it and read his Bible. That plan had been thwarted by Rabie's early wake-up. At least he and the kid had developed a rapport.

It was Jasmine's appearance that'd rattled him. She'd pulled her hair up into a ponytail that made her look years younger, and her cheeks had been pink, as if she'd just scrubbed them. She'd been beautiful and so…guarded after their conversation the night before. Everything was different now. There'd be no going back.

He'd needed some time to think and regroup and pray.

She and Rabie were sitting on the area rug at the coffee table, engaged in a game of Connect 4.

Derrick paused in the hallway, not wanting to interrupt.

And fine. Maybe he liked watching her when she wasn't on her guard. Maybe he liked seeing her interact with the child with such kindness and patience. She'd make a wonderful mother someday.

Not to his kid, though. She'd need to find some pathetic man-servant she felt was as lowly as she was. Derrick half-hoped her father would show his face in Maine. What Derrick wouldn't give to teach the guy how it felt to be treated like he didn't matter. Like he was barely a shadow .

A wave of fury rolled over him.

God would need to deal with Jasmine's father. And teach her who she was.

Derrick had trusted God all his life. He could trust Him with his feelings—and with the woman he loved. He would try to, anyway.

Jasmine was on her knees, studying the yellow vertical game board, her long ponytail draped over one shoulder. She dropped a red game piece into place and sat back. "Your turn."

"Ha. You can't beat me." With barely a thought, Rabie played a blue piece.

Even though Derrick hadn't been in the room, they were speaking English. Had Jasmine asked him to do that? Or had they just not switched back?

"You think so?" She dropped a red disk into a slot.

He scowled and studied the game with narrowed eyes as if nothing had ever been more important, then dropped a piece in.

They went a few more turns, and then Jasmine settled back with a grin. "It seems I can beat you."

Derrick expected the kid to be annoyed. Sportsmanship didn't come easily to competitive nine-year-olds. With five older brothers, Derrick had learned that lesson.

Rabie stood and shouted in Arabic. Then, he swept the board and all the pieces off the coffee table—toward Jasmine.

She curled over, ducking and wrapping her arms around her middle.

Her instinct—that self-protection, as if she expected to be harmed or hit—might as well have been a punch to Derrick's gut .

What had she endured that would cause that reaction?

The pieces scattered harmlessly across the area rug and the hardwood floor.

Rabie watched until they'd all stopped moving, then straightened his shoulders, planted his feet, and crossed his arms—the perfect King-of-Siam look—and peered down his nose at her. Though Derrick didn't understand the words he spoke, his meaning was clear.

Clean it up, woman.

But she'd recovered from her instinctive fear, sitting up once again.

Her eyebrows rose. She didn't move or cower. She didn't hop to do the bidding of a child she could toss over her knee and spank. And probably should.

Well, except the kid was nearly as big as she was, so maybe it wouldn't be as simple for her as it would be for Derrick.

He was about to step in and give Rabie another lesson on how to treat women. Not just women but humans in general. The kid needed to learn how real men behaved.

But Jasmine stood slowly. She took her time brushing off her dress, then stepped closer to him. Her expression was determined, but her dark skin was sallow, as if she were sick—or afraid. "I do not answer to you, child." Her voice was strong, regardless of what she was feeling. "Pick up every piece and return them to the box."

Rabie's face turned red with fury. "I will not."

"You will."

He lowered his chin, not in humility but as if he were about to charge.

Derrick cleared his throat and stepped into the room. He didn't say anything. Didn't move any closer. Just stood there and watched.

Rabie's eyes rounded .

Jasmine's gaze flicked from Derrick to Rabie, and he guessed she was waiting for him to come to her aid. But this was her fight, not his. He gave her the slightest go ahead nod and crossed his arms.

She turned back to the child. "Rabie, look at me." Only when he did—reluctantly—did she continue. "When you behave unkindly, you must apologize to those you've hurt and, if possible, undo the damage you've done." She gestured to the mess. "This was a small thing, simple to fix. But you must fix it. You must apologize to me and pick up the game—every piece. If you refuse, then you will go to the bedroom and stay there until you're ready to do what I've asked."

The kid turned to Derrick. Did he think he'd get help? No chance.

Rabie seemed to realize that. He scanned the room, and his eyes lit at the sight of his red backpack, which they'd dropped on a side table the night before. He started toward it.

Derrick got there first. "Uh-uh."

Rabie froze halfway between Jasmine and Derrick.

"If you go to your room," Jasmine said behind him, "you go without your toys."

Funny how children couldn't hide their feelings. Right now, indecision played across his face. Humble himself and obey, or sit alone in the bedroom with nothing to do.

He spun, barked something in Arabic at Jasmine, and stormed into the hallway.

A moment later, the bedroom door slammed.

Jasmine's shoulders drooped, and she sat heavily on the sofa. "I should have let him win."

"He needs to learn to be a good sport." Derrick set the backpack down again. "If he acts like that when he's nine, what's he going to be like at fifteen or twenty? Or when he has a wife and kids of his own? "

Jasmine glanced at the hallway, covering her abdomen with her hand. That was the third time she'd done that since Derrick had come out from his shower.

"Are you sick? Was it the donuts?"

"What? No, no." She lowered the hand and started to stand. "I will go talk to him."

"Give him time."

"If you say so." She dropped to her knees on the floor.

"What are you doing? You told him he needed to pick those up."

"But I should?—"

"It's fine."

She sat back on her heels and gestured toward the hallway. "I made a mess of that. I made a mess of this. I must do something."

"Rabie made the mess. You did exactly the right thing."

"I did?"

"Children need to be taught. You were firm and kind. I can't imagine how you could have handled it better."

The way her expression brightened, all hopeful and encouraged, had his stupid heart flip-flopping.

"You really think so?" She soaked up his words like a wilting plant did water.

"It was perfect, but now comes the hard part. You have to wait him out."

"How do you know so much about raising children?"

He shrugged. "I don't. Just watched my parents do it, I guess. And I spent time with Daniel and Camilla when Zo? and Jeremy were little. Dan was gone a lot, but Camilla ran a tight ship."

Jasmine's gaze flicked to the hallway again, then the windows.

Though the sun was shining, the air was cold—he'd learned that when he'd gone out for wood—and wind whistled through the trees.

"You don't think he'll try to get away?" she asked. "Go out a window?"

Derrick grinned. "Even if he managed to, this place is surrounded by a fence even I couldn't scale. But there's a crazy security system. If Rabie so much as cracks a window, we'll know." He settled on the couch adjacent to her. "As long as he's busy, let's see if your friend has reached out."

Derrick had spent enough time at his uncle's cabin over the years that getting onto the VPN was second nature. He wasn't sure exactly what Uncle Gavin did before he retired, but he got the impression it was all very hush-hush, which probably explained the whole off-the-grid cabin in the woods.

Jasmine provided her information, and he logged into her email account on one of the laptops he'd found in the basement that morning. He figured his uncle wouldn't appreciate him showing Jasmine the whole top-secret-security setup down there, considering how long he'd kept it secret from Derrick, so Derrick had just grabbed the laptop and brought it upstairs.

Now, while he waited for the thing to connect, it occurred to him that maybe Michael knew exactly what Uncle Gavin did. They were both in the hush-hush business, after all. Did they work together? Probably not, or Michael would trust him.

While Derrick waited for the connection—the VPN was always slow—he said, "Michael wants to talk to you."

Jasmine winced. "He is very angry with me, no?"

"Probably more with me. He'll get over it. He's helping us, and that's what matters."

"I should call him? It is okay to turn on my phone? "

"Uh, no. I left a message for him when I woke up. He'll call us back. Last night when I talked to him, he sounded like he recognized the name of your friend's brother. Dari Ghazi, right?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Michael knows him?"

"About him, if it's the guy he thinks it is. That's why he wants to talk to you. Is that a common name?"

"Ghazi." Her head wagged from side to side. "A little, I guess. Dari, no. It is not his whole name, I think, but shortened. Like you call me Jazz."

"A nickname. For what?"

"I have only ever heard him called Dari, but I would guess Darius or Dariush. These are common names. I will ask Basma when she emails."

"Before I forget." He lowered his voice. "We need to be careful not to say anything about where we live or my family in front of Rabie. Certainly not my last name. I screwed up this morning when I mentioned how many brothers I have." He'd realized it a minute too late. "Boneheaded move on my part. Nothing else, though, okay? God forbid his brother gets him back, we don't want to lead Dari or anyone else to you and your sister."

"I understand."

"If he asks where you live, tell him all about it, but tell him it's near a big lake, not the ocean. One of the Great Lakes. Okay?"

"These are the ones in the middle of the country, on top?"

"Yup. That's them. Tell him you live in…Michigan. They both begin with M. Should be easy to remember."

"Michigan on a Great Lake."

"Exactly."

Her emails had loaded—there were just a handful, all from the same account. He turned the screen to face Jasmine .

She leaned in and frowned. "Nothing new." When she gazed up, her eyes were filled with fear. "What if they've hurt her? Perhaps she is not all right. What will we do?"

It was instinct, the way he reached for her hand and squeezed. He hadn't even realized he'd done it until it was too late. He let go and put more space between them. "Don't borrow trouble." Before she could ask or give him that I don't understand what you mean look he found adorable, he added, "Don't get ahead of yourself. Don't worry until you have more information."

"This is to borrow trouble?"

"Right. Like…you're imagining there'll be trouble in the future and taking it on now, I guess. Or at least worrying about it now." He'd never analyzed the cliché. That was one of the things he liked about being with Jasmine—the way she kept him thinking, considering his words carefully. Not just his words, though. His actions.

He enjoyed teaching her what it meant to be treated like a lady. He enjoyed opening the door for her, pulling out her chair. He enjoyed standing when she approached a table to show her respect and serving her a donut and a cup of tea. After what he'd learned the night before, he understood that she'd been treated as nothing more than a servant most of her life, and it made him want to serve her more.

He loved seeing her confused expression when she couldn't figure out what he was talking about. He loved the wonder in her eyes when she saw something she'd never imagined—like aisles and aisles of food at Walmart.

The first time he'd taken her with him to the grocery store—just to pick up a couple of things for dinner—she'd quizzed him for an hour in the produce section, wanting to know the name and flavor of all the fruits and vegetables she'd never seen before. He'd spent a hundred bucks so she could try one of everything.

Just to make her smile.

There was no smile on her face now, only a sad frown as if she guessed his thoughts. She blinked and turned away, her palm resting once again on her abdomen.

She'd been so sick when he'd first met her, given to random bouts of vomiting. It'd gone away pretty quickly. She'd been gaunt then, skin and bones, her olive skin almost greenish. But she'd put on weight since she'd come to the US. In fact, he'd even noticed the slightest paunch in her midsection when she'd worn the short sweatshirt and sweatpants the day before. Not fat—not even close—but not the flat stomach her twin sister had. He never saw Jasmine's figure, thanks to the shapeless clothes she always wore, but he'd always assumed she had the same trim figure as Leila.

He was glad she'd put on weight. She'd certainly needed it. The last thing he wanted was for her to get sick again, but maybe the stress they were under was causing her to feel ill.

"I should have fed you something healthier for breakfast. There's some fruit in there."

She yanked the hand away from her belly as if it'd been caught in a cookie jar.

Weird.

"Do you need something to settle your stomach?"

"I am not sick." She crossed her arms and glanced toward the hallway. "Should I check on him?" She looked in Derrick's direction but didn't quite meet his eyes.

What was going on?

Was she lying? Why lie about being sick?

He wanted to press her, to demand she tell him all her secrets. But they were none of his business.

"I'll check on Rabie. "

She agreed, and he pushed to his feet and headed for the bedroom Jasmine and Rabie had shared the night before.

He knocked. "Mind if I come in?" Getting no answer, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Rabie had pulled the curtains closed. With no lights on, the room was dim and gloomy. The boy lay curled up on the bed, only his messy hair and the top of his head showing.

Derrick sat beside him and patted the little hip sticking up beneath the covers. "How you doing, buddy?"

One little shoulder moved. "I want Basma."

"I know." Derrick's heart broke for the kid. "We're doing our best to get you back to her, I promise."

Rabie didn't say anything, but it was obvious by his shaking shoulders that he was crying.

"You want to tell me what happened out there. Why'd you get so mad?"

"Girls aren't supposed to beat boys."

"Who told you that?" When he said nothing, Derrick guessed. "Do you usually beat your sister at games?"

"Uh-huh."

"Any chance she lets you win?"

Another shrug seemed the only answer he was going to get.

"Sometimes, men lose games. It doesn't matter who you lose to. It matters how you lose. You can be gracious—smile and say congratulations. When you get big, you'll even have to shake hands and say things like ‘good game.' Even if you're frustrated or angry, you can be polite. That's how strong men behave. It is not mature or manly to throw a temper tantrum. Have you ever seen a strong man throw a temper tantrum?"

No response.

"It's pretty funny to think about, isn't it? Imagine some big, strong man lying on the floor, banging his hands and fists." Derrick smiled as he said the words, trying to be funny.

The kid didn't laugh, but maybe he stilled a little. Maybe he stopped crying.

"None of us is perfect," Derrick said. "We all mess up sometimes, which makes it easy to forgive when people are honest about their mess-ups. So the solution, when you do something you shouldn't, is just what Jasmine said. You apologize—which means saying you're sorry and asking for forgiveness—and then, if you can, you fix the mess you made. In this case, you can."

Again, no response.

He didn't have enough experience with kids to know what to do next. He hadn't been around a lot of them, just Daniel's kids, and they'd never lived nearby.

Derrick had been fifteen when Daniel and Camilla were expecting Zo?, their oldest, and he'd spent a lot of his school breaks with them that year, helping with their fixer-upper. Though Daniel was as handy as Derrick—Dad ensured his sons knew how to take care of a house and car—Daniel hadn't had much time away from the hospital in those days. The brothers between Daniel and Derrick had been too busy with high school and college—and the Army, in Grant's case—and girls and sports to help.

But Derrick had been eager to spend time with his oldest brother and new sister-in-law. Those were good days, when life was simple. He knew who he was and had been confident that his life would turn out just as he planned it.

He'd earn his pilot's license—he'd nearly earned his solo license by then—and after he finished college, he'd get a job with a charter company to gain flying hours while he saved up to buy his own plane.

And when he met the right girl, he'd fall in love, and she'd love him back.

How hard could it be?

After all, it'd worked out for Daniel .

Derrick had been a cocky kid, not all that different from the cocky kid lying on the bed right now.

But Daniel had done it right, and Derrick had wanted what he had. A good career, a decent place to live, and a loving wife.

Derrick could still picture Camilla, the way she oversaw the renovations of their house, turning the old place they'd bought in St. Louis into a home. She'd stand in the middle of the wreckage of one of the rooms, one hand tapping her nose, deep in thought, the other resting on her swollen abdomen protectively like…

His thoughts stilled.

He blinked in the silence, images of Jasmine flashing across his mind like a slideshow.

The nausea when he'd first met her—which had gone away so abruptly.

The rapid weight gain.

The little belly she hid under the loose clothing.

Just a few minutes before, in that instant of fear when Rabie had lost his temper, she'd curled up, protecting not her head but her abdomen.

Derrick lurched to his feet, the motion so abrupt that Rabie whipped around with wide eyes.

"Sorry, bud. You…uh…" He raked a hand through his hair. "Come out when you're ready to apologize." He didn't wait for a response, just turned and fled.