Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

D espite the hours of sleep Jasmine had gotten that afternoon, she yawned, trying to keep Derrick from hearing.

But of course he did, shooting her a look from the driver's seat. "Feel free to close your eyes."

"It is"—she glanced at the clock on the dashboard—"six thirty. I'm not tired."

"Mmm-hmm." He wasn't convinced, and by the amusement in his expression, he wasn't irritated with her, either.

"You're the one who needs rest."

"I'm fine."

So he said. But when she'd emerged from the bedroom and her nap, she'd found Derrick sound asleep on the sofa, Rabie curled up with his video game on one of the chairs.

"You two are like little babies," the child had said. "I don't need naps anymore."

"You weren't up half the night." Jasmine had ruffled his hair on the way to the kitchen in a quest for a snack.

Derrick hadn't slept long, and when he woke, he broke the news that they had to leave. She was sorry to say goodbye to the cabin, a safe shelter, but she'd packed her things, and as soon as the sun went down, they piled into the waiting sedan and began the long trek down the mountain.

Finally, the dark and winding road from the cabin ended at a busy highway, this one with streetlights and businesses.

In the backseat, Rabie said, "What road is this?"

Derrick took a right. "A bigger one."

"What kind of a car are we in?"

"A Chevy Malibu." Derrick gave Jasmine a quick grin.

"What does the G on the license plate mean?"

"I didn't even notice it," he said. "I think that means it's a government car."

"How did you get a government car?"

"A friend let me borrow it."

"Where are we going?"

"Rabie." Jasmine turned to face him. "Must you ask so many questions?"

He didn't respond, his gaze catching on all the lights and glitter outside the windows. Greenery and red ribbon wound around lampposts that lined the road. The doors and windows of the downtown shops were decorated with wreaths and fake snow and brightly colored ornaments. A sign had been suspended over the road announcing a holiday festival and parade.

They passed a park where a Christmas tree that rose three stories high twinkled with lights that reflected off a circle of ice, where people skated.

Jasmine searched the dashboard for the outside temperature but didn't see it displayed. "I didn't realize it was so cold here."

Derrick had stopped at a light and followed her gaze. "The temperatures are milder than where I grew up. I'm guessing they have a machine that keeps it frozen. "

"Have you ever done that, Derrick?" Rabie asked.

"All the time with my brothers when we were kids. There was a pond on our property, and we used to clear the snow off it. We didn't do it like that, though—orderly, skating in circles."

"What did you do?" Rabie asked.

"Ice skating was more of a contact sport with us. We played hockey or had races or just…knocked each other over."

On all that hard ice? With freezing water beneath? The thought of it made Jasmine shiver. "Sounds dangerous."

Derrick shook his head, catching Rabie's eye in the rearview mirror. "Girls."

He giggled. "I would like to try skating. I would be very good."

"Maybe you'll get to." Derrick followed the traffic, leaving the little park behind.

"Is all of America so cold?" Rabie sounded excited by the prospect, though Jasmine couldn't imagine why. She liked the cold, but she was eager for summertime. Derrick had assured her that it did warm up in Maine for a few months every year.

"There are all different climates in the US . " Derrick followed the map, turning at the next light. "Depends where you live."

"Where did you grow up?"

"Michigan." The untruth rolled off his tongue as if he'd practiced.

"I want to live somewhere I can skate," Rabie said. "Maybe we will live in Michigan."

Derrick picked up speed as they left the little town behind. "There are ice skating rinks all over the country, even in warm climates. They're just indoors. Maybe you'll get to learn to skate."

The road narrowed to two lanes lined with homes. Most of them were decorated for Christmas. Elegant nativity scenes and giant blow-up snowmen in the deep yards. Glittering reindeer munched grass, and colorful balls hung from trees. There were lights everywhere—steady and flashing and twinkling. They passed one house that had so many, it was nearly blinding. And she could swear she heard Christmas music coming through the windows.

In the backseat, Rabie was taking it all in. She hadn't been in America so long that it was normal to her, either.

"This is all because of Christmas?" he asked.

"Yeah." Derrick's tone was almost…embarrassed. "We go a little overboard."

"I think I would like Christmas."

"Oh, yes," Jasmine said. "I helped put up the tree at Derrick's family's house last weekend. It is a big, beautiful home, and the tree is six meters tall."

"Inside?" Rabie sounded awed.

She twisted to face him. "A real tree they took off their property, an island they own."

Derrick flashed Jasmine a warning look. "On Lake Huron."

Right. She must be careful about what she disclosed to the child. "Even with so many people, it took all day to decorate the tree and put up all the decorations. And then we had a feast and ate cookies and played games. And this is only one of the traditions. Next, there will be a party with aunts and uncle and cousins."

"How many people will be there?" Rabie asked.

Derrick had to think about that. "Probably…about twenty, maybe twenty-five? Depends how many of the cousins can make it."

"And they all fit at this house?"

He shrugged. "It's a big house."

"They will go back to the island for Christmas." She glanced at Derrick. "Yes? "

"You, too." Was he annoyed with her? "Unless you have other plans."

"I do not assume."

It was a moment before Derrick shook off his irritation. "It's a wonder anybody in our family gets any work done in December with all our trips up to camp. And back home, Mom's always trying to get us to go caroling." He rolled his eyes.

"What is caroling?" she asked. "I have not heard of this."

"It's when you walk from house to house and sing Christmas songs on people's doorsteps."

"That's weird," Rabie said.

"No kidding. But then we go back to the house, and Mom feeds us. So, you know, there's always food."

"And presents?" Rabie asked. "I have heard of many presents."

"This I have also heard," Jasmine said.

"Yeah, presents." His tone was solemn. It was a moment before he spoke again. "Sometimes, all the decorations and presents get in the way of the real meaning of Christmas, though. Basically, it's a huge birthday party for Jesus. I think we forget that."

"And does the food get in the way?" she asked.

"Oh, no." He shot her a grin. "The food is the most important part."

They left the residential area and its lights behind, entering a world of darkness and trees.

Twenty minutes passed before they turned onto another well-lit road, this one much less charming than the last.

Rabie piped up again. "Where are we now?"

"Still in West Virginia."

"Where are we going?"

Derrick chuckled. "We're headed to the interstate."

"But to where?" He was practically wailing with the whine .

"When we know," Jasmine said, "we will tell you."

"I know what you need." Derrick's voice took on a teasing tone. "Dinner. What sounds good? There's everything a boy could want." He nodded to the brightly lit fast-food restaurants that lined both sides of the road ahead.

There were too many options, most of which Rabie wasn't familiar with. Derrick ended up parking at the back of a strip mall lot and summing up the menus at all the different places and offering his personal opinion about each one.

Finally, Rabie chose Bojangles, a restaurant she'd never heard of that Derrick had described as "a Southern place with fried chicken."

The last thing she needed after the heavy breakfast donuts.

They used the drive-through to pick up fried chicken sandwiches and french fries for the boys and a grilled sandwich and coleslaw for her, along with three iced teas. Hers was so sweet that she dumped half out the window and filled the cup with water from one of the bottles they'd brought from the cabin.

Sitting in another dark parking lot, they ate their meals and then icing-topped, berry-filled biscuits Derrick had insisted they try.

The man could put away more calories in a meal than she could eat in a week. Rabie tried to keep up with him as if it were a competition, and she didn't miss how he watched the man, seeking to emulate him, seeking his approval.

Somehow, Derrick had connected with Rabie, gaining his trust. Considering how they'd met… Considering Rabie had every reason not to trust Derrick, it was impressive.

But then, Derrick was a good man, and his goodness shined through. She and Rabie both were fortunate to have found such a friend.

She'd already known that, of course. But as they spent time together, as she got to know him even better, she was more and more aware of what she would lose when this was all over.

His friendship and everything else they could have been to one another.

After they finished their dinners, Jasmine collected the empty bags and cups and tossed them in a trash can.

Derrick maneuvered the car back onto the road, and a few minutes later, he angled onto I-70. He'd found a classical music station, and between that, her full stomach, and the low hum of the road beneath their feet, she found herself yawning again.

Rabie played on his video game in the back until, after a couple of hours, Jasmine decided it was time for him to sleep. "Put that away and close your eyes. You need to get some rest."

"I'm not tired."

"Even so." She twisted. "Put it away or I will take it."

He scowled but shoved the game into his backpack.

After another hour of driving, she turned to find him curled up with the blanket and pillow they'd borrowed from the cabin.

"How's he doing?" Derrick asked, voice low.

She watched another moment, seeing nothing but the steady movement of his breathing, then faced forward again. "He's asleep."

"Poor kid. This has got to be hard for him."

"I cannot imagine."

Derrick checked the rearview and lowered his voice even more. "I talked to him about his brother. Rabie likes him. Which is good, I guess. I'm glad Dari treated him better than he treated Basma, but we should be careful what we say about him. My…guy thinks the email address was compromised. "

Michael, he meant. "You called him back?" And then the more important part of what he'd said registered. "Compromised? What do you mean?"

"He thinks that's how Dari's men knew we'd be there."

"How will Basma reach us?"

"He says he's got it under control." By the way Derrick's lips pulled to one side, he had no idea what Michael planned to do. "Apparently, they have ways of finding people." He seemed to force a smile. "We just have to trust him."

"This I have done and will keep doing. I only wish we knew more."

"You and me both." He filled her in on everything else his brother had told him, including their destination. They were heading toward Chicago for now but might have to change that when Michael called on one of the burner phones and gave them a more specific destination. There were two phones on the console between the seats, one of which was connected to the car's navigation system.

"So until we hear from him," she said, "we keep driving?"

"That's the plan." Derrick reached toward her as he'd done so many times. She'd loved how he would take her hand and hold it. His touch was always gentle and warm and comforting. But now he pulled back, wiping his palm on his jeans as if he'd meant to do that from the start. He drove a few miles in silence, nothing but unfamiliar music playing in the background.

She hated the tension between them. It was time to tell him everything.

"You would like to know about the father?"

His gaze snapped to hers but didn't hold. He focused on the road, cleared his throat. "Yeah. Obviously. I mean, if you want to talk about it."

"I don't, but I want you to know, so I must."

He angled up and checked the rearview mirror .

She looked as well. Rabie hadn't moved.

"I, uh…" Derrick glanced her way. "I was thinking maybe someone… The way you reacted, maybe it wasn't your choice." He winced, shook his head. "I don't know how to ask this without just…asking."

She guessed at the assumption he'd made, that she'd been assaulted. "It is not what you think." She almost wished it were. Then she could claim innocence.

"Oh." Now, he squinted like he was trying to figure that out. "Okay."

"After Leila left and Mama died, it was only Baba and me. We were in Baghdad. He had worked for the government, but he had been away from work so much because of Mama's illness that he lost his position. I think perhaps they wanted him to go. It was an excuse, maybe? Money was not a problem—Baba has money. We could have left the city. There was our family compound, but his parents are dead, and other family have moved on or… They no longer associate with Baba. It is Hasan they do not wish to associate with. They knew of Hasan's connection to Saddam and terrorists.

"Baba and Hasan were close, but Hasan didn't go to the compound anymore, so it was as empty and as lonely as the house in Baghdad. Mama's parents, they did not wish to see him and cut him away."

"Cut him out?"

"Yes, yes. They blamed Baba for her death, I think, and did not approve of him. I don't know what they knew. Perhaps Mama told them about Hasan? Anyway, we could not go there."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"They're your grandparents. Didn't they want to see you?"

"I do not matter."

Derrick scowled. "Not true, but go on. "

That was the thing about Derrick. He didn't see Jasmine for who she truly was. After this story, maybe he finally would.

"Baba had no purpose, you understand? No job, no family. He had no reason to leave the house. Some days, I could not coax him out of bed. I could not get him to eat."

"He was depressed."

"Yes. I feared he might follow Mama to the grave. And then Uncle Hasan came and saw how he was. He offered for us to go to the compound of his friend, where he was spending much time. He said that we wouldn't be alone there. I didn't want to go because of Basma. Baba had forbidden me to leave, but when he was in bed, I would sneak away to her house. We would sit in her courtyard. If Baba called me, I could hear and hurry back as if I had never left. In Basma, I had a friend and companionship. But Baba was fading, and if he died, I didn't know what would become of me. There was only Hasan, and to live with Hasan alone would be worse than to live with Hasan and Baba, you see? I thought Baba would protect me."

"You thought he would?" Derrick shot her a look. "What does that mean?"

She was getting there. "This person who owned the compound, he was a friend of Baba's, and I had met him. He was an old man, even older than Hasan and Baba, as old as my grandfather. His name meant nothing to me. If I had understood… Not that it mattered what I wanted, only that I think I would feel better about what happened."

She was taking her time telling the story. They weren't in a hurry, after all. And the longer it took to get to the end, the longer she could put it off.

They'd left the city—whatever city that had been—behind. Aside from the occasional orange lights above the divided highway, there was darkness. She wondered what the countryside was like. Perhaps hilly and beautiful, like Maine and the place they'd just left. But for all she knew, it was barren and ugly. In the darkness, it was impossible to tell. It could be…anything.

That was the problem with darkness. One never knew what lurked until it was too late.

"What happened, Jazz?"

"I didn't understand what they planned."

Derrick's lips pressed together, but he didn't ask again. She was thankful they were in the car and thankful for the darkness. At least she didn't have to face him.

"Basma set up the email so we could keep in touch. And then Baba and I moved to the compound. I had imagined a family, you know? Women and children and grandchildren, as our compound had been when I was a girl. But when we arrived, it was only Hasan and Khalid, the man who owned it."

"Just you and those three men?" Derrick clarified. "But you were related to two of them, and one was an old man, so…"

"Khalid's wife had been unable to bear children, and he wished for a second wife to give him a child."

"Oh." Derrick swallowed. "She died? He was a widower?"

"No. She is alive. She prefers to stay in Tikrit near her family. They have a house there where Khalid spends most of his time. He is only at the compound for planning their…operations, you see? Khalid and Hasan are part of an organization that has people in cities in Europe. Your…person calls them cells."

"Terror cells," he clarified.

"Yes. They would make plans at the compound, and then Khalid would return to his wife in Tikrit."

"Okay." Derrick drew the word out, clearly confused.

She needed to stop stalling.

"Baba made a deal. Actually, Hasan made it, but Baba went along. Hasan worried for Baba and wanted to bring him to the compound. They are twins, like Leila and me, and they do love one another. I believe Baba is the only one Hasan is capable of loving. Hasan wanted what was best for his brother. I was only…" She swallowed, unsure what to name herself. A pawn? A trinket? She sat up and told herself to tell the story. Give me courage, Lord. This was hard, even harder than she'd imagined. "They decided I would marry Khalid, become his second wife, to provide him with an heir."

There.

It was done. The words were out and could not be taken back.

Derrick's jaw tightened. On the steering wheel, his hands clenched, his knuckles turning white.

A long time passed before he said, "You're married."

"Yes."

"You're some man's second wife ?"

"Yes."

"Your father married you off to some grandfather. Some…pervert"—his voice was rising—"so you could?—"

"Shh. Please. I don't wish for Rabie to hear."

Derrick clamped his mouth shut.

"It is done," she said. "Sometimes, in our culture, when a man has no heirs and is able to provide for two wives, then?—"

"You agreed to this?"

His question had irritation filling her voice. "Sometimes, Derrick Wright, you are very dimwitted."

He blew out a breath. "Of course you didn't agree. Of course. I'm sorry. It was a stupid… But that man… Your husband…" Derrick jabbed his fingers into his hair and pulled. "He was with you, and you're carrying his kid, his heir… " The word held malice. "If he comes after you, I'll kill him."

A terrible, awful part of her would like that very, very much.

Because then she would be free.

But Khalid was her husband. She should feel something for him besides this hatred that simmered inside. What she felt was wrong. She knew that. God commanded wives to respect their husbands. She had prayed many times for God to help her do that, to even love Khalid, but how could she love a man who planned such evil and cruelty?

Perhaps if he'd treated her as anything but a toy and an incubator for his child, she might. Good women loved their terrorist husbands not because they were terrorists but because they were loved in return. But Khalid didn't love Jasmine. He didn't even know her. He'd never tried to know her, had never treated her like anything more than a slave.

She was accustomed to that from her father, from her uncle, from others in her life. She'd rarely been treated as more than a slave.

But from the man who shared her bed? The man who thought he owned her body and could do with it as he pleased?

She loathed him.

There were days that, if not for her faith in Christ, she'd have put a blade through his heart. Even if it meant her own death. And after she learned she was carrying his child, she'd longed for her own death. She'd longed for the child's.

It was wrong. She knew it was wrong. Sinful. Horrible. Evil. But those feelings would not go away, no matter how hard she prayed.

Some days, she believed God had rescued her from Khalid.

Some days, she wondered if she'd compounded her sin by running from her husband. What was the greater sin? To disobey her husband and run? Or to raise a child to become a killer?

Derrick reached across the space and took Jasmine's hand. "It's not real, you know."

Had she been so lost in her own thoughts that she'd missed something? "What is not real? "

"The marriage, of course."

"What do you mean?"

"He was already married to someone else. He's a bigamist. That nullifies it."

"No, it?—"

"And it wasn't your choice. If you don't agree, it doesn't count."

"Marriage is not a game, Derrick. You don't get to…to make up rules and declare they are true. You don't get to decide the rules at all."

"It doesn't count, Jazz." He sounded vehement, almost angry. "You're not really married."

She pulled her hand back. "I do not know what you mean."

"He's not your husband. You're not his wife."

"These are the rules according to Derrick, I think. Not according to God."

He glared at her. "Do you want to be married to him?"

"It matters not what I want. I am married to him."

"No, you're not. Marriage is between one man and one woman. Read Genesis."

"Was it not in Genesis that Jacob married Leah and Rachel? Were they not both his wives?"

"That's not… They knew what they were getting into."

"As did I."

"You had no choice."

"I had a choice."

"What do you mean?" His jaw dropped, and even from the side, she read in his expression. Horror.

She'd expected it. She'd known it would come. Even so, her heart splintered and cracked, knowing that the way Derrick had seen her and the love he'd felt for her were gone. Gone forever.

"Are you telling me that you could have refused and didn't? "

She crossed her arms and gazed out the window, watching the darkness slip past.

"Please explain," he said. "I don't understand."

"I do not owe you an explanation."

"Just answer the question." He was yelling at her, even if his voice was a whisper. "Did you want to marry him or not?"

"Did I want to?" Her head whipped back toward Derrick. "I wanted to not be harmed. I wanted my father to be well, not dishonored. I wanted to stay alive."

"So you had to."

"I made a choice."

"With a gun to your head."

"Gun? There was no?—"

"It's a…metaphor, Jazz. It means… If your choices were get married or die, it wasn't a real choice. You really think God would hold you to that?"

"He held Jacob to it, did He not? Jacob married Leah against his will. He didn't know who he slept with that night. When morning came, it was not Rachel. Jacob didn't wake up and claim it didn't…count." She used his word, then lowered her voice until it was barely audible. "They had been intimate. It was valid."

"But it was…" Derrick was breathing hard as if they were engaged in a physical fight. "You were forced to marry him. You were forced into his bed."

"I. Was. Not."

She had gone willingly to her husband's bed. It mattered not that she hadn't wanted to. It mattered not that she'd closed her eyes and prayed it would be over soon. Or that Khalid would not be able to do it, or that he would die of a heart attack before he finished. It mattered not that she'd begged God to prevent his seed from planting inside her.

Go willingly to bed or be forced there—and bring dishonor to her father and pain to herself. Why would she have chosen that?

She'd been trapped in the middle of the desert with no help and no chance of escape.

Now, she was married to Khalid Qasim, and nothing Derrick or anybody else said would change that.