Chapter 35

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

" G o. I'm fine."

A few minutes had passed since Jasmine had helped Camilla to a chair in front of the window. Now, she stood back from the room's second window, watching. Though she couldn't see him, Derrick was out there now, shooting terrorists.

In harm's way.

"I will stay?—"

"You heard Grant," Camilla said. "He wants you in the basement."

He'd told her that through the walkie-talkie a moment before.

"I know but?—"

"I'm all right." The older woman sounded exasperated. "You're as bad as Zo?. Go, please."

There hadn't been another flash-bang, as Grant called them.

Jasmine didn't want to leave, not while her friends were in danger, but she had promised to do what Grant said. "Be careful." She headed to the hallway and down the stairs and was halfway to the door that led to the basement when she heard it .

The voice that turned her blood cold.

"I knew you wouldn't come."

Terror rose from her midsection and clogged in her throat, blocking a scream that tried to claw its way out.

Slowly, reluctantly, she turned toward him, the man she most dreaded. The man she despised.

Khalid.

He stalked toward her from the kitchen, then stopped a few feet away. He wore the garb of a soldier—camouflage pants, coat, and hat.

She'd always thought of him as an old man. Balding. Wrinkled. Weak.

But he seemed powerful now, as if strengthened by the prospect of all the evil he'd done. He aimed a gun at her.

"I knew you would tell the men who are protecting you where you were to meet me, and they would set a trap. And now, they are there. And I am here, with you."

Voices carried up from the basement. Her sister and some of her friends were safe. She knew that much. If nothing else, if she left with Khalid, at least nobody else would get hurt.

"You will come with me," Khalid said, "or I will direct my people to kill every single one of them. You understand?"

Could he, though? Were his people winning? She thought not. The Wrights were strong and capable, much more so than he'd anticipated. His men were being killed, one by one.

But Khalid wouldn't care about that. He'd let them all die to get what he wanted.

Her feet felt leaden. She couldn't move. Even if she could, what would she do? Her gaze flicked to the doorway that led downstairs. Khalid wouldn't shoot her. He wouldn't risk harming his child.

She could run. She could try.

He must've guessed her intention because he closed the distance between them and grabbed her, yanking her toward the door. She nearly tripped, but he held her up.

"Keep your feet, you useless, pathetic little mouse." His words, spoken in Arabic, held nothing but malice. "You put all these people between us. You thought they could protect you." He propelled her outside. The storm had passed. Snow covered everything, shimmering in the pale light of dawn. The waves crashed into rocks below, steady as time. Interrupted by occasional gunshots.

Beautiful and terrible.

There was a strange lump on the patio, a dark form.

In…a brown jacket?

No. No!

She gasped. It couldn't be.

Derrick. Oh, Derrick.

"Move!" Khalid dragged her away.

She would have panicked or collapsed if she hadn't seen the slightest vapor rising from Derrick's face. He was breathing. He was alive.

Khalid pushed her to the stairs and down to the snowy yard.

As soon as their feet touched the ground, he said, "Now."

She had no idea what he meant. But then…

An explosion shook the air. Glass exploded over her head.

Someone screamed.

A wave of heat followed.

A scream.

Shouts.

The other bombs had been harmless.

But this…this had been real.

He'd bombed the house. Her friends.

Bombed them.

Khalid pushed her across the snow-covered grass toward the top of the metal staircase that led to the dock below .

"Did you really think you could escape me?" His voice held scorn. "You're just a silly little mouse. A coward."

Was that what she was? She wasn't the one hurling bombs at innocent people.

How dare he? How dare he presume to know anything about her? How dare he presume to take lives given by God?

They were just feet from the top of the cliff when she stopped and pulled away from him. "A coward? Is that what I am? Your silly little second wife? Good for nothing but birthing your children?"

"No more of this foolishness." His tiny black eyes flashed. "You are my wife. You will come with me." He pointed toward the metal railing. "Go, now. Go down and get in the boat."

She had had enough. She'd been afraid of him. She'd submitted to him. She'd cowered before him.

No more.

Perhaps she'd lost her mind, or perhaps she'd finally, finally found herself. But no matter what this man did to her, she would not obey him. The truth of it, of who she was—and who she wasn't—raised a laugh inside of her. She didn't stifle it but let it out. "If I'm such a coward, how did I end up here?"

He scoffed. "Your sister's friend?—"

"And how did he know where to find us?"

"She told him?—"

"How do you think she did that, locked in a bedroom? No, Leila didn't call him. I called him. Your silly little wife used your phone, Khalid. I gave him our coordinates. I told him how many men guarded the compound. And when he came, I went with him. I did that because I'm such a cowardly little mouse."

Flames reflected off his glasses. The house was on fire . And everyone in it was probably busy fighting that fire. Or tending to the injured.

Or fighting terrorists.

But she didn't care. She wasn't going with this disgusting old man, not unless he dragged her, and she would fight him every step.

"You knew how happy I was," she spat. "How deliriously happy I was. So happy that you wired that pathetic little building you called a home in your pathetic little compound with an alarm to sound if I went outside the pathetic little walls. You knew I might try to escape, to run away, even through the desert, even to my death! This is how happy I was with you."

"Your happiness?" Khalid scoffed that she would speak about something so insignificant, gesturing with his handgun toward the steps. "You are mine. That child you carry is mine. Your happiness does not matter. Go down the steps and get into the boat, or I will hurt you. As long as the baby isn't harmed, I don't care what happens to you."

" I care what happens to me." She'd switched to English. "My God cares what happens to me."

"Your god is who I say he is." Khalid moved toward her, but she stepped back, keeping space between them.

Movement in the forest behind him caught her eyes. Someone was there. Friend or foe, she didn't know. And it didn't matter.

Whether that was a Wright or a terrorist, she wasn't alone. She'd never been alone. She stood to her full height—all five feet of her—and glared at the man who called himself her husband. "You think you own me, but you are wrong. You are wrong about everything. I am a Christian."

His eyes widened, and he froze. Halted by his shock?

Perhaps.

But she thought of Elisha and the horses and chariots of fire surrounding him as he faced his enemies.

Maybe Khalid sensed what Elisha had known. What Jasmine knew. That her God was far stronger than his .

"I belong to the One True God. I am not, nor have I ever been, yours. Look around you, Khalid."

She paused to give him the opportunity, not allowing her eyes to drift to the figure crossing the snowy ground toward them. A terrorist would make himself known to Khalid.

Meaning it had to be a Wright. Had to be.

"You see where we are." Her voice caught at the wonder of it. "Where I am. In Maine, thousands of miles from Iraq. A coward would still be trapped in your pathetic little compound in the middle of nowhere, in a dry and desolate land, not surrounded by this beauty. I'd still be trapped with a man I despise. I'm here because I'm brave, and because I'm loved by my God and my friends. I am not your slave, and I will not go with you."

"You're a fool." Khalid shook himself out of the temporary stupor. "I'll shoot out your knee and then you'll never run again." His words were matter-of-fact. "Not from me. Not anywhere."

She yanked off her hat, shook out her hair—refusing to hide anymore—and pushed her shoulders back. "I dare you to try it."

He scoffed and lifted the gun.

"Drop it, Qasim." Michael stood twenty feet behind him, his weapon aimed at Khalid's head. "Your men are on the run. The ones still alive, that is. And you're surrounded."

Khalid glared at her. She glanced at the house.

There were no flames now.

Derrick was moving toward them across the snow-covered grass.

Aiming his handgun, he was fierce and determined.

"It's over, Qasim," Michael said. "Drop it."

"Now." That was Grant's voice. He was behind her.

There were no more gunshots. All was quiet as they waited .

Khalid didn't bother glancing at any of the men, just glared at her.

"If you wish to survive for your beloved wife," Jasmine said, "you will do as they say."