Chapter 36

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

T ry it. Come on.

The sky grew brighter in the east. Cold wind blew off the Atlantic, but Derrick didn't feel the chill.

Smoke rose from the house he and his family had built.

The woman he loved stood a yard from the man who would've whisked her away forever. The man who would've destroyed their home and killed the people who mattered most to him in the world.

Do it.

Derrick knew it was wrong to hope Qasim would defy Michael's order. But he did hope it.

If Khalid's gun so much as twitched, Derrick would shoot him.

His head throbbed, but the pain was nothing, nothing compared to the satisfaction of seeing this man defeated.

You should've killed me when you had the chance, Qasim.

Live with that .

His finger itched to squeeze the trigger.

Michael and Grant kept their distance, but Derrick didn't care. He moved in, keeping the terrorist's head in his sights .

Come on, you pile of…cow dung. Do it.

But Khalid hadn't lived so many years—and the guy had more wrinkles than the prunes he ate for breakfast—by being stupid.

He tossed his handgun to the side, maybe afraid Jasmine would grab it and finish him off.

Derrick managed to stifle his frustration and the string of words that wanted to escape.

"On your knees!" Michael shouted. "Hands behind your head."

The glare Qasim gave Jasmine could've left a bruise. He took a step toward her, saying something in Arabic Derrick didn't understand.

She didn't back down. Just stood her ground against this man who'd abused her.

Derrick had never loved her so much.

And he'd never so badly wanted to commit murder.

"Now!" Michael said.

Qasim pressed his hands to the back of his head.

Rapid gunfire saturated the morning air.

The terrorist dropped to his knees. Then, fell forward, splat.

The snow stained red.

Derrick hardly registered what was happening, just ran.

Grant shouted, "Down, down!"

Derrick was already diving. He wrapped Jasmine in his arms, bringing her to the ground with him, taking their weight on his shoulder and hip. He rolled over her, protecting her with his body.

Another volley of gunshots.

Jasmine stared up at him with wide, terrified eyes. "What's happening?"

"I don't know." Not much, anyway. Someone had a machine gun, shooting from a boat, he guessed .

The staccato rhythm stopped, leaving nothing but silence. Slowly, other sounds drifted in. The surf crashing against the cliff below. The distant call of a seagull.

Jasmine's quick breaths, the most beautiful sound of all.

"There!" Dad's shout came over the walkie-talkies.

Derrick angled up and saw the back of a boat as it sped away.

Michael yelled, "Can you stop him? Bryan?"

A rifle shot was followed by two more.

"He's too far," Bryan finally said through the walkie-talkie. "I could've gotten him if not for the waves."

Michael uttered a curse.

Beneath Derrick, Jasmine squirmed.

He was crushing her and angled off. "Sorry, sweetheart. Are you okay?"

"I think so." She rolled to her side as if to stand. "What is happening?"

"Stay down. Let's find out what's going on."

She did, shivering beside him. She'd taken her hair down, standing brave and strong against her tyrant husband, and long silky tendrils lay across the trodden snow. Her skin was flushed from cold, and dark smudges lined her red-rimmed eyes. But her expression held a mixture of fear and wonder.

She was here, safe and alive.

The most beautiful woman in the world.

He wrapped his free arm around her and crushed her to his chest. "Thank God. Thank God."

As soon as Qasim and Jasmine had disappeared down the steps from the patio, he'd grabbed his walkie-talkie, but the explosion had cut off his words.

There'd been screams and shouts of "Fire! Fire!"

He had no idea what had happened inside. Only that it'd taken precious seconds to get through on the walkie-talkie with everyone asking questions and trying to figure out what was going on.

"Qasim has her!" Derrick had said the words over and over, all the while, standing, trying to get his bearings despite the dizziness caused by the blows to his head.

He'd watched her walk across the grass. Watched her stop and refuse to go another foot.

Finally, Grant had said, "Quiet. Everyone. Derrick, repeat."

"Qasim has her. They're headed to the cliff."

If she hadn't stopped, they'd have been motoring away before Derrick and his brothers closed in. By the time they got the keys to the boat and set out to follow, they could easily have lost them. There were so many inlets in this sea—in Maine and all the way up the coast into Canada.

She could've been lost forever.

He inhaled her scent, breathed in the very aliveness, the there ness of her. "You were so brave."

She backed up so she could see him. "I remembered I have God on my side, and you and your family. And I think…I think even Khalid knew it, at the end. That no matter how many men he'd brought, he was outmatched."

Outmatched, maybe. But things could have gone very differently.

"…satellites over my location?" Michael was saying.

Derrick angled and saw his brother walking toward the cliff, on the phone with someone. "There's a speedboat headed east-north-east. One person. He just killed a terror suspect and tried to kill the man's wife."

Whoa.

Had some of those bullets been meant for Jasmine?

"Nova Scotia or somewhere in Canada would be my guess." Michael listened, then said, "Get back to me."

He was standing, so it must be safe .

Derrick sat up and helped Jasmine do the same. "Are you all right? Did I hurt you? Did he?"

"I'm not hurt. Who was that?"

"No idea." He twisted to where Grant was leaning over Khalid. "Is Qasim…?" Derrick was afraid to ask the question. Afraid to hope. "How is he?"

Grant stood. "Dead."

"What?" Jasmine pushed to her knees, gazing out at the water. "You're sure? Is it safe?"

"Shooter's long gone." Grant scooped up Qasim's weapon, looking at Derrick. "Quick thinking, getting her down. I couldn't have gotten there in time."

Derrick swallowed the image his brother's words raised inside him. Had that man really been trying to shoot her?

Jasmine's hand snaked around his arm. "I wasn't thinking, but you…you saved my life. Again."

"Maybe." He cleared his throat of sudden emotion. "Just instinct."

"Good instincts," Grant said.

Derrick wasn't ready to process that or…any of this. He stood, trying to hide the dizziness caused by the sudden motion, then helped Jasmine up, keeping a hold of her hand even after she gained her feet. "How are you, really?"

"I thought you were dead."

"Just a little woozy. It took me a few seconds to get my wits back. By the time I did, the door opened, and I wanted him to think I was out, that I wasn't a threat."

Her head dipped, but her gaze flicked to the man lying in a pool of bloodstained snow.

Grant was there, his focus on the terrorist's handgun. "Huh." He closed the chamber and shoved it in his waistband. "Guy had guts, I'll give him that."

"What do you mean?" Derrick asked .

"Gun's empty. He was out of bullets."

Oh. Oh.

That explained why Khalid had knocked him over the head instead of shooting him.

"You mean he couldn't have shot me?" Jasmine asked.

"He figured you'd just go with him, the arrogant little rat." Grant grinned. "You probably gave him the shock of his life."

Jasmine didn't smile, though. "He is dead? He is really dead?"

"He can't hurt you now." Grant moved out of the way. "See for yourself."

"No, no. It is…" Her head shook, then her whole body shook, trembling, quaking. She swayed, her skin turning that yellowish tint that told Derrick she was not all right.

Ignoring his headache and praying he wouldn't get dizzy again, he scooped her into his arms. "It's okay, sweetheart. You're okay."

"But the house." She must've just remembered what happened before because she suddenly sounded panicked. "Who is hurt? Is Leila…? There was an explosion!"

"I think it's okay. Let's find out." He carried her across the lawn to the door that led to the basement. It slid open as they approached.

Leila stood in the opening. "Yasamin! Thank God."

Derrick set her on her feet, and she fell into her twin's arms. They hugged, then backed up to see each other, studying one another with identical gazes.

"Are you okay?" They both asked the question at the same time, then both answered with, "I'm fine." They smiled identical smiles.

"As long as you're both sure." Mom shoved past Derrick and hugged Jasmine. "Thank God you're all right. What happened? Derrick said a man had you? It was your husband? "

"Yes. He somehow?—"

"It's a long story," Derrick said. "We'll explain everything. How's everyone here?"

"It could have been worse." She focused on Jasmine again. "Thank you for making sure everyone was safe."

"I'm so sorry, so sorry this happened." Jasmine seemed shaky and ill. "Is anyone hurt?"

"Camilla has a sprained ankle." Mom shooed him away, and she and Leila urged Jasmine toward the chairs against the wall. "Summer is a little banged up."

"Summer what?" Grant had followed Derrick and Jasmine inside. Now, he nudged Derrick out of the way. "Where is she?"

"Upstairs with Dad," Mom said.

Grant was already making his way past Sophie, Zo?, Camilla, and Eliza, who stood between the ping-pong table and the pool table, though they parted to give him space to pass.

Levi was playing the Ms. Pac-Man game against the wall as if all were right with the world. Thank heavens somebody had turned its volume way down. Derrick wasn't sure he could stand the mechanical munching sounds at that moment.

When Grant had reached the stairs, Derrick leaned close to his mother, lowering his voice. "Is Summer okay? Really? And the baby?"

Mom shrugged, her smile tight. "Dad's with her. She said she saw the guy aiming the launcher thing and dove under the bed. It hit…" Mom shook her head, and the tears she was trying to hold back dripped. "Hit the house next to the window where she'd been standing. Blew a big hole in the wall. But she's tough. Jeremy scrambled down in seconds."

Derrick was confused. He'd taken out the guy with the launcher.

Maybe there'd been two launchers. Must've been. And that made sense because they'd hit the back of the house and the front, and Michael or Grant would've seen and stopped anyone trying to move past the house with it.

"What about the fire?" Derrick asked. "Caused by the explosion?"

"No. Summer said one of them threw a… What do you call it? Named like a mixed drink?"

"A Molotov cocktail?"

"Yeah, that's what she said. The guy launched it through the hole created by the explosion, and it lit the northeast room, where Summer was, then rolled into the hallway and the room across, where Camilla was."

Derrick imagined the horrifying scene.

"Jeremy grabbed one of the fire extinguishers and put it out. Those rooms will need to be rebuilt, but Jeremy kept the fire from spreading and got Summer and his mom out of there. By then, I guess Bryan had taken care of that…person." Mom's lips pinched, though with the thought of her son killing a man or the thought of a firebomb aimed at her family, Derrick wasn't sure. He'd guess the second.

"But you think Summer's all right?"

"Dad said so, and he is a doctor." She gave Derrick a don't ask silly questions look. "Anyway, after that, the rest of the terrorists ran. At least that's what Bryan told me. What happened with you guys?"

"We'll tell you everything, soon." Derrick turned to check on Jasmine. She was sitting at one of the game tables near the back door with her sister, safe and unhurt.

Michael had come in and was on the phone a few feet away. Catching Derrick's eye, he held up a hold-on finger, spoke into the cell phone, then shoved it in his pocket.

"It is over, right?" Derrick walked toward him. "Qasim's men are gone? "

"We think so, but Grant and I will sweep the woods to make sure."

"I'll go with you. Summer was hurt."

Michael's brows lowered. "How bad?"

"Dad's with her."

Mom had come up behind Derrick. "She has a little bump on the head, but there's no reason to believe the baby's been harmed. Is it safe to go back upstairs?" At Michael's nod, she clapped her hands to get everyone's attention. "Who needs coffee?"

A chorus of I dos and Yes, pleases came from the room.

And then Levi popped in with, "Can I have a donut, Nana? I'm starved."

Derrick wasn't the only one to chuckle, and it felt good.

Good to laugh. Good to breathe.

It was over. Somehow, it was really and truly over.

The next few hours were a whirlwind.

Derrick and Michael swept the woods for terrorists and found a handful of wounded men who hadn't made it back to the boats to escape. The enemies were disarmed, given medical attention—Daniel was brought in for that—and then turned over to the police, who showed up about thirty minutes after all the excitement was over.

The police had alerted the fire department, who'd sent someone over from the mainland to ensure the fire was completely out.

Except for Levi, every member of the Wright family was questioned about what happened—not shocking, considering the number of dead bodies. But they'd been attacked. It wasn't as if Khalid's men had given the Wrights any choice but to defend themselves.

When Michael's team landed at the dock a couple of hours after the police, flashing IDs and dropping names—it didn't hurt that they worked directly for the president—the local cops stepped aside.

Finally, after all the questions were answered and everyone felt certain the island was safe from imminent terror threats, Derrick helped Daniel, Jeremy, and Sam close up the hole in the second story and board up all the broken windows.

Perched on an aluminum ladder leaning against the exterior wall, Derrick nailed a piece of plywood securely to a window frame, trying not to think about the stench that carried from inside. Charred wood, of course. Ammonia from the fire extinguishers. And a sharp, pungent odor produced by all the other stuff that'd burned. And the flash-bangs.

Would they ever get the stink out?

He hadn't gone upstairs inside the house, but the view from the ladder was enough to give him a sense of what it'd been like.

A bomb.

Someone had bombed his family's vacation home. And then hurled a Molotov cocktail through it.

Camilla had sprained her ankle. Dad and Bryan had been shooting terrorists. Summer had been trapped under a bed, trying not to burn to death.

He hated to think what might've happened if they hadn't had the fire extinguishers close by. Fortunately, Mom and Dad had always kept plenty on hand, just in case. Considering the closest first responders were a boat ride away, they'd prepared for every emergency they could imagine.

They'd never imagined terrorists.

But they'd been prepared for a fire.

Even the fire extinguishers would've been useless if not for Jeremy, who'd been quick to grab them and get the fire out. The teenager was a hero.

Everybody had helped, whether firing weapons or protecting the weak or just being there, not panicking. Offering moral support.

Derrick had always known he had a good family, despite the conflicts and broken relationships. He'd lived his life in fear that he would do something or say something that might harm his family. He'd walked on proverbial eggshells, afraid of offending. Afraid of breaking bonds that felt as fragile as glass.

He pulled a nail from his pocket and hammered it into the wood.

Fragile?

Nobody in his right mind would consider the Wrights fragile.

They were strong. And not just physically, though that was certainly true. But his family was strong as a unit. Together. No matter what happened. And he realized, looking back…

They always had been.

Even the years Grant had been gone and Bryan had been bitter, if anything had threatened them, they'd have come together. They'd always loved each other. And they always would.

Derrick reached for another nail, nearly fumbled the hammer.

"Be careful," Daniel called from below. "Wouldn't it be ironic if, after everything, I was killed by a hammer to the head?"

"Not funny, man." But Derrick grinned at his oldest brother, who held onto the extension ladder as if it might spontaneously tip over. Once they'd gotten the plywood in place, this wasn't really a two-man job, so Daniel was just standing on the ground, watching him .

Derrick chuckled to himself, thinking of how he'd yelled at his brothers the night before. A week ago, he'd never have dared talk to them that way. He'd have been too afraid they'd never forgive him.

Now, he knew his family was far from breakable. Their bonds weren't glass but iron, and nothing could shatter them.

Nothing.

He finished with the plywood, climbed down to get the tarp from his brother, and worked on nailing it in place.

Dad had a multitude of tarps. When you lived on an island, you had to have everything you might ever need on hand. Dad had been an Eagle Scout once upon a time.

Be prepared.

Sadly, no plastic tarps or half-inch pieces of plywood were going to keep out the chilly Maine winter or the frigid wind blowing off the North Atlantic. Most of the house was undamaged, but a couple of rooms on the second floor needed major work. Derrick would lend a hand, and he figured his brothers would as well, when they had time. They'd build this place back, better than ever. Probably even add some cabins like Mom and Dad had originally planned to do. There'd be more kids coming along soon enough. And it wouldn't be long before Zo? and Jeremy would marry and start the next generation of Wrights. Now that Daniel and his family were moving back to Maine, their kids would be around a lot more often.

The Wrights would keep this island and their house on it, despite what they'd just endured.

The storm had moved out, leaving a blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds. The pines and oaks and birches that stretched across the island swayed in the cold wind whipping off the water.

The forest had settled as if nothing unusual had happened. One would never know the violence that had taken place a few hours before.

The house held scars, though, bullet holes and pockmarks that riddled the siding. But none of the Wrights had been shot.

It was crazy, really, how well they'd come through that. A testament to Grant's planning and his and Michael's skills as warriors and Bryan's shooting and…

God.

Derrick and his loved ones were safe. Every single one of them.

The truth of it had moisture filling his eyes.

Thank You.

Only God could've done this.

He finished nailing the tarp in place and descended the ladder, passing more bullet holes as he went down. How in the world was Dad going to explain this to the insurance company?

We were attacked by terrorists.

No, seriously…

"What are you grinning about?" Daniel asked when Derrick joined him on the ground.

"Just wondering if we're going to end up in one of those ‘strangest homeowner's insurance claims' commercials."

Daniel chuckled, lowering the extension ladder. "Let's hope not. The Wrights have had enough excitement for all our lifetimes, if you ask me."

That was the truth.

They hefted the ladder across the lawn on trampled snow toward the storage barn at the rear of the property.

They'd been through enough trouble, all of them. And yet, somehow, they'd survived—more than survived.

Grant and Summer would be parents soon. Dad had thoroughly examined Summer and pronounced her fit, except for the bump on her head and some bruises.

Daniel and Camilla had their beautiful, healthy grown children.

Sam and Eliza had Levi. Though they hadn't made an announcement, Derrick guessed by the weight Eliza had put on that she was expecting.

Michael and Leila would be married in the spring, and though it wasn't official, Bryan and his princess bride wouldn't be far behind.

And there was Jasmine.

She was free of her husband. Free to marry.

Derrick had hardly let himself consider what it meant.

Was it wrong to celebrate the man's death? Maybe.

But Derrick hadn't shot him. He'd wanted to, God help him. But he hadn't done it. He'd left his future in God's hands, and… Well, God had let the guy die.

Whoever had shot him…that was an issue for Michael and his people to figure out. Definitely not Derrick's problem.

Considering everything Qasim had done, Derrick wouldn't be shedding a tear for the terrorist.

After stowing the ladder, Derrick followed his big brother up the stairs to the patio, his gaze catching on the bloodstained snow on the far side of the yard.

Khalid's body was gone, along with all the others, driven on the family's carts across the island to the north docks, where they were loaded up and taken back to the mainland. Derrick had no idea what Michael's team would do with them now. Probably ID them if they could, figure out if they were US citizens or immigrants—legal or not. Maybe they'd try to work backward and figure out how the men had ended up working for Khalid.

Maybe the wounded combatants would be able to help with that.

None of that was Derrick's problem .

The sun was shining, the snow evaporating. Soon enough, all traces of the terrorists would fade into the land again, as if they'd never been there at all.

Derrick followed his brother into the kitchen, which was filled with the most glorious scents he could imagine. Meat and roasting vegetables and cinnamon and chocolate. Dishes covered every surface, the food hidden by layers of aluminum foil.

Flames danced in the fireplace on the far side of the great room, where the Christmas tree towered to the ceiling. Somehow, the wall of windows had remained undamaged. Amazing.

"…should hold for now," Daniel was saying.

With him, Bryan, Jeremy, Mom, and Dad congregated around the giant island, all busy getting out all the food they'd prepared for today's party. Someone had called Uncle Gavin and the rest of the other Wright family to cancel the party, but the food would need to be eaten, the sooner the better, as far as Derrick was concerned.

He'd managed to gulp half a cup of coffee and swallow a donut that morning before the police showed up, but then he'd gotten pulled into all the things that needed to be done.

"It won't keep out the cold." Jeremy held a sleeve of crackers in one hand, four of them in the other, ready to chow down. The eighteen-year-old looked ravenous. He shoved a cracker in his mouth, then spoke around it. "At least rain and snow won't get inside."

"You were a great help today." Daniel squeezed his son's shoulder. "And last night. I'm so proud of you."

Jeremy rolled his eyes, but that didn't hide his pleasure at his dad's words .

"Where is everyone?" Derrick asked.

"Grant and Summer are in one of the rooms upstairs." Dad's lips quirked at the corners. "It's hard to believe the worrier he is right now after the warrior he was last night."

"I thought you said Summer's fine." Derrick glanced from his father to Daniel, the other doctor in the family.

"Just needs to rest, like all of us." Dad shook his head, pretending exasperation he obviously didn't feel. "Grant refused to leave the bedroom until she fell asleep."

Derrick was about to ask about Jasmine when voices had him focusing on the stairs. Camilla, Zo?, and Sophie came down, covered in a fine film of white dust. Camilla was leaning heavily on the handrail and using the vacuum cleaner with her other hand like a walking stick. Zo? wore a face mask, probably a holdover from the pandemic, and held a bucket and cleaning supplies, and Sophie had an armful of sheets and blankets.

Daniel hurried toward his wife. "What are you doing, love? You're supposed to stay off your ankle."

"It already feels better." Camilla handed him the vacuum. "That probably needs to be wiped down before we put it away. Fire extinguisher dust gets on everything."

"So I see." He set the vacuum aside and brushed dust out of her hair. "You wore a mask, right?"

"Yes, doctor." She lifted her wrist, where a mask dangled.

"We told her to rest. She's a stubborn one." Sophie continued toward the stairs that led to the basement. "We'll need to wash all the bedding."

Bryan grabbed her load. "I'll take it, hon."

"Get those started," Mom called after him, taking the cleaning supplies from Zo?. "We want to get it all finished before we leave, which we'll do right after lunch."

Her mention of lunch was greeted with a chorus of yesses and amens .

Nobody heard Derrick's stomach growling, but it was on board with that.

Where was Jasmine, though?

Movement on the far side of the room caught his attention as Jasmine pushed up from the sofa. She tossed away a blanket and unfolded her legs.

Dad leaned close and lowered his voice. "I tried to get her to go upstairs to rest, too, but she refused. I don't know why." But his expression told Derrick he had a good guess—and it had everything to do with him.

Derrick pretended not to see as he crossed the room. "How you doing?"

She stretched like a cat awakened from a nap. "I'm good." But the word faded on a yawn.

"More hungry than tired?" Her eyes lit, and he grinned. "Mom said something about food."

He held his hand out, and she took it and stood, keeping her hand in his as if it belonged right there. Which it did.

Dad let out a high-pitched whistle, calling the family to gather, and those not already there made their way to the first floor, even Summer, who preceded Grant.

"Honey." Grant followed her. "Let me bring you a plate in bed. You can rest?—"

"That's enough." Summer's voice was loud as she rounded on her husband and jabbed her finger into his chest. "I'm hungry. I'm rested, and I'm fine. If you suggest I go back to bed one more time, I'm going to punch you. Got it?"

Conversation stopped.

Nobody breathed.

And then Grant chuckled, kissed her on the forehead, and peered over her head at Dad. "You're right. She's fine."

Which made everybody laugh.

Even Dad, but his smile didn't last long. He cleared his throat and turned to Michael, who'd come in from outside a moment before. "Your brother wants to talk to us before we eat."

Michael stepped into the room and took Leila's hand.

The whole family was there, watching him. Waiting.

"Sorry. Mom said lunch would be another five minutes or so." Michael looked at her, and she nodded. He scanned the family until he saw Jasmine. "I thought you might want to know what we learned."

She squeezed Derrick's hand. "Yes, please."

"Most of the men we caught aren't talking, but one of them is young and in the mood to chat. He's homegrown." Michael's lips pressed closed in his trademark smirk, and he shook his head. "Guy's from Ohio. Born and raised. Part of a terror cell that was called up. His had about twenty men. He didn't know about the other cells until they all met last night. There were ninety of them from all different places. Qasim activated them all up just for this."

Derrick slipped his hand around Jasmine's waist and pulled her close, needing the connection and figuring she did too.

All those men, all that trouble. Just to get her back.

"Any word on the man in the boat?" Grant asked.

Michael focused on Sophie. "Dariush Ghazi was spotted in Portland yesterday afternoon. Our theory is that he either rented or stole a boat. We're working on confirming that."

Sophie's skin paled to match day-old snow.

"Why would he shoot Khalid?" Bryan asked.

"I'm guessing he knew too much."

"About what?" Derrick looked from Bryan to Sophie to Michael. "I don't understand. How does all of this go together?"

"We're not sure yet," Michael said. "We know Dariush knew you." He nodded to Jasmine, and then to Leila beside him. "So he must've recognized you. Maybe he'd heard Jasmine had a twin or just put it together? "

Leila's head tipped to the side. "Perhaps that is how Qasim found me in Munich. Perhaps Dariush alerted him."

"But why?" Jasmine asked. "He is the kind of man who is always working for gain. He must have had a reason."

Michael shrugged. "When we find him, we'll ask him. That's all I know for now."

"But we're safe?" Dad clarified. "It's over?"

"Yeah." Michael looked from Leila to Jasmine. "There's nobody else."

"But what about…" Derrick hated to ask the question, but he wouldn't be able to rest if he didn't. He held Jasmine tightly against his side. "What about their father?"

Michael's lips pressed closed, and his gaze flicked from Leila to Jasmine.

She was the one who answered. "Baba does not have the resources to find us. He went along with his brother and the others, but he was not in charge. You agree, sister?"

Leila nodded. "You knew him better than I did at the end. I trust your judgment."

"I think we are safe from Baba." Jasmine squeezed Derrick's hand. "It is over."

The room seemed to take a collective breath.

"Well." Mom obviously didn't know how to segue from that to normalcy. In her defense, what reasonable person would? "Now that that's settled…the food is ready."

Dad cleared his throat. "Let's hold hands for the blessing."

They circled up, the whole crowd of them. Derrick's five brothers, their wives and future wives, Zo?, Jeremy, Levi, Mom, and Dad.

Derrick held onto Jasmine's hand, and it all just…hit him. What had happened.

What could have happened .

What they'd gone through, not just today but over the past few months.

How much they could have lost. How much they had gained.

How good, how incredibly good, their God was.

Apparently, Derrick wasn't the only one who had these thoughts because he saw a lot of moisture around the circle, mostly on the faces of the women. His brothers held their heads up, like they could shake the tears back inside.

"Well, God." Dad swallowed hard, scanning the room. "I don't think there are words big enough for this moment. Thank You doesn't cover it. You did this. You saved us and…" He took a breath and blew it out. "We owe You…everything."

Derrick kissed the top of Jasmine's head, and she looked up at him with more wonder than even she'd ever held before.

And for the first time, he figured his expression mirrored hers.

Dad seemed at a loss. The rest of them were just nodding along, sniffing. Smiling and crying. He and his brothers pretending not to cry.

Then Daniel said, "I think that covers it. Amen."

The room chorused, "Amen."

They filled their plates and talked and laughed and stoked the fire and gathered at the oversize dining room table in the shadow of the Christmas tree and ate.

And all the while, Derrick couldn't keep from watching the beautiful woman who was safe and healthy and maybe, God willing, might someday be his.

An hour later, Derrick crossed the yard from the cliff. He'd helped haul luggage to the dock. Even with both speedboats here, it would take a couple of trips to get everyone back to the mainland. Dad had headed across the choppy water with Mom, Grant, Summer, Bryan, and Sophie in his boat. Michael followed with Daniel, Camilla, Zo?, and Jeremy in the other.

The sun was already dipping in the west. It would be fully dark by the time Dad and Michael would be back to collect the rest of them. Not that it mattered. Traveling the few miles over the choppy water would be a piece of cake after the danger they'd endured.

Derrick climbed to the patio and crossed to the kitchen door. It opened before he reached it.

Jasmine must've showered because her hair was damp, hanging over her shoulder, her face scrubbed and glowing in the pale evening light. She wore a red dress that didn't manage to hide her beautiful shape. She'd slipped into a jacket and a pair of fuzzy boots. Had she been about to go in search of him? She smiled, the expression so open and fresh that he stopped where he was, just to look at her.

He'd rarely seen her so unguarded. So…happy.

"Well? Are you coming?" Her head tilted, and her voice held teasing. "I think your father would say heat doesn't grow on trees, no?"

Wow. The way she gazed at him was heating far more than the outside air.

Derrick's inside was getting pretty warm.

"Though I think, when you build a fire, heat does grow on trees." She grinned. "This is kidding, yes? This thing your father always says?" And then she laughed as if she'd just gotten Dad's stupid joke, and it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard.

Derrick couldn't stand it, not for one more second.

He crossed the space, pulled her outside and into his arms.

"Oh." Her eyes were wide, but she wasn't afraid. Just surprised and…pleased .

She was so perfect, right there, tucked against him. Tiny and vulnerable and strong and amazing and everything he'd ever wanted.

"You're not married anymore." And why was his voice so husky?

"This is true." Her words were barely a whisper.

He held her eye contact. "Are there any…rules I need to know about? With the mourning? The whole…widow thing?"

"For a beloved husband, yes. But for Khalid?" Her head shifted back and forth, the gesture slight as if she didn't want to move—as if she didn't want to risk breaking their connection.

He dipped his head and inhaled her scent, shampoo and Christmas and everything he'd ever wanted. He yearned to taste her. He wanted her lips against his. But he would give her time. He wouldn't force himself on her the way Qasim had. He wouldn't pressure her. He had all the time in the world, even if his body was telling him differently.

But she rose to her tiptoes and touched her lips to his, the slightest pressure.

He was almost afraid to move. Slow. Take it slow.

He tried. Honestly, he tried.

She started it.

When her lips moved, he responded in kind. At least, he hoped it was in kind . He wasn't completely sure.

Her mouth opened, and he had no choice but to dive in. To explore. To claim this woman he loved. This woman he would love until his last breath.