Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

D errick watched as Jasmine stormed toward the front door, then froze. Wise woman, considering the temperature outside. It was December in Maine—not exactly evening-stroll weather.

She swiveled and headed down the hall, away from the family and toward Sam's office and the private living area.

Derrick wandered to the foyer and stood beside the staircase, where he could intercept her if she headed for the door again, thankful for the time to figure out what to do.

He wanted to help her, of course. He'd do anything for her. But Michael had risked his life getting her out of Iraq, and the people she'd escaped were still searching for her and Leila. They were safe here in Shadow Cove. Was helping her friend really worth risking that safety?

He should talk to Michael, but Jasmine had asked him to keep what they talked about to himself. He could go against her wishes, but that would cause conflict, and if he'd learned nothing else growing up as the youngest of six hotheaded brothers, he'd learned that conflict harmed relationships, sometimes nearly irreparably .

Bryan and Grant had taught him that.

Heck, Derrick and Grant had barely had a relationship for the majority of Derrick's life—and that had been the result of someone else's conflict. He hoped their conversation today would help them move past that. Maybe it would.

Maybe not.

Derrick had risked a conflict that morning and lost a client.

Conflicts were like dirty bombs. They destroyed enemies and bystanders alike.

Derrick was doing everything in his power to move out of the friend zone with Jasmine—and he did not intend to move into the don't talk to me, I can't stand you zone.

He hated that she'd put him in this position, but she had. And the only way out of it was through conflict. Or to do what she'd asked.

Jasmine rounded the corner at the end of the hall but stopped short when she saw him. She'd slipped on her coat—a puffy thing that was probably meant to be mid-calf length but skimmed the top of her shoes. She had her purse slung over one shoulder and a set of keys dangling from the opposite hand.

He walked toward her. "You're leaving?"

She continued toward him. "It is none of your business."

"Are you going home?"

She lifted her chin and firmed her lips, and his heart thumped.

He had a bad feeling about her lack of answer. "Where are you going?"

"I am going to get my friend. I have no choice."

"To Washington, DC?" When she said nothing, he clarified with "Right now. In the dark? You're taking the car and driving ten hours? By yourself?"

"I must help?—"

"What did Leila say? "

Jasmine's eye contact slipped.

"You didn't tell her? You didn't even…" He worked to gentle his voice. "Jasmine, what are you doing?"

"She would stop me."

"Of course, because this… She should stop you. And… Wait a minute. You don't even have a car. Whose keys are those?"

"Michael provided us this car."

"Did you ask him?"

"He told us to use it for whatever we needed, and I need to do this."

"I think he meant for you to use it around here." He tamped down his frustration. "Like to run to the grocery store. Don't you ?"

"He didn't say that. He put no limitations on it."

They were implied, and Jasmine knew it.

This conversation was almost as ridiculous as the one they'd had earlier. But this wasn't a cultural issue. This was Jasmine sneaking around to get her way. And, sure, not for personal gain but for her friend. Even so…

It was so contrary to everything Derrick knew about her.

Which wasn't enough. Michael had warned Derrick that once he got to know her maybe he wouldn't like her so much. He'd thought the idea impossible, but…

But Michael knew things about Jasmine that Derrick didn't.

"You can't leave without telling them."

Her eyes, those big, beautiful eyes, widened and filled with fear. She moved down the hallway toward him, then stopped abruptly just a few feet away, as if she'd thought better of getting too close. As if she was afraid of him . "You must not tell them." Her voice held pleading. "They will stop me. Please, Derrick."

What was he supposed to say to that? If he let her go, Michael and Leila would be furious with him. But if he told them, Jasmine might never forgive him .

He couldn't live with that.

He took a breath. "You're not driving to DC by yourself tonight. It wouldn't be safe for you. And I'm not going to let you steal my brother's car?—"

"It would not be stealing. He said?—"

"Not telling him would be taking advantage of his kindness, and you know it."

The fierce look she tried to send his way faded. She dropped her gaze and crossed her arms.

"They would come after you. They would worry about you. It would cause all sorts of trouble, and if they found out I knew, it would cause me trouble."

"I have to help my friend."

"I understand." He stepped toward her, but she moved back, eyes popping wide.

He stopped. Took a breath. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her. When he'd first met her, she'd been as skittish as a rabbit. In the two months since then, she'd come to trust him, to be comfortable with him. To talk to him and laugh with him.

He wasn't going to let one conversation ruin everything they'd built.

"Helping your friend is not as simple as you're making it sound." He worked to keep his tone reasonable and kind. "But I can see that it's very important to you. Just let me think. Okay?"

At her slight nod, he considered his options.

They were few. Letting Jasmine leave by herself at night wasn't an option. Jasmine could barely drive across town—in the daylight. She would be a competent driver eventually, but she didn't have enough experience yet to make it to DC, with all the traffic between here and there, without incident.

And it sounded like getting Basma and the kid away from the aunt and uncle—had she said something about security?— was going to take some doing. Did she really think she could do that by herself?

Obviously not. She'd asked Derrick for help.

Would Michael help if Derrick told him what was going on? Maybe. Best case scenario, he'd take care of the two Iraqis himself.

Worst case scenario? He'd refuse and prevent Jasmine from helping as well. If that happened, would Jasmine ever forgive Derrick?

Probably not.

Which left door number three, the one he'd been hurtling toward since Jasmine had first asked for his help. As if there'd ever been a question.

"My charter for this week was canceled," he said. "I'll take you."

Her eyes lit up. "You will drive me?"

"Drive?" Her joy sparked his own. "Why would we drive when I have a perfectly good jet all fueled up and ready? I'll pick you up first thing in the morning."

"If we leave tomorrow, we will get there in time? They are only here for a few days."

"Trust me. But you need to tell your sister where you're going. Maybe we can make it back in one day, but if not, we don't want her to worry."

She peered past Derrick toward the crowd still enjoying dinner in the dining room and kitchen. Then she stepped close. "They are leaving for New York at four o'clock in the morning."

Right. He'd forgotten Michael, Leila, Bryan, and Sophie were going to the city for a couple of days. Bryan had an event at some museum there, and the rest were tagging along for fun.

Derrick and Jasmine had been invited, but Derrick had had the charter scheduled.

"Why aren't you going with them? "

"I do not wish to spend the weekend with the couples and all their lovey…kissing, you know? I had already told Leila I would stay home."

"So you're thinking we leave after they do and get back before them," Derrick said, "so they don't know what we're up to?" He didn't like the idea of sneaking around.

"It is only that I think they will worry."

He let his raised eyebrows show his skepticism, and she sighed.

"It is that…I believe they would stop me. Michael and Leila are worried about my safety, and for this I am grateful. But neither of them can understand how important Basma is to me. She was my only friend for many years. I am free now. How can I not help her to also be free? It is what Leila did in Munich, is it not? To tell others about Jesus, to help them find freedom? I know that it is a risk, but some risks are worth taking. Some people are worth risking for. My sister and Michael, they might understand my desire, but they will not agree that it's worth the risk. I fear that, even if I am able to convince them, it will be too late to help my friend."

Derrick wasn't sure Jasmine had ever strung so many words together at one time.

Obviously, she felt passionate about this. And she'd asked Derrick for his help.

How could he refuse her? He'd have to figure out how to get Basma and her little brother away from the people watching her and deliver them to their cousin without risking Jasmine's security.

How would he do it? No idea.

He'd just take it step by step.

They soared above the clouds in Derrick's Cessna Citation, the sunrise pink and orange in the east, the sky dark and starry in the west. Trouble far below, God so close, and the woman he loved at his side…

For Derrick, this moment was perfect.

Or would have been, if she were truly his, beside him because she chose him, not because she needed his help.

Someday, though, this would be their life. Someday, when the charters were short and didn't require a copilot, she could sit beside him in the cockpit. Instead of sitting in hotel rooms by himself, waiting for clients, he could show Jasmine sights all over the country. Take her to dinner. Take her to shows.

They could go to the beach. Go skiing. Go dancing. Go…wherever they wanted.

This could be their life. Someday. Soon.

As always, this morning she wore a shapeless dress, this one denim with a wide neckline that gave him a glimpse of her defined collarbones. Flowers were embroidered at the bottom of the flared sleeves and the flowing skirt.

She dressed so differently from other women—modest, for sure. But also, it seemed as if she were trying to hide herself, her figure. Which made sense, considering the culture she'd come from. And her captivity. And the fact that she was, in fact, hiding from her family.

Even in the not-so-attractive clothes, she was lovely. Especially when she added makeup like she had today, which accentuated her nearly black eyes. The way the eyeliner tipped up at the corners brought to mind the only other Jasmine he knew of—the princess in that Disney movie.

His Jasmine was far more beautiful than the animated one, especially when she had that wonder in her eyes as she asked question after question about every button and lever, every light and display .

Each answer he gave led her to ask a follow-up question—not that he minded. He loved flying, and he loved her. This was the dream.

"You're going to be able to fly this thing by the time we land."

She laughed, the sound lighthearted. Apparently, she'd forgiven him for not jumping right on board the let's go to DC train. So that was something.

He still wasn't sure they were doing the right thing, but he'd spent some time on his knees the night before, praying for guidance, and all he'd felt was a compulsion to help Jasmine come to her friend's aid. Derrick wouldn't claim he felt peace about this course of action, but he didn't feel peace about not doing it, either. He definitely hadn't felt the Lord telling him to stop.

That must mean he should go on. Or maybe it meant he'd do anything for Jasmine, even if the thing was stupid and reckless.

Less than two hours after takeoff, they landed at Dulles, and he taxied toward the private terminal. He nodded to the cell phone she held on her lap. "Did your friend give you any more details?"

She'd found out the name of the hotel where Basma and her brother were staying—a Marriott near Embassy Row. He knew the area well, having been to DC many times. He'd suggested Basma and her brother sneak out in the middle of the night. Jasmine had emailed them before they'd taken off.

Now, she opened her phone while he followed the ground crew past private jets of every size and flavor imaginable.

"Basma and Rabie are going to a lunch today." Jasmine scrolled her email. "And then to a fancy dinner. She says guards watch the doors of their suite all night, so they will not be able to sneak away after dark. The best time, she thinks, will be in the afternoon. Her aunt will nap, her uncle will be in meetings, and she and Rabie can go to the lobby for a snack. She believes they can slip away then."

"The guards will let them go alone?"

"Maybe she thinks she can lose them?" By the way the words ticked up, Jasmine wasn't sure. "I don't believe her aunt and uncle suspect her of planning to run. I believe the guards go with them for their protection more than anything."

"Protection from what?"

Jasmine's shoulders lifted and fell. "Perhaps there are enemies here? I do not know."

"Hmm." Derrick doubted there would be an attack on the niece and nephew of an Iraqi diplomat at a hotel in DC. Maybe the aunt and uncle were paranoid. More likely, they did suspect that Basma planned to run.

He didn't like this. Not at all.

He was directed to a spot between an old Embraer Legacy—he'd only seen photos of that particular jet—and a Gulfstream. He powered down his Cessna. "You need help with your seatbelt?"

"I got it."

"This'll take me a minute, if you want to freshen up."

"All right." She climbed from the right seat and headed toward the cabin.

When he finished his routine, he lowered the door with the built-in airstairs, letting in a chill and the stench of exhaust and diesel fuel. Intellectually, he knew the scents were off-putting, but to him they smelled like everything he'd ever wanted.

Jasmine joined him, and he thought, almost everything.

Beside him, she took in the acres and acres of jets as if she gazed at the mighty Rocky Mountains. She aimed those wide eyes at him. "It is amazing, is it not? To step on in Maine and step off in a whole different place?"

He used to feel that joy at flying. Still did, sometimes. But right now, the beauty beside him overshadowed everything else. "Amazing." When the urge to pull her close nearly overwhelmed him, he cleared his throat and inhaled the chemical-tinged air.

Man, when she looked at him like that, those giant, gorgeous eyes filled with trust and wonder, it was all he could do to keep his hands to himself.

Take it slow, Wright.

Or you're gonna blow it.

He scooted past her in the small space and grabbed their bags from where he'd left them on a couple of passenger seats. They'd each packed enough for a few days, just in case, but if Basma thought they could escape this afternoon, it was possible they'd be able to fly her and her brother to wherever they needed to go and return to Maine by midnight. Not that he'd mind extending his time with Jasmine, but the sooner this task was over and she was back where she was safe, the better.

With their bags slung over his shoulder, he nodded to the stairs. "Ladies first."

It took an hour to fill out the airport's paperwork and rent a car. Finally, they were headed east for the forty-minute drive into DC beneath an overcast sky. In the passenger seat of the silver midsize sedan—he'd chosen a car that wouldn't stand out—Jasmine watched the landscape pass. "It is not very different from Maine with all the trees."

"It's warmer in Virginia, though." The high was predicted to be in the midtwenties in Portland, while it was already forty-one here and headed to the fifties.

"Less extreme," she said.

"More like the mild weather you were used to in Iraq."

She giggled. "Mild. Exactly. But…wait." Her tone shifted. "We are in Virginia?"

"Yeah. Washington, DC, borders Virginia and Maryland. "

"What state is it in?"

"Neither. It's the only city in the US that isn't in a state." He glanced at her and grinned. "Weird facts about America."

"Your country is very interesting."

Not as interesting as Iraq, considering it had been populated since the dawn of time, literally. After all, the Garden of Eden had been in Iraq, hadn't it? Where the Tigris and the Euphrates met?

"Did Basma tell you what time she thought they'd get away?"

Jasmine unlocked her phone. "She thinks the lunch will last until two o'clock. She said perhaps three or after."

It was just past eleven, so they had some time to kill. "Hungry?" He'd brought them both cups of coffee—decaf for Jasmine, which she preferred—and pastries from a bakery in Shadow Cove. They'd finished the snacks hours before. "There's a diner not far from here. It's got everything from salads to burgers—and they serve breakfast all day, if you like that."

"How do you know this place?"

"I fly in and out of Dulles a lot. I've got clients who come to DC a couple times a year. Also, my uncle—Dad's brother—worked with the government in some capacity—though I think he's employed by a defense contractor. I've brought him down more than once."

"What did your uncle do?"

"I don't know. He never talked about his work."

"He made enough money to fly in a private jet, though."

"True." If money were the most important thing in life, and if life were a contest, then that branch of the Wright family would be winning. But money could only buy so much.

"Your family is very successful," Jasmine said, "and connected, no? With people in powerful positions?"

"Michael is, I guess, and probably Uncle Gavin. "

"And Sam, with his business connections. And you with yours."

"I'm a high-priced chauffeur. I might know a few powerful people, but we're not exactly on equal footing." When Jasmine said nothing, he glanced her way.

She seemed pensive, almost nervous.

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

He didn't ask again, just waited. Because it was definitely something, but if he pushed her, she'd clam up. He'd learned that the hard way.

Sure enough, after a moment, she said, "It's only…in Iraq, it was good to be connected—until the people you were connected to became the wrong people. My father worked for the government under Hussein. He secured a job after the dictator fell, but he was never able to move up in the government. And then, when the Americans left, Baba lost his job. He couldn't gain footing again. It is the reason we left Baghdad and ended up at the compound. It is the reason everything fell apart."

Derrick reached across the console and took Jasmine's hand, something he rarely allowed himself to do—though she didn't seem to mind. "This isn't Iraq. Leadership changes here frequently—the presidency every four or eight years. The Senate and House change a little every couple of years. State and local governments are changing all the time. The shifts are pretty minimal compared to what you've witnessed. You don't have to worry about anybody's connections—or lack of connections. You're safe here. You're safe with us." With me . He squeezed her hand and let it go.

He felt her eyes on him and caught a glimpse of admiration and something else he was afraid to name.

Was it more than friendship? Was she starting to feel a fraction of the tenderness toward him that he felt toward her ?

Did he dare hope?

"The diner sounds good." Her voice was tentative. "I am hungry, but I do not have money. I already owe you so much."

"You owe me nothing. This is what friends do." And fine. He'd never flown any of his buddies hundreds of miles for free—and then bought them lunch. Or committed to helping them aid foreign nationals in escaping their guards.

He liked his buddies well enough. But he wasn't in love with any of them. For Jasmine, he'd do just about anything.