Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

D errick checked the rearview again. Two black SUVs had been following him, courtesy no doubt of the second guard and whomever he'd called on his way across the coffee shop. The vehicles had been no more than a block behind when Derrick had first peeled out into traffic.

He'd replayed the scene in the coffee shop a thousand times.

The whole thing had happened so fast. Thirty seconds from start to finish, and just like that, Derrick had…what? Was he a kidnapper? Was he a wanted man? He had no idea.

He should've just left Rabie and run.

Stupid. But the way Basma had looked at him, with such pleading in her eyes…

He hadn't had the heart.

All well and good, except if he didn't get out of DC and deliver the kid to his cousins, they'd get caught. Rabie would end up with his psycho half brother, and Derrick and Jazz would land in prison.

God…

What? What was he supposed to ask for here? He had no idea .

At least he knew DC, a city designed to confuse with all the traffic circles everywhere. Between those and some quick turns down hard-to-see alleys, Derrick had managed to lose the SUVs.

How many security people did Basma's aunt and uncle have? And how in the world did Basma think she was going to escape now that she'd shown her hand? And if she didn't escape, then what were Derrick and Jasmine supposed to do with Rabie?

Did Jasmine know where their cousins lived or how to get in touch with them? And if not, were they supposed to just take the kid home?

Derrick should have refused this whole stupid adventure. Told her no way would he help her. And then he should've told Michael what she planned, and then he should've…flown to Florida or something, somewhere away from her and those big, beautiful brown eyes and that sweet, sweet smile.

He was an idiot. A stupid, smitten idiot.

And now he was a felon. And so was Jasmine.

And there were guards searching for them, and no doubt police, and probably FBI.

Maybe this could still work out. Maybe Basma would email Jasmine and find a way to meet them. Maybe they could pass off the kid without incident and walk away from all of this.

Right.

Maybe he should put a down payment on that bridge in Brooklyn too. And keep his eye out for the Yellow Brick Road.

He needed to call Michael. And he would, too, as soon as he had a little time to think through what he wanted to say and what to ask for. Michael had all those CIA contacts. If he couldn't help, maybe Grant knew somebody in law enforcement who could intervene. He was a detective in Coventry now, but between his time in special forces and his work as a bodyguard, he had to know people, didn't he ?

Just what Derrick wanted—to beg his brothers to help him out of a jam. They would give it, but would they ever respect him again? Would they want anything to do with him?

He had to squelch an urge to punch the steering wheel. No need to scare the kid. Or Jasmine.

He checked the rearview again—no sign of the guards—then scanned the area. He'd driven far from where they'd started. The structures here weren't stately and beautiful, and the streets weren't tree lined. Instead, though the buildings might've been newer, they seemed to sag under the weight of neglect. The sidewalks were decorated with litter and filth. The few people outside seemed wilted, some sitting on steps, others lying on the sidewalk. One trudged forward, pushing a shopping cart.

Derrick drove past a small park that'd become a tent city for the homeless.

Amazing what a difference a few blocks could make.

And a few hours, apparently.

At a stoplight, Derrick turned to check on his passengers. Rabie was playing with a Rubik's Cube. Jasmine was bent over her phone.

He cleared his throat. "Any news?" He didn't add from Basma but figured Jasmine knew what he meant.

She shook her head, her expression so distraught he was tempted to stop the car, pull her out, and give her a long hug. Tell her it was going to be all right and promise that he'd take care of everything.

That was the kind of thinking that'd gotten him into this mess in the first place.

The light turned green, and he accelerated, driving toward a small strip mall he remembered from an earlier visit to the city. He parked behind it, catching Jasmine's eyes in the mirror. "Sit tight." And then, in case she didn't know what that meant, added, "Stay in the car. "

Only after she nodded did he get out. He removed the New Hampshire license plates, scoffing at the motto. Ha. Live free or die.

He was going to end up behind door number three, where there were steel bars and barbed wire.

He shoved the license plates into the bottom of his duffel bag, then tossed the cheap red jacket on top. With the Virginia plates showing again, nobody should be able to pick out the nondescript car.

Back behind the wheel, he navigated toward the highway. It was after four, and traffic was heavy and only getting worse.

"Derrick?" Jasmine's voice was tentative, which made sense, considering he hadn't exactly been kind to her.

He worked to keep his voice even. "Yeah?"

"What is the plan?"

"We'll be at the airport in about forty-five minutes." They were so far backed up at an intersection that they'd probably end up sitting through two rounds of lights, so he turned to face them. "Not sure where we should go, but we'll fly somewhere."

Rabie looked up from his puzzle, eyes wide.

Derrick smiled at him, hoping it passed for natural. "How you doing?"

The kid shrugged.

"I'm Derrick. Sorry if I scared you. Have you ever been on a private jet?"

"We came here on a big plane." His English was almost as good as Jasmine's.

"Mine is small. I'll let you ride in the cockpit after we take off, if you want."

His eyes lit, though the expression didn't last. "We are going without Basma?"

Derrick let Jasmine field that.

"She will meet us as soon as she can." Jasmine managed to be gentle but not patronizing. "She asked us to take care of you, and that's what we're trying to do. You can trust us, Rabie. I promise."

The kid focused on Derrick again as if trying to decide whether this strange man who'd snatched him away from his sister truly could be trusted.

Though traffic moved around them, Derrick didn't break his eye contact. The kid had to be traumatized.

Finally, Rabie reached for his backpack and dug out another toy, apparently satisfied, at least for now.

Jasmine relaxed against the seat and checked her phone again.

Derrick inched forward in traffic. When they reached the airport, they'd have to return the rental and then get to the terminal. By the time he finished his checklist, best case scenario, they'd be wheels up in a couple of hours. At which point, if they hadn't heard from Basma, he'd reach out to Michael and figure out what to do next.

Assuming they didn't get arrested and thrown into jail between now and then.

After Derrick found a spot in the vast rental car lot, he ordered an Uber.

"Put your game away." Jasmine's voice was tender when she spoke to Rabie.

He didn't respond, but Derrick heard the bag zipping, so he must have obeyed.

"Thank you, Rabie." To Derrick she said, "We are waiting for something?"

He caught her eye in the mirror. "We'll get out when our ride is near. You all right? "

She nodded.

"No news?"

"No, but she will reach out. The Ghazis are good people. They will not harm her."

The Ghazis. He filed the name away, not bothering to argue with her assessment, though how people who wouldn't give a grown woman her choice of where to live and with whom—who would employ guards to stop her—could be considered good, he couldn't fathom.

When the Uber driver was three minutes away, they headed toward the rental car facility. Though anxiety churned in his gut, he did his best to act confident, like he belonged. Like he did this all the time.

Which he did—renting cars, anyway. Not the kidnapping part.

He dropped the keys in the box and the suitcases into the Uber's trunk—it was a midsize Nissan—and slid into the backseat beside Rabie. Jasmine sat next to the other window.

The driver—Kyle, according to the app—couldn't be more than twenty-two. He was slight and pale with messy blond hair that made him look like he'd stepped right off a surfboard. "Signature Aviation, yeah?"

"That's it."

He angled into traffic and maneuvered away from the main terminal toward the one used for private aircraft.

Traffic was dense, as always. It seemed to take forever before, finally, Kyle left the bulk of the cars and headed for the modern building.

It wouldn't be long now. As soon as they were on the plane, they'd be safe.

"Don't stop!" Jasmine shouted.

Kyle had slowed considerably. "Ma'am, I gotta drop you?—"

"Keep going," Derrick said, then to Jasmine, "What is it? "

"He is inside. There, see?" She averted her gaze while Derrick peered past her.

The automatic doors slid open as the driver passed, and Derrick saw a Middle Eastern man wearing a suit and tie. He was watching the road, and everything about him screamed security.

Derrick twisted to face Rabie. "Did you recognize that man?"

He shook his head, but he seemed terrified. Of Derrick? Or of the man inside the terminal?

"What you want me to do, dude?" Kyle asked.

"Can you just drive, please?" Derrick needed to think.

"I mean, I'm only gonna get paid to bring you here, so…"

Derrick wrangled his wallet out of his back pocket and pulled out two fifties. Holding them between the seats, he asked, "This enough to get us back to DC?"

The kid eyed the cash. "You got it. Where abouts?"

"They're following us!" Jasmine had twisted and was watching out the rear window. "Isn't that the car from earlier?"

Derrick turned and saw the SUV. It was a good seventy yards behind but gaining on them.

"How did they find us?" Jasmine's voice was shrill.

As if he knew. He was tempted to tell her to calm down—because that always worked. To Kyle, he said, "There's an extra fifty in it for you if you can lose that SUV."

"Not cops, right? I can't?—"

"Not cops." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "My friend's ex. I'm trying to help her get somewhere safe. The guy thinks he owns her and her kid. You know what I mean?"

"Gotcha. No problem." Kyle floored his little sedan, the sudden acceleration pressing Derrick back against the seat. He whipped around slower cars, never staying in the same lane more than a minute or two .

If Derrick were watching from another vehicle, he'd call the guy a maniac. He was a bit of a maniac, but Derrick wasn't going to complain.

Jasmine was still looking behind them. "They're falling back."

Between them, Rabie held his backpack on his lap, arms wrapped around it like it contained his most valuable possessions. His eyes were wide. Unfortunately, in the middle seat, he had a great view of Kyle's Mario Andretti driving. As if the kid wasn't scared enough.

Jasmine gave updates every few seconds.

"I think we lost… No, he's speeding up."

A moment later, "He's stuck behind a bus." And then, "He's way back there."

It seemed Kyle was losing their pursuers.

Derrick clasped Rabie's shoulder. "It's going to be okay, son."

The boy gaped at him, terror clear in his expression, and Derrick's heart cracked just a little.

This was his fault. He'd taken this child away from his sister and his aunt and uncle. He'd taken him away from his security and safety. And maybe it would be better for Rabie in the long run, but right now, the kid had every right to be terrified.

Obviously, Basma hadn't told her brother about her plan for them to escape, much less about Jasmine and Derrick. Frankly, the kid was holding it together incredibly well.

Derrick hated to think how he'd be acting if someone had snatched him away from his family when he was nine years old.

He shifted to face Rabie, lowering his voice so Kyle wouldn't hear. "I'm sure you're scared, son. If I were you, I'd be terrified. I promise that Jasmine"—he nodded toward her and switched to her Iraqi name—"Yasamin and I aren't going to hurt you. We're going to do everything we can to reunite you with your sister. Do you know what that word means? Reunite?"

His face scrunched in confusion.

"It means get back together. Your sister asked us to take you away, even if she couldn't come. Jasmine can show you her email when we're someplace safe. We are only trying to do what she asked. You understand that?"

He nodded, but his eyes filled with tears. "I want Basma."

"I know, buddy. I bet you do."

"Are we gonna get to fly on your plane?"

"Not today." Derrick leaned back and met Jasmine's eyes over Rabie's head.

She relaxed against the seat. "They're gone."

"Good." To Kyle, he said, "Nice job."

"Where should I take you?"

That was the question. It was one thing for Basma's security to guess Derrick might be headed to Dulles—as opposed to the other two major airports in the DC area—but how had they guessed they'd be headed to the private terminal?

Either the guards had virtually unlimited resources, enough to cover every terminal in the metro area—and Derrick wasn't buying that—or they'd known where they were going.

Which didn't make any sense at all.

"Jazz?" He kept his voice low and conversational. "Did you tell your friend how we were getting here this morning?"

"No."

"You're sure? No hints?"

"It was not a game of guessing. I gave no hints."

"Did you tell her we were flying, even if you didn't mention my jet?"

"Derrick, I did not tell her?—"

"Did you mention Dulles?"

"I told her nothing," Jasmine snapped .

Fine. But if she didn't tell Basma, then how did the security guys know?

"Is it possible we overreacted?" she asked. "Perhaps the man inside the building was not searching for us. Perhaps the black SUV was not following us."

"You were watching him. What do you think?"

Her lips pressed together, and her gaze flicked toward the rear window. "He was also driving…like this one." She tipped her chin toward Kyle. "But not as…"

"Aggressively?"

"Yes. I think. Perhaps he is just a bad driver. Perhaps we only thought we saw something that we didn't see."

Yeah. Maybe.

Much as he didn't want Basma's people to be that far ahead of them, he hated to think he'd panicked.

It was all so convoluted and crazy.

"You guys decide where to go?" Kyle asked.

It seemed they'd lost the bad guys for now—assuming anyone had been following them in the first place. Derrick just needed to get Jasmine and Rabie somewhere safe where they could rest and regroup. He pulled his phone from his pocket. "Let me make a call."

This was Derrick's favorite hotel in the DC metro, not because it was fancy—it wasn't. But because it was close enough to the airport to get there quickly, far enough away that he could go for a jog without the constant rumble of takeoffs and landings, and affordable.

He'd been surprised to learn they had a suite available. The word suite made it sound much fancier than it was. One room had a kitchenette with a small table and a living area with a pull-out sofa.

Jasmine and Rabie were in the other room. The door was closed, the shower running. Derrick had insisted Rabie leave his backpack, which had nearly caused a full meltdown.

There'd been screaming and tears, but Jasmine had calmed him, speaking soothingly in Arabic. The kid hadn't relaxed until Jasmine had said to Derrick, "You aren't going to take anything or break anything, right?"

"I don't plan to." He didn't figure Rabie would miss a tracker, assuming Derrick found one. It'd occurred to him—too late, obviously—that a tracker could explain how the guards had guessed their destination.

"And you'll give it right back?" Jasmine asked.

"I promise."

"You see. It'll be all right." She'd crouched beside the boy at that point. "Go ahead and ask him. Even if he says no, he will be kind."

Rabie had blinked a couple of times, then said in a rush of words, "Can we have pizza for dinner?"

Derrick felt his answering smile. "My favorite. You like pepperoni?"

Jasmine's wide eyes and the quick shake of her head came a smidge too late. Right. Muslims didn't eat pork.

He amended quickly. "What toppings do you like?"

"Cheese and beef?"

Hamburger would work.

After they left the room, Derrick had ordered a small pie for Rabie and another for himself and Jasmine—who'd come to love pepperoni since she'd moved to Maine.

Then he clicked on the TV and found a local news channel, fearing he'd see his face plastered on the screen. But he didn't. Nor did a Google search on his phone show any news regarding the kidnapping of the nephew of a foreign diplomat.

Come to think of it, there'd been no Amber Alerts on his phone all day.

So either Basma's uncle hadn't reported the kidnapping, or the police were keeping it quiet. Derrick prayed it was the first and not the second.

Jasmine opened the door and tossed Rabie's dirty clothes onto the corner of the couch. "Here they are."

He'd asked her to bring them out when Rabie was in the shower. "Thanks."

He searched the small slacks, sweater, underwear, and socks, sticking his hands in the pockets and feeling around all the hems and stitching, finding nothing that didn't belong.

He studied the kid's dress shoes and again found nothing out of place.

He left the pile of dirty clothes on the corner of the couch, then took the backpack and dumped the contents onto the kitchen table. There had to be a tracker or something, somewhere. How else could the guards have found them at Dulles?

If there was a tracker, he figured it wasn't a great one, or maybe it didn't work well in the congestion of the city. But once Derrick had aimed for Dulles, those watching it had made an educated guess. Derrick, Rabie, and Jasmine had stayed at the rental car place a few minutes waiting for the car, which could have given the guards time to get into position at each of the terminals.

But even that felt…implausible. Dulles was a huge airport. There'd have to be twenty guards or more to watch all the doors. Why would they bother having anybody at the private terminal—the least likely place for them to go—much less a car there at the ready ?

Didn't make sense.

But Jasmine swore she hadn't told Basma about Derrick's jet.

After sorting the items in the bag, Derrick started with the clean clothes, which Jazz would want right away. A pair of pajamas, socks, and underwear had been shoved into the very bottom of the bag. He searched them like he had the dirty clothes and found nothing, then set them, along with a little baggie that contained two toothbrushes, toothpaste, and other toiletries on the edge of the couch near the door to Jasmine's room.

He texted her to tell her they were there and moved on.

There were a Rubik's Cube and a few other brain-teaser-type puzzles. He studied them, turning, twisting, and sliding the little pieces to make sure each was authentic. Seemed like normal puzzles to him.

A couple of chapter books—in English, interestingly. He flipped through them, then held them up and shook them to see if anything fell out. Aside from a bookmark in one, nothing did. He shoved it back in—wrong spot, but that was the least of his worries.

There were three drawstring fabric bags. He opened and upended one, and puzzle pieces spilled out. After running his hands among them—just regular cardboard—he felt inside the bag, then squished the fabric through his fingers, feeling for anything out of place. Nothing.

He replaced the puzzle pieces, then repeated the process with the other two bags and found more puzzle pieces but no tracker.

Three glossy eight-by-tens had to be pictures that went with the puzzles. He set them on top of the books.

He studied the handful of Matchbox cars, thinking maybe something sinister had been attached to one, but they seemed just like the cars of his youth.

He dug through the backpack again and found one more thing in the outside pocket, an electronic game—and it had been left on.

His heart thumped. This was it. These things were notorious, weren't they? Weren't all handheld games connected to the internet these days? He clicked it off, but it was too late.

Adrenaline surged through Derrick's veins. Were the guards on their way even now? He got up and check the parking lot through the third-floor window, half expecting to see the place surrounded by black SUVs and well-dressed thugs.

But the lot was quiet. The sun had long since set, and falling rain sparkled in the glow of the streetlights. The wet pavement seemed to shine. In the distance, cars sped past on the interstate, moving at a decent clip now that rush hour was over.

Everything seemed fine.

Derrick sat on the sofa and turned the handheld video console back on. It was filled with games from his own childhood—games like Frogger and Super Mario Bros, Space Invaders and Tetris. Weird.

He found the name of the handheld system and looked it up on his phone. Seemed it was considered safe for kids specifically because it wasn't connected to the internet. If one wanted to plug it into a TV, it came with an actual, good old-fashioned cord.

He turned the thing over and saw the port.

Apparently, this couldn't be used as a tracker either.

Derrick searched the backpack thoroughly, checking every crevice, then moved his hands along the fabric slowly, carefully, squeezing every inch between his fingers. If there were something there, even a tiny something, he'd feel it.

He was pretty sure he would, anyway.

But he felt nothing except zippers and snaps and stitching.

Maybe they hadn't been tracked.

Which made sense. If they had been, why would the guards wait until they'd reached the airport, crawling with security? Why not come after them when they were stuck in traffic near the DC Mall? Or inching their way through the worst part of town? Assuming the guards wanted to retrieve Rabie themselves—and the lack of news made him think that was the plan—why wait?

Unless they really hadn't known where Derrick and Jasmine were.

It was good news, but it came with bad.

It meant Basma's family had enough manpower to cover every airport terminal in the metro. Derrick couldn't begin to count how many that was.

Or, even worse, they somehow knew who Derrick was.

That idea didn't bear considering.

Or he and Jasmine had panicked and the burly Arab-looking men they'd seen hadn't been following them at all.

The door between the rooms opened, and Jasmine said, "He's out of the shower and hungry. The food is coming soon?"

He checked his watch. "Fifteen minutes or so. Do you mind hanging in there with him for a little while longer? I need to call Michael."

Her eyes widened, and she stepped into the living area and closed the door. "Is that a good idea?"

"He can help us, Jazz. He knows people."

"But he will be angry, no? What if he wants us to take Rabie back?"

"The guy who risked his career—and his life—to rescue you and your sister from Iraq? You think he'd do that? "

"I don't…think so." But obviously, she wasn't sure.

"I'll feel him out and find out what he thinks we should do before I tell him where we are. I trust my brother. Completely." More than Michael could trust Derrick, it seemed, all things considered.

She looked as if she wanted to argue, then lifted the pajamas and bag of toiletries. "Can we have his toys back?"

He gathered the boy's things and shoved them into the backpack, then handed it to her. "I'll let you know when the pizza's here."

She returned to the bedroom, and Derrick pressed his brother's contact on his cell.

It went straight to voice mail.

Derrick resisted the urge to bang his phone against the wall. At the beep, he said, "Call me back ASAP. It's an emergency."

He tried a few more times, only giving up when a knock sounded on the door. He peeked through the peephole, then accepted the boxes and two-liter bottle of soda from the pimply teenager and knocked on the door between the rooms. "Dinner!"

Rabie's face was freshly scrubbed, a little red. His hair was wet and curly.

"Have a seat, buddy." Derrick pulled out a chair for him at the table, but the kid didn't move toward it.

Derrick hadn't paid attention to the superhero pattern on his PJs before. "Which is your favorite Avenger?"

The boy shrugged.

"I've always been a Spider-Man fan myself." He found plates in the small kitchen and slid a slice of the hamburger-and-cheese pie onto one. "I'd love to be able to swing from buildings like he does, wouldn't you? And scale them? That'd be so cool."

Rabie came a little closer, finally reaching the table. He sat in the chair Derrick had indicated, and Derrick set the plate in front of him.

"You like Sprite?" Derrick asked.

"Yes."

"Me, too." Derrick put ice in three glasses and poured soda. He set the drinks on the table. "Where's Jasmine?"

From the other room, she called, "I'm coming. Don't wait."

Rabie reached for his pizza, but Derrick said, "Uh-uh. Even when a lady says that, she means wait." He winked. "It's impolite to start before everybody's at the table."

"But she's just a woman."

Derrick pressed his lips closed to keep his first response from slipping out. He smiled, then leaned in like he was sharing a secret. "Women are precious and deserve respect, just like men. You should remember that if you ever want to get married."

"Ew." His face twisted in horror, and Derrick barely stifled a chuckle.

"You might change your mind one of these days."

They sat quietly for a few moments, and then Rabie said, "Ironman."

Ah. His favorite Avenger. "Ironman is wicked cool. What do you like about him?"

"He is an ordinary man, only very smart. Basma tells me I'm smart. I want to be like Ironman."

"You are smart, no question."

The boy eyed his drink. "Do I have to wait for Yasamin to sip?"

"I think it'll be okay." He sipped his own to show solidarity, and Rabie swallowed a few gulps.

Finally, Jasmine came in. Her hair was wet, and she'd changed into one of her many shapeless dresses, this one as drab as all the others she wore. Even so, she was beautiful .

Derrick stood. "Pepperoni?"

"I can get it."

But he was already in the kitchen, so she sat at the table, peering at his plate, then Rabie's. "You could have started."

Rabie rolled his eyes. "He said we had to wait for you."

Derrick set her plate in front of her. "We're learning manners."

Jasmine grinned. "He is a very polite man."

Derrick asked a blessing over their meal, and they dug in.

After half a slice, Jasmine asked, "What did Michael say?"

"I left a voice mail."

"They were going to a play tonight, right?"

Oh, yeah. His brother was in New York with Sophie and Bryan. He sort of remembered something about tickets to Hamilton .

After dinner, they put together one of Rabie's puzzles, and then Jasmine declared it bedtime and shooed him into the next room. Before she closed the door, she said, "Do you wish to sleep, or should I come back?"

He glanced at his watch and lifted his eyebrows. "It's eight fifteen. I think I can stay up a little longer."

"I'll come back, then, if it's okay, so he can sleep."

While she was settling Rabie down, Derrick hopped in the shower, thankful the suite had two bathrooms, and changed into his sleep pants and a T-shirt. He hadn't been back on the sofa five minutes before Jasmine tapped on the door.

"Come on in."

She did, settling on the club chair catty-corner to him. "No word from Michael?"

He checked his phone, not that he hadn't done that every few minutes since he'd left the message. "Nope."

She seemed to relax at the news. "He will get back to you when he can. "

"Good thing it's not an emergency." He'd meant the words sardonically—he'd never had more of an emergency—but Jasmine only smiled.

"We're safe here, yes?"

"I'm worried about those guys at the airport."

"That man could have been anybody. He was probably an American businessman waiting for his wife or a partner or something. Since we escaped Iraq, I am quite paranoid."

He leaned toward her. "I don't think it's paranoia if people are actually out to get you. We call that wisdom."

Her lips tipped up at the corners as if he'd said something amusing. He wasn't trying to be funny, though. Somebody was after her, and he'd been a fool to take her away from the safety of Shadow Cove.

Michael was going to kill him.

"Do you want to tell me about your escape?" Derrick asked. "I'd love to know more. All I know is that Michael rescued you and Leila from your father's house and got you out of Iraq. What was it like? Probably a lot worse than today, huh? Were you afraid the whole time?"

"From the moment Michael showed up at the compound until your jet lifted off from Mytilene, I was afraid. I'm still afraid he'll find me."

Jasmine wasn't afraid right now, using all those contractions. That was the kind of thing only somebody obsessed with her might notice, which was why he'd never mentioned it.

"Your father." Derrick named the one she feared.

She looked away.

"That is who you're afraid of, right? Your father? Because the other guys, the ones who pursued you across Turkey, are dead." And there'd been an uncle, but he'd been arrested in Germany a few weeks before and was still in custody. Derrick didn't know much about that, just what Bryan had been free to share.

"Correct." Jasmine added a smile, but it was tight at the corners. Derrick had missed something, and by the way her expression shuttered, it was something important.

His brother's words from the morning before came back to him. There are things you don't know… It's possible your feelings for her will change.

No chance of that. But what didn't Derrick know?

Though she sat across from him, safe and secure, and though Michael and Leila were also safe, as Jasmine related more of the details about their escape from Iraq, through Turkey, and out of Greece, his heart thumped as if the events were happening in real time. As if she were, at that moment, being smuggled over a border in a wooden crate, then bouncing over waves in a raft.

Every moment of that, her life had been in danger. He could have lost her before he'd even met her, and that knowledge raised terror and affection he could no more squelch than explain.

When she finished her tale, he took her hands. "Sweetheart." The tender word slipped out against his will.

But she leaned close, her fresh scent—floral and intoxicating—overwhelming him.

Something surged between them. She had to feel it. It was undeniable, as if lightning had struck the ground where they stood.

It took effort to remember what he'd meant to say. When he did, he infused tenderness into his voice. "You're so strong and courageous. I'm sorry you were held captive. I'm sorry you had nobody all those years to protect you. I'm sorry you had to go through that. "

Tears filled her eyes, and she leaned a little closer, so close he could feel her breath on his cheek.

There was no question that she felt what he did.

Thank You.

Maybe not to the same degree, but she had to feel something, the way she was looking at him, her gaze filled with longing and affection.

But then she blinked and straightened. "Thank you. You are a very good friend."

Whoa. What?

Could she really be so indifferent to his feelings?

No.

He wasn't buying it.

Or was this a cultural thing? Maybe he needed to be clearer, give her an opening.

"Jasmine, I?—"

"I have had very few friends in my life." She pulled her hands away and stood. "In school, people wanted to be friends with Leila. She was outgoing and had lots of energy, the kind of person who drew people close, you understand?" Though Jasmine's voice was casual, her fingers were clutched together. And she'd gone back to the stilted speech pattern. She gazed around the nondescript room as if she found it fascinating. "People were drawn to her. We were a…a package deal." She looked back at him. "This is the expression, no? We came together?"

"Yup."

"When she left, I was alone. And then Mama died, and I got to know Basma. And now there is you." Jasmine wore an over-bright smile and spoke with a perky tone.

Which told him everything he needed to know.

Jasmine knew exactly what Derrick had meant. And she knew what she was doing. What she was saying. How she was ripping his heart out.

She ended with, "It means much to me to have this friendship."

A skywriter couldn't have made it clearer. He could practically see the puffy white words against a bright blue sky.

Not interested.

Apparently, committing a felony wasn't enough to get a guy out of the friend zone.

And if that didn't do it, nothing would.