Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
J asmine was preparing dinner when the shouting began.
At first, it was a heated debate—nothing out of the ordinary—but it escalated fast. Amir and Riad were both hot-blooded, and she’d heard them argue before. But never like this.
She froze, the knife hovering over the cutting board. Moving carefully, she tiptoed toward the hallway, her heart pounding.
“You’re obsessed with her,” Riad was saying, his voice sharp with frustration. “She’s a liability. We should get rid of her. She knows too much.”
Jasmine froze. Were they talking about her ?
“She knows nothing,” Amir said dismissively.
“Don’t be a fool,” Riad pressed. “She’s living in your house. She knows the alarm codes. She hears things. How do you know she hasn’t gone to the authorities already?”
Jasmine’s breath hitched.
“Because if she had, they’d be banging down our door,” Amir shot back. “And even if she did tell them, what are they going to do? Come here and talk to us? Take us in for questioning? Then what? They’ll have to let us go. They have nothing on us. Nothing.”
She edged backwards, but a floorboard creaked, and she flinched.
Footsteps, coming her way.
She darted back into the kitchen, pressing herself against the counter, struggling to control her breathing. The voices moved down the hall toward Amir’s study, but they’d left the door open.
Jasmine hesitated. Then, once again, edged forward.
“You’re a fool, Amir,” Riad was saying, his voice muffled but still furious. “Why do you keep her here? Her husband was the useful one, now he’s dead. What good is she?”
“She’s treating me,” Amir shot back.
“You really think she cares enough to help you?” Riad scoffed. “She’s probably screwing with your head.”
There was a dangerous pause.
Amir snapped. “It is helping!” His voice carried down the hall. “Besides, she doesn’t mind being here. She isn’t a prisoner.”
“I don’t think she’d agree with you.”
Jasmine clenched her fists.
“I’m good to her,” Amir went on. “She comes and goes like this is her own house.”
Riad gave a low, scornful laugh. “That woman is bad news. You just can’t see it because you want her for yourself. You think a woman whose husband just died is going to fall for you? You’re out of your damn mind.”
A loud crack—the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh.
Jasmine jumped, her stomach twisting.
“Don’t talk to me like that, little cousin,” Amir snarled. “Just remember who brought you here. Who’s financing you?”
Silence.
Riad spoke again, his voice quieter but still seething. “I’m just worried she’s going to distract you from the cause.”
“Nobody is going to distract me from fulfilling Allah’s wish.”
Jasmine’s knees went weak. Oh, dear Lord. They were planning a terror attack, she just knew it. Something her husband had a hand in creating. She staggered back into the kitchen, gripping the counter for support.
Adam had never talked about his work. At least, not to her. But she was okay with that. It was top-secret military development for the U.S. government. Except Amir had blackmailed him into creating something.
Jasmine had a horrifying suspicion that “something” was a bomb.
When she’d confronted Adam about it, he had just shut down. "It doesn’t concern you," he’d said. "I’m handling it."
Handling it.
Right.
His way of handling it was hanging himself from the stairway, leaving her to clean up his mess.
And now, here she was.
Cleaning.
The front door banged. Someone had stormed out—probably Riad. That meant Amir was still in his study.
Jasmine let out a shaky breath and continued making dinner, trying to steady her hands. To take the edge of her nerves, she poured herself a glass of wine. She was about to take a sip when she heard Amir call her.
“Jasmine!”
She whirled around, sloshing wine onto the counter. Amir stood in the doorway, his eyes dark and unreadable. “You’re not messing with my head, are you?”
Her throat went dry. “No, of course not. Why would you think that?”
“Something Riad said. He doesn’t believe you’re being honest with me. He thinks you’re pretending to help me.”
Panic coiled in her gut. There was doubt in his dark eyes now. The beginning of something dangerous.
She forced herself to soften, to look concerned. “Amir, I promise you, I’m not messing with you.” Her voice was gentle, soothing—the same one she used with patients. “You have undiagnosed PTSD. You’ve had it for years. It’s been getting worse because you’ve had no support, no treatment. I’m trying my best to help you in the short time you’ve given me. Like you wanted. That was our agreement.”
A long beat. Eventually, he gave a slow, deliberate nod.
Forcing herself to relax, Jasmine picked up a vase of flowers and walked into the living room. To her disappointment, he followed.
“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”
She placed the vase down carefully. “Of course not.”
“Look at me, Jasmine.”
She turned, the pulse in her throat pounding.
“Tell me to my face you wouldn’t lie to me.”
She forced her gaze to meet his. “I’m not lying, Amir. I promise.”
God help her. These days, all she did was lie—to her son, to the hospital, to Amir. Thankfully, she had one hell of a poker face. That’s what came from training herself not to react to patients. She had to remain neutral.
He stepped closer and grabbed her arm. Not hard, but definitely firm.
“I hope you’re telling the truth.” His voice dropped. “For your son’s sake.”
A tremor ran through her. There it was. The real threat.
Jasmine ripped her arm free.
“You’ve made that perfectly clear, Amir.” Her voice was steady, but her stomach churned. “And I already told you I’ll stay here as long as you want me to. But you leave my son out of it.”
His eyes flickered, but he didn’t erupt. “Just make sure you uphold your side of the deal. And from now on, you only go out when I say so. I’m changing the alarm code.”
Jasmine forced a shrug. “Fine.”
Then she walked back into the kitchen. Not too fast. Not too slow. But it was all she could do to stop herself from collapsing.