Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
P at snapped a photograph of the sticky note and sent it to Anna.
Across from him, Jasmine trembled, her slender frame rigid with tension. He’d never seen her look so vulnerable, or so beautiful. Her jade-green eyes gleamed, bright and raw. A telltale sign of stress. Her lower lip wobbled slightly as she spoke, and for the first time, he noticed how lush it was. How full and sensual. A sudden, unwelcome urge to taste it hit him.
Goddamn. Where the hell had that come from?
He tore his gaze away, forcing himself back to the conversation.
Focus, Burke.
“Do you think it is?” she asked.
“Definitely a possibility. Why else would he underline it three times?”
“Maybe he’s meeting someone important on Saturday?”
“Could be.” But his instincts screamed that this was when it was going to happen.
The day.
“Saturday is three days away,” she said.
“Which doesn’t leave us much time. Did you say there were other papers in his study?”
“Yes, scattered on his desk, but they were also in Arabic, and I doubt Amir would leave anything crucial out in the open.”
Still, it would have been useful to see them.
“I don’t think I can get back in,” she said hesitantly. “He locks his office. It was only open because of the anxiety attack. He hadn’t had time to secure it.”
“Why do you care so much about Amir?” Pat asked.
“I don’t.”
“You looked after him.”
“I treat him the way I’d treat any patient.”
“But he isn’t just any patient. He’s keeping you prisoner. He’s threatened your son. So why are you so . . . considerate with him?”
Her throat bobbed with a swallow. “Because if I stop being useful to him, I’m dead.”
She bit her lip. Again. And again, his gaze snagged on it.
Fuck. He needed to get a grip.
“Okay,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. “I get it. I was worried you might be developing feelings for him.”
“Absolutely not.” She looked genuinely horrified. “He’s a terrorist. He killed my husband—indirectly or not, he’s responsible. Why would I have feelings for him?”
Pat shrugged. “It’s been known to happen.”
“You’re talking about Stockholm Syndrome?”
He nodded. Of course she’d know all about it being a shrink.
She gave a sharp shake of her head. “That’s not what’s happening here. The only thing keeping me there is Ryan.” Her voice dropped. “As long as they don’t hurt him, that’s all I care about.”
Pat leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Nothing will happen to your son. We have eyes on him as of last night. He’s safe.”
She exhaled shakily. “Thank you, Patrick. I mean that. It helps to know I’m not alone in this.” There was something about the way she said his name that got to him. Like it meant something.
“Jasmine, we need to know what the target is.” He forced his mind back to the note. “If Saturday is the day, we don’t have much time.”
“I’ll keep my ears open, but they don’t talk in front of me. They either go outside or lock themselves in Amir’s study.”
“It’s a shame we can’t plant a bug in there.”
“I don’t have a key anymore,” she said.
He tapped his fingers on the table. “No, but you could let us in. If you’re there, the alarm will be deactivated.”
She hesitated, chewing on that bottom lip again.
Damn it. Stop doing that. It was driving him crazy.
“Okay. I’ll say I don’t feel well and stay behind when they go out tomorrow morning.”
“That’ll work. We’ll know when the coast is clear.”
“You’ll be watching?” He liked the way her eyes lit up at the thought.
“I’m always watching.”
She sucked in a breath, a faint blush staining her cheeks.
“Where is the camera?” she asked.
“I can’t tell you specifics.”
She gave a little nod. “Still, it helps knowing you’re there.” Something flickered in her eyes, and he felt a small thrill shoot through him. He knew he should leave. Should stand up and walk the hell away. But he didn’t.
Instead, he dropped his gaze to the curve of her throat where her pulse fluttered. Was it his imagination or was her breath coming a little faster now? Was she feeling this too?
Without knowing why, he reached out and tucked a stray strand of blond hair behind her ear. Her skin was warm and soft, and he could smell her scent, warm and intoxicating, drift up between them.
Her eyes widened, and her lips parted, turning his blood molten. The air between them grew thick, charged with something he couldn’t explain.
His fingers lingered, brushing her cheek. He should stop this madness right now. He needed to get up, walk out of that door, and pretend none of this ever happened—but he didn’t move.
Neither did she.
She moved her head, turning into his hand so he was cupping her face. An intimate, trusting gesture.
He brushed a thumb over her lips, needing to know if they were as soft as they looked. They were.
“Can I get you anything else?” the barista asked, coming over to their table.
Pat whipped his hand away like he’d been stung.
Fucking hell.
What the hell are you playing at, Burke?
Jasmine blinked. “Oh. Er, no thanks, Tony. We’re good.”
Patrick stood up, chair scraping on the floor. “I should go.”
“Yes, so must I.”
As he made to move, she grabbed his arm. “Patrick?—?”
He stopped. “Yeah?”
“Thank you. For being there.”
He gave a gruff nod, then left the store, taking the ghost of her scent and the feel of skin beneath his fingers with him.