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Janet nodded. “A truck hit their car,” she said.
“I know that.”
Janet took a few steps back from the sheikh. She didn’t deserve his kindness. After what she had done, he shouldn’t have been the one to comfort her. She wiped her tears and took a deep breath.
“Sanaa stopped talking was because the truck driver told her that he’d kill her if she told anyone that she saw him,” said Janet. The sheikh crossed his eyebrows, and the veins in his neck became apparent.
“What?” he said. His voice got deeper.
“She described him to me,” Janet paused. “He works for the cartel, and he’s the right-hand man of the boss.”
“What are you saying right now?”
“The cartel killed your wife, I’m so sorry.” Janet burst into tears. “I’m so sorry.” Janet covered her face with her hands and sobbed. She felt so horrible. She felt like it was all her fault that Sanaa’s mother had died, and because of her Sanaa could have been killed too.
“I’ll pack my things and go. I understand if you never want to see me again,” she said.
“No,” said the sheikh.
“What do you mean?”
“Do they know you’re here?”
Janet shook her head. “I don’t think so, but I can’t risk it. I have already done something unforgivable.”
“Stay, if you leave then who will look after Sanaa? She can’t lose someone else she loves.”
“Sanaa,” Janet whispered. More tears rolled down her face. The poor little girl didn’t deserve any of that. Janet closed her eyes and ran her hands through her hair. “I love her, too; I can’t believe I’m the cause of her pain.”
“What’s the name of this cartel?” he asked her.
“Jimenez cartel.”
“Damn,” the sheikh swore under his breath.
“I’m sorry.” Janet ran out of his room. She felt so bad; she couldn’t even look at him.
Chapter 13
Basil was paralyzed with shock for a moment; he couldn’t believe what Janet had just told him. For months, they tried to find the hit-and-run driver who killed his wife, but they couldn’t. Now Janet was telling him that she knew who did it? And his daughter saw who did it?
So many emotions coursed through Basil and in a fit of rage, he swiped everything off his dressing table to the floor. He picked up the dressing table stool and threw it at the door. He was so angry; he wanted to punch someone. The Jimenez cartel specifically. Initially, he had thought the accident was indeed an accident; then, he investigated any possible enemies or rivalries he had.
Basil walked over to the other side of his bed and picked up his phone, which was on the nightstand. He swiped the screen and called a number. He put the phone to his ear as he walked towards the sliding glass doors. He slid the door open and walked onto the veranda.
“Hello,” the other person answered the phone.
“We need to talk,” said Basil.
“Okay, did something happen?”
“Yes, be at my house as soon as you can.”
“Alright.”
Basil hung up the phone and then went back into his bedroom. He changed into sports shorts and a T-shirt. He headed out of his bedroom and went down to his gym. He had a large gym in his house, on the ground floor. The gym was arranged into three sections. From the door going to the right were lifting weights. On the left side from the door were a treadmill and other exercise machines. In the middle of the room was a large mat where he did his kickboxing and floor exercises.
Basil walked over to a rack with boxing gloves. He picked up a pair and put them on. He walked onto the mat and started punching and kicking the punching bag. Kickboxing or swimming was often the best way for him to let his anger or frustrations out.
