Page 112 of Rescuing You

“That explains why Qasim was there,” he said, “and Waleed and Hasan, if they’re working together. What I don’t understand is why were you there?”

“I did not wish to be.”

He smiled and sat back. “Let me rephrase. Why was your father there? Why did he take you there?”

One shoulder lifted and fell. “Once Mama died, her parents and sisters stopped speaking to Baba. They know who he is, who his people are. Who his brother is. They want nothing to do with him—or with me. My grandparents are gone. Baba has nobody but me and Hasan. I think Hasan wanted him nearby, and Baba was lonely. He didn’t want to be alone.”

“But you said it’s Qasim’s property. Hasan doesn’t live there, right?”

Jasmine looked beyond him. It was meant to be a casual gesture, but her hands were clenched together, her knuckles white.

He was poking a nerve, causing her distress. He could sense that. He could sense that she wasn’t being forthright with him. The problem was, he didn’t know what nerve he’d pressed or why she was lying or what she was holding back.

“When Hasan is in Iraq,” she finally said, “he is usually there.”

But he wasn’t usually in Iraq?

Her makeup was done, but she seemed more comfortable when her eyes were closed. He picked up a brush and dabbed some translucent powder on it. “Close your eyes.” When she did, he brushed her skin with the soft bristles. “Was your father having financial troubles? Is that why he’s living with Qasim?”

Her hands unclenched. So his guess was way off. “I do not think so.”

Unsure where to go next, he asked, “What do you know about Khalid Qasim?”

Her eyes popped open. “Why do you ask?”

That reaction needed to be examined later. But he just shrugged and smoothed his expression. “He’s the man who found Leila. Close your eyes.”

She did, and said nothing.

“How well do you know him?”

“He owns the property where I live. I see him often. He is connected to Hasan.”

True, true, and true. Yet she lied. He could sense it.

He backed up and grabbed the wig he’d bought for her—curly and brown, longer than Leila’s and without the gray. He settled it on her head. They weren’t good wigs but the cheap kind people wore to costume parties. If anybody touched them, it would be obvious they weren’t touching real hair. He didn’t intend to let anybody get that close.

He shifted it this way and that, ensuring it was straight. A guise to watch her reaction. “What are they planning?”

She shrugged.

“Anything you can tell me will help. You said they’re evil. I want to stop them. Do you want to stop them?”

Emotions flickered across her face. Fear. Hope. Rage.

Rage?

“They work together,” she said. “Qasim, Hasan, Waleed. What they do, I do not know.” She waved a hand toward Michael as if to brush him off. “I am not involved.”

He smiled, hoping the expression conveyed kindness. “I didn’t think you were.”

And yet her gaze fell away.

“Would you say Qasim works for Hasan, or Hasan works for Qasim, or are they equals?”

“I do not know.”

“Do you know if they’re planning something?”