Page 28 of Sheltering You

Her dark skin had taken on a yellowish undertone, reminding him of how sick she’d been when he first met her.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “Or are you just nervous?”

She faced him, and the fear in her eyes was unmistakable. “Basma said that if something goes wrong, she wants you to take Rabie. To leave her. That getting him away from Dari is more important than anything else. She says she will be able to escape her aunt and uncle more easily without him.”

“I’m not doing that. I’m not taking a kid away from his guardian. Guardians—plural, because you said the uncle is actually the guardian, right?”

“Yes, yes.” Jasmine sighed, clearly relieved. “Of course you cannot do that.” She slid her fingers around his arm, the light touch sending energy and strength surging through him. She’d never initiated a touch between them before.

He liked it. Enough that he had to work on focusing as she spoke.

“You will get them both.” Her big, liquid eyes met his, filled with earnestness and trust. “I am confident you will bring them both back.” Before he could respond—and what was he supposed to say to that?—Jasmine closed those eyes and prayed, asking God to protect him and help him rescue her friends.

Derrick agreed with her prayers but didn’t add to them. His thoughts were too jumbled with nerves—and her hand on his arm—to think of anything coherent.

She finished with “God go with you.”

“Thank you. Keep praying.” He opened his car door, but before he got out, he turned to her once more. “No matter what happens—if police come or the hotel catches fire or blows up—do not get out of this car. If I get arrested or… If anything bad or even mildly unexpected happens, drive away and call Michael. Okay?” She nodded, but he wasn’t satisfied with that. “Promise me?”

A moment passed, but finally, she said, “I promise.”

“Good. Be right back.”

It was five past three when Derrick stepped into the coffee shop, taking in the sounds of grinding beans, steaming machines, and chattering voices. He’d hoped the place would be busy, and he wasn’t disappointed. Patrons were seated at the tables—mostly women in casual clothes who wore lanyards around their necks—from a conference, he assumed. The line at the counter reached almost to the wide exit on the far end of the room that led to the lobby.

Derrick leaned against a long bar near the door and opened the email app on his phone to make it seem like he was busy.

He had no idea how to do this. Could Basma and Rabie just…leave? Could Basma tell the guards they were going for a walk? If they did, would the guards try to stop them or just casually follow? Were they suspicious of her, or were they more concerned about protecting her and Rabie from the outside world?

If Derrick could indicate to Basma where the car was, assuming she hadn’t gotten Jasmine’s email, she and Rabie could run for it, and he could stop the guards from following. Might hurt, and it might get him in trouble, but if he played it right, he could feign innocence. Sorry, man. I tripped. Didn’t mean to get in your way…

Might work. Worth a shot, anyway.

He texted Jasmine to warn her.

Slide into the driver’s seat and get ready to leave. I might send them to you. When they get there, drive away, take a right, and go.

What about you?

Put the address of Dulles Airport in the navigation. You might need to make sure you aren’t being followed. If you are, aim for roundabouts. They’re all over the city—maybe Basma can help? Stop after you know you’re safe and take the NH plates off the car—one in front, one in back. The real plates are underneath. There’s a screwdriver in the trunk. Make sure you’re out of sight—those plates aren’t legal.

He should’ve explained what he was doing when he put them on. He added,

I’ll get an Uber and meet you there.

She responded with a thumbs-up emoji.

Okay. Good. This could work.

If it didn’t, Derrick would wing it. He was pretty good at that. No pun intended.

He kept his eye on the opening to the lobby. If he were the one waiting in the car, he’d want updates, so at a quarter past, he texted Jasmine.

No sign of them yet. Nothing to worry about.

Jasmine responded with a thank-you that made him smile. When he glanced up from his phone, he realized the coffee shop was emptying, women with bags slung over their shoulders hurrying toward the lobby. It seemed their break time was over.

Within two minutes, just a few patrons remained, sitting at tables here and there. Without a crowd, this would be much harder.