Page 50 of Sheltering You

“Maybe you lost them,” Michael continued. “Or maybe this is all a ruse to smoke out Leila and Jasmine’s hiding place. Until we figure out where to take the kid, you need a safe house.”

“That’s easy,” Derrick said. “We can go to Uncle Gavin’s cabin. I just have to get there.”

“Not a bad idea. It’s off the grid, but I don’t want you telling Gavin you’re there.”

“Uh…why?”

“Or anyone else,” Michael added quickly, but Derrick had the distinct impression he hadn’t meant that. He’d meant their uncle, specifically.

Which was weird, but whatever.

“I know the door code,” Derrick said. “He told me I was welcome to go there anytime I was in town.”

“Let me find out where he is, make sure he’s not around and the place is empty. And I’ll check on the rest of this stuff. Keep your phone charged and your ringer on. Get some rest, but be ready to move when I call. Where are you exactly—address and room number.”

“You’re not going to return Rabie to his uncle, right?”

“Of course not. Why would you even ask?”

“Jasmine’s worried.”

“Wow. And here I thought she trusted me, but obviously, if she went to you⁠—”

“She knew you wouldn’t let her⁠—”

“She’s right about that. I’m trying to keep her and Leila alive.”

“I know. I should’ve talked to you.” Derrick yanked the cushions off the sofa bed and stacked them beneath the window. He wasn’t tired, but he should at least try to sleep. “I think she’s afraid that, since you work for the government, you might have to turn Rabie over.”

“Tell Jasmine I’ve got my future-brother hat on, not my CIA-agent hat. She can trust me. And so can you.”

“I never doubted it.” Derrick gave his brother the address and their room number, then ended the call.

He unfolded the bed and made it with pillows and blankets he found in the closet.

He checked the locks on the door, turned off the lights, and settled between the sheets. It wasn’t exactly sleep-number luxury, but he’d slept on worse.

Not that he’d be able to sleep after the longest, hardest day of his life. He’d practically kidnapped a kid, barely escaped a bunch of armed thugs, and lost his shot with the only woman he’d ever loved.

Talk about a red-letter day.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

When Derrick ended the call in the other room, Jasmine tiptoed to the bed, ashamed of her eavesdropping.

She’d learned to slink about like a mouse, making no noise and taking up as little space as possible. After she and Baba left Baghdad and moved to the compound, especially after she’d been joined to Khalid, she’d learned the wisdom of going unnoticed.

But she’d always listened, seeking to understand what the men were doing and thinking and feeling, knowing that the more she did, the more she could anticipate their demands. She’d learned to discern the emotional tenor in a room so she could slip away quickly, before anyone got angry. Before she could become a target or a scapegoat.

In this way, Jasmine had protected herself.

She hadn’t felt the need to do that with Derrick before today, but now she dared not face him.

So she’d listened at the door like a spy.

Apparently, Derrick was satisfied that Michael would help them because he gave his brother the address of the hotel. She wished she knew everything Michael had said, but she had no courage to ask.

She set down her phone. Still no word from Basma. Though Jasmine felt too keyed up to sleep, she finished getting ready for bed and crawled between the sheets beside Rabie. She curled onto her side, away from him, replaying all the tender things Derrick had said to her. He’d called her courageous. He’d called her sweetheart.