Page 10 of Zero Hour

Amir laughed. “It doesn’t matter. They’ll be famous after this.”

Jasmine tossed the onions into the pan, stirring them into the hot oil. Then, she added the chicken, searing it as the spices filled the air. She was a good cook—one of her few skills outside of work. Her mother had taught her, and the kitchen had always been their refuge. A safe haven from her father, who never ventured in. He preferred his study. And a bottle of Scotch.

She’d wanted to pass on that love of cooking to her son, but he was away at boarding school. Even when he was home, he had no interest in learning any culinary skills. She smiled, just a little.

Ryan was a smart kid, like his father. He’d probably become an engineer or something equally brilliant. Boarding school was the right place for him right now. He didn’t need to be caught up in this. Too much upheaval. Too much danger.

“That smells good.” Amir came into the kitchen, drawn by the smell. She turned and pasted a smile on her face. That was another thing she was good at.

Lying.

“I hope you’re hungry.”

He put a hand on the small of her back. A possessive gesture, one of many he’d started using lately. An unconscious shudder slid down her spine. She couldn’t tell him how uncomfortable it made her.

“All this planning has worked up quite an appetite,” he said.

Planning? Planning what?

Riad slunk into the room and hovered by the door. He was a creepy man, always lurking in the shadows. She didn’t like him, and she sure as hell didn’t trust him. Not that she trusted Amir, but unlike his cousin, Amir needed her. That meant she was safe—for now.

“It’ll be on the table by seven.” She forced a cheerful note into her voice.

“Great.”

Amir grabbed a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge, along with two glasses, then disappeared into the living room with Riad. A moment later, the TV clicked on.

NBC Nightly News. Amir never missed it.

She poured in the chicken stock, added herbs, then lowered the heat to let it simmer.

Then, she poured herself a glass of wine.

Amir didn’t drink. Neither did Riad. They were devout. But she’d made it clear—if she was staying, she would have her wine in the evenings. It might sound silly, but it wasn’t about the alcohol. It was about control. She’d take what small victory she could get.

He may have destroyed her life, but he hadn’t broken her.

Jasmine thoughtback to the incident in the restaurant earlier today. Who was that man who’d attacked Amir? Large, powerful, handsome in a rugged, physical way. She remembered how his eyes had burned as he’d glared up at Amir—tiger’s eyes.

She shivered.

They’d known each other in the past, that much was clear. And nothing in Amir’s past was good.

The stranger had been so angry, filled with an explosive, uncontrollable rage. Despite that, she got the impression he wasn’t a violent man. Something about Al-Jabiri had set him off.

With those broad shoulders, strong physique, and hardened expression—she was betting military. After twenty years of working with soldiers and being the daughter of one, she knew the type.

He’d tried to warn her about Amir. He’d asked whether she knew he was a terrorist.

Of course she knew.

Amir had told her that much himself, like he was proud of the fact. It didn’t change a damn thing. He still needed her.

And she still couldn’t leave.

But the rage in that stranger… the way he’d snapped, like a bomb going off. There were a lot of unresolved issues there.

What on earth had Amir said to provoke him?

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