Page 16 of Zero Hour

He’d told her about the air raid before but hadn’t elaborated. Just the grim facts, spoken like they meant nothing. Now, he was opening up.

“I screamed and tried to go after them, but a neighbor held me back.” He set the cup down with a shudder. “After that, I had no one. My whole family was dead.”

She studied him, watching the emotions flash across his face. Fear. Disbelief. Sadness. Grief. Then his body locked up and his jaw tightened.

Hate.

Grief crushed you. Hate gave you purpose.

“What happened to you was terrible,” she said carefully. “You were just a boy. You suffered unspeakable trauma.”

His grip on the table tightened. “But why now?” he demanded. “Why am I having these nightmares now?”

He was angry. At himself. At his own mind for betraying him.

His hands curled into fists. “I’ve lived with this my whole life. Why the hell am I falling apart now?”

He was a man used to being in control, used to making ruthless decisions, destroying the people he blamed for his loss. His festering hate had become his life’s mission.

“You can’t block trauma out forever,” she said simply. “It always manifests, one way or another.”

He shook his head, rejecting her statement. “No.”

“It could have been prison that triggered it,” she continued. “Maybe it’s whatever you’re planning now. Something opened the floodgates. And the more you fight it, the worse it’s going to get.”

He swore in Arabic, then stood up and kicked the table leg. “I don’t need this. I want to get back to my life. I am free now, I’ve served my time. Don’t I deserve to enjoy my life?”

No, you don’t,Jasmine thought. You are planning another terrorist attack. You and your cousin Riad.

“Of course.” She smiled benignly. “That’s why we have to work through this. It’s good that we talked.”

She could tell he was teetering on the edge. He needed time to process, to get a grip on his emotions.

“I’m going back to bed,” she decided, leaving him pacing the kitchen like a caged animal. “I hope you manage to get some sleep.”

She padded back to her room, closing the door softly behind her. As she crept under the covers, her mind drifted back to the stranger at the restaurant.

What was his story? What was his connection to Amir?

Was he a soldier? An FBI Agent?

They had history. That much was clear.

Maybe, one day, she’d ask Amir about it.

But for now, she let herself drift off to sleep, picturing the stranger’s burning eyes watching her from across the restaurant.

CHAPTER 7

“We need eyes and ears inside Al-Jabiri’s house—today.”

The entire office snapped to attention, turning toward Pat.

“How?” Anna asked. “You said yourself that his security system is too advanced. We can’t get inside to plant them.”

“There’s gotta be a way.” Pat turned to Blade. “Can’t we feed a scope through the wall or something?”

Blade shook his head. “Too risky. He’d notice a hole.”

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