Page 21 of Zero Hour

When she’d tried to speak to him about it, he’d refused to engage, locking himself in his study. For the last five years of their marriage, they’d been sleeping in separate rooms.

When he was kidnapped, it took her two days to realize he was gone.

Two days!

What kind of wife doesn’t notice her husband is missing?

She squeezed her eyes shut against the shame. No. She couldn’t think about that now. Looking around the kitchen, she thought about what to do next.

Eat. She needed to keep up appearances.

Keep going. Keep breathing. Keep obeying.

There was no other choice.

Patrick.

That’s what he’d said his name was.

A strong name. She could tell he was confident in his abilities. Controlled, intelligent. She bet he didn’t often lose it like he’d done in the restaurant. He was ashamed of his behavior, she could tell. It was in the slight flicker of his bright brown eyes, the tensing of that chiseled, angular jaw.

Years of experience had taught her how to read people, and Patrick the veteran intrigued her.

What a coincidence, bumping into him here of all places?

She dumped her purse and scarf on the countertop and opened the refrigerator.

Or was it?

At the restaurant, it was obvious he’d been observing Amir.

FBI, the terrorist had said. Was that who Patrick worked for? Was he an agent? He didn’t look like an agent. He was rougher, tougher, more casually dressed. Not such a stickler for the rules as FBI agents usually were.

She grabbed a bag of lettuce, a tomato, and a cucumber, setting them on the counter. The cold air bit into her skin, but the shiver that followed wasn’t from the temperature.

Was the FBI or some other government agency watching the house? Did they know she was here voluntarily? Were there agents outside right now?

WasPatrickoutside?

Distracted, she set the vegetables on a chopping board and walked into the living room. The blinds were drawn, as they always were. Amir was paranoid people could see into the house. He had good reason to be.

She parted them a crack and looked out onto the street. It was deserted except for a couple walking toward the station. Several cars and vans were parked along the curb, but that wasn’t unusual—this close to the metro, commuters often left their vehicles here before heading into the city.

Nothing looked out of place, but that didn’t mean no one was watching.

Could they be inside one of the vans? She studied them, her breath shallow. No movement, no shadows, no sign anyone was inside any of them.

Exhaling, she stepped away from the window and let the blind fall into place. Maybe she was overthinking. Amir’s paranoia was rubbing off on her. It could just be a coincidencethat she’d run into Patrick. Maybe he really did work around here, as he’d said.

Gnawing on her lip, she went back to the kitchen. The problem was, she wasn’t sure she believed that herself.

CHAPTER 9

Pat pulled his motorcycle into Blackthorn Security’s underground garage and killed the engine. He should have headed straight upstairs, but instead, he sat there for a beat, gripping the handlebars, trying to shake her from his mind.

Jasmine McCarthy.

He’d met countless women in his lifetime—beautiful, smart, dangerous. But she was a combination of all three. Something about her refused to let him go.

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