Page 25 of Zero Hour

Footsteps, coming her way.

She darted back into the kitchen, pressing herself against the counter, struggling to control her breathing. The voices moved down the hall toward Amir’s study, but they’d left the door open.

Jasmine hesitated. Then, once again, edged forward.

“You’re a fool, Amir,” Riad was saying, his voice muffled but still furious. “Why do you keep her here? Her husband was the useful one, now he’s dead. What good is she?”

“She’s treating me,” Amir shot back.

“You really think she cares enough to help you?” Riad scoffed. “She’s probably screwing with your head.”

There was a dangerous pause.

Amir snapped. “It is helping!” His voice carried down the hall. “Besides, she doesn’t mind being here. She isn’t a prisoner.”

“I don’t think she’d agree with you.”

Jasmine clenched her fists.

“I’m good to her,” Amir went on. “She comes and goes like this is her own house.”

Riad gave a low, scornful laugh. “That woman is bad news. You just can’t see it because you want her for yourself. You think a woman whose husband just died is going to fall for you? You’re out of your damn mind.”

A loud crack—the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh.

Jasmine jumped, her stomach twisting.

“Don’t talk to me like that, little cousin,” Amir snarled. “Just remember who brought you here. Who’s financing you?”

Silence.

Riad spoke again, his voice quieter but still seething. “I’m just worried she’s going to distract you from the cause.”

“Nobody is going to distract me from fulfilling Allah’s wish.”

Jasmine’s knees went weak. Oh, dear Lord. They were planning a terror attack, she just knew it. Something her husband had a hand in creating. She staggered back into the kitchen, gripping the counter for support.

Adam had never talked about his work. At least, not to her. But she was okay with that. It was top-secret military development for the U.S. government. Except Amir had blackmailed him into creating something.

Jasmine had a horrifying suspicion that “something” was a bomb.

When she’d confronted Adam about it, he had just shut down. "It doesn’t concern you," he’d said. "I’m handling it."

Handling it.

Right.

His way of handling it was hanging himself from the stairway, leaving her to clean up his mess.

And now, here she was.

Cleaning.

The front door banged. Someone had stormed out—probably Riad. That meant Amir was still in his study.

Jasmine let out a shaky breath and continued making dinner, trying to steady her hands. To take the edge of her nerves, she poured herself a glass of wine. She was about to take a sip when she heard Amir call her.

“Jasmine!”

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