Page 42 of Zero Hour

Jasmine listened as Amir’s bedroom door closed and the lock clicked into place. With Riad still out, she had the house to herself.

Should she?

Every nerve in her body screamed no, but Patrick’s words echoed in her mind.

There’s always a choice.

Slowly, she got out of bed and opened her door.

It was now or never.

She tiptoed down the hall and tried the handle to Amir’s study. As she’d thought, it was unlocked. He’d forgotten about it thanks to his panic attack.

Biting her lip, she eased the door open. It gave a soft creak.

Heart hammering, she froze, but the house remained silent.

Leaving the door slightly ajar, she slipped inside.

She’d never been in here before. The room was sparse, strictly functional and very masculine. A dark wooden desk, a half-full bookshelf, a Persian rug covering the hardwood floor.

She drifted toward the bookshelf. It was bare except for a few religious texts—various versions of the Quran, some Islamicliterature, and a couple of piles of printer paper. Nothing suspicious.

Glancing around, she spotted his laptop closed on his desk. She didn’t even try it. He’d have it password protected, and she was no hacker. A few loose papers lay scattered on the surface and she picked them up, scanning them for anything of value. Mostly Arabic, and unfortunately, she didn’t understand a word.

Damn. If only she had her phone, she could take pictures. But keeping her burner in the house was too risky. If Amir found it, she’d be dead before she could yelp, “I can explain.”

She flipped open a notepad lying next to the laptop, but it only contained more Arabic scribblings. She bit her lip, thinking. If she could just get this to Patrick, he’d have people who could translate it. It might even reveal what they were up to.

But Amir wasn’t stupid enough to leave anything that incriminating out in the open. He’d said it himself—if the authorities came knocking, they’d find nothing.

She rifled through the trash. A crumpled sticky note caught her eye. She smoothed it out. On it was written one word, also in Arabic, but it was underlined three times.

That must be important. She slipped it into her pocket. If Amir had tossed it, he might not notice it was missing.

Just one word. But it could be a date, a place, a target.

Patrick would know.

She was about to leave when she heard a key in the front door.

Riad. He was back!

Panicking, she bolted from the study, pulling the door shut behind her. She tiptoed down the hallway, but Riad was already entering the house. She wouldn’t make it to the kitchen in time. Instead, she darted into the living room.

He gave her a sharp look. “Where’s Amir?”

“He’s asleep. He was exhausted.” She prayed he wouldn’t notice how out of breath she was, or the pounding of her heart.

“What are you doing in here?” He glanced around the darkened room.

“I’ve been tidying up and I’m about to go to bed.”

He stepped closer, his eyes slanted. “I’m watching you, Jasmine. Just because Amir trusts you, doesn’t mean I do.”

She kept her voice even. “I only have your cousin’s best interests at heart.”

“Sure you do.” He smirked, his eyes sliding down her body, making her skin crawl. “Just know, your days here are numbered.”

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