Page 48 of Hidden Attraction

“She was a good woman. Stubborn. I told her…don’t go. I knew something was planned, but I thought they would only destroy supplies. The crates. A message.” He swallowed. “She checked everything herself that day. It took longer without me. She was still inside when it exploded.”

A beat of silence stretched. Alyssa’s expression had softened, sympathy flickering in her eyes.

Chase broke the quiet. “Why didn’t you help her that day?”

“My daughter,” he whispered, voice watery. A tear broke free from the corner of his eye and trickled down his cheek. He swiped it away. “They took her. Said if I interfered again, she would die. I did everything I could to save her. I even contacted Miriam’s son, begged him to speak sense into her, but she didn’t listen to him either.” His voice cracked. “She didn’t know what was waiting.”

Alyssa’s fingers touched the edge of the table as if readying herself to rush away and help. “Where is your daughter now?”

“She lives,” Mahmoud said, though his eyes stayed haunted. “They released her. Eventually. But I lost everything else.”

Chase studied him—grief carved into the man’s face like an epitaph. No rehearsed act. Just guilt worn raw over time.

“You did what you could,” Alyssa said under her breath.

Mahmoud looked at her. “So, will you help me? Will the promise be honored?”

Chase gave her a glance—this wasn’t something he could guarantee. But Alyssa straightened in her chair, slipping into that steel-backed grace he was starting to admire far more than he probably should.

“I’ll make the calls,” she said. “Start the paperwork. If your story checks out, I’ll advocate for you.”

Hope sparked behind his eyes.

Their food arrived then—warm pita, grilled meats, a tomato-laced stew that sent steam twisting into the night air. They ate slowly, the three of them. Chase and Alyssa asked a few more careful questions—who had given him the instructions, where the crates had been stored, when the threats started.

All of it lined up.

And through the exchange, Chase watched Alyssa. The way she pressed the interpreter when needed but also offered comfort. The soft, murmured reassurances, the notes she committed to memory.

“Sir, you mentioned Ms. Sheen had a son.”

He dipped his head in a simple nod. “I never met him, but she spoke of him often. Before…” He broke off, struggling. “Before it happened, I sent her son an email from her computer. I tried everything to make sure she didn’t go to work that day.” He spread his hands in helplessness.

Alyssa flicked a glance at Chase. As soon as they got back to the safehouse, he would reach out to Dante to dig up what he could on Miriam Sheen’s son.

When the crowd got louder, he automaticallyshifted closer to Alyssa, prepared to throw himself in front of her, to take a bullet for her, if it came to that.

Beneath the table, her knee bumped his. He felt her heat through the thin layer of fabric between them.

She was a force—compassion wrapped around strategy. And every now and then, when she caught his eye, the fire between them flickered back to life.

When they finished, the interpreter placed his napkin on the table. “If there is more I can offer…”

“You’ve given us a good start,” Chase said. “We’ll take it from here.”

He nodded, then slipped away into the night, vanishing the way he came.

Chase and Alyssa remained seated.

“You think he’s telling the truth?” Her eyes fixed on the spot the man had disappeared into the shadows.

He nodded. “Too much detail. The guilt—that doesn’t fake well.”

She sighed and leaned back in her chair, looking up at the stars just starting to show through the smog-hazed sky. “That poor woman. After that warning, she must’ve known something was wrong. She just didn’t back down.”

“Sounds familiar.”

She cut him a look, but there was a smile in it. “You don’t scare me.”

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