He watched her nervously.
The temptation was real and startling.
But.
Her heart sank. She couldn’t. Not now. Not with everything that had happened this week. She needed a minute to process. To take a breath.
She had to say it.
“I’m flattered, Haris.” She gently pulled her hand back. “Really, I am. But…I can’t.”
Even in the darkness, she could see how her words had landed, and the brief flash of pain passing across his face before he hid it away.
“Of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things uncomfortable.”
“Don’t be sorry. Please. You’ve done so much for me, and I’m so grateful for you. You have no idea how much I care about you.” Her voice was thick with emotion. “It’s just…things are so complicated right now. I need a minute. I don’t want to make things messier than they already are.”
He didn’t reply. She blinked hard as she watched his profile, searching his face for something—anger, regret—but he was completely unreadable.
He excused himself. When he returned, he was holding two glasses of water. He handed her one. She took it from him and studied his expression as he took a sip from his glass.
“Are we okay?” she asked, her voice small.
“Of course we are.” Haris’s expression softened, though she saw the sadness lingering too. “Honestly? I feel better now. At least I said it.”
They stood there a moment longer until Haris cleared his throat. He offered her an apologetic smile and excused himself to use the bathroom.
Finishing her water, she walked back into the cabin. She set her glass in the kitchen sink as the dull ache of guilt washed over her. He said he wasn’t hurt, but how could he not be? After all he’d done for her, she hoped she hadn’t inadvertently led him on.
She winced. A sudden headache. Her hands flew to her head. She realized with a start she hadn’t eaten all day. She slid open a kitchen drawer to her right. It was empty. Drawing open the next one, she paused.
There was a framed photo in there. Of her parents. It was a professional picture, the type taken in a studio. They stood before a blue backdrop. Her father in a white polo. Her mother in a pink blouse. Brown bangs swept across her forehead. His hands rested on her shoulders. He looked so young. They both did.
Why did Haris have this photo tucked away in the drawer?
She needed to step out of the kitchen. Wait for Haris. Ask him. But her body was ten steps ahead of her brain. Sheopened a cabinet door. Tried not to gag at the odor of rotten apples and moldy oranges.
Opening the next one, her mind went blank.
She couldn’t process what she was seeing. Instead of food, she was looking at a mini hardware store: There was a plastic bag filled with zip ties. An assortment of coiled rope in a wicker basket. A pack of ski masks and gloves. A variety of knives hung from a magnetic rack like a butcher’s arsenal.
But what was inside the next cabinet turned her blood cold.
Matches. Lighter fluid. Brass knuckles. A blow torch. A rusted pair of pliers—blood caked along the tips.
Her breath caught.
Nasir’s hands. His torn fingernails.
They had locked him in a trunk. They had driven him far away.
Where no one could hear his screams.
Her pulse quickened. A light glowed on the counter. Haris’s phone. She peered at the incoming message from an unknown number.
Reza has been neutralized.
Reza neutralized? Her lungs seized. What did that mean?
