Page 21 of Sheltering You

“More like the mild weather you were used to in Iraq.”

She giggled. “Mild. Exactly. But…wait.” Her tone shifted. “We are in Virginia?”

“Yeah. Washington, DC, borders Virginia and Maryland.”

“What state is it in?”

“Neither. It’s the only city in the US that isn’t in a state.” He glanced at her and grinned. “Weird facts about America.”

“Your country is very interesting.”

Not as interesting as Iraq, considering it had been populated since the dawn of time, literally. After all, the Garden of Eden had been in Iraq, hadn’t it? Where the Tigris and the Euphrates met?

“Did Basma tell you what time she thought they’d get away?”

Jasmine unlocked her phone. “She thinks the lunch will last until two o’clock. She said perhaps three or after.”

It was just past eleven, so they had some time to kill. “Hungry?” He’d brought them both cups of coffee—decaf for Jasmine, which she preferred—and pastries from a bakery in Shadow Cove. They’d finished the snacks hours before. “There’s a diner not far from here. It’s got everything from salads to burgers—and they serve breakfast all day, if you like that.”

“How do you know this place?”

“I fly in and out of Dulles a lot. I’ve got clients who come to DC a couple times a year. Also, my uncle—Dad’s brother—worked with the government in some capacity—though I think he’s employed by a defense contractor. I’ve brought him down more than once.”

“What did your uncle do?”

“I don’t know. He never talked about his work.”

“He made enough money to fly in a private jet, though.”

“True.” If money were the most important thing in life, and if life were a contest, then that branch of the Wright family would be winning. But money could only buy so much.

“Your family is very successful,” Jasmine said, “and connected, no? With people in powerful positions?”

“Michael is, I guess, and probably Uncle Gavin.”

“And Sam, with his business connections. And you with yours.”

“I’m a high-priced chauffeur. I might know a few powerful people, but we’re not exactly on equal footing.” When Jasmine said nothing, he glanced her way.

She seemed pensive, almost nervous.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

He didn’t ask again, just waited. Because it was definitely something, but if he pushed her, she’d clam up. He’d learned that the hard way.

Sure enough, after a moment, she said, “It’s only…in Iraq, it was good to be connected—until the people you were connected to became the wrong people. My father worked for the government under Hussein. He secured a job after the dictator fell, but he was never able to move up in the government. And then, when the Americans left, Baba lost his job. He couldn’t gain footing again. It is the reason we left Baghdad and ended up at the compound. It is the reason everything fell apart.”

Derrick reached across the console and took Jasmine’s hand, something he rarely allowed himself to do—though she didn’t seem to mind. “This isn’t Iraq. Leadership changes here frequently—the presidency every four or eight years. The Senate and House change a little every couple of years. State and local governments are changing all the time. The shifts are pretty minimal compared to what you’ve witnessed. You don’t have to worry about anybody’s connections—or lack of connections. You’re safe here. You’re safe with us.” With me. He squeezed her hand and let it go.

He felt her eyes on him and caught a glimpse of admiration and something else he was afraid to name.

Was it more than friendship? Was she starting to feel a fraction of the tenderness toward him that he felt toward her?

Did he dare hope?

“The diner sounds good.” Her voice was tentative. “I am hungry, but I do not have money. I already owe you so much.”