Page 95 of Sheltering You

She wasn’t sure if Derrick agreed or had simply lost his energy, but he didn’t argue further. After he put the address to the hotel into the navigation system, he pulled the blanket over himself, tucked the pillow beneath his head, and closed his eyes.

In the back, Rabie wasn’t asleep, just staring out at the darkness.

Jasmine turned the music back on—still the same classical station, so it must be satellite radio. She focused on the sounds, trying not to let the memories of all that had happened—and could have happened—distract her.

Right now, all she had to do was reach the motel without incident and get Derrick and Rabie inside. Then she’d go to the pharmacy. Then she’d tend Derrick’s wound and soothe Rabie.

What had Derrick said? That she shouldn’t borrow trouble? It was like what Jesus said as well, that each day had enough trouble of its own.

This night had been filled with it. And soon the sun would rise on a new day.

Perhaps…perhaps they would find Basma, locate her cousin, and deliver Rabie.

Perhaps before the sun set again, they would go home.

She could only pray that God would make it happen.

Jasmine returned to the motel and parked on the side opposite from their room, as Michael had directed. If the police—or, God forbid, Dari’s men—located them here, they might be able to escape out the back and reach the car before they were found.

It seemed farfetched to her, but Michael’s ideas were usually good.

She’d figured out how to use the burner phone’s map and had added the other phone’s number to it, in case she needed to call Derrick. She’d mastered her own phone, but it was powered down and tucked in her suitcase. Not that she’d be missing a lot of calls, but she was certain that at least her sister had tried to reach her.

After her visit to the pharmacy, she understood why Michael hadn’t been afraid for her to go by herself. Though she hadn’t seen many people while she was out, a number of those she had seen were Middle Eastern, and the clerk had been as well—he’d even spoken Arabic. Nobody had given Jasmine a second glance as she’d bought and paid for the items. She’d gotten the first-aid supplies as well as drinks and snacks. She’d found a deck of Uno cards, a puzzle, and a small backpack for Rabie. Then she’d discovered the store had a small collection of clothes. She’d chosen a package of boy’s underwear, a package of socks, two pairs of sweatpants and two sweatshirts. Since he’d soiled one outfit and the other had gone out the window, he’d need something to wear.

Perhaps she could cheer him up a little.

The motel rooms opened to the outside adjacent to the parking lot. The exterior walls were whitish, the paint peeling. Most of the rooms were quiet—it was nearly three o’clock in the morning. Music thumped from one, and she picked up the sounds of men talking and women giggling.

How authentic was the giggling, though? Did those women want to be there? Were they paid to pretend, or forced to?

Slavery looked different here than it had in Iraq, but it existed everywhere. She’d seen the news reports and heard Leila’s and Sophie’s stories about what happened to many refugees, how their dreams of freedom turned to nightmares.

She hurried past the music, not wanting anything to do with those inside, and reached their room. She slid the keycard into the slot and pushed the door open.

The space was dim, only lit by an overhead light outside the bathroom on the far side. It smelled of dampness and old onions, though it was tidy enough.

Derrick lay on top of the covers on the closer bed. He’d changed into his pajama pants but hadn’t peeled off the blood-soaked sweatshirt. The room was chilly, but his face sparkled with a sheen of moisture. He pushed himself up onto his elbow. “Any problems?”

“All is well. Please rest. I’ll be right there.”

She half expected him to argue, but he fell back against the pillows.

Rabie stepped out of the bathroom, and the scent of shampoo and soap wafted out with him—an improvement. His hair dripped, and he had a towel wrapped around his waist.

Her suitcase was open on the floor in front of the closet. She hadn’t opened it when she’d rolled it in earlier, and Derrick wouldn’t have done that.

“Did you need something?” she asked Rabie.

“I was trying to find something to wear.”

“Next time, please don’t go through my things without asking.” She smiled to soften the reproof, crossing the room toward him. “A shower was a good idea. It will help you relax. I bought you a treat.”

She held out the bag that had the things she’d bought for him, and he took it and dug around inside. He pulled out the little cream-filled chocolate cake, his eyes slightly brighter than before.

“You deserve chocolate, no?”

That almost brought a grin. “I think yes.” His gaze flicked to Derrick. “Does he get one?”