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Sure, the military knew how to drag their feet—she’d witnessed that her entire life, having a father who was a three-star Army general and working toward four. But the military also knew how to act fast—they had to be ready to respond to a threat in an instant, so that was built in.
Not so the State Department. They usually drew out investigations for months or years, until the story faded from the headlines and no one without a political agenda cared anymore.
“You’ve been handed something on Diana, haven’t you? Some kind of damning evidence has been planted, and you’re using it as an excuse to make her a scapegoat.”
Like any good diplomat, the guy had a solid poker face, but still, she thought she caught something simply because he hadn’t expected her to make the connection.
He gave her a tight smile. “How is it making her a scapegoat when she herself admits she committed the crime she’s accused of? How is she a scapegoat when she’s the one who created an international incident?”
And then Morgan knew, without a shadow of a doubt and couldn’t hold back a stream of curses before saying, “The military—and the State Department—knew Rafiq was alive. But you screwed up, and now you need to discredit her.” She glared at the man who was playing international chess with Diana’s life. “That’s how she’s a scapegoat.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Diana felt slightly better after taking a shower. Because of the need to wrap her injured ankle in a waterproof bag, she’d bathed mostly with sponge or tub baths, making this her first real shower since before her abduction. She was thankful that yesterday the doctor had finally okayed removing her brace and bandages for bathing.
Chris didn’t have a shower seat, but he did have a plastic garden chair that fit in the master bathroom shower. She toyed with the idea of asking him to help her bathe, but knew she couldn’t handle that emotionally, even if they both kept it clinical. They’d already been intimate, so it wouldn’t feel clinical, and she was in a raw and vulnerable place.
She had no doubt they’d both regret it afterward one way or the other.
At least she no longer regretted Thursday night. On the contrary, she was now grateful she’d made the wild choice to go home with him. Maybe, when this was all over—if that was even possible—they could try dating. A relationship wasn’t entirely unreasonable given that they lived just a few hours apart.
Now she stared at Chris as they ate takeout for dinner and imagined what a future with him might look like. She remembered the feel of his big body sliding against hers, his large palms cupping her breasts as he kissed his way downward.
She closed her eyes as her face and body flushed with heat.
“What?” he asked.
She wondered if he’d believe a thirty-two-year-old woman could have a hot flash?
She shifted her focus to the blank corner next to a gas fireplace. “I was thinking this room needs a Christmas tree. If you celebrate Christmas, that is.”
“Sure you were.” He chuckled, then studied the corner she’d indicated. “But yeah, on the tree thing. My ex probably kept most of the ornaments, but I should have some lights and a few decorations buried in the moving boxes stacked in the garage.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s not that late. We could go to a lot and get a tree tonight if you want.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I like the idea. We’ve earned a treat. I can get eggnog and put on Christmas music. Do it right.”
“Should I stay here? While you go? I mean, we shouldn’t be seen together.” The news hadn’t mentioned a warrant being issued, but she needed to lie low just in case one was in the works.
“The tree lot should be safe enough. No one knows me here. But I’d need to go to a store for a tree stand. Probably best if you don’t go shopping with me. Stores have plenty of cameras. If anyone figures out you’re with me, they’ll review footage from every camera in the area they can find.”
Before they left, Chris found the Christmas boxes. They contained what he’d expected: less than two dozen ornaments, but plenty of strings of multicolored lights. After bringing the boxes into the living room, they set out, heading to a tree lot a good distance from the military base in an abundance of caution. They quickly chose a tree, and Diana waited in the passenger seat while he strapped it to the roof.
She felt a strange little spark of happiness at the randomness of the sudden excursion. The 4Runner was parked facing the busy street, and she watched a line of cars filled with holiday shoppers turn into the busy strip mall across the street.
The idea of buying presents hadn’t even crossed her mind, and with Chris’s reminder about the numerous cameras in stores, it was off the table for her this holiday season.
Watching the cars file into the mall like ants to their colony, she couldn’t say she was disappointed, but she’d have enjoyed picking out something special for Morgan’s daughter, who had transformed from a babbling toddler to a sprinting chatterbox in the months Diana was in Jordan.
Diana’s gaze landed on the mammoth sign next to the shopping center entrance that listed the stores and restaurants to be found in the complex. One familiar logo jumped out at her, and her mood plummeted.
Historie. Marbled-white letters with the capital H made of two Corinthian columns.
She scanned the line of shops, looking for the gift store. She spotted it at the end of the line. Business was booming on Saturday night a little more than two weeks before Christmas.
Had Dennis Gardner spoken with the State Department yesterday after their meeting? Or had he turned around and spoken directly with his contacts in Jordan? Gardner was likely more concerned about his relationship with the Kingdom than with the US government.
She’d read the US/Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan extradition treaty days ago, when she first realized she could be in jeopardy, and went over it with Chris again today. The crimes she was accused of committing: looting an archaeological site, aiding and abetting terrorism, were both subject to extradition of US nationals based on the fact that both crimes were punishable by more than a year in prison.
