Page 18 of Saving Jennifer
The frustration in her tone caught him off guard. He turned to face her fully, surprised by how close she was standing.
“I’m just doing my job, Jennifer.”
“Is that all this is to you? A job?” She gestured between them. “Because it stopped feeling like a job somewhere between the second safe house and you shoving me through that apartment window right before it exploded.”
The air between them seemed to crackle with tension—not just from her words, but from everything unsaid. From the way her eyes lingered on his a second too long when he checked her for wounds. From the way his hand had instinctively reached for hers during the boat ride here.
“What I feel doesn’t matter,” Noah said finally, his voice low. “My job is to keep you alive until you testify. Anything else…complicates things.”
“Things are already complicated,” she whispered, taking a step closer. “I’m terrified every minute of every day. I don’t know if I’ll live to see next week. But the one thing—the only thing—that makes me feel safe is you.”
His resolve was crumbling, walls he’d built since Donovan’s betrayal developing hairline fissures. He should step back, remind her of the professional boundaries. Anything but what he was about to do.
Her breath caught as he reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering against her cheek. Leaning forward, his lips a hairsbreadth from hers, he let out a soft sigh.
“Jennifer—”
The sudden, distant sound of a boat motor sliced through the moment like the sharp stab of a knife. Noah pulled back, instantly alert, reaching for his weapon.
“Get inside,” he ordered, all softness gone from his voice. “Now.”
Fear flashed across her face as she backed toward the door. “Is it Gator?”
“No. Different engine.” He strained to listen, years of training kicking in as he analyzed the sound. Noah pushed her gently through the doorway. “Stay low, stay quiet. You know where to hide if things go sideways.” Gator had shown them the small space hidden inside the back wall, behind the head of the bed, where there was a crawlspace barely big enough for one person, but assured them they could make it work if anybody dangerous showed up.
As the door closed behind her, he melted into the shadows of the porch, weapon drawn. The boat was still too far away to see, but it was approaching their camp. His mind ran through scenarios, calculating angles, escape routes, defensive positions. All his military training kicked in, surprising him. He hadn’t had much use for his skills at his mountain cabin in Tennessee of late.
Whoever headed their way had managed to find them in the middle of nowhere. That wasn’t luck or coincidence. Gator was right, there was a leak somewhere. They needed to make bloody sure it was plugged, and fast. Noah didn’t want to believe it was somebody at Carpenter Security, but other than his cousins, who he trusted implicitly, what did he really know about the rest of the men and women who worked there? As the sound of the boat grew louder, one thought crystallized in Noah’s mind with terrible clarity.
Knowing there wasn’t a tracker on Jennifer, it meant somebody was feeding information to the enemy. Someone who knew about Gator, knew he was helping Jennifer. Someone who knew about this place.
Now he had to figure out who.
The grand hotelsuite overlooked the French Quarter, but Karim Amir had no interest in the revelry below, or the people partying in the streets. He stood at the window, one hand holding a crystal tumbler of untouched whiskey, the other scrolling through messages on his encrypted phone.
“Nothing yet from our men watching the bayou,” reported Vincent, the ex-military contractor who had proven himself useful over the past week. “They’ve kept Gator Boudreau and his family under constant surveillance, though the old man has given them the slip several times. Those swamps are like a maze, especially the deeper you get into them. If your target is out there, it could take time.”
Karim’s reflection in the window showed no emotion. At thirty, he was the youngest of the Amir cousins, but recent events made him feel every year of his age. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and his normally immaculate appearance had begun to fray around the edges.
“Time is the one luxury we don’t have,” he replied, finally taking a sip of the whiskey. He loved the taste of the American drink, though he was forbidden to indulge at their Dubai compound. It was a vice he planned to enjoy while here in the United States. “My aunt and cousin face their trial beginning in nine days. The witness must be eliminated before then.”
Vincent nodded, still standing at parade rest, his hands behind his back. Karim noted the military posture, nodding to himself. Good to know his money wasn’t being wasted.
“My men are the best. If she’s hiding in Boudreau’s territory, they’ll find her.”
The phone in Karim’s hand buzzed. His cousin Abdullah’s name flashed on the screen. With a barely perceptible sigh, he answered.
“Yes, cousin”
Abdullah’s voice was hard, authoritative. “It’s time to come home, Karim. This vendetta has gone too far. You’re drawing unnecessary attention to our legitimate businesses.”
“I’m simply protecting our family,” Karim responded, turning away from Vincent, lowering his voice. “Aunt Sayifa and Rashid—”
“Made their own choices,” Abdullah interrupted. “Choices that have jeopardized everything my father built. The American authorities have nothing that connects to our operations abroad. This is contained, and your actions only make things worse.”
Karim closed his eyes, knuckles whitening around the tumbler. “You would abandon them to American justice?”
“After what they did to me? Or have you forgotten the steps Mother and Rashid employed in an effort to keep me from leading our family? I am endeavoring to preserve what remains of our empire,” Abdullah replied coolly. “Return to Dubai immediately. That’s not a request.”