Page 19 of Saving Jennifer
A tense silence stretched between them.
“I understand,” Karim finally replied, his tone carefully controlled. “I’ll make arrangements to return.”
“See that you do.”
The line went dead. Karim slipped the phone into his pocket, composed his features, and turned back to Vincent.
“Problem?”
“Nothing that concerns our arrangement,” Karim assured him. “In fact, we need to accelerate our timeline. Double the bounty on the woman and her protector.”
Vincent raised an eyebrow. “As I explained, I have multiple men watching the Boudreaus—”
“Triple it, then.” Karim drained his whiskey in one swallow. “I want confirmation of their deaths within forty-eight hours. No traces, no bodies, nothing that can be connected to me or my family.”
Vincent nodded, a cold smile spreading across his face. “For that price, my men will hunt them to hell and back.”
“Good.” Karim turned back to the window, watching the oblivious tourists below. “Because that’s exactly where I plan on sending them.”
CHAPTER SIX
Gator’s fishing campseemed eerily quiet except for the steady patter of rain against the tin roof. Jennifer sat curled in the corner of a worn leather sofa, her fingertips absently tracing the rim of a coffee mug that had long since gone cold. A couple of hours had passed since Gator’s son, Jean-Luc, had shown up carrying supplies and updating her and Noah on what was happening with her case. Which didn’t amount to much. Outside, darkness had settled over the bayou, turning the windows into black mirrors that reflected the sparse interior of the cabin where Noah brought her earlier that afternoon.
A handful of days in protective custody. She gave a halfhearted laugh. Protective custody—ha. More like glorified babysitting, even if Noah was more than qualified to keep her safe. Days spent wondering if the Amirs had traced her steps to the middle of the backwaters of the outskirts of New Orleans.
Noah moved silently through the small kitchen, his military training evident in his efficient movements. Even in their self-imposed isolation, he maintained a vigilance that both reassured and unnerved Jennifer. The cabin was modest but secure—one room—a living area with the kitchenette, and a small bathroom. A full-sized bed took up most of the far wall, covered with a handmade quilt, which she’d wrapped around herself earlier. While it was cozy in a lack of amenities kind of way, it had everything they needed to survive. Most importantly, it was off the grid, known only to a select few from Noah’s past. In other words, the Boudreaus. Gator and his sons and daughter.
“Perimeter’s clear. I haven’t seen or heard anybody close. Nobody’s gone past since Jean-Luc dropped off the supplies,” Noah announced, setting his handgun on the counter before pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee. “Storm’s getting worse, though.”
Jennifer nodded, pulling the quilt she’d confiscated off the bed tighter around her shoulders. “Thank you. I know I wasn’t exactly welcoming toward you in the beginning, but I appreciate you helping watch over me until I testify.”
“Just doing my job,” he replied, but his eyes lingered on her face a moment longer than necessary.
The silence between them had grown comfortable over the past few days but tonight felt different. Heavier. The wind outside rattled the windows, rain splashing against the glass panes, before a crack of thunder rattled the glass, shaking the cabin walls. Her eyes lit on the gun he normally carried, like it was an extension—a part of him.
“You never talk about it,” Jennifer said suddenly. “Your time in the military.”
Noah’s body tensed almost imperceptibly. He took a deliberate sip of coffee before moving to join her in the living room, choosing the ragged armchair opposite the sofa. The arms were covered with crocheted doilies, the color aging from white to a creamy color. She smiled at the feminine touch, so out of place in the totally masculine cabin, not unlike the handmade quilt wrapped around her shoulders.
“Not much to say that matters anymore.”
“It matters,” she whispered softly. “It’s part of who you are.”
Lightning flashed, the inside of the cabin lighting up with a brightness the kerosine lamps couldn’t match. The scent of ozone permeated the air for a few seconds before the scent of brackish salt water returned. The flash of light briefly illuminated his face—the strong jawline, the scar that slashed his eyebrow, eyes perpetually on guard. In that flash, Jennifer caught a glimpse of something raw and wounded beneath his normally composed exterior.
“Kabul,” he finally said, his voice low. “Three tours. Special Forces. The last one ended…badly.” Jennifer remained silent, giving him space. “Our unit was ambushed. Intelligence failure. Half of my team didn’t make it out.” His fingers tightened around his mug. “I listened to my commanding officer, obeyed when I should have questioned orders. A mistake that cost lives. Lives which were my responsibility.”
“You blame yourself,” she observed.
“Wouldn’t you?” The question came out sharper than he intended, and Noah immediately shook his head. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Jennifer set her mug down. “I understand blame better than most people.”
Noah’s gaze met hers, curious and cautious. “Because of Tarik?”
The name hung in the air between them, a specter neither had fully addressed until now.
Jennifer took a deep breath. “Tarik Amir. My half-brother. The monster I led straight to Salem Hudson and almost cost her the life of her unborn child.” Her voice cracked slightly on the last word.