Compassion darkened his eyes. “Is that what you’re worried about?”
“Well, yes. Part of it anyway.”
“It’s a big house,” he said. “They won’t even know you’re there unless you want them to.”
“How big a house are we talking?”
“About twelve thousand square feet.”
She gaped. “That’s not a house, that’s a hotel.”
He laughed. “Depends on how you look at it. But like I said, I want you to have the security it offers if you can stand my family for a while.”
“They can’t be that bad.” Could they?
Asher ran a hand down his cheek. “Guess we’ll see if you still feel that way when this is all over.”
Assuming she was alive at the end. She let her gaze drift between the men, then let out a low breath. “All right. If it’s unanimous in being the best thing I should do, then I’ll do it.” She held up a finger. “For a short time. I don’t want to impose on anyone.”
“It’s not an imposition, I promise.”
A groan escaped her, but she nodded. “Okay, fine. I’ll go.” Because really, in spite of his morose attitude and the fact that she could wake from a nightmare screaming the mansion down, how bad could it be?
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
Kristin hurried down the hallway, searching for Paksima. She hadn’t been at breakfast that morning, and now it was lunchtime and she wasn’t with the usual group of girls she sat with to eat.
Kristin spotted Sarah cutting up the kebab of one of the younger children and hurried over to her. “Have you seen Paksima?”
“No, sorry. Why?”
Kristin’s gaze scanned the dining area. “She’s not here and she wasn’t at breakfast.” An unexplainable fear gripped her. “Something’s wrong. I’ve got to find her. Maybe the director knows.” She spun and raced for the director’s office, heart pounding, blood boiling. If he allowed something to happen—
A hand on her arm halted her. “Don’t do anything rash,” Sarah said in a low voice. “There are things you don’t know. You can’t trust anyone.”
“But the director—”
“Especially not him.”
“What do you mean?”
Mr. Yusufi exited the boys’ wing. When he saw her, he stopped, and she thought his shoulders might have drooped a bit. Kristin pulled away from Sarah’s restraining hand and darted toward the man. “Mr. Yusufi, could I have a word, please?” She was proud of the steadiness of her question. In no way did it betray the quivering mass of worry she was on the inside.
He straightened. “Of course. I’m just heading to my office. We can talk there.”
Kristin followed him to what had been her original destination. She registered Sarah trailing behind, her phone buzzing.
“I’m going to get this, okay?” Sarah said.
“Sure.”
Sarah peeled off into the nearest hallway while Kristin and the director continued straight ahead into the alcove that held his office. She heard Sarah say, “Caden, I’m fine, but I can’t talk right now. I’ll call you back later . . . What?”
Then the director stopped in front of his office door and turned to face her. “Now, what may I do for you?”
“Where’s Paksima?”
“She’s been adopted.”
Kristin froze. “No,” she whispered.
“The good doctor found a nice couple who have decided to take her in and raise her as their own. They lost their little girl in a bombing a year ago and have decided to honor her memory by raising an orphaned girl. They picked her up about an hour ago.”
“You mean they’re trying to replace the child they lost,” she snapped without thinking. Then bit her lip. Her heart beat with the pain of loss. Lost hope, lost dreams, lost love.
He scowled. “You are here to work with the children in the orphanage, not worry about the ones who are no longer here.”
Kristin drew in a steadying breath. “Right. Of course. I’m sorry. I had gotten attached to her and that was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”
He blinked at her sudden capitulation, then gave a slow nod. “All right, then. How is the information coming for Dr. Madad?”
“I’m still working on it.”
“Good.” He sat down and pulled a bottle of water from the small refrigerator next to his desk. “That will be all.”
Kristin turned and walked from the office, keeping her emotions under control until she shut the door behind her. Then the tears welled and fell. She wiped them with the edge of her hijab, willing them to stop, but they refused.
“Kristin?”
She opened her eyes to find Sarah’s face blurry and distorted through the wetness. As she rubbed away the tears, and Sarah’s features came into focus, Kristin frowned. The woman was positively ashen. Forgetting her own problems for the moment, she rushed forward to grip her friend’s hand. “What is it? What’s happened?”
“A lot. That was my brother on the phone.”
“And?”
“Was there a girl who used to live here named Tasneem Asmahd?”
“Yes, she was adopted about a year ago, I believe.”
Sarah swayed, then pressed her fingers to her eyes. “No, she wasn’t. All of our investigating has proved that the adoptions never happened.”
“I know, but I can’t figure out what’s happening to the children if they’re not being adopted.”
Sarah pulled her from the alcove. “We need to find a safe place to talk.”
“My room.” Kristin led the way, her heart pounding.
Once they were shut behind closed doors, Sarah raked a hand through her hair, then pressed a shaky hand to her lips.
“What?” Kristin asked. “Tell me.”
“The good doctor isn’t sending these children out to be adopted—which we knew—or trafficked for sex slaves or labor like we suspected.”
“Then what?” Kristin whispered, dread spearing her heart.
“He’s sending them to be organ donors.”
A wave of dizziness hit Kristin and she stumbled to the bed to sink onto it, mind swirling. No, it was a mistake. It couldn’t be true. “What are you talking about? Please explain,” she whispered.
“That was Caden, my brother. He called to ask if I’d find out about the girl.”
“Tasneem?”
“Yes.” Sarah hesitated, seeming to be searching for words.
“Just say it, Sarah.”
“She’s . . . dead.”
“No!” Grief crashed over Kristin.
Sarah sat next to her and gripped her hands. “I’m so sorry.”
“Go on,” she said, her voice rough with unshed tears.
“She was found buried in a grave, one of many, in South Carolina. The autopsy on her revealed that her heart was missing. And her lungs. And”—Sarah drew in a breath—“her kidneys.”
A numbness began to invade Kristin and she welcomed it. “But how did she get there?”
“Caden said he believes that the children are being told they’re headed to the United States for adoption. There’s someone who escorts them with forged or faked documents, including passports.” She paused. “The passports might actually be real. Anyway, once they reach the States, they’re taken somewhere and . . . killed. For their organs.”
“But . . .” Kristin pressed her hands to her temples. “I can’t process it.” She looked up. “It can’t be true. There must be a mistake.”
“Look, Kristin, you were right when you asked me who I was not long ago. You know me, the real me, but not my real profession.”
Kristin stilled and looked at the woman she’d considered a friend. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m with the Army. I’m an investigative reporter.”
“What?” It was too much. Her brain couldn’t take in any more crazy.
“I live on the base and the guy who escorts me here every day is an American soldier. He sits outside the orphanage waiti
ng and watching. And he takes me back and forth to the hospital so I can keep an eye on Dr. Madad.”
“Wait a minute. How did you know all this was going on here? I asked you to come work here as a volunteer.”
“And in the beginning, that’s all I was. Until you brought up the fact that the children were being adopted really fast and you were suspicious about it—and you were trying to find the families these children were adopted into but couldn’t. It got my nosy reporter brain spinning and I started looking into it.”
Kristin felt like she’d been blindsided. “But the hospital? Dr. Madad would recognize you as being from the orphanage. Wouldn’t he be suspicious?”
“Only if he saw me. I made sure he didn’t. I’ve followed him from here a couple of times and he goes straight to the hospital each time. And you know what he does there? He goes to his lab, where he stays for hours.”
“So? He’s a doctor. Of course he would go to his lab.”
Sarah’s eyes never wavered. Her look was a cross between compassion and determination. “On the files that Isaiah Michaels downloaded from Madad’s computer, there’s evidence that he’s testing blood and tissue samples, along with DNA and everything else necessary to match up these kids with a paying recipient. A very well-paying recipient, because he’s got money rolling in.”
“How do you know all this?” Kristin whispered.
“My brother Caden is an FBI agent and he’s in touch with agents here in Kabul. They’re working with the Afghan police force, looking for Madad right now to bring him in for questioning. I told Caden to let them know he was here at the orphanage.”
“They took Paksima,” Kristin said. “Mr. Yusufi just told me she was being adopted.” She rose and grabbed her purse and the keys to the orphanage van. “I have to get to the airport.”
Sarah’s eyes widened. “You can’t go without an escort.”
“I have no choice. I have to stop them from taking Paksima! If what you say is true, they’re going to kill her!”
Sarah let out a groan. “All right, then, let’s go.”
“No, not you. It’s not safe.”
“Exactly. That’s why you’re not going alone.” Sarah shut the door behind her. And Kristin heard her friend mutter, “Caden’s going to kill me if someone doesn’t beat him to it.”
Two steps into the hallway, Kristin pulled up short. Dr. Madad stood there, weapon held in front of him. Mr. Yusufi stood behind him.
“Back in the room,” Dr. Madad said.
Adrenaline humming so fast she thought she might faint, Kristin stepped back and felt Sarah behind her. “What are you doing?”
“Getting rid of a problem.” His gaze flicked to Sarah. “Two problems.”
“You’re going to kill two Americans?” Kristin asked. “Do you know how much attention that will bring down on this orphanage?”
“She’s right,” the director said. “We can’t do this here.”
Frustration, rage, indecision whipped across the doctor’s face. “Then clear this hallway and make sure no one comes this way. I’ll hold them here while you do it. Then we’ll get them away from the property and arrange for an accident.” He scowled. “Lots of accidents have been known to happen around here.”
Kristin sucked in a breath, terror sweeping over her, but mostly Paksima’s sweet smile kept flashing in her mind. If she didn’t do something, the child would die. And Sarah. “Her brother is an FBI agent,” Kristin said. “Do you really think killing her will make this disappear?”
The director shifted, sweat beading his brow. “Doctor, I don’t know—”
“We’ll worry about the ramifications later. One thing is painfully obvious. These two can’t live to talk.”
“I’ve already talked,” Sarah said. “To a lot of people.”
“Go!” the doctor snapped. “Clear the hall as best you can. You two, follow him. Walk. Stay beside me and don’t do anything stupid, because if you do, then obviously other people will have to die.”
Kristin gripped Sarah’s hand. Sarah shook her off and stuck her hand in her pocket as she obeyed the man’s order to walk. At first Kristin was hurt, then noticed Sarah stayed slightly behind her. She just prayed whatever the woman was doing, it was related to bringing help before it was too late.
Asher rang the bell to his parents’ home. He might use the code to the gate without thought, but he never just opened the door—front or back—and walked in. For one thing, it was usually kept locked, but regardless, it didn’t feel right.
“You grew up here?” Brooke asked, eyes wide.
“No, this was a celebratory purchase after Dad won that big case and put Oliver Loft behind bars.”
“The famous basketball player?”
“And serial killer. Yeah. That’s the one. He became the firm’s golden boy and was turning away work after that. Then he opened his own practice, became a judge, sold the practice, and the rest is history, as they say. Right now he’s on the short list for the Supreme Court.”
“Whoa.”
“Don’t let this change your view of me,” he said, his voice low. “This isn’t who I am.”
She lifted a brow. “You don’t have to worry about that with me.”
His heart walls crumbled just a little more, and he had to look away from the eyes that would be easy to get lost in.
Focus, man. Asher rang the bell again, although it wasn’t necessary. It was a long walk to the door from any part of the house.
He’d called ahead and made his request, and his father agreed after Asher had answered a dozen questions. He was vague on most of the answers but didn’t fudge on the possible danger hosting Brooke could bring to their doorstep.
After a significant pause—during which Asher fully expected the man to say no—his father had said, “Bring her. The property is gated, the dogs are out, and I’ll add two more guards to the outside. She can have the bedroom next to Lyric’s.”
“Bedroom” wasn’t quite what he’d call the space that also held a bathroom and sitting area with a large fireplace and three walls of books. If it had a kitchen, one would call it an apartment. “I appreciate it, Dad.”
“Are you going to be staying here as well?”
“For the night.” Just to make sure Brooke got settled. Her green eyes flashed to mind and the thought of anything happening to her shot fear straight to his very soul. How could he feel so deeply about someone he’d never even been on a date with? Then again, facing death together would probably intensify feelings.
“Asher?”
He shuddered and realized she’d been calling his name and squeezing his hand for several seconds.
Amanda Grissom, dressed in her work uniform of black pants and long-sleeved blue sweater that signaled she was an employee of the household, frowned at him. “Are you all right, Mr. James?”
“Yes, of course. Sorry. Got caught up in . . . thoughts.” At least they weren’t bad ones. “And I’ve told you, it’s Asher. Mr. James is my father. And brother.”
He waited for Brooke to cross the threshold and followed her inside.
Amanda shut the door. “This way, please.”
Brooke leaned close to him. “You don’t know the way?” she whispered.
Asher choked on a laugh and he thought he might have heard Amanda do the same, but her ramrod-straight back never twitched. She led them into the sitting area. Two wingback chairs bookended the mammoth fireplace in the corner that blazed with a lively flame, giving the room a warmth he didn’t think was possible in this home.
He placed a hand on Brooke’s lower back when he realized she wasn’t moving to sit. Even with his light pressure she didn’t move. Her eyes were locked on the fireplace.
“I’ll turn it off,” he said. Ten steps later, he flipped the switch and the flame flickered, then disappeared. He turned in time to see her panicked look fade.
She took a deep breath. “Sorry, I have issues with fire. And fireplaces. And heat. And smoke.”
&nb
sp; “Understandable.”
“Asher?”
He spun to find his father watching them from the doorway. “Hi, Dad.”
The man’s gaze flicked over the two of them before a forced smile curved his lips. “Welcome.”
“Thank you, Mr. James,” Brooke said. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”
The smile thawed a fraction. “Well, any friend of Asher’s is a friend of ours.”
Asher frowned. Since when?
“I hear you’re looking at a Supreme Court nomination in the near future,” Brooke said. “Congratulations.”
“Ah, yes, I am,” his father said, surprise tingeing his voice. “I didn’t realize Asher was up-to-date on my career.”
“Of course. He’s very proud of you.”
Another flash of surprise. Then his father cleared his throat and turned to Asher. “Nicholas and Lyric will be here for dinner. I hope you brought appropriate clothes.”
“Sure did.”
“Amanda will show you to your rooms.”
With a nod of dismissal, the man left.
Brooke leaned in next to him. “Are you sure he wasn’t in the military?”
“I’ve always kind of wondered.”
“This way, Ms. Adams,” Amanda said. “Asher, I’ll leave you to find your own way.”
“I can show her, Amanda.”
The woman stopped, then swept out a hand for them to proceed. “Of course.”
She hurried away, and Asher directed her toward the curved staircase off the kitchen. “Up those and to the right.”
“I’ll follow you.”
He led the way, shaking his head as he went. He didn’t mind a big house if one could afford it but found his parents’ place over the top. However, for now, he’d be grateful for it—for the security it would offer Brooke. He found the room Brooke would use and opened the door. She looked inside and smiled. “It’s lovely.”
“Most important, it’s comfortable.”
She stepped inside and set her small bag on the rose-colored comforter. “It’s very generous of your parents to let me stay. I’m grateful.”
The fact that she voiced his earlier thoughts stilled him. He reached for her hands and clasped them. They felt small and soft in his callused ones. They felt like they belonged there. He liked that. “You don’t have a boyfriend, right?”
Collateral Damage Page 19
