She chuckled nervously. She hadn’t told him about her cousin Tariq because he was technically dead – just like Ivan. Had the private investigator given Langdon some information? “I’ve told you, I don’t know anyone – just the people I knew in college, but I never see them and obviously they don’t know where I am.”
He sipped his coffee. “Good.”
“But I was wondering… have you had any news from the immigration department yet? With regards to my visa application?”
“Not yet – you know what these bureaucrats are like.”
“And they actually have got my passport, right?”
“Of course. Why do you ask?”
“Well… I’d like it back.”
“Like it back? Samira, they’re in the middle of processing your application to stay here.”
“I know.” She realized she shouldn’t be too obvious about wanting her passport – in case he got suspicious. She tried to be subtle. “I wish they'd speed things up. I was thinking I might give them a call, or even drop by and talk to them about it myself. I really would like my passport back.”
Anger flashed across his face. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Sure I do, but–”
“Everything I’ve asked is simply for your own safety, Samira. Think of Quin. You don’t want to draw attention to yourself, do you? Get the immigration people asking too many questions? You don’t want to be deported, do you?”
It sounded like a threat. It sounded like ‘unless you do as you’re told, I’ll tell the authorities about you.’ The thought of returning to Iran filled Samira with dread – but with any luck it wouldn’t come to that. She just needed her passport and Clara’s friend could hopefully help
her stay. She swirled her spoon in her muesli, plucking up the courage to ask the next question. “Look, there’s this guy who seems to be following me whenever I leave the ranch.”
“Is there?” Langdon had now resumed reading his paper. He sounded uninterested.
“Yes. Is he your guy? Or is he one of those immigration people you’re so worried about?”
Mr. Langdon smiled thinly. “He’s my guy – I’m employing him to protect you, okay. Just in case any others cowboys think they can take you out for coffee.”
Dread slunk through Samira’s heart as she realized she wasn’t a guest here, but a prisoner – just as Ivan had said. Her polite act dropped away. It was time to show Langdon the feisty Samira. “Listen, I’m going to need my passport back as well as my other personal things you’ve got of mine. My driver’s license – I need my driver’s license.”
He dropped his fork making it clatter. “I’ve told you, your passport is with the immigration people. You don’t want to ruin your chances of getting a visa, do you? You’re making it sounds as if I’m the enemy here, Samira. I just want to help.”
She could tell from the veiled panic in his eyes that he was bullshitting. The sooner she got her ID and got the hell out of here, the better. He’d been helpful while she’d been so lost and alone, but now Ivan was back, and she could see through his crap. She didn’t know exactly why he wanted her here, but just that he did – and he wasn’t keen to let her leave, which was extremely worrying.
“At least let me have my driver’s license. Just in case the police stop me with any of your contraband.”
He feigned shock. “Contraband? Whatever do you mean?” He narrowed his eyes. “You haven’t looked in the cases, have you?”
“No. I told you, I don’t want to know.”
He stared at her for a moment, and she maintained eye contact, suddenly not afraid or beholden to him anymore. He looked away, then he pushed back his chair – making it scrape on the polished floorboards – before standing up to leave the room.
Samira’s heart thrashed with worry, tensing as he slammed the dining room door behind him. She gazed at her uneaten breakfast, wondering where the hell he’d gone in such a temper. What if he planned to hurt Quin? Or take him away from her? No one was touching her baby. She started to stand up with the intention of going after him, but he strode back into the dining room and threw her driver’s license onto the table in front of her.
“There. Happy now?”
She glared at him. “Thank you.”
Samira picked up her spoon and ate in silence, with the fallout from their row sizzling in the air between them. He slurped his coffee and went back to reading his paper, as Samira’s mind raced with questions about why he was so keen to keep her here. Why did he want assurances that she didn’t know anyone in America? It didn’t make any sense.
Unless? No…
She just needed to be patient for a bit longer and find out what Clara’s friend in immigration said. He’d know whether Langdon really had sent them her passport. And if he hadn’t, she was determined to get back from him – before leaving with Ivan and Quin, and moving as far away from Langdon and those suitcases as she possibly could.