Jose agreed a hundred percent, but firing Stella up further wasn’t going to accomplish anything. “You know how intelligence agencies are about working together. He may have saved your ass when you were kidnapped, but that doesn’t mean he wants to work with you.”
“You’re absolutely right,” she said with a gleam in her eyes just before she pivoted away.
Aw fuck. She was fired up anyhow.
Jose kept pace alongside her, his boots thudding on the concrete floor. “Where are you going?”
“To talk to the interpreter.” She stopped short outside the door, her hand on his chest. “Do you think you can keep Mr. Smith busy?”
If it meant closing this case faster and getting Stella back home safe and sound, he was all in. “How long do you need?”
***
Samir Al-Shennawi had been in love with Annie Johnson since the first time he saw her a year ago, the day he left Egypt and began his assignment teaching at the East African orphanage school.
Sitting across from her now in the teacher’s break room as she graded papers and sipped aromatic coffee, he still couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Everything about her mesmerized him like a work of art. Her oval face was creamy and timeless as an oil painting by one of the masters. She wore loose, silky pants suits that shifted and glided against her curves the way his hands ached to do. He wasn’t a poetic man, a scientist by trade and nature, yet she made him feel… different.
Even the loose lock of hair slipping free from the thick chestnut mass piled on top of her head tormented him. The barest glint of silver in that strand reminded him they were mature adults, in their fifties. At their age, they should know their wants, their needs. They weren’t innocents.
How could she not know he burned to make her his? He shuffled papers to grade, upper level chemistry, watching her out of the corner of his eye, every bit as entranced by her now as he’d been twelve months ago.
Seeing Annie then had caught him by surprise as he had never been one to believe in the whole “at first sight” notion. He was too much of a practical man for that. He’d never had time or the aptitude for romance.
He’d been a bachelor for so long his brother Omari had once pulled him aside and asked about his sexual orientation. Samir had reminded Omari that people didn’t question George Clooney or Simon Cowell.
His brother loved American television.
Just because Samir was not a ladies man or Hollywood attractive—or even Bollywood—that did not mean he preferred males to females. He dated quietly. He had sex with women but did not feel the need to brag of conquests. He just had not found the lady he wanted to spend his life with.
Until he saw Annie. So maybe he was a romantic after all.
He wished he could explain what it was about her that drew him, then perhaps he could figure out a way to get over her. Because after a year of attempting to romance her, she had clearly relegated him to the role of friendship.
Something had to change. Because after this long waiting for the right one to walk into his life, he refused to lose her.
After twelve months of failing to win her over, he’d read up on American dating traditions—perhaps they suffered a cultural miscommunication. He thought he had been quite obvious with his offers to walk her to her quarters and hold her chair for her when they sat together at school dining functions. They had even met for coffee and discussed more than just their students.
Yet, her eyes did not light on him the way they should, with a fire that answered the one burning inside him. In fact, she had such solid walls in place, he did not know what she thought and he was growing impatient. Time for a more direct approach and what better moment than now as the only other teacher working this late slipped out the door?
Samir nudged his glasses. “Annie, are you seeing someone?”
She glanced up from her papers and set her pencil down closely, precisely. “Seeing?”
“Dating.” There. He’d said it. He’d made his interest in her official.
He felt queasy.
“Sam, you live here on campus just as I do.” She cupped her mug of steaming coffee and lifted it to her perfect-as-a-peach lips. “There’s no way to keep a romance secret around this place.”
“Then do you have someone back at home that I do not know about?” If she did, why hadn’t she spoken of him in the past twelve months? Why had she spoken of no one for that matter? It was almost as if she was every bit as much an orphan as the students they taught.
She looked down into her mug. “There was someone… But he died.”
Even with her emerald eyes averted, there was no missing the sadness, the loss. And something else… Guilt?
“I am sorry.” He wanted to touch her. He settled for resting his hand beside hers. “Was his death recent?”
She looked up with a bittersweet half smile. “No, years ago, and we’d already grown apart because of my job here in Africa, among other things.”