Читать книгу Son Of The Sheikh - Ryshia Kennie - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Outside the hotel, Talib juggled the child in his arms as he put a hand on Sara’s arm. It was an automatic gesture that rose out of the ashes of the past as if she’d never left, as if he’d never asked her to leave. It was strange how the truth of their relationship, how it had ended, had never been something he’d deceived himself about. He cared about her, but he couldn’t be with her, not like that.

Sara owed him nothing, certainly no explanations. But the thought that she’d carried on with her life, married and had a baby, was oddly disconcerting. He pushed back the emotion, unable to face why it existed or what it meant. It was a moot point, he knew that. He had no right to question her actions and the sane thing to do now would be to push emotion to the background. Emotion did nothing in a situation like this. Still, it bothered him and it shouldn’t. After all, he was the one who had broken up with her, gone his own way—forgotten about her. Or had he?

“Where’s your husband?” he asked and wished he could have rephrased. The question was more abrupt, more invasive even, than he had meant it to be.

“I’m not married,” she said as she turned to look at him. There was defiance in her eyes—a defiance that had hooked him on a day that now seemed a combination of yesterday and so long ago.

“Oh, I...” he spluttered, unsure of what to say. He’d fallen into a gaffe of his own making and that was completely unlike him. But even now, she pushed buttons like no one else could.

“It’s okay, say it. It’s not like others haven’t or at least thought it.”

“Say what?”

“That you thought I was smarter than that. Smarter then becoming an unwed mother that...” Her voice choked off.

“Sara...” He stopped her with a touch of his hand on her shoulder. She’d always been, in some ways, unbelievably old-fashioned. “I’m not suggesting anything. We’ve been apart for a long time. What you do is none of my business. What is my business is getting you to a safe—”

“We’ll go wait with the others,” she interrupted and held out her arms to take her son.

“Just a minute. Wait,” he said. It was odd how that need to protect drew him even now. He wasn’t sure what Ian had planned for his guests, but for Sara and her son, he’d make sure they had alternate arrangements. He was on the phone for a little under a minute before he had things worked out to his satisfaction. The entire time he could feel her attention on him as he juggled the boy in one hand and the phone in the other.

“You’re exhausted,” he said as he slipped the phone into his pocket. “I’ve got another hotel arranged for you. Let me get you both safely on your way.”

“But—”

“It was a long flight. Get some rest and then we’ll talk.”

“Thank you,” she said softly. “But no.”

She sounded in control, calm despite everything that had happened, yet her gaze seemed distracted, like it was all too much, and her face was pale.

“No arguments. It’s on my account. You just take care of him, of the boy.” He didn’t tell her what he’d seen, why he was so concerned. He looked into her eyes. The look she gave him said that she trusted him and still he couldn’t tell her that he’d saved her child from a potential kidnapping. He didn’t know why she was here or what she wanted, but that need to protect, to not have her worry, was as alive as it had been during their relationship.

He put a hand on her shoulder. The fact that he knew the owner here, at the hotel they had only just left, was not a consideration. The hotel he was sending her to had housed royalty. It was secure on a whole other level.

“It’s secure,” he said as he pulled a pen and a business card from his pocket.

“I trust you,” she said simply.

“I imagine you do.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded. “I’m not here because of you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” But something about her voice sounded off.

“Yet, you’re here in this hotel. My friend Ian’s hotel. The one I was doing security for.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Again, there was that change in tone, as if she was telling him something that wasn’t quite true.

“Don’t you?” he asked, trying to tone down any sarcasm. “That all seems oddly coincidental.”

Her lips tightened and she wouldn’t look at him.

Everything about her was the same and yet so different. The child was the most glaring change. Having a child wasn’t something she’d wanted, at least not when they were dating. He knew that because when they were together she had told him often enough how she was determined to make her career in management and one day open her own bed-and-breakfast. She’d been focused and had even said she’d have a family only when she was established. With no husband and with a child, and her longed-for career obviously in jeopardy, could this be about money? He’d never have believed that of Sara, that she’d looked him up so that he could support her in the lifestyle to which she wanted to get accustomed. It had happened before with other women, women he hadn’t cared much about. It was always about the money, not about him—except maybe for the good time he showed them. But Sara, she was different.

“What are you thinking?” she said and that tone was in her voice, the one where she expected he was going to toe the line. But there was no line, no relationship. He looked at her, at her determined stance, and saw the stubbornness he remembered. Still, she’d changed. She had a baby.

She glared up at him. “You think I’m here because...”

“Because what, Sara?” he asked darkly. “You need help. You have a kid now. You need help and I—”

“You always could be a jerk,” she muttered, cutting him off.

“Name calling, Sara?”

She looked at him with regret. “I’m sorry. That was beneath me.”

He skated over her apology. It didn’t matter. She could say what she wanted but he couldn’t see any other reason for her being here. And the last thing they needed was to fight in a situation like this. It was unwarranted and it would upset the boy. “You’ll be safer in the new hotel,” he said, as if that ended the discussion. “Let’s get moving.”

Instead, she was silent, as if considering something, and then she looked up at him. “Tell me the truth, Talib. Did something happen back there in the hotel that you’re not telling me? Besides the obvious—the explosion. I mean with Everett. It seems like you’re not telling me something.”

She was so bang on that he wanted to turn away from her. He wasn’t sure what to say. So he took the safe path and said nothing.

“It’s about Everett, isn’t it? Where was he when you found him at the hotel? Did someone try to take him? Is that what you’re not telling me?”

The tone in her voice, the words—all of it seemed to bring the heavy weight of responsibility. He wasn’t sure why he would be feeling that for her, any more than he would for any other client. But she wasn’t his client and there was the boy.

“No,” he lied. He couldn’t tell her the truth. He didn’t know what the truth was. What he did know was that he could hear the edge of panic in her voice and she needed to be calm for her and for her son. Knowing wouldn’t make a difference to her safety. He had taken care of that by arranging for the move. “I just want to make sure you’re safe after everything that happened here. And the hotel you’re going to has one of the best security systems in the city. Don’t worry,” he said, feeling rather low for lying to her the way he was. But in a way he felt justified for he knew she had yet to tell him why she was here and he wasn’t completely convinced that money wasn’t the problem.

“The security in this new hotel that you mentioned, it just frightens me that you think I need it. There’s something you’re not telling me, Talib.” She looked at him. “But I’ll let it go for now.”

“I think that might be said for both of us. Here’s my direct number.” He handed her the business card he’d pulled out earlier—on it, he’d written the private number that few people, other than his family, had access to. “I’m available night or day at that number.”

“Thank you, Talib,” she said and despite the formality in her voice there was also something oddly intimate in her tone.

He hesitated. It wasn’t a lover’s caress that he remembered, or the stern, I’m-pissed-with-you tone. It was something else, something regretful, yet stronger than that. He’d consider it all later. For now, he had more important things to think about.

A car pulled up to the corner with one of his staffers driving. “Assad will take you there. The cost of the hotel is handled.”

“Talib, no,” she protested again.

“Yes,” he said firmly. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

He opened the door and she slipped in, opening her arms for him to place her son in them. He couldn’t turn away from the haunted look in her eyes and at the picture of the sleeping toddler in her arms. It was serene, so peaceful. This wasn’t the Sara he remembered. This was so much more. He had to yank his thoughts back.

“Don’t leave the hotel, Sara. Promise me,” he said. “In fact, once you’re in your suite, stay there. Order something to eat.” He handed her another business card. “If you need anything else, use this number. He’s a good friend and manages the hotel. Otherwise your money isn’t good there...”

“Talib, no.”

But her voice was quiet, resigned, as if she knew what he would say, where this was going.

“I’ll be there later,” he promised. This time his expression was serious as he handed her one more business card. “If you have any concerns at all and you can’t reach me. Call my brother, Emir.” He wanted to ask her so much more. Personal questions crowded with ones that might somehow affect this case. For now, he’d follow one of Nassar’s cardinal rules—secure the innocent, regardless of whether or not they were potential witnesses.

* * *

“WE CAN’T FIGHT an Al-Nassar. As long as he didn’t know, that was one thing. We could blindside him through Sara. Playing her was easy. But the Al-Nassars have resources. I don’t know if they’ve ever lost a case.” This wasn’t turning out as Tad Rossi—who disliked his given name, Tadbir, and was never called anything but Tad—had planned. He knew he should have given this plan more thought, but when she’d run, he’d panicked. That wasn’t what he’d intended.

“Speed will be our secret weapon.”

“Secret weapon. You’re talking stupid and—”

“Don’t you ever call me that, ever!” The last word ended in a shout. “We clean house once and run,” his partner said calmly as if he hadn’t just lost his temper. “We’ll be in and out before anyone is any wiser.”

“What do you mean by that?” Tad gripped the phone. He was beginning to have qualms about contacting this man in the first place and definitely about calling him now. But he’d never expected Sara would run to Marrakech. And when she had, he’d become desperate. He couldn’t lose her. He’d reached out to one of the few contacts he had left in that country and he’d known almost the minute he’d done it that it had been a mistake. He’d known him since public school. They’d been friends, as only two mismatched souls could be, and they had bonded together. He’d known Habib’s disdain for the Al-Nassar family even then. He’s also known that his childhood friend’s life hadn’t amounted to much except petty crime. Despite all that, they’d remained friends of sorts, oddballs thrown together by life. That was until he’d left Morocco. Then, he’d lost touch.

His old friend was someone who had every quality he required—ill feelings against the Al-Nassars and someone with no scruples. He hadn’t anticipated that the grudge that motivated his accomplice was as large and far-reaching as it was. Unfortunately, now it was clear that the man would stop at nothing now that the window of opportunity had been opened. His ideas were outrageous and he couldn’t believe what he was now suggesting.

“I know where he works and where he plays for the next few days. He’s going to be tied to her and if he’s not, he’ll be at his friend’s hotel. It’s fairly easy, at least it is at the moment.”

“Easy?” This had been a mistake and he was too far away to change any of it. “You have no idea what crap the Al-Nassars can pull, or the strings they’ve yanked. I wouldn’t want to face one of them.”

“Face? That’s never going to happen.” He chuckled. “That’s the sweet spot. Talib Al-Nassar will never know who we are or who brought him down. He’ll be done and never know what hit him. Besides, you screwed up, idiot. You’re not even in the country. You’ve got no control over what happens.”

He was right about that. Tad rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. He’d lost control and he needed to get it back. He needed to stop this thing, because what he was hearing was leading dangerously close to a place he didn’t want to go—murder.

“The key to success is a clean sweep.”

He knew what that meant. The only part of this plan that they both agreed on was the end, which left Sara as she had always been—a destitute single mother and of no interest to anyone, despite her model looks. That was exactly what she deserved. The only problem was that in his plan no one died. What was being proposed was nothing he would agree to. He needed to stop this before things got out of hand.

“It might only be about the money for you, but it’s about much more for me.” His accomplice continued, as if justifying his dark intent.

“That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Too bad. But I see the biggest threat to my happiness on a morgue slab in the near future.” Silence slipped darkly between them. “When that happens, money or not, I’ll call it over.”

He was insane. But Tad had known that before he’d contacted him. No, he corrected himself, he knew that he’d always been a little crazy. He hadn’t expected this full-scale madness. He had to reel him in before his blood thirst destroyed everything. He’d acted on emotion, on panic, and reached out to the wrong man.

“This is over,” he said. “I can’t be part of this.” He remembered how it had started, when he’d first seen Sara and been wowed by her looks. He’d only been into her for what he might get, then he’d thought it would be about sex but she’d disappointed there, refusing any of his overtures. It had been luck that had caused him to stumble on something even better than sex—money. When he’d realized who her son’s father was he’d known he’d hit a gravy train he hadn’t expected. That kind of luck was once in a lifetime.

“Too late. Dress rehearsal is over. We’ve taken the boy—”

“No!” Kidnapping wasn’t in the cards—at least not what one would call a traditional kidnapping. A threat here or there, maybe. But murder hadn’t been, either, and now he was suggesting both.

“You’ve lost control, my friend. It’s my game now.” He ended the call before Tad could say another word.

This was his fault, his stupidity. He’d bought time with a madman. He’d been desperate and desperate men did desperate things. He was living proof of that. But threatening to kill an Al-Nassar was insanity. Their reach and scope was not something a common man could go up against. He knew that, he’d always known that, just as he’d always known that it was Sara who was the key to everything.

And now it was Sara who was close to ruining his life, his plan—his everything. She was the path to getting what he wanted. He had to shut down his accomplice and he had to do it now. Except all he had was the twenty in his pocket. It wasn’t enough for a bus across the country, never mind a plane across the Atlantic.

He was screwed unless he moved to Plan B. The thought of that cheered him, gave him hope.

If Sara wanted to play hardball, she’d be sorry. Soon she was going to learn who she was dealing with.