He didn’t find the intruder in any of them. Another floor. Karim headed toward the stairs again and went up and up, disappointed when he found this floor empty, too.
He nearly turned to rush back to Julia, worried that the intruder had somehow gotten by him and might be a danger to her, when he remembered the attic. His own palace was of traditional Muslim design with its flat roof and the single dome over the middle. But Aziz had some fashionable American designer work on the plans of his home, and the man had added that strange foreign roof line that contained an attic that could be, of course, no use at all in this climate, due to the unbearable heat that gathered up there.
Just past the last room, the attic door was a hidden panel that looked like a piece of carved art, a swirling image of verses from the Quran, decorated with geometric patterns. He found it slightly ajar and eased himself inside.
Heat and stale air hit him in the face, and he thanked Allah that the stairs were made of stone because wood would have dried out long ago and the creaking would have given him away. He made his way to the top.
The large space wasn’t empty as he had expected. He stared with surprise at the collection of strange things. The first item he walked by was a stone statue. He couldn’t make out much. Barely any light filtered up from the partially open door below. He didn’t want to turn on the overhead lamps and give himself away. He couldn’t see deep into the attic, but as far as he could see, the place was filled to the brim. It was like a very hot, very dry, overcrowded sauna.
Aziz apparently used his attic to store some of his finds from his amateur archaeological adventures. Odd, really. Karim had been under the impression that everything Aziz had found went into Queen Dara’s museum. The country’s foreign queen had an obsession for preserving the past—the first thing his countrymen had agreed with her about before she had irrevocably wormed her way into the people’s hearts with her many projects.
There were crates up here. Not one of them broken, nor any of the statues disturbed. Whoever had ransacked the house below had not been in here.
But the attic did hold an intruder tonight.
Where was he?
Karim peered into the darkness and tried to breathe in the oppressive heat. He moved forward, passed another statue and realized why these never made it to any museum. Most of the statues depicted human shapes, a practice forbidden by Islam. What on earth was Aziz doing with them?
He heard noise from the back and stole forward, spotted the man’s dim flashlight. He stayed hidden behind the crates and statues as he moved forward, careful not to make noise. The attic was enormous, spanning the whole width and length of the palace. A few minutes passed before Karim could make out what the guy was doing. The intruder had a sheet of paper in one hand and the flashlight in the other. He was examining the statues, looking carefully at each one before moving on.
He had both hands full and no weapon that Karim could see.
“Stop,” Karim called in Arabic and aimed his gun at the man.
He turned off the flashlight at once, enveloping them in complete darkness. They were too far from the entrance for any light from there to reach them. He heard clothes swish and made a grab that way, but caught nothing but air.
He moved quickly toward the exit, knowing the man would head that way, too, not wanting to become trapped up here. He was about halfway when they bumped into each other at a fair speed. The man went down. Karim saw stars when the guy slammed right into his bullet wound, and lost his own balance, toppling forward as well.
“Who are you?”
He grabbed the man tightly, and they rolled on the floor, bumping into crates. He could have shot the guy, but he didn’t want to, not unless he had no other choice. More than anything, he wanted answers.
“Who are you?” he repeated.
The only response he received was a grunt.
They rolled again and something sharp burned his side. A blade? He reached out and found that hand, immobilized it, felt the handle of a knife.
He outweighed the intruder by close to twenty pounds, but the man was wiry. And fought dirty, he realized the next second when the intruder bit his neck hard. Karim brought up his elbow sharply, hit the guy on the chin by chance and heard the man’s neck snap back. Then his opponent went limp.
Karim secured the man’s hands with his own before he dragged him toward the light, down the stairs.
A youth, barely over twenty. He was shaking off the injury by the time they reached the landing.
“Who sent you?”
The intruder was grubby, most of his front teeth missing, his clothes and hair unkempt. He spit at the floor by Karim’s feet and lunged at him. Karim held him back, reached for a curtain pull, yanked it off the wall and tied the guy’s hands.
“All right. I’ll call the police. They’ll know what to do with a thief.”
The young man went white. Until recently, the punishment for thievery was cutting off the criminal’s right hand in the marketplace. Although most of Beharrain’s ancient laws were being reformed, a thief could still count on a severe caning and considerable time in prison.
“In Allah’s name I beg you for mercy.” The intruder fell at Karim’s feet.
“When you tried to kill me, was that in Allah’s name, too?” He wasn’t impressed by the plea. “Who are you?”
No response.
“Who sent you?” He had a fair idea that he was a street boy turned beggar-slash-thief. How would someone like him know about Aziz’s attic? He’d gone straight for it, didn’t bother with the rest of the house. How did he know there was something of value up there? And what the hell was it? He hadn’t grabbed any of the statues. Looked like he’d been searching for something specific.
“I meant no harm. I was to take nothing.” He remained prostrate.
“What were you doing up there?”
“I was given money to find something. That is all. I swear to Allah, that is all.” His forehead nearly touched the floor, the back of his shirt stained with sweat.
“Find what?”
“Just some stone. Worth nothing. Just to find them, not to take them. I swear to Allah, sheik.”
The man probably had no idea who he was, and was only calling him sheik as a sign of respect. Probably would have done anything to get away. But Karim couldn’t let him go.
“Why? Who wants to know what is in Sheik Aziz’s attic?”
The man stayed deeply bowed before him.
Karim pulled his cell phone from his pocket, opened it and dialed.
“Abdul Nidal from the souk,” the man said quickly, probably fearing the call would go to the police. “Just to look, he said. Just to look.” And he paled when Karim didn’t shut the phone.
The call was answered on the other end.
“I need you to come to Aziz’s palace and pick up someone here,” Karim told his chief of security.
The young man looked up, his face now completely white with fear.
Karim dragged him to his feet. He had broken in, had attacked him in the attic, would have killed him if Karim had been slower. All that for a handful of change, most likely. And he would do it again.
His chief of security would figure out who he was and hold him until they knew for sure that he’d spoken the truth. Then they’d see if the police were looking for him for anything. If so, he would be handed over to face justice. If not… Karim would think about giving him a chance and a job at one of the company’s oil wells. The men who worked the wells in the middle of the desert were a tough lot. They could handle him.
Abdul Nidal. He turned the name over in his mind. It didn’t ring any bells. Then again, there was no reason why it should. He hardly knew every store owner at the souk, the local market.
How was Abdul connected to Aziz?
There was only one way to find out.
“NOTHING.” Julia kept scanning the floor.
She had followed Karim up after his security picked up the intruder. Four of his men were
now stationed downstairs, guarding the house from further disturbance. They were pretty-grim looking men. Hence her preference for the attic, even though the place seriously creeped her out with its eerie statues. Despite the fact that the light was on, the scene still looked like a graveyard. And it was still the middle of the night.
She didn’t understand why finding a scrap of paper couldn’t wait until morning. Karim was convinced he’d seen some sort of a drawing in the guy’s hand when he’d first spotted him, but by the time he caught the man, the intruder had been empty-handed.
Statues and crates loomed in the heat. She tried to stay near Karim, but the whole point was to search different areas of the attic so they could cover ground more quickly. Still, she hated it when he disappeared from sight.
So when had he gone from being a threat—a person she needed to get away from at any cost—to being a point of security for her? Something to think about.
She could not let a single kiss addle her brain this much. But it had been a good kiss. Great. Beyond great. She was so busy reliving it that she almost missed the stained piece of paper that had slid half under a crate.
“Found it,” she called out, more excited about being able to go back downstairs now than about her find.
Karim was by her side in seconds, taking the crumpled sheet. A careful drawing of four primitively carved statues filled the page, complete with measurements. They were smaller than the ones up in the attic, small enough to be carried by a man, and looked like they might have been made of something different than stone. Their shapes were shaded to indicate color and shine.
Still, they weren’t exactly the sort of thing that took your breath away. To her, the larger stone statues of the attic were far more impressive. “What are they?”
Karim shrugged and folded the paper carefully. “I have no idea.”
“Can we leave now?” she asked, full of hope. She was exhausted after a tumultuous day. It was about three in the morning. She longed for some more sleep.
Karim watched her for a moment. “You go get some rest. I’ll check the crates. I’d rather not involve even my security in this for now. Things like this—” he motioned around “—are controversial in our country’s religion. I want to know if Aziz had what our intruder was looking for.”
He wasn’t the type to quit before he got what he wanted. She’d be smart to keep that in mind.
She drew a deep breath. If he thought she was going back down to his mean-looking guards all by herself, he was nuts. “I guess I’ll stay.”
He gave her a faint smile, which brought her attention to his masculine lips. And made her wonder what the chances were of repeating that kiss before she somehow broke away from him and made her way home. Probably not very high.
But he didn’t walk away from her. “You were scared.”
She didn’t respond. Of course she was scared. She didn’t normally have criminals breaking into places where she was sleeping. And thank God for that.
“I wouldn’t have let him get to you.” The words were firmly spoken.
She believed him. He was a tougher, harder man than she had ever met before.
And she relaxed fully, finally, realizing only now that the panic of huddling in the downstairs bathroom not knowing where Karim was or what he was doing, not knowing if some assassin was going to kick the door in and shoot her between the eyes the next second, was still there, and that it had settled into her muscles. And when she finally let the fear go, her limbs began to tremble.
She was such a wuss. He was a strong man, probably as disgusted by displays of weakness as her ex-boyfriend, Steve, had been. She tried to still her tremors as she waited for him to walk away.
Instead, he stepped closer and drew her into his arms. “It’s okay.”
The comfort he gave felt incredibly good. She pressed closer, against the hard muscles of his wide chest, knowing that she should be moving in the opposite direction. Her goal was to get as far away from him as possible. At the moment, she found that goal exceedingly hard to remember.
His hands came to her back to comfort her. Odd that she would feel so incredibly safe in his arms. It had no logic to it. He was not her ally by any means. He meant to keep her prisoner.
She tilted her head to look at him, brought her hands to his chest like she had earlier to push him away. Her hands stayed where they were, like earlier. She couldn’t move them all of a sudden. She couldn’t move anything. Not when he was dipping his head and she knew that he was going to kiss her again.
This time she braced herself for the effect and it didn’t make a damn difference. He still blew her away. The soft brush of his lips against hers aroused her more than anything any other man had ever done to her.
Insane.
Impassioned.
Impossibly good.
A lot of Is. There was another one, one that she wasn’t going near with a ten-foot pole. In love. If there ever was a man who could drag her down that perilous road again, it was the one who could kiss like that. But she did stupid things when she was in love. Handed over her heart and let it get stomped on. If she did another round of that, she was afraid she might not be able to piece it back together again.
No matter how Karim Abdullah made her feel, she could not fall for him. A simple matter of self-preservation. Having had the childhood she had, she was good at self-preservation, wouldn’t have survived this long if she weren’t.
She would leave. But not tonight, she thought and gave herself over to his kiss.
JULIA WOKE TO the sun shining into her eyes through the window, and looked around disoriented. She was lying on a sofa in some sort of an office, Karim working on the computer, intent on the screen.
He looked freshly showered, crisp in a clean suit. The sun glinted off his jet-black hair and outlined his wide shoulders. He radiated power even when he was doing something as mundane as sitting at a desk.
She remembered looking through crates in the middle of the night, and some more phenomenal kissing, the memory of which was enough to set her tingling all over. She must have fallen asleep when she had sat down to rest. And he must have carried her down here.
Her first thought was embarrassment, the second disappointment that she hadn’t been awake for it.
“Did you find the statues?” she asked.
He glanced up. “Nothing that looked even remotely similar. But at least I know what they are.” A shadow crossed his face.
She sat up and smoothed down her clothes then her hair, although the latter was hopeless.
“They were made before Islam.” He pointed to the drawings they’d found in the attic. “My people, the Bedu, had a different religion back then. They worshipped idols. False gods. Today, religious extremists call this time Jahiliah—a time of ignorance and evil. They do whatever they can to destroy all history and evidence of these ancient religions.”
“That’s what the statues are, idols?” she asked. She’d never heard of any of this.
He nodded. “Statues of ancient gods. Back then, when people came to the Kaba stone, they placed their god statues there. When Muhammad came to power, his armies conquered Mecca. He purified Kabba of pagan idols, and the sacred stone became the focus of Islam.”
“When you say purified, you mean?”
“Destroyed the idols.”
“So to find one is rare?” She was beginning to understand why Aziz’s house had been searched so thoroughly, why tonight’s intruder had been here.
“Extremely.”
“I’m guessing they’re worth a lot.”
“Their worth is indefinable, but they could be never sold or exhibited in a museum.”
“Why?” That made no sense at all. Especially not the museum part. The stuff in the attic was definitely museum material.
“Religious extremists consider them the very devil.”
“So those are probably the people who are looking for them, to destroy them.”
“Destroy the statues and everyon
e who has come in contact with them, who had any role in their survival at all. People get rabid about this kind of thing. It probably seems strange to you. But here, for some people, religion is a matter of life and death. Some are willing to die or kill for it.”
That took a few moments to digest. She particularly disliked the kill part. “How do you know all this?” He hadn’t had a clue about the drawings when he’d first looked at that sheet.
“I sent a digital picture to the royal palace.”
Oh. Well, the king was his cousin.
“Queen Dara identified the statues. What that woman doesn’t know about Beharrain’s past isn’t worth knowing.”
How strange, she thought, considering that the queen was born in the U.S. But she was glad that Karim had access to an expert. She wondered if Aziz might have consulted with the queen, as well. Then another, darker thought occurred.
“You think there is a chance whoever is after these statues killed Aziz?” She could still scarcely believe that anyone would want to kill Aziz. Aziz was fun and open and giving. If she had to place bets on who made more enemies between the twin brothers, her money would have been on the Dark Sheik, Karim.
He stood from his desk, his grave expression betraying that he had considered her question already. “I’m becoming more and more sure.”
“And now they want you, why?”
“I’m handling my brother’s affairs. Since they weren’t able to find the statues, they are assuming they’ve been passed down to me.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, his face turning grimmer.
“What is it?”
“You asked after Aziz at the reception at MMPOIL. You were with me in the parking lot, then in the car, then at the hotel. They might think you are involved with this.”
“That’s insane. I just got here.”
“Aziz could have called you to appraise the statues. You could be here to take them to the U.S. Any number of things.” He made a gesture of frustration.
“So now they want to get me, too? Just how powerful are these religious extremists?”
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