Ramses led her back to the dining table, then disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returned with a Dallah and two tiny ceramic cups. The smell of rich Arabica beans produced a cloud of white steam as he poured the dark liquid from the pot, filling both cups with the caffeinated brew. Afterwards, he settled down beside her. Maliyah smiled, pleased that her lover had thought to make coffee. While he certainly didn’t need it to stay awake through the night, Maliyah did. They still had so much work to do.
With Ramses’ help, she finished preparing her speech. By that time, the editor of the Egyptian Daily News had emailed Ramses with an advance copy of the article that the newspaper intended to print the next morning. The official press conference had been scheduled for six o’clock tomorrow evening Cairo time. An attorney from New York that Andreas recommended had drawn up the legal documents to ensure the two trust accounts were established according to the letter of the law. It was the same corporate solicitor that his father used to set up an endowment in the name of his wife, the late Christine Kristopolous. A monetary gift, along with her rare collection of paintings had been used to establish a new Picasso wing at the MET.
Ramses also showed her the route he mapped out for them to take to and from the Egyptian Modern Art Museum. Maliyah knew that it had to be planned out carefully, because Shahad would undoubtedly track them along the entire course. One mistake, just one misstep, could be life threatening.
In addition to Ramses, they decided that it would be best for Husani to accompany her to the press conference. His blessing would prove crucial. As the sole male heir of the Aziz family, tradition dictated his presence. On the same note, local customs demanded that Salma remain home, out of the view of society’s prying eye. Respect for the Egyptian way of life had to be on display if they expected the male-dominated society to accept the magnanimous gift from the likes of a female heiress. Besides that, an extra set of eyes on the look out for Shahad wouldn’t hurt.
Once they had gone over the tactical details of Maliyah’s ploy, Ramses excused himself from the table. Maliyah yawned as she glanced up at the clock and realized that early morning quickly approached. “I think I’ll go up to my room, take a shower, then call it a night. It’s probably best that we sleep in separate beds. Wouldn’t want Husani to get himself killed trying to defend his cousin’s honor.”
“That’s probably a wise decision. I’m exhausted anyway,” Maliyah said as she gathered up the dishes and cleared the table.
“Good night, habibti. See you in a few hours.” Ramses leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek, then pivoted on his feet and hurried up the staircase out of sight.
As soon as the kitchen was cleaned, Maliyah followed him up. Passing Salma’s room, she noticed that the lights were on. Could her cousin still be awake at such an ungodly hour? Hesitantly, Maliyah knocked and within seconds, Salma popped her head out through a small crack in the door. Her eyes were puffy and her cheeks streaked with tears.
Maliyah frowned. Her heart melted at the thought of what her cousin must be going through. She’d lost both of her parents at such a young age, certainly a gut-wrenching experience in its own right. Hearing the news that her biological father was still alive and responsible for Anwar’s death, had to feel like someone had twisted the knife and inflicted an even deeper laceration.
“No rest for the weary, eh?” Initially, Maliyah frowned, before letting her lower lip form into a full-fledged pout. “Mind if I come in?”
“Of course not,” Salma said, stepping back to let the other woman into her suite. They sat together cross-legged on the bed and stared at one another. For the first few minutes, Maliyah had no clue what to say. She wanted to relieve her cousin’s obvious pain, but how?
“What can I do to make it better?”
Salma pulled a tissue from the box on the nightstand and dried off the remaining moisture from her face. “Find the son of a bitch! He deserves to suffer. For you, for my brother, for all of us.”
“We will. Ramses will make sure of it,” Maliyah promised her cousin. Early on, Husani had his suspicions about her father’s business partner, but she hoped that Ramses’ unwavering cooperation had proven his trustworthiness to the rest of the Aziz family. “The man lost his best friend, and believe me when I tell you, he won’t rest until Shahad is behind bars.”
“Behind bars? The bastard deserves to die! It should have happened years ago.” While Maliyah tended to agree, it nonetheless came as a surprise to learn that Shahad’s own daughter wanted his corpse buried six-feet under. After the pain and heartache he’d caused their family, it could only be considered karma.
“This must be so difficult to talk about. Shall we change the subject? Thinking about something else might help you sleep.”
“Sure. Girl talk always bores me to pieces.” Salma said sarcastically, grinning from ear to ear. “Tell me what’s going on between you and Ramses. I saw the way he looked at you tonight.”
“What do you mean?” Maliyah tried not to show any emotion, but she could feel her face begin to burn hot. No doubt, she’d turned red as a beet.
“Don’t play coy with me, cousin. Spill it!”
Maliyah sighed, then reached out to grab a pillow by the headboard and plopped down belly-first on the mattress. “Is it that obvious? Do you think Husani noticed?”
“Oh I’m sure my brother can see there’s a mutual attraction.” Salma cocked her head to one side, and then stared into her cousin’s eyes as if trying to read her thoughts. “But it’s more than simple infatuation, isn’t it?”
“It is. At least for me,” Maliyah said as she rested her chin on her hands atop the pillow. She kept her gaze lowered, afraid to look the other woman in the eye. “Just not sure Ramses’ feelings are quite as strong.”
“Oh my God, Maliyah. You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
Biting her fingernails between her teeth, Maliyah tried to bide her time. But soon, the truth would have to come out. She’d have to tell him. The first step was admitting it to herself. “Yes. I love him. So much it hurts.”
Without warning, the women’s roles had been reversed and Salma was the one forced to provide comfort. They hugged each other as Maliyah let a few errant tears fall. They glistened like diamonds on the tips of her eyelashes, obstructing her vision. Her eyes stung almost as bad as her lover’s inevitable rejection. She wanted to tell her cousin everything. Explain why she and Ramses had absolutely no chance of a future together. But she couldn’t. Not only would Salma freak at the thought of Maliyah shacking up with a vampire, she didn’t want to betray her lover’s trust. It was his secret to share.
“Aw, sweetie. Things will work themselves out.” Salma hugged her cousin even tighter. “That man loves you. Any fool can see that!”
“I hope you’re right.”
Chapter Nineteen
The Bait
Ramses watched Maliyah step up to the podium with Husani glued to her side. She looked stunning. Her hair had been swept into a neat updo, and soft wavy curls outlined her face. She opted to dress modestly in a pale blue pants suit and navy blue pumps that were perfect for the occasion. That morning she took great care in choosing her attire. She wanted to ensure that the museum’s conservative board of trustees, as well as the rest of the Egyptian community, would be amenable to her proposition.
Ramses leaned against a wall at the back of the room. For the next hour, he stayed on high alert, his gaze constantly scanning the interior of the building for anything that appeared out of the ordinary. He’d checked and double-checked the two exits, one on the left side and the other at the rear of the conference room, to ensure that no one suspicious came in or out. There was an armed security guard posted at each door too.
As his lover read the speech they had prepared together, Ramses’ heart nearly burst with pride. Not only beautiful, Maliyah was inspirational. While she spoke about the importance of giving back, those in attendance appeared mesmerized, captivated by her e
very word. Her infectious ardor spread like wildfire through the crowd that had gathered to listen to the press conference, and he knew that everyone in the room stood in awe of her poise and generosity.
Yet the prim and proper heiress who stood behind the podium was not the true Maliyah. Her personality seemed stifled. No doubt she had remained in Cairo for far too late. If she stayed in the country much longer, the rigid Egyptian cultural expectations thrust upon her would strip away the spontaneity and spark of independence that had originally drawn the vampire to her. At that moment, Ramses knew he had to let her go. Rebuking her affections would force her to return to Italy and spare him from bearing the responsibility for his mate’s broken spirit. It didn’t matter that he’d loved her for two decades. Setting her free was the right thing to do. As soon as the danger passed, he too, would leave the Middle East. Find a deserted island where he could disappear into obscurity. First, he’d have to liquidate his assets, maybe even take Andreas up on his offer to purchase Shakir Shipping outright. Before any of that could happen, he had to bring Shahad to justice.
Thus far, the bastard hadn’t shown his face. Maliyah had nearly completed her speech with no sign of her elusive uncle. She began reading the final paragraph when out of the corner of his eye Ramses saw a man in the front row closest to the stage, presumably a reporter, stand up from his chair and start toward the exit on the building’s left flank. He was tall and skinny, dressed unremarkably in a gray suit. His only distinguishing feature was a long, unkempt beard that hung in stringy strands from his chin. “Excuse me,” he whispered in Arabic as he passed by the fellow journalists sitting in his row. He held a cell phone in his hand and appeared to be leaving in order to answer a call.
A moment later, a woman who had been seated next to him screamed out loud. “Bomb!”
Within seconds, the entire room erupted in chaos. Ramses watched as throngs of spectators streamed toward the exits. Husani pushed his way through the masses, his hand firmly grasping Maliyah’s forearm as he attempted to lead her to safety. Ramses used brute force to shove people out of his path in order to get to his mate and her cousin.
“Take her to the limo and get the hell out of here! I’m going after the guy who planted the explosive. I’ll meet you at home.” Ramses shouted over the screams of the crowd. Then, he ran the opposite direction, headed toward the stage to scoop up the bomb. Once it was in his hands, he rushed to the exit where he’d last seen the reporter. The man didn’t fit Shahad’s description, but surely he knew where to find him.
The cell phone the bomber carried most likely served as a remote detonator and if Ramses could get to him in time, he’d be able to stop the device from exploding. But keeping the man in his line of sight would prove difficult. All around him, people screamed as they scurried out of the building. Almost every male reporter in the press conference wore dark-colored suits similar to the bomber, making him close to impossible to locate in the swarm of commotion. Nonetheless, Ramses scoured the area with a fine-toothed comb. He bulldozed through the crowd until he spotted what appeared to be the suspect dart into a warehouse about five hundred yards down the street. He recognized him by the straggly wisps of hair that covered his face.
Ramses raced down the pavement and pried open the entrance to the old building. He crept through the doorway on the balls of his feet, so as not to reveal himself. Once inside, he found several rows of paintings and sculptures in various states of repair. Some of the pieces were in the midst of refabrication and had bits of marble and clay strewn about, while others simply needed to be placed in new frames. The space seemed to belong to the museum, a place where aging works of art could be restored to their original condition.
After taking stock of his surroundings, Ramses noted that there was only one way in and out of the building. Other than the threshold he’d just passed, the suspect had no means of escape. Feeling confident that the man was trapped, the vampire called out to him.
“Deactivate the bomb and give yourself up. It’s either that or I shove it down your throat and detonate the thing myself!”
Much to his dismay, the bastard refused to surrender. Ramses had no choice but to proceed down each long corridor to search him out. Finally, at the end of the last hallway, hidden behind a large canvas that depicted a cherub seated on a golden throne, the vampire detected a human heartbeat. The rapid lub-dub rhythm pounded in Ramses’ ears. He could hear the gush of liquid as blood pumped through the other man’s veins. The sound triggered an immediate biological response. Without warning, claws burst through the tips of his fingers. Fangs shot out from his gums and Ramses growled low underneath his breath.
Ramses set the explosives down on a nearby stool and slinked back toward the end of the passageway where he’d stood earlier. In a fit of pure unadulterated rage, his fist barreled into the center of the canvas, sending splatters of dried paint across the floor. He grabbed his victim by the throat and pushed his head through the hole his hand had made. Then he lifted the man’s body off the floor and hurled it against the wall. His torso bounced off the concrete partition a few times before it slid lifelessly to the ground. Again, Ramses yanked the bomber up by the neck and bared his canines. With his free hand, he reached out and snatched up the cell phone, which had skimmed a few feet across the pavement during the ruckus.
“Give me the God damn code! If you refuse, I swear I’ll suck you dry.”
The man’s lower lip quivered as he squeaked out a reply. “Pound. 9-6-9-8.”
In slow, methodical fashion, Ramses entered the code into the phone’s keypad. The last thing he wanted to do was key in the wrong numbers and force the device to blow. Even though he punched in the digits, the lighted display kept counting down, and Ramses knew he was in for trouble. With only seconds to spare, he threw the device with all his might. It bounced off the far wall, and the vampire covered his face. Concrete and wood splinters rained down from the ceiling at the same time a loud bang reverberated in his ears. By the time he opened his eyes again, a hole the size of an elephant had been blown into one side of the building. Art supplies were strewn about haphazardly and clouds of colorful smoke rose up from the floor. Other than a few scrapes and bruises, no one had been injured. Thank goodness the explosion had occurred in an empty warehouse, instead of a busy Cairo thoroughfare.
After the dust settled and Ramses’ regained his footing, he lifted the heel of his boot to the bomber’s windpipe, essentially cutting off the air to his lungs. “Before I’m through with you, you’re going to wish that device had killed you,” the vampire said as he grabbed hold of the man’s wrist and torn a horizontal gouge against the grain of his forearm. “Tell me where Shahad is. Otherwise, I drink.”
“Shahad? Who is that?”
“The man who hired you to plant the bomb,” Ramses said as he put pressure on the wound and forced blood to trickle down the man’s arm. As the red liquid flowed uninhibited, he felt his vision grow hazy. Bloodlust began to set in and would soon outweigh his search for answers. “Tell me where I can find him.”
“I’m not sure. He never gave me his name,” his victim babbled as he cowered in pain against the wall. “All I know is that the bomb was supposed to be a distraction. Maybe kill a few people in its direct path.”
A distraction? Fuck! Shahad is going after Maliyah.
Suddenly, Ramses broke out in a cold sweat. The hairs on the back of his neck rose on edge. Shahad had planned this whole charade in order to separate the two lovers. That way, he could kill Maliyah and resume his place as head of the Aziz family. Ramses had to get a hold of Husani to be certain they were safe. But before he did so, he had to feed. He needed to be at full strength. The vampire jerked forward, bringing the man who lay helplessly in a puddle of blood much closer. Then, he sank two teeth into his arm. The suction from his mouth pilfered sustenance out of the vein, until Ramses felt his victim’s heart rate slow to a near standstill. He was breathing, but barely.
“You better be telling the t
ruth. Or mark my words, I’ll come back and finish what I started!”
***
The limousine had been parked close to the rear exit of the building, tucked between a van belonging to a local news station and a caravan of official government vehicles. Shahad lie crouched down on the opposite side of the limo, hidden from view. Maliyah, accompanied by his estranged son Husani, approached from the left. Strangely enough, seeing his progeny, his own flesh and blood, sparked little emotion. He stared at the man who, as a child, had once frolicked at his feet. He felt nothing, save indifference. Shahad dreaded this moment for years. Yet now that it had been thrust upon him, he realized that slaughtering his own offspring wouldn’t prove difficult. In fact, it’d be far less traumatic than watching his brother wither away and die from afar.
The chauffeur must have spotted Maliyah and Husani. He rushed out of the limousine to escort them inside. While he tended to his fare, Shahad took it upon himself to sneak into the front seat. The privacy screen was still up, which allowed him to maintain his anonymity. Situated comfortably in shotgun position, he waited until he heard the back door slam shut. Then Shahad cocked his gun and readied himself for confrontation.
By the time the driver popped his head back inside the car, the weapon was pointed at his right temple. “Don’t say a word. Don’t even think about trying to be a hero. Just drive.” With slow, steady movements the man sank behind the wheel, closed the car door and fastened his seatbelt.
“Where am I headed?” The driver asked, his voice somewhat strained as the fingers on one hand dug into the grooves of the steering column. Using his free hand, he started the engine and put the car in gear.
Shahad instructed the chauffeur to head east toward the sacred pool of Amun. He knew that his brother had been laid to rest nearby in the family crypt. The secluded location would serve as the perfect place to dole out revenge. Twenty-nine years ago almost to the day, Anwar came to him with a proposition: take a substantial sum of money and disappear. At the time, Shahad accepted the offer without a second thought. How could he refuse? Abandoning the conniving wench who’d gotten knocked up and duped into an unsolicited betrothal didn’t require serious contemplation. The opportunity to leave the wretched existence he’d been relegated to live and start fresh sounded too good to be true. Soon, Shahad found out why.
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