Sheikh Surrender

by Jacqueline Diamond

  “You did find that piece of paper the police missed,” she noted. “And it doesn’t sound like Parker plans to take advantage of your abilities.”

  “I would be pleased to accept your input. The question is whether you have anything to contribute beyond your goodwill.”

  No one could accuse the sheikh of currying favor, Jenny thought with a touch of amusement. “You may have the security training, but I’m the one with an inside track,” she retorted.

  “Please explain.”

  “My neighbors are more likely to talk freely if I introduce you.”

  “And you will do that?”

  Until now, she’d had no intention of it, but she doubted he’d get far without her. “Sure. Except maybe to Tish Garroway, the young woman who lives across the street. She doesn’t like me.”

  “Why not?” Zahad asked.

  “I honestly don’t know.” Tish, a waitress at the ski lodge, and her husband, Al, a ski instructor, had moved in six months ago. Although she’d made friends with Ellen, Tish was frosty to the point of rudeness toward Jenny.

  “Introductions would be helpful,” Zahad conceded. “Also, since this killer may be the same person who is stalking you, it would help me to gather more information about your life.”

  Jenny started to bristle, until she realized that guarding her privacy too jealously might cost her dearly. “All right. We can compare notes over dinner.” That would give her time to regain her equanimity—if he agreed.

  Zahad’s gaze had shifted to the upper windows in the A-frame. Unlike the curtained lower windows, they provided an unobstructed view of a rapidly descending wall of whiteness. Jenny could already hear the conventional demurral: If he stayed any longer tonight, he might get snowed in.

  But she didn’t feel ready to be left alone yet. The chafing of her wrist and an ache in her arm reminded her of how she’d been brutalized.

  Zahad startled her by removing his jacket and hanging it on a rack. His turtleneck jersey clung to his broad chest. “Very well. I presume you have food.”

  “I’ll rustle something up.” She retreated into the small kitchen, separated from the front room only by a counter. “How about omelettes?”

  “What we eat does not matter.”

  “Not at all?”

  “Not as long as it does not violate my people’s dietary customs,” he added. “Despite my brother’s fondness for wine, I do not drink alcohol. I also do not eat pork.”

  “I don’t put wine in my omelettes. And the last time I looked, pigs didn’t lay eggs,” Jenny said.

  A smile transformed Zahad, for the space of a heartbeat, into the handsomest man she’d ever seen. It vanished almost instantly. “An omelette will be suitable.”

  She preheated the oven for French bread and began fixing salads. Leaning against the counter, the sheikh watched without speaking. It was like having a puma in her kitchen, Jenny thought, but one that didn’t appear likely to pounce, at least not at the moment.

  “Tell me about the police report,” she said. “If they identified any suspects, they haven’t told me.”

  “There were no fingerprints other than yours on the gun or the chair. The killer was careful.”

  “What about DNA evidence?”

  “That has not come back from the laboratory. I believe it takes several weeks. However, if the killer had legitimately visited your house in the past, his or her residue would indicate nothing.”

  “Only if it comes from a stranger?” she asked. “Someone from your country, perhaps?”

  “They would have to know who to test.” Zahad drummed his fingers on the counter. “I doubt we will solve my brother’s murder through physical evidence. Whoever set this up was clever and possibly knowledgeable about police procedure.”

  The implication chilled her. “You suspect Parker?”

  “He must be considered, although many people know about police procedure from television. Your neighbor Mrs. Blankenship is also a former police officer,” Zahad pointed out. “In any case, I doubt I am as suspicious of Sergeant Finley as he is of me.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I met with him.” The sheikh released a short breath that was almost a laugh. “He became insulted when I asked his whereabouts at the time of the murder.”

  Jenny popped a loaf of refrigerated bread dough into the oven. “No, I don’t imagine Parker was pleased. But disliking you isn’t the same as suspecting you.” She set the salads and dressing on the counter.

  “He pointed out, with reason, that I benefit most from Fario’s death. Even my stepmother concedes that I was in Alqedar at the time, but the murder could have been carried out by a hit man.”

  Jenny shuddered. A hired killer in her house? “You think that’s who did this?”

  “I find it unlikely. The method was imprecise. It posed too high a risk of killing the wrong person.”

  “Don’t remind me.” She deliberately changed the subject. “Tell me, why did your father choose Fario over you? You seem like you’d have been a better leader.”

  “He did not choose my brother because of his superior abilities,” Zahad said with no apparent rancor. “Still, I grant that he was more sociable than I am. That is not difficult.”

  Jenny liked the fact that he was as uncompromising with himself as with the rest of the world. Still, he’d dodged the point. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “There were several reasons why my father elevated Fario. Of course, it pleased my stepmother, Numa.”

  While she waited for him to continue, Jenny cracked eggs into a bowl and stirred them. Perhaps if she refrained from asking questions, the sheikh wouldn’t keep getting sidetracked.

  His tone became reminiscent. “Seventeen years ago, when I was nineteen, a dictator named Maimun Gozen overthrew the legitimate government of Alqedar. We chose different paths, my father and I. I joined the forces training to fight Maimun. My father sought to appease him and to keep a low profile.”

  Vaguely, Jenny recalled reading about the troubles in the small Arabian country. But at the time she’d been a high-school student more concerned with grades and her overly strict father than with foreign affairs.

  “My activities created serious difficulties for my father. He and Numa were forced into exile in Europe for nearly five years. Even after we overthrew Maimun, my father never forgave me. With Numa’s encouragement, he blamed me for his continuing health problems and the economic troubles of our province.”

  “When did your father die?” she asked as she chopped onions and tomatoes, then sautéed them.

  “Two years ago. I admit, I was as stiff-necked as he. After he rebuffed my first attempts, I never again asked for his forgiveness. Sadly, I was not called to his bedside and we never said goodbye.”

  “What kind of relationship did you have with your brother?” Jenny sprayed oil into an omelette pan.

  “We got along well, considering that Numa and others did their best to create ill will. Although with the title came the position of governor, Fario had no interest in improving the lot of our people. He asked me to serve as his lieutenant. Unfortunately, he wasted part of our family’s personal fortune, which I believe should be invested in our province. He did allow me to make certain improvements and to hire a minister for economic development. We have been working to encourage foreign investment, but a tremendous amount remains to be done.”

  Jenny finished cooking while he talked. She divided the omelette between two plates and retrieved the bread from the oven. “Dinner’s ready.”

  Instead of remaining seated, the sheikh approached one of the front windows and pulled back the curtain. Jenny thought he was checking for intruders until he said, “My car will not be able to negotiate this level of snow. I assume you sleep upstairs. I will take the couch.”

  “Wait a minute.” She hadn’t planned on his staying all night. Since the loft opened directly over the downstairs, the cabin lacked privacy. Unless she decided to sleep i
n the bathroom, she wouldn’t be able to close a door between them. “That wasn’t part of the arrangement.”

  “It is now.” Releasing the curtain, the sheikh returned to the counter. “Believe me, it is with great reluctance that I expose myself to this awkwardness.”

  “You’re reluctant?” She didn’t know whether to be offended or amused. “What exactly do you think will happen?”

  Zahad downed a bite of his food before noticing that she wasn’t seated. After swallowing, he said, “Excuse my rough manners. Please join me.”

  Jenny perched on a stool opposite him. “Okay, I’m sitting. Now, what’s your great reluctance?”

  “The last thing I need is for anyone in Alqedar to learn that I have stayed at the home of the temptress who lured Fario to his destruction.”

  Jenny stared at him in outrage. It embarrassed her to realize that at some level she’d been attracted to this man, because he’d just thrown her vulnerability in her face. “I don’t know how I’m going to control my irresistible urge to rip your clothes off, but I guess I’ll manage.”

  The sheikh stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth, his startled expression almost comical. “That is not what I meant.”

  “And in case you’ve forgotten, I didn’t lure anybody,” she said. “Look, in the interest of protecting your precious reputation, you can take my four-wheel drive and get the heck out of here. You’d better hurry before the snow gets any thicker and you’re really stuck. We wouldn’t want the good people of Alqedar to question your maidenly virtue.”

  Zahad set down the fork. “We have not finished discussing the case.”

  “Yes, we have.”

  He leaned back and folded his arms. “I see I have given offense.”

  “You think?”

  “I see also that I have been foolish. It is not my custom to allow the prejudices and suspicions of others to influence my behavior. If I leave you here with only my pathetic rental car for transportation, you will be at the mercy of anyone who comes along.”

  He might be right, but she felt so angry she didn’t care. “That’s not your problem.”

  “I think it is. As you pointed out earlier, I require your help to clear my name and win justice for my brother. As I suggested, you need a bodyguard, and you will never be able to find one better qualified than I.”

  “A bodyguard?” How had she gone from being a despised temptress to a damsel in distress? “Look, if you want to stay here tonight, fine. I’m sure both our reputations will recover. Beyond that, forget it.”

  “We will leave the matter for now.” He tore off a hunk of bread. “By the way, you are a very good cook.”

  “Thanks, I guess.” Obviously, neither her outrage nor her sarcasm would have any effect on this man, Jenny reflected. Like it or not, she was stuck with him for the night.

  She only wished that, deep inside, she didn’t feel just a little bit glad.

  Chapter Five

  “Why don’t you heave a hunk of that stuff at me, too?” Jenny said.

  “I beg your pardon?” asked the sheikh.

  She allowed her gaze to rest meaningfully on the serrated knife sitting untouched on the decorative cutting board she’d used to serve the bread. “Since we seem to be ripping it apart with our bare hands, please tear off a chunk for me as well.”

  Zahad glanced ruefully at the piece he was holding. “Sometimes I forget I am not camped out with the rebels. I will try to do better.” He lifted the knife and sliced the French loaf neatly.

  Jenny decided to press her luck. “While you’re at it, you might consider getting a decent haircut.”

  Her guest studied her from beneath a lock that had, as usual, fallen across his forehead. With a subtle shake of the head, he dismissed the remark and handed her the cutting board. “As I said, we have not finished discussing the case. The list of suspects will be longer if the stalker and the murderer are not the same person.”

  “You think they might be different?”

  “It is possible we are dealing with an opportunist.”

  “That would be kind of a relief,” Jenny conceded as she buttered her bread more generously than usual. She felt in need of sustenance. “I mean, I’m sorry about your brother, but I’ve been terrified that whoever’s stalking me may have progressed to trying to kill me. Can you think of anyone from Alqedar who could have taken advantage of the situation?”

  Zahad’s mouth twisted. “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  “A young man named Hashim Bin Salem. He is Numa’s nephew. She is proposing that the president of our country appoint him governor of our province in my stead. That would be a great step for Hashim.”

  “Do you really think he could have managed it? How would he have found out about me?”

  “He and Fario were friends. Fario might have told him of your intended meeting.” The sheikh frowned at his salad as if uncertain what those shreds of vegetation were doing on the table. Or perhaps he was simply lost in thought. “Removing my brother has presented him with a great opportunity.”

  “Wouldn’t he try to remove you as well?”

  “I am not as easily led into a trap as my brother. Perhaps he wished only to frame me. Or I might be in danger. I am always on my guard. Still, we must not dismiss the possibility that you are the target.”

  At his use of the present tense, Jenny set down her fork. Although she hadn’t finished her omelette, she’d lost her appetite. Still, this discussion seemed unavoidable. “Who’s on your list?”

  “The possessive Sergeant Finley. Your neighbor Ray, because he works at the bank. Also Dolly. She found my brother. And as a former policewoman, she should know how to cover her tracks.”

  “Dolly has a key to my house,” Jenny agreed. “But there’s no motive.”

  She explained that Dolly, who’d bought the adjacent cabins as an investment and vacation getaway before her retirement, had become good friends with Jenny’s great-aunt, Brigitte. Four years ago, Dolly had retired and moved in, bringing her husband and her daughter’s family. She’d been delighted when Jenny arrived a year later. “She and I get along fine.”

  “In any case, we are blowing smoke,” Zahad said. “The main suspect is obvious.”

  Although Jenny didn’t like to think about it, he was right. “Grant.”

  “For motive, there is the custody issue. The police report states that he is a computer consultant, so he is capable of cyber-stalking. Also, he was a wife beater.”

  A wife beater. Jenny hated the way Grant had reduced them both to a cliché. She hated even more remembering the downward spiral of their marriage and the way she, conditioned to appeasing her domineering father, had tried to make peace until the night her husband crossed the line.

  These memories had been haunting her all week, revived and intensified by Fario’s murder. Today, she’d tried to shrug off the encounter with Oliver, but now a twinge in her arm brought that back full force as well.

  Jenny started to shake. Embarrassed, she wrapped her arms around herself, fighting for steadiness.

  All along, she’d believed that Grant couldn’t be the cyber-stalker because he would never endanger his child. Well, even if he wasn’t, that didn’t mean he hadn’t taken advantage of the situation.

  Knowing their daughter would be safe at his home these past two weeks, he could have paid someone to eliminate Jenny. A hired killer, in my house.

  “Are you ill?” Zahad leaned across the counter.

  “No, I’m…” Her teeth chattered so hard she couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “It is a delayed reaction.” The sheikh came around and helped her to her feet. “We must get you warm. You suffer from shock.”

  It had been a long time since anyone had taken care of Jenny, settled her on a couch, wrapped her in a blanket, talked to her soothingly. The sheikh even found a packet of hot-chocolate mix in the cabinet and made some for her. She didn’t mind that it clumped together because he’d failed to stir it enough. A
t least it was warm and sweet.

  After she finished drinking, he sat beside her and chafed her hands. The hard angles of his face softened as he worked. “Your family should be with you at such a time.”

  “My father died years ago,” Jenny said. “My mom’s remarried and lives in Connecticut. Her husband doesn’t like her to travel.”

  “You should go and stay with your mother.”

  “I can’t leave my job.” Anyway, although she didn’t like to talk about such personal matters, she didn’t feel comfortable staying at her stepfather’s. He was too possessive of her mother and seemed to resent her love for Jenny.

  “There is no one else?”

  “My brother’s in the air force. He lives in Texas.” He and his wife were wrapped up in their two children and their busy lives.

  “This country is too large,” Zahad remarked. “Families should stay close.”

  She refrained from pointing out that his family didn’t appear to be very close. But at least he’d flown halfway around the world to claim his brother’s body and try to solve his murder.

  “I’d better turn in.” She gathered the blanket around her. “This sofa folds out, and there are sheets in the linen closet.”

  “I require no such luxuries,” he said.

  “You have to stretch out or you’ll get a cramp. I don’t want my bodyguard getting a charley horse and falling on his face at the first sign of trouble.” She managed a smile.

  “Very well.” He glanced with a touch of apprehension toward the kitchen. “Also, I will wash the dishes.”

  “Thank you.” Gripping the arm of the sofa, Jenny got to her feet. At least, she intended to. Halfway up, her knees started shaking.

  Zahad’s powerful arms lifted her. Unsure how to respond, she lay pressed to his chest, the faintly exotic scent of his jersey intensifying her light-headedness. “You didn’t put anything in the hot chocolate, did you?” she joked feebly.

  “If I had, it would have been to make you stronger, not weaker.” Carrying her easily, the sheikh mounted the steps to the loft. He scarcely seemed to register her weight, although at five foot eight Jenny was no trifle.