Sheikh Surrender

by Jacqueline Diamond

  This was disturbing news, all the same. Zahad had believed his young rival was simply falling in with Numa’s plans. Perhaps that had been the case at first, but Hashim was now apparently determined to seize power even at the cost of lies and machinations. Zahad would indeed give him reason to be frightened once he returned to Alqedar. In the meantime, Hashim could pose more of a threat than anticipated.

  “I can’t force you to get the hell out of Dodge. But if I were you, I’d think seriously about leaving while I still could,” Finley retorted.

  Zahad refused to be intimidated. “I did not kill my brother. I am determined that one of us should find out who did. I do not care if it is you or I, Sergeant Finley. But I will not rest until it is done.”

  “Exactly where does Mrs. Sanger fit into this picture?” the detective asked.

  That was a question to which the sheikh no longer had the answer. A few minutes ago, when he’d seen her safe inside the police station, relief had swept over him. He had not felt so happy since the time twelve years ago when he’d learned that Alqedar was free at last.

  When she’d described the carjackers, he’d had to fight a near compulsion to race out and hunt them down. How could he leave her unprotected?

  “I have pledged to protect Mrs. Sanger,” he said in reply to the detective’s question. “Her fate has become bound up with the crime against my brother. He would not wish me to abandon her.”

  “So once we catch this murderer, assuming it isn’t you, you’re history?”

  “There are those in my country who consider me a part of history, and those who wish I would become history. I see you stand with the latter.”

  “You’ve got that right.”

  “Are we finished here?”

  “Unless there’s something you’d like to tell me about what you did in L.A.” Finley waited with feigned patience.

  “The Los Angeles County Museum of Art is also fascinating.”

  Wordlessly, the detective stepped aside and let him leave. He didn’t bother to hide his disgust.

  Zahad found Jenny alone in the lobby. One look at her pale face and he offered to drive her home. She declined, but at least she agreed that they should pick up dinner on the way.

  Caravanning their vehicles, they bought hamburgers en route. Zahad was pleased to see that collecting her daughter and listening to the animated childish chatter helped restore some color to Jenny’s cheeks.

  After dinner, the three of them played a simple board game, which Beth won. Later, with Jenny’s encouragement, Zahad sat on the edge of the little girl’s bed and read her a story about small animals facing a moral dilemma. It was not only educational but also entertaining.

  “I like the way you do the voices,” Beth said as she snuggled under her quilt.

  “I was not aware that I was doing voices. I simply spoke them as it seemed they should be spoken.”

  “You did a good job,” Jenny added.

  The sheikh was more pleased than he wanted to let on. He had never considered himself to have domestic skills other than basic cooking, a necessity in training camps.

  Afterward, they drank decaf coffee at the kitchen table. Jenny explained that a search of Grant’s home and office had come up clean. Zahad told her what he had learned from Ronald Wang.

  They discussed the second cyber-stalker, debating who it might be without reaching any conclusions. The subject clearly distressed Jenny, as did the information about Fario’s telephone conversation with a woman.

  “It’s easier to understand how a man could stoop to do something so cruel,” she said. “I guess I expect more from women.”

  “I am sorry your experiences with men have made you so cynical.” If he reached out to cup her shapely chin, her heart-shaped face would fit perfectly into his hand, Zahad thought. This did not seem to be an appropriate time for intimacies, however.

  Jenny’s shadowed green eyes met his. “Not all my experiences have been bad. I’ve had male friends, but never one like you. It’s unfortunate…”

  “What’s unfortunate?” He very much wanted to hear what she’d meant to say.

  “We both know how this has to end,” she said. “Only the most bizarre circumstances brought us together in the first place. We’re from different worlds and neither of us can change, even if we wanted to.”

  Zahad finger-combed an errant shock of hair from his forehead. He had never had such a personal conversation with a woman or, indeed, with anyone. “I suppose you’re right,” he replied at last, and regretted that it sounded inadequate.

  Jenny went to bed a short time later. At the computer, Zahad found an e-mail waiting from Amy.

  Holly, Sharif’s wife, had gone into labor and was having difficulties. Her husband could not even think of leaving her to go to the capital.

  She wrote:

  Hashim must have found out that you’re investigating him. He’s doing his best to portray you as a threat to anyone who gets in your way. The latest word is that he and Numa want President Dourad to ban you from the country entirely.

  Zahad’s chest tightened. How could this happen? Surely the president was not so easily stampeded, but how could he be certain? He continued to read Amy’s e-mail.

  I doubt he’ll take any immediate action. You’re one of the men who paved the way for him to take office, after all, and he knows you’re loyal. But this economic plan we’re putting together may not be enough to show what a great leader you’ll make. You need to plead your case in person.

  He closed his eyes and remembered what Jenny had said. Unusual events had thrown them together, but it could not last. Soon they would be torn apart.

  What must be, must be. After hitting Reply, he wrote:

  Believe me, as soon as Fario’s body is released, I will catch the next plane.

  Despite his concern for Jenny, he hoped it would be soon. Otherwise Zahad might face the unthinkable: a future as a stateless person. For himself, he would find a way to survive. But for his people, it would be a disaster.

  Chapter Eleven

  In Jenny’s dream, she drove along a street near the house in Long Beach where she’d lived during her marriage. There was a disabled car by the road and a man in the center, waving at her to stop. Grant.

  She tried to steer around him, but he kept shifting in front of her. “I have to get by!” she shouted, but he refused to listen. The next thing she knew, she’d swerved off a cliff and was falling endlessly.

  Someone caught her. The solid strength of his grip drew her up through layers of sleep until she lay in a man’s arms, drinking in his exotic but now-familiar scent, feeling the scratch of his cheek against her temple as he sat cradling her.

  “I am sorry to awaken you, but you called out,” said a deep, gentle voice. Raising his head, Zahad gazed down at her. “Do not try to recall the dream. Let it fade away and you will sleep again.”

  “I’m not sure I want to.” The sheikh had thrown on a robe, Jenny saw. Judging by the bare chest revealed in its gap, he wasn’t wearing much underneath. She remembered waking up beside him at Lew’s cabin and feeling drawn to the powerful, lithe splendor of the man.

  “You must rest.” His dark eyes reflected sparks of the moonlight flowing through the window.

  “I’m too keyed up.” With her head lying against his shoulder, she became aware of the blood surging through her arteries. How much of her excitement was from the nightmare and how much a response to his nearness, she had no idea.

  “A massage might help,” he said.

  “Don’t tell me you learned how to do that in military camp!”

  “In truth, I did.” Zahad lowered her to the pillow. “Along with basic medical skills, we were instructed in techniques to ease muscle stiffness. A cramp can cause a man to miss his shot.”

  “I wouldn’t want to miss my shot,” she murmured.

  “Turn over and cease disputing,” he ordered.

  Although she wasn’t convinced it was the wisest course of action,
Jenny obeyed. When he touched her, she felt a tingle, an almost electric spark.

  As his hands roamed over her, she registered the coolness of his skin and the roughness of calluses. His palms were large enough to span her shoulder blades and surprisingly skilled as they probed the knots of tension along her spine.

  A delicious ache spread through her. Warmth radiated to her lips, to the points of her breasts and between her legs. Jenny had never known such a sweet awakening, free from the need to defend herself against a man’s demands. Beneath Zahad’s healing touch, she relished her response.

  It intensified as his thumbs found the taut small of her back and searched lower. Pleasure rippled through her, bringing with it a longing to touch this man and arouse him as he was doing for her.

  She didn’t fear growing close and then losing him. It was inevitable that he would leave. What she feared was never having a chance to know him.

  Yet he had issued no invitation to anything beyond a back rub. For the first time, Jenny recognized how a man could act on his own sexual impulse without considering that the woman might not share it. It would be wrong to place Zahad in an awkward situation when he was only being kind.

  She closed her eyes and concentrated on the lovely sensations and the longing to surrender. The heat of her blood burned away the helplessness and panic of her nightmare.

  Utterly content, she drifted into a new and much more pleasant dream.

  ZAHAD DREW the covers over Jenny, careful not to awaken her. He felt glad she’d found temporary peace and grateful that she had no inkling of the passion she aroused.

  In his younger days, desire had existed as a simple physical response, a thing apart from the rest of his being. This longing for Jenny was the opposite. It touched his soul.

  In her presence, all the disparate parts of him merged. He became a warrior who read bedtime stories to a little girl, a fierce avenger who wanted only to hold one woman close and keep her safe. He became a man he didn’t know and, at the same time, his most fundamental self.

  He was relieved that he’d restrained his instinct to kiss the nape of her neck. Too many men had tried to exploit Jenny. He would sooner suffer alone than have her think he resembled them.

  Zahad sat for a while watching her sleep. When he left, he went to Beth’s room and watched her, too. The child was a picture of innocence, her blond hair trailing across her closely held doll.

  He thought of Sharif, half a world away, seeing his wife fight for her life and the life of their baby. Zahad had always valued children, but he had assumed it was because of what they might become. Now he felt how precious this little girl was and what a vast abyss would open up if she ever came to harm.

  His cousin’s pain and worry became his own. It was, he supposed, what people called empathy. Once, he would have believed that it weakened a man. Now he saw that it bridged the distances between him and the people he cared about.

  He had Jenny to thank for this knowledge. Also for the restlessness that kept him awake for a long time afterward.

  AS SHE GOT READY FOR WORK on Monday, Jenny drifted through her routine with a sense of disconnection. In a way, everything seemed normal. Fix breakfast, make sure Beth dresses warmly, run through the day ahead.

  But nothing was normal, not really.

  One week ago, Fario had died here. On Friday, an ex-con had grabbed her on the front steps. Yesterday, Grant had tried to break in, and three men had attempted to carjack her.

  Thank heaven for Zahad. He made everything else tolerable. Sitting at the breakfast table in his robe, he looked thoroughly at home, untroubled by the dark stubble on his jawline and hair so rumpled she doubted a comb would make it halfway through.

  “What are you going to do today?” she asked as she fixed a peanut butter sandwich for Beth and a tuna on rye for herself.

  The sheikh buttered a couple of slices of toast and handed one to Beth. The two of them seemed to have entered into an unspoken routine of sharing their food.

  “I believe I should keep my prying low-key. Detective Finley seems hypersensitive.”

  “You’re sure this Mr. Wang won’t make matters worse when he calls?”

  “It remains to be seen.” He obviously wasn’t given to worrying about what-ifs.

  “You’ll try to find out who the woman is, won’t you? The one who called your brother.” She’d been trying not to think about the possibilities that came to mind. They were too close for comfort.

  “If I can,” Zahad said.

  “Can we have something good for dinner?” Beth asked the sheikh.

  “Would you enjoy a fresh roasted goat?” he inquired.

  She made a face.

  “Perhaps some stuffed sheep’s stomach?”

  “Ick!” She giggled. “You can do better than that!”

  “Mr. Adran is our guest, not our cook,” Jenny chided her.

  “I will prepare the evening meal,” Zahad replied calmly. “It will be a pleasure.”

  “No yucky stuff,” the little girl said. “No vegetables. I hate them.”

  The sheikh and Jenny exchanged glances. “I will make it excellent,” he promised. “But I do not guarantee the absence of vegetables.”

  Before she left, Jenny said she’d be home by five-thirty. “I have to pick up Beth at day care on my way home,” she explained. Her daughter was one of about a dozen youngsters who rode a private bus to the nearby center after kindergarten let out at noon. “I can get fast food if you want.”

  He folded his arms. “I am not incompetent in the kitchen.”

  “No one would accuse you of being incompetent at anything.” As she spoke, Jenny flashed back to last night and the expert massage. She turned away to hide a blush.

  Zahad frowned. “I am not thinking clearly. Wait one moment while I throw on my clothes.”

  “Why?”

  “I will drive you to town and pick you up later,” he said.

  Jenny glanced toward her daughter, who waited impatiently at the door. She appreciated his offer, but she couldn’t accept it.

  “Thanks, but no. You won’t be around forever.” She had to stand on her own two feet. “Besides, I might need my car at work.”

  Jenny expected him to argue, as most men would. Instead, Zahad simply regarded her for a moment before saying, “I admire your courage.”

  He respected her decision. The realization was both heady and disconcerting, because part of Jenny feared what might lie ahead today. She drew herself up. “Thank you.”

  “Call if you need me.”

  “I’ve got your number programmed into my cell phone.” Jenny couldn’t resist reaching up to cup his prickly cheek with her palm. When he blinked, startled, she quickly hustled her daughter out the door.

  Please, she thought, just let us get through this one day without anything terrible happening. It would make such a nice change.

  JENNY’S TOUCH LINGERED on Zahad’s cheek as he showered. The tenderness in her eyes and her spontaneous gesture had surprised him. In only a few days, they had grown very close.

  Yet she was correct: He could not protect her forever, Zahad told himself. It was a good thing Jenny possessed inner strength, because she would likely need it.

  As a soldier, he had once doubted women’s capacity to endure hardship. That was before he saw Sharif’s first wife die in childbirth. Only then had he understood how ignorant men were of the courage required by women’s lives.

  Remembering the life-and-death struggle that Holly faced, he called Amy’s number as soon as he finished shaving and dressing. “How is Sharif’s family?” he asked when she answered.

  “Holly had a C-section this morning and delivered a healthy girl,” his cousin said. “They’re naming her Jamila.” The name meant “beautiful.” “I’d have called you sooner, but I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “How is Holly?”

  “Still weak. Sharif wants to make sure there are no complications before he goes to Jeddar.” That was the capital c
ity, several hours’ journey from his provincial capital.

  “I understand.” With Hashim seeking to send Zahad into exile, he could no longer wait. “I will call President Dourad myself and plead my case.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’m hoping he won’t do anything before you return with Fario’s body,” Amy said. “But Numa’s burning with a sense of injustice and she has plenty of friends in Jeddar. She honestly believes you killed Fario.”

  “I will plead my case.”

  After ringing off, Zahad put in the call. It was early evening in Alqedar, and he was only able to reach one of the president’s aides.

  “I’m glad you contacted me,” the man said. “President Dourad has scheduled a session on Saturday morning to consider the governing of Yazir Province. He grows tired of the squabbling. I advise you to be present in person.”

  “Thank you for your counsel.”

  To reach Alqedar by Saturday morning, given the time difference and the possibility of flight delays, Zahad realized he must depart no later than Thursday morning. Ideally, he should go sooner. He hated to leave while matters remained so unsettled here, but Numa and Hashim were forcing his hand.

  If Fario’s body could not be ready, Zahad would of course have to return for it. Otherwise, he wished to come back anyway for Jenny’s sake, but that would depend on the political situation.

  He sent an e-mail notifying Amy and Sharif of the new development, then called the coroner’s department. A deputy told him the medical examiner still had not released the body.

  Although he felt tempted to point out that any competent physician could have harvested tissue samples by now, Zahad knew that insults were likely to backfire. He said a gruff thank-you instead and added that he needed to take the body back to his country for burial as soon as possible.

  “Are you aware that the remains will have to be embalmed before any airline will accept them?” the deputy asked.