“Very good!” he said, smiling wide, showing blindingly white teeth through his patent-leather-black goatee. “So you understand?”
Irene took a breath and pulled Sage even closer. She hadn’t been that scared when they’d been kidnapped, because she was smart enough to know that if they wanted to kill her and just take Sage they would have done it. And of course if they wanted to kill both of them it would be over by now. They killed Beauty, the love of her life, and she could never forgive that. But the time for dealing with that was not now. Now she needed to be strong.
She figured it was a ransom play—after all, she knew by now that Sage’s father was a billionaire: Even though the investigation into the violence at the gas station had been mysteriously taken over by “some other agency,” Carl and the others had pulled a photograph of Bilaal from the gas station cameras and run a reverse-image search and figured out his identity. Word had gotten around town, but it had stayed around town. Folks in those parts were still old-school. This wasn’t a community of bloggers and social media junkies. The gossip stayed local. And Carl and his crew seemed content to simply stay the hell away from the entire situation. A billionaire with the skills to handle himself was not something they wanted to mess with. They were smart enough to know their limits.
But this guy clearly isn’t worried about messing with Sheikh Bilaal Al-Khiyani. And he isn’t a native-born Canadian either, she thought as she tried to swallow her rising anxiety and smile at Sage, who was only now getting restless and upset, after three days of staying relatively happy.
“Understand isn’t the word I’d use,” Irene said quietly, holding eye contact for a long moment before looking away. “But I take it you’re gonna explain why I’m here and why you just said what you did.”
“I will explain what is necessary for you to make your choice,” said the man, stroking his goatee as he looked at Sage and then at Irene. “An easy choice, I would think.”
“Who the hell are you?” Irene asked again.
The man laughed. “You want my name? Would it mean anything to you? If I said I am Ahmed would it clear things up? If I told you my name was Mohammed would it make you breathe easier? What about Tom? Michael? How about Blackbeard? Yes, I like Blackbeard.” He laughed again as he stroked his beard. “The truth is, I am nobody. Absolutely nobody. But not for long. Soon I will be somebody. Soon I will be lots of things. A husband. A father. And a king.”
18
It took the Sheikh almost a full day to get to the answer. At first he thought he’d left a loose end after what happened with his wife. But there were no loose ends there. The Sheikh did not leave loose ends. The closest he could think of was almost an afterthought, so minor that Bilaal dismissed the consideration when it first came to mind. Then, by the process of elimination, he was forced to reconsider.
The teenagers from the village. They must have returned to the scene to find the others slaughtered. And they would have figured that if Sheikh Al-Khiyani was missing, then he was the last man standing. Certainly the incident, while minor in the Sheikh’s memory, would have figured large in the lives of those boys over the past three years, yes?
They would still be young, the Sheikh thought as he got on his secure line and dialed the number of an old contact in Pakistani Intelligence. Young, but no longer boys. They would be men now. Which meant they were old enough to die.
“It was unfortunate what happened on that mountainside,” he grunted as he put down the phone after getting an assurance that an email with all records of males under twenty-five from that village would be arriving in his encrypted mailbox soon. “But that does not absolve you of anything. You cannot cross a king and expect to get away with it. You kidnapped my son and the mother of my child. Now you will die. It is quite simple.”
19
“It is simple,” said young Blackbeard. “Once we are married, I will be father to the heir of Khiyani. In the absence of any other legitimate claim, once Sheikh Bilaal and his niece are gone, our son will be regent, and I will be king until he comes of age.”
“Our son . . .” Irene said, slowly shaking her head as she tried to figure out if this guy was dangerously insane or just pathetically unhinged.
“Sage, I believe you call him?” Blackbeard frowned and looked at his nails again. “Though we will give him an Arabic name in due time.”
Irene swallowed hard and tried to smile. “Let me get this straight. You’re going to force me to marry you. Then you’re going to adopt my son. Finally you’re going to somehow kill Sheikh Bilaal and his niece, upon which you think you will miraculously be handed the keys to his kingdom. The kingdom of the guy whose family you just . . . murdered. You don’t think that plan is a bit optimistic?”
Blackbeard raised an eyebrow. “Which part?”
Irene sighed. This guy was pathetic. “Let’s start with the forcing me to marry you part.” She stroked Sage’s hair, taking a breath and hoping she was playing this right. “According to your plan, you need Sage alive and well for this to work. So you can’t threaten his safety to get me to do what you want. I guess you could threaten my safety, but I suspect that there’s a reason you haven’t already done that.” She paused for a moment, eyeing Blackbeard. His goatee twitched and he blinked twice, and she knew she was on the right track. “Let me guess: You actually need me to consent to marrying you and allowing you to adopt Sage. Because even if you manage to eliminate the Sheikh and his niece, you know you’ll still have to . . . what, convince some committee in Khiyani that your marriage is legitimate?” She took a breath as it dawned on her. “Oh, God, that’s it, isn’t it? You want to make it seem like you and I fell in love, got married in Canada, and when the Sheikh and his niece mysteriously die, you decide that it’s only right to reveal that you’re raising the Sheikh’s illegitimate child, who is now the heir.”
Blackbeard sighed and put his hands on his hips. He shrugged comically, those sand-colored eyes of his shining as he smiled. “A genius plan, is it not? And they said my brother was the talented one. Hah! By Allah, you do understand after all. You will make a wonderful queen as we prepare our child to take the throne.” He paused and raised an eyebrow again. “Blue appears to be your color. I will have the seamstresses prepare the wedding wardrobe in shades of blue, with gold embroidery. And a matching sherwani suit for the little king?”
Irene shut her eyes tight and snorted. “So what happens if I just say no? No to all of it.”
Blackbeard winked and smiled. “Why would you say no? I am offering you the chance to live in a palace, raise your son to be a king! Kidnapping aside, I am a man of peace and goodwill, and you will grow to love me in time.”
Irene cocked her head and stared. “My question still stands. What happens if I say no?”
He smiled and sighed. “I may be a little unhinged, but I am not completely insane. I did not expect you to say yes, but I thought I might put the option out there. You will have a day or two to think it over, though I will be surprised if you agree. Not to worry. There is already a Plan B being set in motion. A much better plan. Much more elegant. And a bit more time efficient.”
Irene stared at this young madman. Something about his self-assuredness was unsettling, but the world was full of morons who had absolute confidence in their own delusions. Too bad she’d been kidnapped by one of them.
Still, some of it didn’t add up. Clearly he had some money and resources. This house was in the middle of nowhere, so the real estate was probably cheap. But it was large, and there were attendants with weapons. Irene didn’t have a window, and she’d been blindfolded in the car, but she hadn’t heard the sounds of traffic or the buzz of a city, so she was certainly out in the boonies. What the hell was going on? This didn't seem like a ransom play at all, which worried her. It meant this madman had it in for the Sheikh himself, which meant that there was real danger here.
Now for the first ti
me she felt a yearning to see him again. The Sheikh. The father of her son. The man who’d stood there naked in the rain, needing her help, her tenderness, her shelter. Now she needed him. She’d never needed his money or his presence. But now she needed him.
20
The Sheikh smiled at the border patrol agent who checked his passport and waved him into Canada. He’d flown to the United States on a commercial flight and had chosen to drive to Canada rather than get on a flight manifest. He hadn’t planned to make the trip alone—indeed, when he saw that the teenagers he was looking for were two brothers, both of whom had emigrated to Canada over the past three years, he immediately thought of calling Benson and getting his help. He wasn’t stupid enough to put Irene and Sage in more danger by attempting to rescue them himself. He was going to call in every favor he could—get the goddamn Canadian Mounties to ride into this monster’s home and stomp him to death, if necessary!
He’d been somewhat surprised to learn that the two brothers were not uneducated village rats like he’d assumed, but instead had finished college in Lahore, Pakistan, and had just been visiting their childhood home in the village at the time. The men he’d killed up there were the boys’ father and uncles, which was regrettable, but unavoidable. Still, the need for revenge runs deep, as the Sheikh knew only too well. These boys were smart and shrewd enough to make it to college and then get to Canada from the impoverished mountains of Pakistan, so they were not to be underestimated. As much as he wanted to handle things himself, he knew he had to bring in Benson.
But before he had a chance to make the call to Benson, a message had popped up in his encrypted mailbox:
“You must have guessed who I am by now. And you must know that I want you, not them. Your child and woman are unharmed. I wish to speak with you in person. I cannot guarantee your safety, but I can guarantee I will kill them both without hesitation if you choose not to come, or if I hear that you have informed the CIA, FBI, or the goddamn Canadian Mounties. If you choose to come with weapons, tracking devices, drone surveillance, or anyone on your tail, neither Sage nor Irene will survive our meeting. You choose. Details to follow.”
There’d been a follow-up message with a location, and now here he was, alone and unarmed, heading into what was certainly some kind of trap. But there was no alternative. There was no choice. The only choice was whether or not he could abandon his child, the son he’d never even laid eyes on. And he knew he could not. He knew he would not. He was not that sort of man. He would not abandon his child.
Nor would he abandon the woman who bore his child.
21
“You know my name, I trust?” said Blackbeard as he watched the silent veiled attendants search the Sheikh for weapons or tracking devices.
“You know mine, and that is enough,” said the Sheikh. “We will not be speaking much. Tell me what you want. Money? An apology? My head rolling at your feet? I am prepared to deliver all of those things in return for their safety.”
Blackbeard raised an eyebrow and then laughed. “Very chivalrous, but I am not a man of greed or violence.” Then he went grim. “Although I know only too well that you are indeed a man of violence, great Sheikh.” He took a breath, yellow eyes darkening for just a flash before regaining their natural hue. “And after what you did to my father and uncles, I would thank you to not speak of beheadings.”
The Sheikh stayed quiet as the veiled women backed away from him and nodded at Blackbeard. He wanted to point out that if Blackbeard and his brother hadn’t told their father and uncles of his presence in the first place, none of this would have happened. But he stayed quiet as the sickening realization dawned that in that case, Dan wouldn’t have died, he wouldn’t have shared that night with Irene, and Sage would never have come into this world. Would he wish for all that to be undone?
No.
Ya Allah, he was truly a twisted man, was he not? Whatever fate had chosen for him, it would be justified, he thought as he sighed and nodded. And his fate was very likely sealed. He’d almost certainly voluntarily walked into the house in which he would die. After all, he’d been given clear directions to this place in the Canadian wilderness. Certainly Blackbeard wasn’t going to let him just drive away and lead those Mounties right back here! Blackbeard intended to kill him. But if that got Irene and Sage set free, the Sheikh would consider it a good bargain. He did not fear death. He had let go of that fear the day he watched his pregnant wife’s eyes close forever. Death would come when it came. In a way, he’d been toying with death for years now, tempting it to come and take him every time he was out on a job for the CIA, Mossad, MI6, or the KIB. In a way, he would be happy to pay with his life, to redeem himself.
The heavy door swung open and Blackbeard gestured for the Sheikh to enter. He did, and then he saw them: Irene and Sage. Woman and child.
His child. And his woman, he decided right then and there.
His woman.
22
Irene stared at the tall, muscular figure in the doorway. She recognized him immediately—those green eyes, that heavy jawline, those high cheekbones, full lips, thick arms and broad chest. Still, it seemed like a dream. It must be a dream.
“How?” she mumbled as the Sheikh stepped into the room. “Oh, my God, why are you here?”
A chill came across her, then a flash of rage. Was this entire scheme concocted by Bilaal himself? Was he trying to . . . what, take his son away from her? What the hell was going on? And if this wasn’t Bilaal’s scheme, then why would her captor bring the Sheikh here? What about all that talk about a hare-brained scheme to “adopt” his way into the throne of Khiyani? Was this Plan B? Should she have agreed to that insane Plan A to buy them some time?!
“You did not really believe I had set my hopes on Plan A, did you?” came Blackbeard’s voice from behind that curtain. He laughed. “Of course, if you had said yes, it would have been interesting. You would have been a queen, and your child would become king. Perhaps you would have come to love me in time. Arranged marriages have resulted in love for centuries. Who knows. Anyway, we are on to Plan B. And since three out of the four targets are in this room, Plan B is off to a wonderful start.”
The Sheikh stared at Irene for a long moment, the color rushing from his face as he blinked hard, like he was trying to piece together everything Blackbeard had said. Then he turned toward the curtain, and with a roar charged across the room and came back into view dragging the laughing Blackbeard.
Irene quickly covered Sage’s eyes and watched in shock as the Sheikh punched Blackbeard in the face, breaking his nose, cracking his jaw, and then hurling him to the floor. The armed attendants were nowhere in sight, and Irene just blinked as the Sheikh kicked the man hard in the ribs, almost certainly shattering bone with his heavy foot. Then he grabbed him by the throat and pulled him to his feet, pushing his broken body against a wall and bringing his face close.
“Four targets? Who is the fourth? My niece?” the Sheikh growled. “That is Plan B? You intend to do something to my niece while I am here in Canada? You dare threaten me? You dare threaten my family?” He spat into Blackbeard’s face, and Irene could see that deep-seated rage she caught a glimpse of that night they’d made love. “You and your brother cannot get to her anyway. You have failed. Because now I have you, you foolish—”
“You are the fool, great Sheikh,” whispered Blackbeard through his broken jaw, spitting out a tooth and drooling blood. “I am not a man of violence, and neither is my brother. It is you who are the man of violence, remember.” He smiled crookedly. “My brother and I were students of art and literature when you destroyed our lives with your violence. And that day we pledged to destroy your life, Sheikh. Not with violence, but with love.”
“What are you saying?” growled the Sheikh. “Speak clearly, or by Allah I will break your neck in front of my son!”
“Your son,” said Blackbeard, still smiling.
“Have you even looked into his eyes? You abandoned him before he was born, and now you are here as the hero, eh? Just like you were on that mountainside saving the world. Trying to redeem yourself for your wife and unborn child, and what you did all those years ago. Yes, Sheikh. I know your history. Everyone in the Islamic world knows of your history. There was never any proof, but we all know what you did. You do not deserve a family, and you know it. In the end your lust for violence will be your downfall, just like it has been the downfall of many others.”
The Sheikh closed his eyes tight, and when he opened them Irene could see only coldness, green steel, a wall of dead stone. “Ah, my own violence is to blame, yes? So then here is what will happen. First I will kill you, you demon-tongued rat,” muttered the Sheikh, raising his fist. “And then I will track down your brother and do the same to him. Finally I will take my woman and child out of here, make sure my well-protected niece is still safe, and carry on with my life as if you never existed.”
“Well-protected niece . . .” whispered Blackbeard. “Protected from violence, yes. But is she protected from love?”
The Sheikh cocked his head as he blinked rapidly, fist still raised.
“My brother . . .” Blackbeard continued. “Did your intelligence reports reveal that although he emigrated to Canada with me, he left two years ago to attend graduate school in England? Perhaps not, because he changed his name before that. He is smart that way. Also talented. He graduated with a degree in Theater, and got a fine job at an exclusive boarding school in Switzerland. In fact, he wrote a play that was performed at the school recently. Very well received, he told me. The students love him. Young, impressionable students, many of whom idolize the dashing young drama teacher with the exotic accent, a Middle-Eastern lilt with a British twang. Your niece . . . she will be eighteen in a few months. Old enough to truly fall in love, to marry . . .”
Shelter for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 9) Page 7
