by Linda Conrad
“That’ll be fine. Great.” She made a move to rise, wanting to show him she could be perfectly civilized by shaking his hand. But she hadn’t even made it to her feet before the dizziness returned and threw her back into the cushions.
“Stay seated,” he insisted. “I’ll search out the concierge and have him bring you a plate of food. Eating may give you a much-needed temporary energy boost. However, I have no hope of it stilling your temper or mouth.” He cocked his head and waited for her to make a comment.
When she didn’t, he added, “A little sustenance might at least provide you with enough strength to take a cab back to your hotel. Allow me to arrange it, Miss Hunt?”
She closed her eyes and leaned back—for only a moment. “All right, but please call me Rylie. And thanks.”
“You must be joking, brother.” Shakir lounged in one of the club chairs of their hotel suite several hours later, with a bottle of dark ale in his hand and a smirk across his face. “Rylie Hunt had the nerve to accost you and bloody well accuse you of murder?”
“You should’ve seen the look in her eyes,” Darin told him. “It was enough to raise the hairs on the back of even your tough paratrooper’s leather neck.”
Shakir sat up straighter. “You don’t think she could be some kind of spy or lookout for the Taj Zabbar family, do you? It would make a kind of perverse sense. I know if I was into subterfuge and covert warfare, using a woman who has reason to hate the world would be perfect. Who knows what lies they could’ve told her in an effort to make her bend to their will.”
Darin gave it a moment’s consideration and quickly discarded the idea. “Not this woman. I have the feeling she could spot a liar from a mile away, and I doubt anyone on earth could bend her to their will. But I’ve agreed to meet with her. I need to uncover what she already knows.”
“Bad move.” Shakir screwed up his mouth. “You can’t seriously mean to get close to this woman. She could be dangerous. Why would you agree to do such a thing?”
“I felt sorry for her.” But that wasn’t strictly the truth. He’d felt something, all right. But the something was pure, unrefined and nearly uncontrollable…lust.
Theoretically, his sudden all-consuming erotic need should’ve been tempered by his empathy for her situation. After all, his life had been altered irrevocably with that explosion the same as hers. But the trouble with theories was they weren’t real life. In reality, despite what he should have felt, he’d searched his memory and couldn’t come up with a time when a stranger, or anyone at all, had affected him with quite this much seething passion.
He wasn’t sure why, either. She was a little too tall, a little too thin and a little too loud for his taste. Her overall appearance reminded him of what he’d always considered the looks of a spoiled girl from America’s western lands. Over-the-top—in every way. Not in the least his normal type of companion when it came to the opposite sex.
His brother was still seated, staring absently at the half-empty beer bottle in his hand. “This is not a good idea.” Shakir shook his head forcefully. “Even if she isn’t working with the Taj Zabbar, let’s suppose one of them spots the two of you together. That might give rise to a lot of false assumptions. False assumptions that could be life-threatening—to her or to you.”
“Don’t worry,” Darin told him, letting his voice carry a cavalier tone he was certainly not feeling. “I’ve suggested our meeting take place in a pub that’s popular with the locals but is out of the way for conference attendees. No one will spot us there.”
Later that same night in the dimly lit lobby bar of Darin’s hotel, Sheik Newaf Bin Hamad Taj Zabbar hung up his satellite phone when he spotted his distant cousin Samman Taweel walking his way. The young, hollow-eyed fellow weaved past several empty tables heading straight for him.
“Sit.” Sheik Hamad gestured to the chair across from him with the glowing tip of his Cuban Cohiba Behike. “I assume you left a compatriot to watch Darin Kadir. Is this so?”
“Yes, my sheik. The target you asked me to watch has seemingly retired to his room for the evening. One of the other men you hired is watching his door.”
“Very well. Then tell me what you observed of our target’s behavior at the conference reception.”
This distant cousin was far from brilliant. But Hamad had not hesitated to employ the dull but desperate man, because desperate men follow instructions exactly. Since the Taj Zabbar clan was finally on the cusp of exacting their ultimate revenge for the subjugation and humiliation they’d endured for centuries, he needed men like this one. Hamad knew better than to take a chance on hiring outsiders when his clan was close to their goals. The money was flowing. Let the retribution begin.
But patience was the key. For now, his goal was to detect new ways of embarrassing and humiliating three of the most important young Kadir men, the sons of the most powerful Kadir elder. Three of the Taj Zabbar’s greatest enemies.
Hamad wasn’t worried. Like this cousin, those rising Kadir stars didn’t seem like any great geniuses. And Hamad would accept nothing less than full capitulation from them in the end. He had little doubt his clan’s retribution would come to pass exactly as he’d planned. The entire Kadir clan would soon suffer in the same ways as the Taj Zabbar had suffered throughout hundreds of miserable years. He was counting on it.
Cousin Taweel’s hoarse yet respectful voice broke into his thoughts. “At the reception the target approached a pretty young woman and the two sat down together. They spoke for several minutes and then, before abandoning her, our target arranged with a concierge to see to the woman’s comfort. Food and taxi service back to her hotel.”
Hamad thought such behavior unexpected for the disciplined and rigid eldest Kadir son, and all exceptions from the ordinary worried him. “Did Kadir and this woman seem to be close friends? Did you find out who she was?”
“They appeared to be on most intimate terms, my sheik.” As he spoke, a tic appeared near an eyebrow, telling Hamad of his conservative cousin’s obvious disapproval.
Hamad didn’t consider either the disapproval or Kadir’s behavior important.
“I was told the name of the woman is Hunt. From America.”
Hunt. What would one of the Hunts be doing at a shipping conference? Hamad did not care for the idea. Had Darin Kadir invited the woman here to share information?
The Taj Zabbar elders had decided on temporary surveillance of the Kadir brothers rather than an outright attack. Extreme secrecy was essential for their revenge to succeed. Plans still had to be finalized and everything had to remain undercover until it was too late for their enemies to stop the schemes. But if it were true that Darin Kadir already suspected the Texas explosion was not an accident, his life would shortly come crashing to an abrupt end. It was Hamad’s duty to make it so.
Leaning back, Hamad tried easing his tension by chewing on the cigar. He felt positive that each detail in Texas had been dealt with cleverly, that nothing had been left to chance. The shipping facility explosion had been judged an accident, exactly the way Hamad planned it. Of course, he had anticipated the blame for the accident to accrue to Kadir Shipping instead of to Hunt Drilling the way their foolish American law enforcement believed. But the results were nearly the same. Kadir business interests had taken a loss, both financially and in reputation. All in all, it had been an excellent first shot in the Taj Zabbar’s war of retribution.
Hunt Drilling was only unfortunate collateral damage, as the Americans would say. His sources told him the Hunt organization had been fatally weakened and that the remaining Hunt family felt extraordinary anger toward the Kadirs. Had that changed?
Hamad needed to understand this new development. His plans could well depend on finding out what the Hunt woman knew—or thought she knew.
The flame had gone out of his cigar and he used the tip to make his point to the cousin. “I want to talk to this Hunt woman. Is it possible to find out where she is staying? Can you question her taxi driver?”
The young Taweel lowered his eyelids and shook his head slowly.
Growing impatient, Hamad tapped his cigar against the tabletop. “I will put out a few requests. Perhaps we can locate her hotel yet tonight. In the meantime, you are to remain with Darin Kadir. When he leaves his rooms, do not let him out of your sight. If he meets with that woman again, I want to be notified. And then, bring her to me.”
“You may be requesting an impossible task, my sheik. What if the woman does not wish to come?”
The cigar tip tapped rapidly against the table as Hamad held frustration in check. “Then you must insist. Or…” Tap. Tap. Tap. “Just see that you bring her to me.”
It was nearing 2:00 a.m. when Hamad Taj Zabbar placed his last phone call of the night. Frustration had decimated his posture since he had sent his cousin away an hour earlier. His shoulders were strung tight from the strain.
The Hunt woman was not registered in any hotel in the city. Due to the late hour, Hamad had been forced to give up his search. It was possible she’d registered at any number of inns, bed-and-breakfasts or hostels, and he would never be able to hunt through every one.
Unaccustomed to not winning each skirmish he entered, Hamad rubbed his temple, vowing that his failure to locate the Hunt woman right away would be only a minor setback.
Hamad felt confident that even his dull cousin could bring her to him at the first opportunity.
Taweel had better.
The next morning Darin rolled his feet out of bed and hung his head in his hands. What a long night it had been.
Dreams of drowning in vibrant blue-green eyes had kept him tossing for hours on end. He’d been lost in luxurious layers of auburn curls. Soft and shiny, so smooth against his skin. Like a bath in velvet.
What a fool he was. The urge to pound his fists into his empty head drove him to stand. Perhaps a shower would help. As he walked to the bath, it became clear he had better dredge up some of his infamous impassivity. It should come easy for him, as he’d been accused of being aloof and detached for most of his life.
Right now he could use some of that lethal remoteness. He’d not needed anyone, save for his two brothers, since his mother’s death. Women were friends, business associates and overnight flings, and this was no time for his libido to begin overruling his head. The middle of his first covert operation for the family would be the worst time to undertake a romantic relationship with a woman he barely knew.
While cranking the cold water on high, Darin thought of a brilliant plan. As soon as he stepped from the shower, he would find out as much as he could about Rylie Hunt’s background. No one could withstand his kind of scrutiny. No one. He was positive that the more he learned about Rylie the more this crazy obsession of his would wane.
Yes, a good plan. Such a good plan that he began to whistle. Until…he stepped into the shower and a shot of freezing water hit him flat in the chest.
As he swore, the first image that came into his mind was Rylie’s. Completely naked and lingering under the shower with him. Hell. Perhaps no plan would be good enough to rid him of his passion.
“Rylie, you asked me to wake you while it was still early. I’ve made a pot of tea.”
Marie Claire’s lilting voice caused Rylie to lift her scratchy eyelids and rouse herself from a fitful morning’s dream. She managed to sit up and put her feet on the rose-patterned carpet, but her T-shirt was wet with sweat. Her bones were still stiff from tossing and turning. Her mind still reeling from another night of seeing fire and smoke in her dreams.
Yawning, she glanced toward the rain oozing down a windowpane. Unlike Texas gully-washers, the wetness here seemed damp and depressing without being cleansing. Only enough mist and fog to frizz the hair and muddy the boots.
“Did you get enough rest?” Marie Claire sat in the one other chair in the room and began pouring them both cups of fragrant tea. “I’m not sure my sofa is comfortable. No one has ever stayed the night on it before and it’s too short for someone of your height.”
“The sofa was fine.” Rylie lied to her old college roommate as she reached for her tea cup. “I appreciate your hospitality. I’m not sure what I would’ve done if you hadn’t invited me to stay.”
Marie Claire gave her an I-know-you-and-you-would’ve-found-a-way look before blowing on her own steaming cup and glancing at Rylie over the rim. “I was searching the Internet for info on the Kadir family this morning. You seem convinced that they’re the bad guys and I can’t quite figure out why. I wanted to know more about them.”
Rylie felt the muscles in her face soften. Her dear friend had given up free time to help with Rylie’s important mission.
“I could’ve told you most of their background information if you’d asked. Between the original lawyers for our business merger and my own private investigators, I’m sure I know everything worth knowing about the Kadirs.”
Sitting back in her chair, Marie Claire’s lips pursed, making her look like a pixie with a secret. “Oh really? Then will you tell me more about the Kadir–Taj Zabbar family feud? Start all the way back in the fifteen hundreds, okay?”
A sudden swallow of hot tea burned Rylie’s tongue and left her sputtering. “What feud? And who are the Taj Zabbar?”
“The reason I was asking is because I couldn’t find an explanation for the feud online.” Marie Claire shrugged a freckled shoulder. “Just a mention of the Taj Zabbar holding their grudge for a long time. I do know a little about the Taj Zabbar clan, though. They live in a desolate place in the Middle East called Zabbaran. For centuries their territory was ruled by neighboring countries. One neighbor, Kasht, took over their land about a hundred years ago. The Taj Zabbar mounted a couple of rebellions along the way, but they never could break free.
“Then about two years ago, the Taj Zabbar managed to liberate themselves from Kasht, shaking off their oppressors with help from the world community.” Marie Claire took a sip of tea before raising her eyebrows. “Now it seems the Taj Zabbar family is suddenly rich. An ocean of oil has been discovered under their land.”
Dang. Marie Claire had sprung this new twist on her without warning. Rylie took pride in her information-gathering ability and had thought she’d been prepared.
Well…looked like maybe not so much. She’d apparently missed something important. An ancient feud and gushers of money made it sound as if the Kadir–Taj Zabbar situation could be potentially dangerous to not only Hunt Drilling but the rest of the world.
Still Rylie couldn’t put all the pieces together. She was still missing something. Why? What was behind the feud, and could it have something to do with an explosion as far away as Texas?
Chapter 3
Looking over the busy club at masses of people, Darin caught a glimpse of wild auburn hair in a far corner. Meeting Rylie here had sounded like a good idea yesterday. But now that it was happy hour and the place was packed with young professionals, he wasn’t so sure.
He made his way through the boisterous bodies, still wondering if tonight’s meeting was smart. It was possible his brother had been right last night. Despite his erotic dreams of her, Rylie Hunt could be in the employ of the Taj Zabbar, and talking to her might be dangerous. After all, he was a businessman. What did he really know about covert operations?
He knew one thing for sure: Rylie was who she said she was. He’d found pictures on the Internet of Red Hunt’s daughter in accounts of the explosion. But was she also a gorgeous and deadly spy? He couldn’t know that for certain unless he talked to her.
He’d asked around about her this morning and checked with others back at his office. He now knew that she’d spent weeks in the hospital after the explosion. Since her release, she’d also taken a few altruistic business steps above and beyond what Darin considered reasonable.
Admirable? Perhaps. Foolhardy? Very likely.
Did that necessarily mean she was not also involved with the Taj Zabbar? He had to coerce her into opening up to him in order to find out.<
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Her table was located in an alcove and seemed relatively quiet. As he arrived, she glanced over at him and froze. Even in the inadequate lighting, he noted that her pupils were dilated and her expression frazzled. Her face was a deathly shade of gray that seemed more pronounced in proximity to her black denim jacket and jeans. Her lips tensed and she crossed her arms tightly against her chest. Shrunken in on herself, she looked like a housefly suddenly caught up in a sticky web and docilely expecting the spider.
His heart thumped once and went out to her. If she was as innocent as she appeared, Rylie Hunt had no reason to fear a Kadir.
He simply could not put the picture she made sitting there, her whole body trembling, together in his mind with a Taj Zabbar spy.
When he got closer, two bloodred spots appeared on her cheeks and tears backed up in her eyes. For a moment Darin’s only thoughts were of calming her by taking her in his arms. Instead, he slid into the lone empty chair at her table with his back to the corner. But it was all he could do not to reach out and cover her quivering hands with his own.
“Hello,” she said in a shaky voice. “I wondered if you would really show up.”
“I’m here.” He nodded at the waiter to get his attention and ordered himself a sparkling water and Rylie a glass of pinot grigio, hoping the lighter drink would calm her nerves without sending her into some alcoholic stupor.
After the waiter acknowledged the order and left, all was quiet at their table and Darin took a moment to look around the club. Rylie had put them in the best possible spot for quiet conversation. No one around them was paying any attention.
A couple of young lovebirds at the closest table, who might have been near enough to hear what was being said, were kissing and whispering with their foreheads touching together and their hands touching everywhere else. Impervious to all around them. Darin was almost jealous of the way they blocked out the world. His relationships were never so intense.
