by Linda Conrad
He’d only managed a couple of hours of sleep, but that’s all he usually needed. During most nights, his mind raced with plans and schemes—for making money or finding other ways to get ahead in business. Not sleeping through the night wasn’t out of the ordinary.
What felt unusual tonight was the way his thoughts had centered on a single woman. He’d never seriously considered becoming involved before. And yet tonight, all he could think about was how to convince Rylie that they should give romance a try.
He wanted to know her—every detail—both mind and body. He wanted to slip into her soul. He wanted to stand beside her during rough times and console her during the darkest nights.
What was the matter with him? Was the woman a witch? In such a short time, how could he be this sure she was what he wanted?
Yes, it was true he loved the way that burnt-cinnamon hair of hers curled lazily upon her neck. And yes, his hands itched to touch her skin every single time they came within ten feet of one another. But were those good enough reasons to make him want to change his whole life?
Logically, no. But nothing about his obsession seemed logical, and that was the rub. He was a man of thoughts, not passions. He was a planner. A man with lists and goals and tomorrows never in doubt. It was bad enough that the Taj Zabbar had unleashed their war of retribution at a critical time in his business life, disturbing his goals. But he’d had no choice in the matter.
He did have a choice with Rylie. He could send her away as Shakir suggested, and perhaps that would be the best for everyone involved. But oh, no, not him. He couldn’t even entertain the idea. Not when she needed both his protection and his basic knowledge of the Taj Zabbar—and not until he found out why he’d become this obsessed.
The last time any emotional subject had captured his entire attention was when he’d been twelve and his mother left. Stopping to shake his head at the wrong choice of word, Darin quickly corrected his thoughts. She had not left—voluntarily. She’d died. The two were not the same thing, though to his twelve-year-old mind they’d felt similar.
Somehow the situation with Rylie felt the same. He remembered only too well the frustration he’d experienced when he hadn’t been able to save his mother from the cancer that consumed her. Now his frustration was mounting again as he tried to find the right words to say to Rylie. Words he could say that would be convincing enough for her to let him provide the protection needed to save her life.
The water stopped and Darin wondered if she would be going back to bed or coming out here to the sitting room. He could make a pot of coffee if she wanted to talk.
He hoped she wanted to talk. The thought of seeing her again. Of sitting next to her. Of hearing her voice speaking to him was enthralling. The nervous excitement was almost more than he could stand.
Sitting up abruptly, he chastised himself. Weren’t those the sort of thoughts a lovesick schoolboy might have? The adult inside him felt embarrassingly absurd at the idea of such a childish obsession.
Still, ridiculous or not, Darin found he was holding his breath and waiting for her appearance.
In a few seconds the bedroom door opened. But instead of lights and the sound of Rylie’s voice whispering to him and asking if he was awake yet, nothing happened. Then he heard the rustle of her moving through the room and wondered what came next.
Next was the sound of the suite’s hallway door being opened from inside. She was sneaking out? Leaving without him?
He rose to his feet and started to call out when the door shut with a quiet snick.
Hurt but determined that she would not rush into possible danger without his protection, Darin quickly slipped a polo shirt on over his head and shoved his arms into his jacket, grateful he still had on his jeans. He grabbed up his passport, money, phone and the gun from the coffee table where he’d dumped them last night. Meanwhile, he’d shoved his feet into his shoes.
By the time he made it to the hallway, the elevator doors were already closing. His suite was on the twelfth floor and Darin headed for the emergency stairs at a run. Fury and fear were equal partners in his chest as he banged down the stairs and, out of breath, crashed through a door into an alcove off the lobby. Checking every square inch of the grand lobby, bar and alcoves in one fluid glance, he turned to the elevators. Soon he realized she must have arrived first and already left through the front door.
But why? And where was she going?
He still refused to accept the idea that she was involved with the Taj Zabbar. Shakir had been dead wrong about that. He had to be.
Arguing the point in his mind, Darin all but flew across the lobby to the main entrance. Outside, the sky ran in streaks of Halloween colors as daybreak made a memorable entrance across the Alps.
“Can I be of assistance, sir?” The uniformed doorman crossed the pavement, coming in his direction. “Will you need a taxi? It’s early but…”
“Did a woman just come out and order a taxi? Did you see her?”
The doorman studied him for a second. “You are Monsieur Kadir, yes?”
“Yes. Did you see her?”
“A pretty young woman left the hotel a moment ago, sir, but she did not request a taxi. She asked for directions to the nearest tram stop. I told her that Geneva trams do not run for another hour, but she insisted.”
Darin still had a chance to catch up to her. “Which way did she go?”
The doorman pointed and gave him curt directions to the proper corner. Darin threw bills toward him and was gone with the man’s thank-you still resounding in his ears.
As his feet pounded down the sidewalk, Darin tried to imagine what would’ve made her leave without a word. The answer came from a voice in his head, a surprising voice sounding very much like his dead mother’s.
Fear would make a woman run. Rylie was afraid. Afraid of what the Taj Zabbar wanted with her, of course. But he also suddenly understood that she was probably a little afraid of him, too. After all, he’d used his usual detached-father-figure attitude. And what did she know of him really?
Don’t be afraid.
He wouldn’t hurt her, or let anyone else hurt her.
But she had to listen before he could make her understand that.
Give me a chance, Rylie. I’ll make everything okay.
Rylie froze in place when she heard footsteps coming from behind her. Shifting to the side, she went into fight-or-flight mode, flattening her back against the nearby building before finally turning to look that way.
Nothing.
Nothing back there but empty shadows cast by dawn’s first light. Not one soul was on the street at this hour. Nevertheless, the skin on her arms swam with imaginary insects while her heart raced wildly in her chest. Maybe she’d been unwise to insist on the tram instead of a cab this time.
Fighting off the strong adrenaline rush that had nearly blinded her, Rylie worked to calm her nerves by taking deep breaths. Now that she’d convinced herself no one was really there and it had all been in her mind, she figured it was senseless to worry about being followed at such an early-morning hour. How would anyone know where to look? She had told no one but Marie Claire that she would be staying overnight in Darin’s hotel suite.
Grateful that Darin hadn’t awoken when she’d sneaked out, Rylie still felt sorry that she hadn’t at least said goodbye. She owed him a thank-you for helping to save her from a would-be kidnapper and for giving her a place to crash afterward. Though truthfully, she could’ve handled the whole situation on her own without anyone’s interference, thank you very much.
Sighing, Rylie gave in, knowing she would take time to thank Darin. In person. As soon as she found out more about him and the whole of the Kadir family’s history.
She continued her walk down the sidewalk in the growing light, heading for the tram stop and a ride back to the safety of Marie Claire’s apartment. Rylie looked up and realized she only had another block to go, then it would be right around the corner to the stop. She was close. Too close to
be worried over nothing.
Gazing down the hill between the buildings, she caught sight of the lake bathed in the lavender color of early-morning light. Streaks of gold shone against the water as streams of mist rose like tiny, spewing geysers across a cloud-filled fountain. The unusual sight reminded her how strange the last thirty-six hours had been.
Something odd was happening inside her. She felt different from when she’d first arrived in Geneva.
Rylie took a quick inventory of her feelings while she walked. Grief, her familiar best friend, still hung around her shoulders, quietly threatening at any moment to bring her stumbling to her knees. And the dogged determination to find truth continued its own kind of bubbling irritation unabated in her chest. Sometimes that stubborn determination made it difficult for her to breathe. But at least those two things remained the same.
So what felt different?
As she continued the debate in her mind, Rylie turned the final corner—and ran smack into a bulky, bug-eyed man with a huge frigging knife in his hand.
Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod.
Her feet were stuck to the concrete. Her tongue swelled up to twice its size. Terrified, she couldn’t run or scream.
“You will come now, Miss Hunt.” It was the same voice. The same man from before but without the head scarf.
Rylie had never in her memory been at a loss for words. But this time, when she opened her mouth to either scream or demand the man tell her why he was doing this, nothing came out but a strangled gurgle.
All she could do was stare down at the biggest knife she had ever seen. The damned thing had to be at least eighteen inches long, with a double-edged blade, a leather hilt and what looked like some kind of animal head carved into the metal of the handle. Holy moly. It was an antique dagger, for heaven’s sake. Lethal, hooked at the tip and pointed straight at her gut.
She had to do something or die. Screaming was out. Even if she could’ve managed, there wasn’t anyone around to hear.
After taking another quick breath to fill her lungs with fortifying air, Rylie brought to mind the promise she’d made to her father. And the many workouts she’d undertaken in order to be able to take care of herself. Her daddy had seen to it that she knew how.
“Nobody is going to coddle you, little girl,” Red Hunt had said as he’d dragged her to self-defense classes and taught her how to shoot a gun. “And nobody will ever take care of you the way you can take care of yourself. Be strong, Rylie Ann. You’re a Hunt. We take care of others. We don’t wait to be rescued.”
But, Daddy, this knife is huge.
“Please seat yourself in the auto, miss,” the man muttered in a deep, gruff tone, scaring her almost beyond her wits.
The devil’s words rang terrifying alarm bells in her ears. She turned her head and saw that a car with a driver sat at the curb with its motor running.
Two assailants.
Oh, man. Rylie figured if she was ever going to get out of this, big fat knife or not, it would have to be while she was still outside the car with only one attacker and not two. She remembered learning that your first escape is always your best. Never get into the car.
“All right. All right. I’m going.” At least she’d managed those words. And they hadn’t sounded as horrified as she’d felt. Silently promising her daddy to do her best, she readied her body by going into fight mode in the way she had been taught.
Gathering up every ounce of adrenaline she could, Rylie pretended to turn toward the car while secretly rebalancing her weight. Her legs were shaking, but other than that she felt ready.
When she turned, her assailant turned, too, and put himself at a disadvantage. Now or die.
Her feet exploded from under her body as she kicked out at his knees with such force that she took both of them to the ground. He grunted as he fell on his back, and the knife dropped from his hands.
All Rylie wanted to do was get the hell out of there. She tried scrambling out of his reach. But before she could crawl to safety and get to her feet, he grabbed her with an iron grip around the waist.
She scratched and kicked, trying for the eyes or groin. But he must’ve had a good forty pounds on her. Out of the chaos, she heard him call to his comrade in a language she didn’t understand. But she understood the sentiment. Her assailant was calling for reinforcements.
Oh, Lordy. When it came to two against one, she wouldn’t stand a chance.
Darin had been jogging down the sidewalk toward the tram stop, hoping to get there before Rylie boarded a tram and was out of sight. But right before he came to the last corner, he slowed his steps, hesitating to scare her by flying around it blind.
Despite his brother’s declarations about her being nothing but trouble, Darin was positive that on the contrary she was in trouble and needed his help. It made him wonder what he could possibly say to make her understand.
Rylie had an independent nature. Perhaps too independent for her own good. But in a way, he appreciated that about her. No whining or clinging and begging for help from that woman. And he knew her situation back in the States was dire. But she had never even considered asking for his help.
As he took a few slow steps toward the last corner, he knew that’s how he would approach her. They could work together, he would say. They could…
He heard the commotion before he jerked past the building on the corner and could see the worst. Rylie. On the ground and being dragged around by another assailant. Momentarily stunned, he thought perhaps this was the same man as last night. But this time he also saw a second man exiting the driver’s seat of a car at the curb and yelling toward his comrade in the Taj Zabbar language.
Fighting hard, Rylie was holding her own with the bigger man for the moment. His first instinct to run to her assistance would’ve been all wrong. Right then the second man came around the front of the car, and he had a gun in his hand.
The second guy was so absorbed with the vision of Rylie and her attacker on the ground that Darin had a moment to reach for his own weapon without anyone noticing. He drew the gun from under his jacket and then wasn’t sure what to do with it. If he shot at the second man and missed, Rylie might be killed.
Frustrated by indecision, Darin started yelling, raised his weapon and began shooting above the second man’s head. With the first gunshot, everyone stopped dead, frozen in their places and staring at him.
That instantaneous silence didn’t last long, however. The man standing raised his own gun and turned, pointing it directly at Darin. Looking down the deadly end of a monster gun barrel, Darin knew he had no choice. He dropped his arm and fired before the other guy got off a single shot.
The man with the gun stumbled back when the bullet hit him in the middle of the chest. A bloodstain blossomed at the entry point. So much blood. The man’s arms flailed and his fingers loosened from around his gun. He gurgled something incoherent and then crumbled to the ground, his gun skittering off into a gutter.
Stunned by what he had done, Darin was a little slow to turn around, transfixed by a man taking his last breaths. Then a scream broke through his fog. Rylie.
Swinging around, he pointed his weapon at the ground where Rylie and her assailant had last been tumbling together. But Rylie alone remained on the sidewalk. She was screaming at the other man, who was running like his life depended on it and just about to disappear at the end of the block.
“Go after him,” she demanded.
Darin shook his head and slid his finger off the trigger. “Let the Geneva police department handle it. Someone is sure to have called them by now.
“Are you all right?” He started toward her but she was on her feet and dusting herself off before he could take two steps in her direction.
“I’m okay. Did you kill that man?” She pointed at the second assailant lying crumpled in the street, and then she went back to brushing off her jeans.
He hadn’t wanted to think about that yet. But Darin forced himself to turn and go to the prone man
’s side. He touched the pulse point found at the base of the neck and felt nothing. Next he leaned in close to the man’s face, hoping to feel even a small breath of air coming from his nose. Nothing.
The truth poked its nasty finger in Darin’s chest. He had killed a man. A member of the Taj Zabbar clan, most probably. But dead was dead, and the idea pushed reality right in Darin’s face with a resounding thud.
Then he spotted something beside the man. Whatever it was that caught his eye gleamed through the last shadows of dawn. The shiny thing had apparently dropped from the dead man’s jacket pocket and was glinting irreverently in the first rays of the sun.
Darin reached out and picked it up, wanting closer study. It was a key—with an attached tag and writing in French. The lighting wasn’t good enough for Darin to read all the words, but he saw enough to sense that this was a key to a lockbox or locker.
Palming it, he decided it must be important and he wanted to get a better look at it in a good light. Some sixth sense was telling him this key could provide the Kadirs with a few answers. And he wasn’t about to let loose of it until he found out what.
“Did you find something?” Rylie tilted her head, and when he didn’t answer right away, began walking toward him.
Vibrating sounds of Swiss police sirens began jangling, interrupting the still morning air. Both of them stopped and turned their heads to the noise. Judging from how loud it sounded, the police would be there any second.
Darin looked over at Rylie. He was torn, but knew the police could take good care of her. Nothing bad would happen if he followed his hunch now and left her behind.
It wouldn’t be forever. He vowed to catch up to her later in the day. They still had much to discuss.
Backing down the sidewalk in the other direction, he yelled, “I need to run this down.” Then he picked up his pace. “You stay and talk to the police. Tell them the truth. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
With that, he turned, darted across the street and disappeared around a corner before she could utter the first word.
