Her Sheik Protector

by Linda Conrad

  Be safe, Rylie. I will see you soon.

  Chapter 6

  It took Rylie a moment to close her gaping mouth. Darin left. He actually ran off and left her with a dead body, the police on the way and with no real explanations for what had taken place.

  “Tell them the truth,” he’d said.

  Dang it. What truth? That one man had attacked her and then disappeared? And that another man saved her and then he, too, disappeared? Not cool. She could end up spending the rest of the year in a Geneva jail before it was all straightened out.

  She turned her head, blankly looking in the direction of the screaming sirens. Indecision wrapped her in a blanket of anger.

  How could he leave? And what did he find that was important enough for him to, quote: “Run this down”?

  Not a chance in hell you’re leaving me behind, pal.

  Taking a quick look around at the scene, Rylie made sure her travel purse was still under her shirt before considering both the knife and the dead man’s gun. But she had no place to carry either one. So, throwing up her hands and cursing all men under her breath, she took off in the same direction as she’d seen Darin run.

  She had always been a fast runner. On the track team in high school, and she’d placed in the state college finals in the one hundred. She figured Darin’s leather-soled shoes would slow him down on the still-damp streets.

  When she first rounded the corner, Rylie discovered she was right. And lucky. She spotted him as he was dashing around another corner on the next block up.

  With sounds of sirens blaring in her ears, Rylie ran to that corner without hearing a single sound that resembled a bystander’s shout. Regulating her breathing in preparation for another sprint, she prayed no one had spotted her leaving the scene. But it was too late now for any such regret. Her decision to leave was already made.

  Ducking into the shadows of the same deserted alley where Darin had disappeared, she had to slow her steps and hug the building the moment she spotted him standing in the sunshine of the upcoming street corner. Should she confront him now? Maybe not. She decided against it for the time being because she was afraid he would only give her the slip again.

  He was paying her no mind and seemed to be concentrating on something in his hand. No doubt the object he’d found near the dead man. What was it?

  Once again, she found herself cursing him under her breath. He’d said he wanted to protect her. That the two of them could work together. Well, hell. Leaving her to fend off the police on her own and then taking a potential clue with him to study didn’t seem like ways for someone to earn trust.

  Who was this guy, anyway? One second he was all responsible and proper. The next friendly and sexy. Now he was acting like a double agent in a spy movie. The man was driving her crazy.

  Dying to run him down and demand answers, she held back. She could no doubt catch him again if he took off. But maybe she should stay here a moment and then follow, see where he went?

  He reached into his pocket right then, pulled out his cell phone and made a call. And in the end it was curiosity that decided her question. He promptly hung up and checked around as if he were trying to get his bearings and make sure no one was following.

  Where to now, Darin “the Sneaky”?

  Glancing over his shoulder, he apparently decided he was in the clear and turned down a street that was now steeped in brilliant sunlight. Rylie wasn’t about to lose him after everything that had happened. She ran full out until she, too, hit sunshine. Then she came to a screeching halt, looking in every direction for which way he’d gone.

  But he was nowhere in sight.

  Rylie pushed off, hoping she’d guessed right and moving as fast as she dared on the suddenly crowded sidewalks. Morning traffic and pedestrians heading for work all conspired against her. She excused herself as she tripped over an older woman who had stopped to gaze in a window. Then Rylie had to step into the busy street in order to get out of the way of a baby stroller being pushed by a heavyset woman.

  Growing rash, Rylie deliberately landed in the street and began jogging down the gutter. If Darin had gone the other way or turned off somewhere, it might be hopeless trying to find him in the bustling city. But try she would.

  Stopping at the next street corner to catch her breath, she looked up—and there he was. She’d only had a glimpse but was sure that had been his polo shirt she’d spotted as he’d turned into one of the stores or apartments in the next block.

  Rylie waited for a bus to pass by, then walked swiftly to within ten feet of the same spot where she’d last seen him. She was beginning to feel like a really bad covert operative. Nevertheless, she flattened herself to the wall before easing her head around the corner to check it out. She found an entrance to a stairwell. It held open stairs leading up to offices above the stores.

  And the stairwell was empty. Narrow stone stairs led up into the darkness above. Checking out a posted sign-board at the bottom of the stairs, she tried to guess which office would be the one where he’d been headed.

  Her French was so poor that she couldn’t make out the meanings on a couple of the signs. But she felt sure one of them was listed as a doctor’s office. Another sign read: Émigré Europe Ltd. And in smaller letters below that, it said something about business services for foreigners. Darin was a foreigner here.

  But had he gone to that office? Or maybe to the doctor? And if so, why?

  Unsure what to do next, Rylie came to the conclusion that her best bet would be to wait. Find a place close by where she could stake out the sidewalk entrance and hang around there until he came out. She would give him an hour, no more. Then she would go upstairs and start pounding on doors until someone told her something—or until someone called the police.

  Wishing he had more knowledge about covert operations, Darin wondered how to charm the middle-aged woman behind the counter. She was making every effort to speak in English, though Darin would have preferred French to her broken, stilted, one-sided conversation.

  “Oui, monsieur. We pride ourselves on our security. No one would be allowed access to your depository box but you yourself.”

  In the strictest terms, she was not correct, since in truth this wasn’t Darin’s box at all. Nor had the woman’s statement been an answer to his original question. But he was not about to force understanding on this woman when she was trying so hard to be accommodating.

  Murmuring a thank-you in both languages, he bowed slightly and made his way, at her invitation, behind the counter to a half-hidden row of safety boxes located in the back alcove of the divided room. Émigré Europe Ltd., as written on the key, had turned out to be a moving and forwarding company, with offices located all over Europe. They helped businessmen and their families relocate to various cities on the Continent.

  Not only did they provide furniture and possessions moving and storage for corporate employees on a temporary basis, they also served as a mail-forwarding concern. And the key he’d picked up was for one of their lockboxes. Émigré Europe did not seem to have an adequate security system in place to ensure the right person picked up mail.

  Using the key he’d found to open the matching numbered box, he withdrew a medium-size leather portfolio. The tooled leather was quite old. Several centuries old, if Darin was any judge. He noticed a unique symbol in the pattern etched into the leather. The panther. The ancient Taj Zabbar family symbol, meant to signify any marked object as belonging to their clan leaders.

  Checking over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching, Darin carefully opened the portfolio. Inside, he discovered a five-by-six packet of papers, all strung together like a notebook and then secured with twine. Interesting. He sneaked a peek at what was written on the pages but couldn’t make out the language at first glance. Besides the packet, he also found a half-page note, handwritten in the Taj Zabbar language, and two one-way tickets on this afternoon’s train to Milan.

  Torn between replacing the portfolio in the box and waiting to
see who might come to pick it up or instead taking the whole portfolio with him for further study, Darin decided the better choice was to get the hell out of there as fast as possible. He was too curious to hang around. Plus, getting caught here would, more than likely, not be good for his health.

  He jammed all the contents back into the portfolio, relocked the box and left with the whole leather packet under his arm. Once outside he would find a quiet place to give everything another look.

  The moment Darin hit the sidewalk at the bottom of the stairs, he heard police sirens—and they seemed to be coming in his direction. Had someone turned him in for the shooting? How would they have found him? For security’s sake, Darin never hesitated. He took off at a dead run, brushing past noonday shoppers and crashing through lunchtime crowds.

  Ten blocks later he was out of breath, but the sirens had long since faded into the city’s bustle. Luckily, he found an empty table in an out-of-the-way open-air café. Sitting, he ordered bottled water and surreptitiously checked the people sitting at other tables drinking morning coffee. He had that same strange feeling that someone was watching him again. But he couldn’t find anyone staring, or even glancing in his direction.

  After his water arrived, Darin felt a little calmer. No one could possibly be following him. He had been careful.

  Opening the portfolio and spreading the contents on the table, he fingered the paper pamphlet and flipped through its pages. What sort of language was this? It looked like some kind of ancient Sanskrit writing, but Darin didn’t believe that could be true. The paper was modern. Cheap. Bought at any store.

  Certainly someone in the Kadir family organization would be able to translate this. Perhaps his cousin Karim would like to take a stab at it. Karim was the computer genius in the family, and also an amateur cryptologist. He should have no trouble figuring out the meaning of these words—if they were real words.

  Darin put down the pamphlet and opened the note, handwritten in the Taj Zabbar language. He’d been taught the language as a boy and wondered if he remembered enough of their grammar to translate this message.

  The writing on the note was scratchy, hurried. But he made out enough of the words to understand. It was clearly a note from one of the Taj Zabbar elders to an underling.

  After bumbling through a few more passages, Darin could see he would need help—and now. Pulling out his satellite phone, he dialed his brother Tarik, who answered before the first ring.

  Quickly telling his youngest brother the gist of what he’d been through thus far, Darin went on to add the facts of what he now had in his possession.

  “Bring it to headquarters,” Tarik said gruffly. “I hope that pamphlet is as important as it seems. We could stand a break in our covert war of innuendo with the Taj Zabbar. Plus, you should be off the streets and out of sight as soon as possible.”

  Tarik cleared his throat and added, “You’ve never had to kill a man before, have you?” Not a real question, as Tarik already knew the answer. “Maybe you need to talk about that with someone. Taking a life can lead to serious personality and emotional changes. Come back to headquarters and…”

  “I’m all right. I don’t need any help.” Though Darin did feel changed. “There’s too much to do here. I’ll go back there in a few days when all this calms down.” And after he’d had a chance to explore his obsession with Rylie.

  “Not in a few days,” Tarik demanded. “Now. I suspect you have the Geneva police, the Taj Zabbar and that Hunt woman all looking for you. Get off the streets now.”

  Darin wasn’t quite ready to hide. “I will. But I sincerely believe someone should follow up on this note first. It appears to be an order for one of the Taj Zabbar soldiers to bring both the pamphlet and Rylie to an address in Milan by tomorrow afternoon for a meeting. Two tickets for the sightseeing train leaving Geneva CFF station in an hour were included. I want to be on it.”

  “You? No. You bring us the papers and we’ll take it from there.” Tarik’s American-accented words were spoken with a hoarse rasp, and Darin heard his sincerity through the receiver. It seemed his baby brother was every bit as concerned for his safety as Shakir had been.

  When Darin didn’t respond, Tarik became all the more insistent. “Why the need to travel by train? I can fly to Milan and be there by noon tomorrow with skilled men and covert equipment. Let us handle this the right way.”

  Darin held the phone between his shoulder and his ear, checking the time and waving at the waiter, yet still trying to make his brother understand. “I’d be willing to bet a cool grand that Taj Zabbar henchman, the one who ran away after this morning’s assault attempt, may still try to make the train. Or maybe, at least make the meeting tomorrow in Milan.

  “And, brother,” Darin added, “let me tell you that I can’t wait for another opportunity to question that son of a snake.”

  Still seeing in his mind’s eye the man with his hands all over Rylie, Darin drew in a breath and made another urgent request of his baby brother. “Send someone to the Geneva police to rescue Rylie as soon as you can, will you? The Kadirs’ fight with the Taj Zabbar has nothing to do with her. But I will find out what they wanted with her. Tell her I’ll take care of it, and that I’ll contact her as soon as I can.”

  Through the phone, he could hear Tarik grinding his teeth before he said, “Listen, I’ll make a few calls on Rylie’s behalf, but I can’t shuffle anyone to Geneva in time to take that train today. Though I promise to personally be at that meeting in Milan tomorrow.

  “You got us a decent lead there, oh brother of mine,” Tarik said with real appreciation in his voice. “Just don’t screw things up now, and don’t take any unnecessary chances. Stay off that train. Pocket the pamphlet and leave Geneva on the first flight out.”

  The waiter arrived with his check, and Darin threw a few bills on the table as he dashed to the curb to hail a taxi, still holding the phone to his ear. “Sorry, you’re fading in and out,” he lied. “I’m going to Milan. Take care of Rylie for me.”

  Before Tarik could remind him that satellite phones did not fade, Darin shut down his phone and slipped into a waiting taxi.

  Rylie had to run full out from her hiding place beyond the potted plants in order to catch up to Darin. But he was in a cab and gone before she could get his attention. She’d wanted to wait until he was off the phone and then appear out of the crowds at his table side and demand to know what was going on.

  Terrified at the thought of losing sight of him before she could badger him into explaining, she hailed a cab and got lucky for once as one stopped at her feet.

  “Can you follow that cab?” she asked the driver while diving into the backseat.

  Unfortunately, her luck flew right back out the window and landed in the midst of the busy streams of traffic on the street ahead as the driver said, “Je ne comprends pas ce mot.”

  Oh, no. “You don’t speak English?”

  “Oui, mademoiselle. I speak a little.”

  Rifling through her memory for the right words became nearly impossible when every nerve ending was urging her to be on the way before Darin’s cab disappeared. “Suivre!”

  Hoping she’d used the verb “to follow” and not a way of saying “I’m on a diet,” she frantically threw her arms toward Darin’s cab and simply ignored any possible embarrassment. “Je te suis…uh…le taxi!”

  The driver turned to stare where she pointed and pointed himself. “Ce taxi?” “Yes. Please. Dépêches-toi!” Wow. Some of her French had come back. The phrase to say “hurry up!” must’ve been stuck in her mind for all these years. How about that?

  The driver nodded, turned back to his steering wheel and eased into traffic about three vehicles behind Darin’s cab. She prayed her luck would keep holding for long enough that they wouldn’t lose him—and that the driver really understood what she wanted him to do.

  She leaned her elbows over the back of the front seat and tried to keep Darin’s cab in sight. Fortunately, the traffic
was traveling at a snail’s pace.

  After a few minutes, her driver followed the other cab and turned left onto a street she recognized. Rue de Lausanne was a fairly big street in the downtown section of Geneva and she’d already been here a couple of times in the last forty-eight hours.

  The driver made a right turn then and commented in French about something, but she didn’t catch his meaning. “Pardon?”

  “It goes…le train, mademoiselle.”

  What? “Oh, you mean the taxi is going to the train station?”

  “Oui.”

  What in the heck was Darin up to? She knew he had found or taken something from that office back there. She’d seen him carrying a package that looked like an envelope under his arm. And then he’d been studying something at the café before he made that phone call.

  Curiosity was driving her to distraction. She could barely keep her mind on where she was and what she was doing.

  Her cabbie pulled in close behind Darin’s, already stopped at the curb in front of the station. Rylie fumbled around in her waist purse, digging out enough in traveler’s checks to pay her fare. By the time she was done, Darin’s cab was pulling away from the curb and Darin was nowhere in sight.

  Oh, no. She couldn’t lose him now. Taking off at a dead run, she headed for the station’s ticket booth. Darin would have to buy a ticket if he was going anywhere, wouldn’t he?

  But when she finally located the ticket seller, Darin was still out of sight. Now what?

  Still breathing hard from her run, she began a slow turn, trying to glance in every corner of the station at once. Halfway around, she came to a dead halt.

  “Hi.” Darin stood right behind her. Close enough for her nose to almost touch his chin, a giant grin creasing his normally sober face.

  Speechless, she reached out and touched him to be sure he was really there.

  The moment her hand landed on his chest, Darin pulled her closer, bent his head and planted his lips on hers. Hard and demanding at first, his kiss soon became slow and urgent as she opened for him and their tongues met and tangled. She molded herself to him, their legs aligned and his already hard erection settled in against her belly. Her hands went to his hair. Flames of sensual need licked at her mind, making her totally brainless.