by Leslie North
Arif nodded. "Ahmad is not stupid. American investment means any threat to Zahkim suddenly pulls American attention to Dijobuli, and not in a good way."
Tarek turned to Nasim. "Have a word with your wife, Nasim. Get the details of the deal, and we'll see they end up in Ahmad's hands."
"I'm also going to have a talk with her about this man she was seen with—I can't believe she is playing me false, but we should know if someone else from Leeland Enterprises is the real decision maker."
Arif shook his head. "Nasim, have you learned nothing?"
"Learned what?" Nasim turned to face his cousin. "Is this more of your talk about patience? What kind of patience do I need to find out if my wife of only a few days is playing me false already?"
Throwing his hands wide, Arif told him, "Fine. Go talk to your wife while you are in a temper instead of finding a cool head first. But I don't want to hear the complaints afterwards when you realize you have lost the wife chosen for you by fate. Didn't I tell you your wedding would be a disaster? You still won't open your eyes. You still believe you can barge ahead, not paying attention, and not waiting to see any signs that might be put in front of you."
"That’s because signs go on posts to mark roads—not life." Nasim threw the words at Arif and strode out before either of his cousins could reply. Signs! Patience? Was Arif never done with his lectures about the unseen world? He even had Tarek, who'd always been the practical one, listening now to such nonsense. Shaking his head, Nasim decided he would simply find his wife, ask her about the man she'd met, and then he would have a talk with her about the proper behavior of a sheikh's wife. It would all be very reasonable—and he would not lose his temper.
Trying to relax his hands out of the fists they had bunched into, he called for the staff. No one seemed to know where Ginni might be found. She had apparently taken tea with Sheikha Amal in the gardens, but she was not there now, nor was she in her rooms. Amal also could not be found to be questioned.
Arms crossed and fingers tapping on his jacketed arm, Nasim stared at the staff gathered in front of him in the main hall. "Well? Find her!" He swept out a hand.
The staff scattered. Nasim knew he should go to his office. He had papers to read, emails to answer, business to handle. Worry ate at him, however. Had Ginni left with this man she'd met? She had mentioned there had been another man in her life. Jealousy clawed into his chest. She would not have left him for this former love—would she?
Pulling out his mobile, he did a search on Ginni, pulling up the gossip about her ex-fiancé. He found a name—Hank LaRue. And what sort of name was that? LaRue sounded like a stripper's name. He also found a photo, which left him frowning and started a headache just behind his temples. The man in the photo identified as Hank LaRue looked far too much like the man in the photograph the ambassador had shown them.
Swiping closed his mobile, Nasim paced the floor again. Where was that woman? He pulled out his phone again, texted her, and paced again.
At last, two members of the staff and two of the palace guards opened the front doors. Nasim stopped his pacing. He pulled in a breath. He would be reasonable. He would apply the patience Arif was forever nattering on about. He would listen.
And then an American voice reached him. "I'm here to see Virginia Leeland, and I don't appreciate being hauled around like this."
Nasim stiffened. The guards and staff escorted in a man with a stained shirt front, a tie pulled loose, and very American blue eyes and blond hair. Nasim allowed himself a small smile. He could easily look down on this short American.
Pulling his arms free of the guards, the American faced Nasim. "You must be this sheikh fellow."
"Sheikh Nasim Said," Nasim said, with a fraction of a bow.
Smiling now, the man put out his hand. "Hank. Hank LaRue. Came by to see Virginia. I owe her an apology." He smoothed his tie. "We had a little spat. That girl's got a temper on her, and I said the wrong things."
"Sorry, Ginni is not here."
Hank stiffened. "Not here, or not wantin’ to see me? There's a difference."
Nasim waved the guards away and gestured to the garden. "Will you have some tea?"
"Sure. Sweet tea if you have it."
After asking one of the staff to bring them mint tea, Nasim led the way into the gardens. His first instinct had been to simply have this Hank LaRue escorted off the grounds; he was curious, however, to see what kind of man had once interested Ginni. He also wanted to know just why this man had met Ginni here.
Nasim led the way to a table set up near the fountain in the center of the garden. He sat and waved Hank into a chair opposite. "You are in Zahkim on business?"
With a grin, Hank sat down and loosened his tie. "Dang, but it gets hot here. To tell the truth, I asked Mr. Leeland to send me. He's worried about his daughter, and what father wouldn't be—girl in a strange country and all, and she sure does know how to get herself into trouble."
Nasim gave a noncommittal hum. The tea arrived. The man who brought it poured, and Nasim lifted his cup. "This is mint tea—a tradition in Zahkim."
Hank sniffed his glass but drank it and pulled a face. "It's sweet enough, but I was kinda hopin' for something cold."
Smiling, Nasim lifted his cup. "Hot tea is always better in hot weather. So you met up with Ginni in Al Resab?"
"Bumped into her, more like." Hank brushed at his shirt. "Ended up wearin' my drink, too. She didn't care for me relaying a few words from Mr. Leeland. And, of course, she hates hearin' the truth told to her."
"Really? I hadn't noticed that."
"Well, you haven't known her that long. Me…I met her years ago, when I first came on at Leeland Enterprises as an accountant. Worked my way up the ladder to vice president."
Nasim gave another hum. This conversation had started to bore him, and Hank LaRue's constant grin dug under his skin like needles. Obviously, Ginni had not intentionally met this man—and had little interest in him, to judge by the fact that she had cooled him off by pouring a drink on him.
For a moment, Hank glanced around the gardens. He glanced back, seemed to consider saying something, and then reached into his inside coat pocket to pull out a slim folder with papers.
"Say, while we're waiting for Virginia to show up, why don't I just show you a package I worked up with Mr. Leeland for shipping Zahkim's oil to the—"
"Guards!" Pushing back from the table, Nasim stood.
Hank sat, mouth open, the folder in his hands half open. "Uh…I say somethin' wrong?"
"You did. There is only one person at Leeland Enterprises with whom Zahkim will ever do business. I trust Ginni Leeland, but I bloody well don't trust your easy grin or your attitude that Ginni is some wayward child who requires babysitting, and I understand why Ginni dashed a drink in your face. Although her aim needs work."
The guards arrived, and Nasim gestured to his unwanted guest. "Please see that Mr. LaRue is escorted from the palace and that he leaves the country on the next fight."
"Hey, wait a minute. I'm here on legitimate business. You can't just—"
"You forget, Mr. LaRue, I am a sheikh of Zahkim. My cousin rules this country, and when I tell him of this episode, he will approve of my actions. Go back to Mr. Leeland and tell him his daughter is well able to negotiate on behalf of Leeland Enterprises, and he will approve of such a thing, or he will not have access to my country."
He snapped his fingers. The guards stepped closer. Hank huffed out a breath, opened his mouth to say something, and glanced back at the guards. Muttering, he headed back toward the exit.
"Not as stupid as he looks," Nasim said. He smoothed the sleeves of his suit, drank his tea, and then called for someone to bring his car to the front. It was time to expand the search for Ginni to outside the palace. Where the bloody hell had she got herself to?
Stepping into the foyer near the front doors, he found Sheikha Amal's maid, swathed in black robes, pacing and wringing her hands. She turned to Nasim, a flood of Arabic p
ouring out, and all of it seemed to indicate that Amal and Ginni had left the palace together in Amal's car.
But why would Ginni go anywhere with Tarek's grandmother, and what was that meddlesome old bat up to now?
Chapter Thirteen
Okay, so robes and veils were loose enough to give a girl room to move around in, and with the air conditioning of the limo, they weren't half bad to wear. But the veil over her face kept heating her up from her own breath. She glanced over at Sheikha Amal, who sat back in the limo looking every inch a royal lady. Ginni wished she had that kind of calm. She kept twitching at the robes—least they were soft—kept fussing with the air conditioning controls, and kept wishing this was over with.
"You sure this'll work?" She started to adjust her veil again.
Amal slapped her hand. "Stop. Your veil is correct. And if you do not wish for Zahkim to have to give up the Ash Lands or for Nasim to have to pay Sheikh Ahmad, this is what we must do. I am the mother to a sheikh and the grandmother to another sheikh. Out of respect for my age and status, Ahmad must see me if I demand an audience. After that…" She waved a hand, her jeweled rings glinting.
While Ginni wore unrelieved black robes, Amal's robes dripped with gold embroidery. Her kohl-lined eyes looked exotic.
I get to be the maid in the background.
Well, if it worked to get her in to see Ahmad, it was worth it.
They'd been on the road for over an hour, the limo speeding along at rates that should have gotten them a ticket. But the fluttering royal flags on the hood meant nobody fussed with them. The landscape changed from rocky desert to sand, and then the glittering capital of Dijobuli rose up before them. Ginni caught a glimpse of blue sea in the distance before the streets and tall buildings cut off the view.
Sheikh Ahmad went in for an office building, not a palace. The limo pulled up in front of a high-rise, and Amal got out and shook out her robes. Ginni copied the move, remembering to stay a couple of steps behind Amal the way she'd been told to. Amal swept into the high-rise, and an elevator took them up to the penthouse, which had a terrific view of the coast and the city.
"Wait until I give you the signal," Amal whispered.
Ginni stared at the woman. What in tarnation was the signal?
She had no time to ask, for guys in white robes and golden vests and turbans bowed them into an office that would've impressed anyone.
A thick, royal blue carpet stretched out over what looked like about an acre of office space. Dark wood paneling lined one wall, and windows lined the other three. A huge desk dominated one end of the room, while gold-brocade couches and chairs offered up seating at the other end. A low, round brass table sat between the chairs, a brass tea urn and gold-trimmed glasses already set out, along with a plate of delicate pastries.
Sheikh Ahmad rose up from behind the huge desk and came forward, a flow of Arabic coming out of him. Ginni caught Amal's name and not much more, but she was going to guess it was all polite stuff, such as nice to see you, hope you had a good trip, and so on.
She'd not forgotten Ahmad from the wedding. He looked much the same—a white robe and long, white tunic, a white cloth over his head, held in place with a gold and black rope band. A trim, white beard jutting out, strong nose and black eyes. Ginni could see the resemblance to Jasmine in the heavy-lidded eyes, the arched eyebrows, the stubborn chin.
Ahmad bowed them over to the seating area, and one of the staff poured tea. Ginni stood behind Amal and a little to her right, trying to figure out what the signal was supposed to be. Her heart had started thudding as soon as she'd stepped into the room. Now, sweat dampened her upper lip, and her palms itched.
Conversation suddenly dried up, and Amal turned and looked at Ginni. Well, guess that was as good a signal as any. Ginni pulled off her veil; Ahmad sat where he was, a glass of tea halfway to his mouth, his mouth dropping open and his eyes bugging wide.
"Now don't go getting into a—"
Ahmad slapped his glass down on the brass tray with so sharp a move, Ginni worried he'd crack it. "What is the meaning of this deception?"
Ginni let out a breath. "I just want to talk."
"I will call the guards and have—!"
"Ahmad!" Amal's voice, stern as only a mamere could be, stopped his tirade. "Sit down and be respectful. This girl has gone to much trouble to see you." She said something else in Arabic, and whatever it was, it left Ahmad red faced, but he sat and crossed his arms.
"I am a busy man. And if this is about you trying to intercede on behalf of Sheikh Nasim, you have wasted both your time and mine."
Yeah, busy trying to make trouble.
Ginni bit down on the thought. "This won't take much time, and it's about Jasmine."
Dropping his arms, he leaned forward and jabbed a finger in Ginni's direction. "You may not know, but as her father, it is my right to have Jasmine's marriage declared null and void. She did not have my consent to marry!"
"Yeah, but I've been doin' my own research on the laws. A marriage isn't valid unless both the bride and groom consent, meaning Jasmine wasn't gonna marry Nasim ever. But we're getting off topic. I'm here to ask if you ever want to see your grandson."
Ahmad's mouth fell open again. The red drained from his face. Amal said something to him, and he shut his mouth with a snap. Ginni dug out her phone—thank everything the robes allowed jeans underneath—and pulled up the text from Jasmine, the one with the attachment of the ultrasound.
"That's why Jasmine ran off with her Eric. He's the father of her child, and Jasmine couldn't in honor give the baby boy she's having to the wrong father. So instead of tossing the blame around or even thinkin' about ending Jasmine's marriage, why don't we focus on the good here? Like this little guy who's on his way."
Sheikh Ahmad stared at the image. He glanced from the phone to Ginni to Amal. "This is not a trick?"
Amal shrugged and sipped her tea.
Leaning back in his seat, the cushions squeaking underneath him, Ahmad rubbed a hand down his beard. "A boy—a grandson."
Amal smiled and nodded. "Just what you need, is it not? You have idiots for cousins and nephews—now you have a child coming who could be raised properly.”
Sitting up, the sheikh waved to Ginni. "You must do that text thing you do. Tell Jasmine to come home. She must have her child born in Dijobuli."
"Lemme get a photo of you grinnin' like this, so she knows you're meaning what you said." Ginni snapped a photo and texted it to Jasmine. It took another five texts to convince Jasmine this wasn't her father trying to get her back to Dijobuli just to end her marriage to Eric. By the time she had it sorted, Sheikh Ahmad was muttering that he must learn this texting thing, Amal had eaten all the pastries, and Ginni was itching to be gone.
Sheikh Ahmad insisted on gifting them with a few trinkets—rings that set Sheikha Amal's eyes glowing—and Ginni kept trying to turn down the gold bracelet the sheikh insisted she take as a gift for the birth announcement of his grandson. They left him planning the child's education and future.
Back in the limo and heading for Zahkim again, Ginni pulled off the veil and sat back in the limo. "Now's when I could do with a drink."
Amal opened a hidden compartment in the divider between the driver and the backseat. "I keep it stocked in case Nasim ever travels with me."
Ginni dug out a dark ale, popped the top, and took a long drag. She glanced over and saw Amal studying her, dark eyes bright. Ginni ran a thumb over her cheek.
"Got something on my face?"
With a chuckle, Amal pulled out a sparkling water and opened it. "You care for Nasim—you would not have done this if you did not."
"He's easy on the eyes and more than a sweet guy. But…well, I'm not sure I'm good for him. Look at all the fuss I stirred up. And all I meant to do was help Jasmine out."
Amal sipped her drink. She dug at the label with her thumbnail. "Nasim—you must understand something about him. He was greatly hurt by his mother leaving. But one day he will u
nderstand she had to." She stopped pulling at the label and fixed a stare on Ginni. "Jena loved Nasim's father—Nahyan Al Zayed Said. Ah, he was much like his son—charming, a good man. But poor Jena could not bear to stay after he died."
Ginni wet her lips. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because what Nasim needs to have in order to make peace with his mother is to understand what a great love can inspire. He must know that, in order to know the heartache of its loss. You, Ginni, must be prepared to give him that…or you must go away."
Ginni sat back, the ale now sour in her stomach and on her tongue. "I…I'm not sure I know much about great loves."
Head tipped to one side, Amal studied her. "We shall certainly learn soon enough. And here we are at the border again. It looks as if a fuss is going on."
Glancing out the window, Ginni saw the bar down across the road and more soldiers—in their sand-colored uniforms and black berets—than had been here earlier. Amal didn't seem bothered, so Ginni tried not to be until the door opened and a whole lot of Arabic flooded over her.
"They want you to go with them," Amal said.
"Yes…come, come!" One of the soldiers waved for Ginni to get out.
Ginni glanced from the solider to Amal. "Is this bad?"
Amal shrugged. "We shall see, won't we? We really must have your chart done soon to see what is in your future. Now, go with the soldiers, or you will make them unhappy, and that is never good when a man has a gun."
Ginni climbed from the limo and then watched Amal wave goodbye as the car pulled away and headed into the desert, dust stirred up behind it. Stomach jumping, robes fluttering in a light breeze, she turned to the soldiers, all young, dark, and most of them good-looking guys. Well, the Leeland charm had worked before—why not again. She put on a smile and propped a hand on her hip.
"Cho, but what do you big, strappin' boys want with little ol' me?"
All she got back was a lot more Arabic. Seemed the guys knew about three words in English—yeah, come, and hurry, which came with a whole lot of yalla.