Ann closed her mouth. There’d be time enough later to ask Roark why he’d taken the risk of meeting them.
Raif stopped her at the table and dumped the contents of the envelope.
“A letter from Princess Salima,” said Roark. “Gifting her Gold Heart statue to a prison guard named Zaruri at Traitor’s Prison. It seems Zaruri sprung Salima’s lover, Cosmo, and the two ran away together, boarding the Titanic to be married.”
As Roark spoke, Ann found herself drawn into the story.
“Zaruri secretly sold the statue in Dubai,” Roark continued. “I’m assuming he was afraid of your ancestors’ wrath. I’ve pieced together chain of title up to and including Waverly’s right to sell it at auction. The documentation was stolen there for a while. But I have it all back.”
Raif gave a cursory glance at each of the documents. “Where’s my statue?”
“This is all you need,” Roark countered. “And it’s not your statue.”
Raif waved a dismissive hand over the pile of papers. “Nice story, but these are easy enough to forge.”
“Easy enough to validate, too.”
“Not in the next five minutes.” Raif’s tone turned guttural. “Where’s the statue? I keep Ann until I see it for myself.”
“I don’t think so.” There was a menacing thread to Roark’s tone, and Ann glanced up to see him advancing on them, fists clenched by his side.
Her heart stood still.
“Let her go,” Roark ordered.
But Raif pushed Ann behind him, squaring his shoulders, clearly ready to fight. “You don’t want to do this. Nobody wins. Bring me the statue and you can have her back.”
Roark seemed to hesitate “It’s not here.”
“Where is it?”
Roark didn’t say a word.
Raif began to back away, urging Ann toward the vehicle. “Get it. Name a time and place, and I’ll meet you again.”
Roark’s dark gaze pinned Ann. She could feel his frustration and his uncertainty.
“Don’t do anything,” she told him in a choked voice, afraid a fight would end up with someone seriously injured. “I’ll be fine.”
She didn’t exactly fear for her life, nor for her physical safety. For some reason, she believed Raif wouldn’t harm her.
“Please,” she asked him. “Just get the statue. I’ll be fine. We’ll meet you somewhere.”
“You son of a bitch,” Roark growled.
“Bring me the statue,” Raif repeated. “And this will all be over.”
“Here,” said Roark, tone bitter. “Tomorrow night, eight o’clock.”
Ann wished she could say something more to reassure him. She should be able to find a way to make the situation better. But her throat was chalk-dry, and her brain felt as though it was moving through molasses.
Raif gave a brisk nod and waited while Roark retrieved the paperwork, climbed into his SUV and peeled out of the building.
Then Raif let go of Ann. “What is the matter with you people?”
She rounded on him. “With us? With us?”
“My instructions were simple. Bring me the statue. How hard is that?” Raif breathed deeply, slowing his voice down, enunciating each word. “Bring me the statue.”
“He brought you the proof,” Ann countered. As far as she was concerned, the chain of title was more important than the statue itself. The three were nearly identical. Documented provenance was the only way to verify which statue was in Roark’s possession.
“Any kid with a printer in his basement could mock up those documents.”
“Those are the originals. You can date the ink. You can date the paper. Surely, you can verify Princess Salima’s signature.”
“Not here I can’t.”
Ann shook her head, giving up. Arguing with Raif was like arguing with a brick wall. Once he got an idea locked up there in his brain, dynamite wouldn’t blast it out.
“What now?” she asked him.
He moved to open the passenger door for her. “Well, we’re sure not going back to the Plaza. Too many people might have seen us leave there. And who knows what Roark will say to the police.”
“You mean he might tell them the truth?” She got into the car. She might not know Raif’s plans for her, but staying here in this dank, cold building wasn’t going to help anything.
“Exactly.” He slammed the door behind her.
Ann dropped her head back on the leather headrest.
“What if he shows up tomorrow with the SWAT team?” she asked as Raif slid into the driver’s seat.
He adjusted the rearview mirror. “Then I guess I get arrested.”
“What kind of a plan is that?” she demanded.
“I’m playing the odds. If he’s got a stolen statue, he doesn’t want the police here any more than we do.”
“We?”
Raif frowned at her. “If, by some miracle, he has Princess Salima’s statue, then he wants to prove that to me and quietly get you back.” Raif started the engine, pulling the car into a tight circle. “Roark works in the shadows, Ann. He gets things done quietly and cleanly. The last thing he wants is a circus.”
“You’ve got a lot riding on that,” she observed. Although she privately understood Raif’s logic, odds aside, he had no idea what Roark might or might not do.
“I’ve had a lot riding on this since my Gold Heart was stolen. I have a seriously ill father, craving peace of mind. I have a sister about to run off with a Brit and sour Rayas’s relationship with a key ally, causing anything from protests in the street, to a trade war, to an actual war. And I have a country who will need to have faith in my leadership. How can they have faith in my leadership if I lose a vital national artifact and curse the royal family?”
“I thought you didn’t believe in the curse,” Ann couldn’t help but note.
“I don’t. But others do. Kalila shirks her royal duty, and Rayasians blame the Gold Heart curse.”
“And you’re the guy who can’t find the statue,” Ann observed quietly. For the first time, she thought she understood Raif’s single-minded determination to find it.
“I’m the guy who can’t find the statue.”
“I wish I could help you,” she told him honestly. She still had complete confidence in Roark, and that meant something else had happened to Raif’s statue. He deserved to get it back.
“Right,” he scoffed. “You’ve been nothing but helpful through all of this.”
As they drove down a gravel-strewn, potholed street on the East River, Ann turned sideways in her seat. “Think about it, Raif. What if I’m not lying? What if Roark’s not lying? What if this is a bizarre coincidence, and someone else stole your statue?”
“I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Play along with me,” she cajoled. After all, they had nothing better to do for the next twenty-four hours.
“That the two events are completely independent?”
“Yes. Who would steal your statue?”
“Somebody who wanted to sell it.”
“Or somebody who wanted to mess with your family. You just said it would impact your credibility. Your father is sick, and your people need to have faith.” For some reason, the magnitude of that particular revelation overcame her. Her shoulders dropped. “You’re going to be the king,” she found herself stating in wonder.
“And?” he prompted.
“And, how can you wrap your head around that?”
The industrial buildings and junkyards turned to retail space and apartment buildings. The road beneath them smoothed out, and traffic lights appeared, along with pedestrians and taxicabs.
“I’ve known it was coming for a while now,” said Raif.
It was hard to believe she was sitting with a future monarch. She found herself suddenly curious. “How does it work, exactly? Being king? Do you sit around on a throne all day, crown on your head, while people come before you and ask for things?”
Raif laughed, and the rich sou
nd of it seemed to permeate Ann’s body. She found herself relaxing, her worries tamping down, her fear going away.
“Something like that,” he told her. “I’ll mostly have to shake hands, exchange pleasantries and gifts, and sit in interminable meetings where government officials enlighten me on their pet projects and ask for money from the treasury.”
“So, you’re in charge of the money?”
“I have accountants who help me.”
“But the money, for an entire country, is under your control?”
“Ultimately, yes.”
She pondered that. “How many people are in Rayas?”
“Ten million, give or take.”
“And what do they do?”
“You mean besides bow and scrape to their king?”
“Besides that.”
“Mining, of course, the rare earths, tourism, some agriculture,” he rattled off. “We have an up-and-coming wine industry. We also have a major port, so shipping. Our financial sector is not as strong as Dubai, but a close second for the region. The southern city of Tarku has a world-class university with both high-technology and medical-research facilities. We see that as a key segment of the national economy going forward.”
Ann was momentarily stunned to silence. “Seriously?”
“What part?”
“The whole thing. A port, a financial center, high-tech. Most of the buildings in the capital looked historic. And I thought it was the only significant city.”
“You were picturing nomads and camel races in the countryside?”
“Well...”
“It’s possible to have a traditional social structure and a modern economy.”
“It’s not common.”
“It’s more common than you think. Though, I do admit, it is a point of pride for my father that his country be the best of both worlds.” Raif slowed for a traffic light.
Ann couldn’t resist. “How is it the best of both worlds for women?”
He gave her a sideways glance but didn’t answer.
“Those women who have no choice but to sleep with you?” she pressed. “How is it good for them?”
“I don’t force women to sleep with me.”
“Of course not. All those concubines are ‘willing.’ Come on, Raif. They know they can’t refuse.”
He gave a low chuckle. “I don’t know what you’re picturing, Ann. Or maybe I do know what you’re picturing. But let me assure you, I don’t have concubines. I go on dates. Just like you. I’m sometimes introduced to a woman who is interested in me, and who I find interesting, and we spend time together.”
“And sleep together.”
It was obvious he was making it sound more civilized than it was.
He pulled through the intersection with the rest of the traffic. “You don’t sleep with your dates?”
“Not with all of them,” she huffed. “And certainly not on the first date.”
“But you’ve had relationships?”
“I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Neither am I.”
Ann rolled her eyes. “No kidding.”
“I’m saying it’s the same thing in Rayas as it is in America. People go out on dates. Some engage in physical intimacy, and some do not.”
“And there’s no social stigma?” she pressed, not believing he was giving an accurate picture.
It seemed as though a left turn suddenly needed his complete concentration.
“Raif?” she prompted.
“Hmm?”
“Would you marry a woman who wasn’t a virgin?”
“No.”
“But there’s no social stigma,” she mocked.
“The future queen would be expected to maintain a certain standard of behavior.”
“But, not the future king.”
Raif obviously fought a smirk. “The future king is discreet.”
“I pity the future queen.”
“Hey, she’ll have palaces, jewels, servants and me. I would think saving her virginity would be a small price to pay.”
“You have someone in mind?” Ann couldn’t help asking.
He shook his head. “Not so far.”
“I was just thinking, you might want to cloister her soon. You know, just to be safe.”
“Maybe I should cloister a dozen or so, that way I’ll have my pick.”
Ann pretended to contemplate the idea. “You don’t want to let them out of their houses, or their palaces, I guess. So, do you have to marry someone royal?”
“It’s preferable.”
“I suppose it’s easier to safeguard the chastity of someone with security around her.”
“You seem to have an obsession about this,” Raif observed.
“I think it’s a double standard.”
“I’m not saying unmarried women can’t have a sex life.”
“You’re only saying you won’t marry one who does.”
He pinned her with a sharp gaze. “That’s because I will be king.”
“If you weren’t going to be king?”
The intensity of his stare seemed to grow. “I’d marry whoever I wanted.”
“Virgin or not?”
“Virgin or not, royalty or not, Rayasian or not. But I have my duty, Ann.”
“What about Kalila?”
“She has her duty, too.”
“Do you think she’s a virgin?”
“If she’s not, then that Brit better never set foot on Rayasian soil.”
Ann couldn’t help but smile. “You are such a hypocrite.”
“I am not.”
“Would you sleep with me?”
Raif twisted his head to stare at her, his gaze sending a wave of awareness through her body. “In a heartbeat.”
“But you wouldn’t respect me in the morning?” she asked, instantly realizing the question had been a mistake and struggling to hold on to the through-thread of her argument.
“Why would you care?”
She caught a flash of red in the corner of her eye. “Raif, look out!”
His attention shot back to the windshield, and he swerved to narrowly miss a red Corvette, then he quickly twisted the wheel to pull the Mercedes out of the path of oncoming traffic.
Fear had jolted her, but arousal had heightened her senses. If Raif looked at her like that again, she might just throw herself into his arms. She had no problem believing the women he had slept with in the past were perfectly willing.
“Where are we going?” she asked, deciding she’d better change the subject.
“Long Island.”
“What’s in Long Island?”
“My cousin Tariq.”
“Your cousin lives on Long Island?”
“It’s a rental— Damn.”
As Raif swore, Ann heard the blast of a siren and caught the flash of blue-and-red lights behind them.
Her reflexive reaction of alarm at the prospect of a traffic ticket was quickly quashed by the realization that she was saved. One word from her to the officer, and Raif would be hauled off to jail. Sure, they’d work out the diplomatic immunity thing soon enough. But she’d be free, and safe, and Roark wouldn’t have to risk bringing the Gold Heart to a clandestine meeting in Queens.
He pulled to the curb, and the squad car swerved in behind.
Raif gripped the steering wheel, staring straight ahead for a very long moment. Then he turned to look at her, his expression a study in stoic resignation. She had to hand it to him. He was taking this like a man. Then she had to work very hard not to grin.
Take that, Raif Khouri.
A brawny uniformed officer tapped on Raif’s window.
Raif pushed a button on the door handle, and the window slid smoothly down.
“Afternoon, sir,” said the officer.
“Afternoon,” Raif responded.
“You swerved into oncoming traffic back there.”
“It was an evasive maneuver, around the red Corvette.”
“Didn’t see a red Corvette.”
Raif didn’t respond.
“Can I see your driver’s license?”
Raif reached into his breast pocket, extracting his wallet and producing the license.
The officer read for a moment. “I see you’re not licensed to drive in the state of New York.”
Raif turned in his seat to fully face the officer. “It’s an international driver’s license.” Then he handed over his passport.
A few more moments passed.
“Rayas?” asked the officer.
“Yes.”
“That in Africa?”
“Near Dubai.”
The officer backed off a pace. “Can you step out of the car, please?”
“Of course.” Raif glanced once more at Ann, searching her expression. Then he gave her a brief nod of acquiescence. “Goodbye, Ann.”
“Goodbye, Raif.”
A sharp rap on the window behind her made Ann jump. She turned to see another officer outside the car. Her chest tightened. This was it. She was going to start talking, and Raif would be slapped in handcuffs.
Probably the first time that had ever happened.
It took her a minute to find the right button, but then she smoothly rolled down the window.
“Ma’am,” the officer said in greeting. He was maybe six feet tall, slim, but with broad shoulders, a hat perched on what looked like a shaved head. His utility belt looked like it weighed about twenty pounds.
“Hello, officer,” Ann responded.
“Are you from Rayas, too?”
Ann shook her head, wondering how to broach the subject of her kidnapping. Did she blurt it right out? Did she wait for the right question, the right opening?
“This man a friend of yours?”
She shook her head again.
Say it. Say it, a voice demanded inside her head.
“We have mutual business interests” was what came out.
The officer’s expression turned suspicious. “And what might those mutual business interests be?”
“Auctions,” said Ann, swallowing. What was she doing? Why didn’t she turn Raif in?
For some reason, his words about Roark wanting to keep things clean and quiet rang in her ears. Would Roark prefer to handle this without the police? Did she trust that Roark had the legitimate statue? She’d have sworn on a stack of bibles that she trusted him.
Her entire body turned hot, then cold, then hot again. “I work for an auction house, and Prince Raif has—”
A Golden Betrayal Page 6