Zahad might depart on Thursday without a backward glance, but Jenny would regret nothing. He had healed injuries that, until tonight, she hadn’t realized existed.
She hoped she had done as much for him.
WHEN HE ALLOWED HIMSELF to yield to temptation, Zahad had been reassured by the knowledge that, as a divorced woman, Jenny knew what she was doing. Also, she had no illusions about their situation, so their encounter would not leave her brokenhearted
He hadn’t anticipated his own response. He was still trying to sort it out as he watched her snuggle into a pillow.
Zahad had spent decades building walls around his heart. In a flash, Jenny had torn them down. She had shown him a man who needed to connect with a woman at the most basic level, and who needed her in countless other ways as well.
He saw her eyes large and intense as they had appeared while the two of them talked earlier in the living room. He pictured Beth perched on his knee, assuring him that he was welcome here. He recalled the homey aromas of coffee and maple syrup.
Above all, his mind and body filled with impressions of the last half hour. Inside Jenny, he had felt whole for the first time in more than twenty years. They weren’t simply two people who’d chanced to meet. This encounter had been fated, no matter what might come of it.
He rolled onto his stomach, fearing that his restlessness might disturb her but unable to keep still. This was insanity, to imagine bringing home as his bride the siren who some believed had lured Fario to his death. He himself might recognize her innocence, but how could he expect his people to accept her when they barely accepted him?
Zahad released a long breath. He would always cherish the memory of the past few days and especially of tonight. But he could not ask Jenny and her little girl to share the dangers that would confront him in his homeland or to face rejection by people who neither knew them nor wanted to know them.
With regret, Zahad acknowledged that he must begin putting up walls again. It would take a long time and involve more than a little pain, but eventually he would close off this weakness in himself.
Seeking rest, he struggled to clear his mind. At last sleep folded its wings over him.
He was deep within the darkness when a scraping noise reached him. He knew at once, even before fully waking, that it came from outside. Distinctly, he heard the clink of metal on metal.
Zahad bolted from the bed. Due to years of experience, he dressed without light in a matter of seconds.
“What’s going on?” Jenny asked sleepily.
“Someone is breaking in to the toolshed,” he told her.
“I’ll call the police.”
“Fine.” He headed for the door.
“You can’t go out there!” she protested.
It had never occurred to him to cower here. “Of course I will.” Zahad put on his shoes. “If it is the murderer, here is my chance to catch him.”
“You mean, here’s your chance to get killed!”
He let the remark pass. “The flashlight by the back door—are the batteries current?” He should have checked them himself, he reflected.
“Yes.” Jenny hesitated with the phone in one hand. “Take anything you need.”
“I will.” He had not intended to ask for permission.
Zahad grabbed a knife from the kitchen, threw on the coat he’d left in the rear hall and shut down the security system. He chose not to activate the exterior lights because they would give him away.
He took a key, as well. When he went outside, he locked the door behind him.
Cold air chilled his face and hands. Ignoring it, Zahad dodged to avoid becoming an easy target. No gunshot shattered the stillness, however, so he paused to listen for suspicious sounds beside the porch, where he was out of direct view. At the same time, he scanned the backyard for odd shapes and for signs of movement.
He heard only the breeze in the pines. He saw nothing but shadows.
In the faint moonlight, he approached the shed at a zigzag. All the while, his senses sought evidence of the intruder. He spotted no one, but on a cloudy night like this a man could hide only yards away without being detected.
Once he reached the shed, he shone the flashlight on the lock. The shackle was gouged as if someone had tried to sever it with a bolt cutter. Zahad played the beam across the ground, hoping to find a footprint or an object dropped in haste.
Only frozen earth met his gaze.
If the interloper had driven here from elsewhere, he would most likely have parked nearby, yet Zahad had not heard an engine start. Since it was likely the man or woman remained in the vicinity, he decided to concentrate on the nearby area.
Overgrown trees and bushes filled the land behind and to one side of the property. Attempting to search such a large area alone struck Zahad as futile. Sometimes, however, the simplest course also proved the most effective one.
Moving to one corner of the shed, the sheikh stood silently letting the night carry its sounds and scents to him. When he heard someone stirring in the house, the trespasser might have dived for the nearest cover instead of fleeing. If so, how steely were his or her nerves?
Zahad waited. In the house, a light came on in Jenny’s room. The thick curtains prevented him from seeing inside.
He jammed his hands into the open front of his coat for warmth. Although he preferred to stand at the ready, it would do no good if his fingers became so cold he fumbled the knife.
As his brain filtered out the murmur of the branches, he began to perceive sounds behind sounds. Nature had its own rhythm: in summer, a living hum of insects and birds; in winter, the subtle shifting and settling of stones and trees.
Attuned to any discrepancy, Zahad tried not to let himself be distracted by speculation. Yet his mind teemed with questions. If the intruder was the killer, why would he want to raid Jenny’s shed a second time? Surely tools like hers could be purchased at the hardware store or taken from another neighbor’s garage.
Perhaps the goal had been to lure Zahad outside. While he hunted the murderer, he might instead become the prey.
Inside the coat, his hand tightened on the haft. The sheikh braced himself in case he had to dodge an attack and throw the weapon. Even his deadly accuracy, however, might fail to bring down someone clad in heavy clothing.
He was allowing his mind to work against him. Harshly, he refocused his attention.
There’s someone here.
He knew it without being able to pinpoint how he’d drawn that conclusion. Perhaps, subliminally, he’d heard a rasp of breath. Now, straining and keyed up, he could have sworn he detected a heartbeat reverberating through the frigid earth.
Was it his own heart? If only he had more experience at tracking in a wintry landscape. If only he understood how vibrations interacted with icy surfaces.
In the overgrowth behind the property, some thirty feet from Zahad, a twig snapped.
He swiveled to face that direction. If the intruder moved again, even slightly, he would have the location. Most people would bolt under such circumstances, thrashing through the brush and making a run for safety.
Any minute now. Any minute…
Down the road, Zahad heard a car approaching. Let it pass quickly.
Instead, tires crunched into the driveway. The police had had the good sense to leave off the siren, but whoever was hiding in the brush didn’t wait around for the sheikh’s reinforcements. Rustling and a sharp exhalation signaled his rush for deeper cover.
The sheikh raked the scene with the flashlight. He saw movement, too far away for an accurate throw of the knife. But he had the advantage for the moment. He pelted across the flat yard while his target struggled through rougher terrain.
“Police!” A voice rang out behind him. “Stop or I’ll shoot!”
Every instinct urged him to keep going. A few dozen more steps and he could nail the person who might have killed Fario.
He could also die at the hands of an overzealous police officer.
“Come out where I can see you,” the officer ordered.
Judging by the man’s brittle tone, Zahad believed the policeman must be alone. He sounded young, also.
Barely restraining himself from showering the man with curses, Zahad strode into plain view. The officer crouched between the house and the garage, his gun positioned in a double grip.
The sheikh aimed the flashlight at his own face. When the officer failed to respond, Zahad experienced a moment of sheer alarm. If he had mistaken the voice, if this were Finley, he might seize the opportunity and shoot anyway. What better excuse for eliminating a rival?
“You can see it is I,” Zahad called.
The patrolman lowered his gun. “Sorry about that.” When he moved into the clear, Zahad saw that he was indeed younger than Finley and wore a uniform. “I’m Officer Franklin.”
Zahad gave a short nod of acknowledgment. Then, with no further time to waste on ceremony, he gestured toward the terrain beyond the shed. “Whoever tried to break into the shed is out there. I heard him moving.”
“We’ve got to catch him before he gets to the street,” Franklin said.
“Or to one of the other houses,” the sheikh added.
They spread out, keeping within view of each other as they searched. Either their target had found a well-hidden gully, however, or he or she was long gone.
They had given up by the time Finley trudged around the house, apparently having arrived on foot. When Jenny turned on the outdoor lights, they cast far deeper hollows on the detective’s face than on Officer Franklin’s.
It occurred to Zahad that perhaps this was their target and that the sergeant had conveniently covered himself by pretending to arrive from home. However, he saw no leaves or burrs clinging to the man’s jacket and his pants were smooth and neatly creased.
“Did you find anything?” Jenny asked. Wrapped in a robe, she stood silhouetted in the back door.
“He got away,” Zahad replied in disgust.
Finley regarded him wearily. “Tell me what happened.”
Zahad and the patrolman ran through the details. When they had finished, the sergeant said, “So you never actually saw anyone?”
“That is true.”
“I’ll dust the lock for prints, but it’s freezing out here. Dollars to doughnuts, if there was an intruder, he wore gloves,” the detective said. “I’m not calling out a full-scale search team for what might be a raccoon. My men are stretched thin as it is.”
“You have not yet apprehended the carjackers?” Zahad inquired.
“They’ve got to be staying around here, but we can’t pinpoint where,” Finley answered. “We’re beginning to suspect they’ve got someone local helping them.”
Zahad accepted the decision not to search further. At this point, even if they came across a trespasser, too much time had passed for them to be sure he was their man. If it was a neighbor, he could claim he’d come to learn what the fuss was about.
As it turned out, the only prints on the lock were a few partials too smeared to be readable, and they most likely belonged to Jenny or Zahad. At last the patrolman departed. Finley went inside to get Jenny’s version of the evening’s events.
“It seems suspicious, but we can’t be sure it’s linked to anything,” he said when she’d finished. Zahad joined them in the living room. “Somebody clearly took a whack at that padlock, but it might have been a transient seeking shelter.”
“We don’t get many of those around here, but I suppose it’s possible,” Jenny told him. With hair rioting around her face and the bathrobe gaping at her throat, she looked vulnerable and, in Zahad’s eyes, velvet with the aftermath of lovemaking. “Could it have been Grant?”
“He’s staying at a motel in Crystal Point,” Finley replied. “Obviously we can’t take his wife’s word for his whereabouts, but I’ll check with the motel staff. I’ll call now and have a cruiser swing by to make sure his car’s where it belongs.”
“I hope it’s not him,” she said. “For Beth’s sake.”
He shrugged. “He’s being arraigned tomorrow, by the way.”
“That was quick. Should I be in court?”
“If you are, you’ll put him in violation of his restraining order,” Finley said. “Also, there’s no sense in provoking him. I’ll let you know what happens.”
“Thank you.”
“Just doing my job. I’ll talk to you soon.” With a farewell nod, he went out.
The sheikh locked up. When he returned to the living room, he asked, “Are you okay?”
“A little nervous,” Jenny said. “It’s nothing. Parker’s probably right about the intruder being a transient.”
“Perhaps so.” Zahad didn’t believe that, but he didn’t want to frighten her more than necessary. “I will make up my bed now. For Beth’s sake, we should sleep separately.”
“I’d rather have you with me.”
“I assure you, there is nowhere I would rather be. But it is unwise.”
She came and brushed a kiss across his mouth. Her lips felt warm and soft, and as he held her, Zahad longed to lose himself in her again. However, he must remain alert in case the intruder returned. “Good night, Jenny.”
“I’m glad you’re here, wherever you sleep,” she said. “Thank you.” After lingering for a moment, she vanished.
As he opened the couch and pulled out the mattress, Zahad wondered again why anyone would bother stealing tools from her shed. Had the killer left something behind that he was trying to reclaim, or had he recalled a particular item he needed?
Needed for what?
The answer, unfortunately, was that if the killer had been out there tonight, it probably meant he planned to strike again. Zahad only wished he knew when and against whom.
He sat up listening until his eyes refused to stay open any longer. If there were truths to be revealed tonight, he failed to find them.
Chapter Fourteen
Someone is going to die today.
Zahad awoke with this thought. Having dreamed of pursuing a shadowy figure through a darkened field, he retained an image of its hooded black robe and of the sword gripped in its hand.
“I shall follow your vehicle to school today. That way, there will be no difficulty if you need your car later,” he told Jenny over breakfast. Unlike yesterday, he didn’t intend to be dissuaded. “Please call me this afternoon when you are ready to leave and I will escort you home also.”
She quirked one eyebrow but, noting Beth’s rapt attention, didn’t question him. “If you think it’s advisable.”
“I do.”
He was about to suggest that he remain at the school and accompany her on her duties, but her warning glance told him she would refuse. Zahad decided not to press the issue. He needed to do many things today and it seemed unlikely the killer would be bold enough to attack in the middle of town. Whoever was doing this preferred isolation and subterfuge.
Zahad felt even more protective of Jenny this morning, perhaps because they had slept together. He wished they could acknowledge openly that they had become lovers, but, of course, they could not do so in front of the child. At least they had the prospect of two more nights together.
Zahad trailed Jenny’s SUV into town beneath a leaden sky. According to the radio, a major storm was expected to move into the area on Thursday. His plane would depart just in time to miss it.
At the school, there were already a few cars in the lot despite the early hour. Zahad walked Jenny to the front. “Who opens the building?” he asked.
“The maintenance crew does, shortly before I get here,” she said as they ascended the front steps.
“What do you do with Beth before school?” He wanted a complete picture of the situation.
“She stays with me until the kindergarten teacher arrives.” Jenny pushed open the main door. “She sharpens pencils and gets supplies from the cabinet for
me, don’t you, sweetheart?”
“I’m Mommy’s helper,” Beth confirmed proudly.
Inside the front office, a balding man Zahad recognized as Lew Blackwell glanced up from filling out paperwork at the counter. “Good morning, Jenny, Beth.” He didn’t greet the sheikh.
“We had a disturbance at my house last night,” she explained. “Nothing serious, but Mr. Adran was kind enough to escort me into town today.”
“A disturbance?” Lew frowned. “Was it the carjackers or—”
“We do not know.” Although Jenny was capable of answering for herself, Zahad refused to be dismissed by this teacher as if he had no importance.
“You weren’t hurt, were you?” Again, Lew addressed Jenny.
“I’m fine.” She held herself with confidence now that they had reached her territory. “I’d better get to work. I’ve got to pick the winners in the PTA art contest.” The look she cast toward Zahad contained both her thanks and a strong hint that he should depart.
Surely she didn’t expect him to leave her and Beth alone with this man, he thought. Lew’s possessive attitude made it difficult for Zahad to consider him a casual bystander.
“Perhaps I should remain until more people arrive,” he said.
“Thank you, but that’s not necessary.”
Jenny’s chin lifted. With her air of authority, she was nothing like the somewhat shaky lady he’d taken under his wing last Friday but a woman one hundred percent in charge.
“She’s the boss,” Lew said, evidently amused at seeing his rival dismissed.
As the sheikh hesitated, Beth broke the standoff by heading toward an interior hallway. “I have to go potty,” she announced.
“I’ll come with you.” Jenny disappeared with her daughter.
Zahad glanced assessingly at the teacher. He knew it would be politic to make himself scarce before the two females returned, but he didn’t share Jenny’s apparent trust of this man.
“You seem to be spending a lot of time in Mountain Lake,” Lew commented. “Don’t you have a country to run?”
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