The Sheik and I

by Linda Winstead Jones

  “Not alone, but I was there.” Kadir became silent again, and this time he was truly done.

  Cassandra decided not to push for more. She had questions, but he’d told enough of the story for now. She continued to cut his hair, snipping the strands shorter and shorter, watching as the short black strands curled gently.

  “Someone in town might’ve seen something,” Kadir said as she was taking a few last snips. “I’ll go to town and listen to what the locals are saying.”

  “We’ll go to town,” Cassandra corrected. “Tomorrow would be better than today. About half the shops are closed on Sunday, and today the town will be crawling with investigators, anyway. Besides, you need to rest today. You’re recovering very well, but your arm was cut deeply and you nearly drowned.”

  “I’ll go alone. I don’t wish to involve you in this,” Kadir argued.

  “I’m already involved,” she said angrily. “In case you have forgotten, both of us might’ve been on that yacht when it exploded. If I had accepted your dinner invitation, we’d both be fish bait right now. Someone tried to kill me, and that means I’m definitely involved.”

  He turned his head and looked up at her. Wow, what a change a shave and a haircut made. Kadir looked not only younger, but was actually approaching pretty. “I’ve always known that my dedication to bringing change to Kahani might cost me my life. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. I am not, however, willing to sacrifice your life.”

  Cassandra didn’t so much as pause before answering. “That’s very nice, but I’m not staying here while you go to town on a fishing expedition of a different sort. I don’t come to Leonia often, but I know people in town and they know me. If you want all the gossip, you have to be part of the in crowd. Or at least a sister to someone who’s a part of the in crowd.”

  “But…”

  “Besides, I know where the keys to Lexie’s motorcycle are kept.”

  His eyes lit up. “Motorcycle?”

  “Motorcycle.”

  “That is not a motorcycle!” Kadir insisted. “It’s a motor scooter! And it’s pink!”

  “So?” Cassandra responded with a decided lack of outrage.

  “How are we supposed to remain inconspicuous on a pink motor scooter?”

  “Don’t be a baby.”

  “A baby?”

  Cassandra’s smile wiped away almost every trace of Kadir’s outrage at the knowledge that his only mode of transport lacked power and was obviously made for a woman.

  He’d taken her advice and rested most of the day yesterday. Sleep had claimed him often during the day. He hadn’t realized how exhausted his body was, but Cassandra had known. She had recognized his weakness when he had not, because she knew him so well. How oddly disconcerting.

  During the day she’d tended him often as he’d rested, feeding him, changing the bandage on his arm, touching him in casual ways that felt anything but casual.

  Kadir was still determined to keep his distance from Cassandra. Last night he had attempted to sleep in the guest room, but when he’d awakened in the night he’d found Cassandra’s body close to his. They both wore nightclothes, and the touching involved during the night was incidental and casual, but still…to sleep with her and not have her in all ways was a kind of torture.

  She was still stunned and relieved that he’d survived the explosion that had been intended to take his life—and hers. He didn’t want her to sleep with him because she suffered from a type of posttraumatic stress. That was the only explanation he could come to, since she’d denied him vigorously on Friday night and again on Saturday night, and then openly offered herself to him Sunday morning.

  One day she would thank him for being so circumspect. Today was not that day.

  “I suppose we could walk….” Cassandra began.

  “No.” Walking to town and back would be a waste of precious time. One commodity he did not have to spare was time.

  They had a plan, of sorts. His role was to be that of a boyfriend who’d come from Silverton in the dead of night to comfort Cassandra after her close call. Kadir was to remain as quiet as possible while she pumped the locals for information. Even though he looked very different—wearing another man’s clothes, with his hair cut short and his facial hair gone—his voice remained the same. Cassandra would ask the questions; he would listen. There should be no danger in today’s excursion. Everyone thought he was dead.

  She had taken one of his ancestor’s names which was a part of his full name—Yusef—and shortened it to Joe. That’s what she would call him, if introductions were called for. Joe, he of the pink motor scooter.

  When they returned to the cottage this afternoon, she would make a call to the Kahani Ministry of Foreign Affairs and try to get a message to Sharif.

  Sharif, who had loved Amala and probably still did. Sharif, who would gladly die before throwing in his lot with Zahid Bin-Asfour.

  It would have to be an innocuous message, since they could trust no one else with the secret that Kadir lived. Not yet. They could only hope that Sharif would return the call.

  Kadir scoffed at the ridiculous scooter, and took the helmet Cassandra offered. At least it wasn’t pink, but instead was black. Hers, however…

  Cassandra didn’t immediately put the helmet on her head. She had something to say. At moments like this she was endearingly transparent, as if she had never known a moment of deception. Coming from a world where deception was a part of everyday life, this trait was one of the things he most admired about her.

  “There’s something I think I should tell you, even though I’m not supposed to tell you, or anyone else. It might have nothing to do with this, but I can’t be sure.” She wrinkled her nose, ever so slightly. “I just feel like you should know everything before we get started.”

  “I will keep anything you tell me in strictest confidence.”

  “I know, but…I’ve never shared proprietary information with anyone before.” She looked at him with those amazingly intelligent and changeable gray eyes. “It feels a little like betrayal, but if I don’t tell I might be betraying you and I can’t do that.”

  “Anything you tell me stays here, in this shed.” Morning sun slanted through the open doors, touching Cassandra’s ponytail and making her glow with an unreal beauty. “I would never betray you in any way.”

  She hesitated, but not for long. “You believe that Zahid Bin-Asfour is behind the attempts on your life.”

  “I have no doubt,” Kadir said.

  Cassandra nodded, as if she understood. “It isn’t widely known, but Prince Reginald met with Bin-Asfour just a few days before he was murdered. Investigators are trying to find out more about the meeting, in case it might have something to do with the prince’s death, but no one’s sure why they met.”

  “Drugs,” Kadir said. “Zahid made a delivery, and he remained in the prince’s company for several hours. Our own security council learned of the meeting weeks ago. Zahid makes much of his money through the sale of narcotics. Usually he does not participate in those dealings himself, but when royalty is involved…” He shrugged. “Illegal drugs were delivered to your prince in exchange for money or promises. I suspect there was more to the meeting than a simple sale, but it’s likely we will never know.”

  Cassandra didn’t chastise him for not sharing this information with her sooner. Instead she nodded, satisfied that he was armed with all the information she had to share.

  “One more thing,” she said, tucking the pink helmet under one arm and looking him squarely in the eye, in that fearless way she had. “Can I have a kiss for luck?”

  He should say no and keep some distance between them, but this was one request he could not deny her.

  As Cassandra had suspected, the village was buzzing with news of the explosion. Many people spoke of seeing the sheik on Saturday, never suspecting that before the end of the day he’d be blown to bits.

  They were all anxious to talk to her, since she’d been with Kadir on hi
s tour of Leonia. No one questioned her presentation of Kadir as “Joe,” her silent boyfriend from Silverton. He didn’t look like a sheik, in ratty hand-me-downs from Stanley—or one of Lexie’s ex-husbands who’d left a few things behind. With the haircut and shave, and the dark glasses hiding his eyes—it was possible she wouldn’t have recognized him if she hadn’t witnessed the transformation for herself.

  For the time being, she didn’t even think about what she wanted from Kadir on a personal level. This was business, and she had always been able to throw herself into the task at hand at the expense of all else. She did that now. They didn’t learn much, but apparently everyone in Leonia had been outside their homes and shops at the time of the explosion and had seen it firsthand.

  It was late afternoon when the photographer from the Quiz found Cassandra and Kadir sitting at an outdoor café, sipping coffee and comparing notes. Sadly, they had learned nothing that would help them discover who had been behind the explosion. A number of investigators from Silverton were still in town, questioning everyone who’d claimed to witness the explosion. They’d had all day yesterday to interrogate the citizenry, but since just about everyone in town claimed to have seen the explosion, the complete investigation would take days—perhaps even weeks. So far Cassandra had been able to avoid the investigators, but she knew they’d catch up with her sooner or later. She’d tell them the same story she’d told the local officer. That was the truth as she’d known it at the time, so it wasn’t exactly a lie.

  The photographer who had followed them to Leonia on Saturday very boldly walked up, introduced himself as Simon York and asked if he could join them. Then he sat before they had a chance to respond. Ignoring the insignificant Joe, he offered a hand across the table. Cassandra ignored the hand.

  “What do you want?” she asked coolly.

  “Now, don’t be that way, Cassie. I know you’re probably upset about that little picture in the Quiz last week, but I was just doing my job.”

  Since York had been ignoring Kadir, the photographer was surprised when a large hand shot out and grasped the wrist of the offered hand.

  “She’s Ms. Klein to you,” Kadir said in a lowered voice.

  “Sorry,” York said. When Kadir released his hold, the photographer rubbed his wrist and frowned at Cassandra. “I didn’t take you for the type who’d go for a thug.”

  “Joe’s very protective,” she said. “If you behave yourself you won’t have any problem with him. Now, why are you here?”

  The photographer leaned onto the table, listing slightly away from Kadir. “I was taking shots of the sunset Saturday,” he whispered. “I got a few perspectives that included the yacht. A man crept into the far right side of my view, but I wasn’t worried about that. I figured if the photo was a good one I’d just crop him out. He stood there and watched until the yacht exploded, and then he turned away.” York paused for effect. “He was smiling.”

  “You got a shot of his face?” Kadir asked.

  “Yes.” York clearly did not want to include “Joe” in the conversation, so Cassandra gave a little wave of her fingers, and Kadir leaned back in his chair to observe.

  “Have you told the investigators?” Cassandra asked.

  “No.” York sounded horrified. “If I do they’ll confiscate all the film. I can’t have that, now, can I? It isn’t as if knowing that man was watching will bring the sheik back, right? My developing lab is back in Silverton. I didn’t want to wait, but I’m afraid if I go home I’ll miss something here. There’s no telling what might happen next! I left the film at the local photographer’s shop. The old man there said he’d have them ready in—” York checked his watch “—a little less than one hour.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  York smiled. “I just take pictures at the moment, that’s true, and I love my camera. But I’m quite a writer, too. If I have the photographs and an exclusive interview with the woman who watched Al-Nuri ride out to his death, a woman who had been connected to him romantically in a previous story in the Quiz, I’ll be set. My name will be made overnight.” His grin widened. “I’ll be a star, Ms. Klein.”

  The idea of giving this man anything repulsed her, but…“I want to see the photos as soon as they’re available.”

  “Of course.” York cut a suspicious glance to Kadir. “Does he have to come along?”

  “Yes,” Cassandra said, calling up a tone that left no room for argument.

  York ordered his own cup of coffee, and he carried the conversation. He had spoken to the same people Cassandra and Kadir had interviewed. No one else had mentioned the man York had caught in his photograph. Still, once they had the picture in hand, someone would surely recognize him. This was a small village, and even though tourists came and went, they had to stay somewhere, and they had to eat. Someone in Leonia would remember him.

  Simon York could already taste what it would be like to be a star.

  A few minutes before the photos were supposed to be ready, the three of them left the café. Kadir remained protectively between Cassandra and York. He wanted the photos, but he didn’t like or trust York. The distrust and dislike was clear on his transformed face.

  York pointed. “There, just beyond the candy shop at the end of the next block.”

  A puff of black smoke danced from the area York indicated. It was curious, but not alarming. Then another puff followed, blacker and larger than the last one.

  It was Kadir who began to run first, his long legs quickly picking up speed. He glanced back and shouted, “Fire!”

  Chapter 10

  By the time Kadir reached the photo shop, black smoke was drifting from the building in thick clouds, and people had begun to step out of the surrounding shops to see what was happening. On the sidewalk just outside the shop he removed the sunglasses and tossed them aside, took a deep breath to fill his lungs with air and then opened the front door.

  Behind him, someone shouted that it wasn’t safe to go into the building. With the door open, black smoke billowed out, wafting around and behind Kadir, alarming those who had gathered to watch. Again, someone shouted that they’d called the fire department and it really wasn’t safe to go in there.

  Kadir didn’t retreat. The fire was growing quickly. If anyone remained in this shop, the fire department would likely arrive too late to be of any assistance.

  Flames shot ominously from the back room. Kadir stared into the flames for a moment. If the photographs were in that section of the building, it was too late to save them. He glanced at the front counter, which was surrounded by smoke but not yet afire. If the photos were there, waiting for York to pick them up, he didn’t see them…and there was no time to search.

  An elderly gentleman lay facedown on the floor. It looked as if he’d been trying to reach the door when he’d fallen. Kadir kneeled down beside the fallen white-haired man and placed a finger at a fragile-looking throat. He found a pulse, weak and uncertain, but steady enough. Again, Kadir glimpsed into the fiery back room, wishing he had come here sooner, wishing he could get a glimpse of the man in the photograph, the man who had watched his yacht and all the people on it destroyed.

  But the time for those wishes was gone; the film, the photographs, the negatives—if they were in that back room, they had all been destroyed. Kadir lifted the unconscious man off the floor, and as he did so he felt something warm and wet on his shoulder, where the man’s head lolled. Blood, no doubt. Apparently this man had not been overcome by smoke, but rather had been bashed over the head so he could not escape.

  By the man in the photograph? Almost certainly.

  The rescue took mere moments. On the sidewalk the neighboring shopkeepers and customers gathered around. Seven people watched, and they all breathed in relief at the sight of the old man. Cassandra and the photographer hung back, watching expectantly.

  “Thank you, sir,” a plump woman wearing a chocolate-stained apron said as Kadir gently laid the injured man on the sidewalk, well away fr
om the smoky entrance to the fiery shop. She touched gentle fingers to the bloody patch of gray hair. “Poor dear, did he fall trying to get away from the fire?”

  “I believe so, yes,” Kadir said, lying easily as he retrieved the sunglasses he’d tossed to the sidewalk before entering the shop. Cassandra had said they were a necessary part of his disguise, so he slipped them on.

  All eyes were on him, and in the distance sirens wailed. The last thing he needed was to spend the rest of the day being interviewed and thanked. The investigators would expect a last name, and proof that “Joe” was who he claimed to be. It crossed his mind that he could run back into the shop for a few moments to search for the photos, but since the old man had been hit on the head—not accidentally injured trying to escape—it was certain the photos had been destroyed, or taken. “I wish I could stay but I must go. Please see to the old fellow until proper assistance arrives.”

  “Yes, of course, but…” As Kadir made his way toward Cassandra, the plump woman asked, “Who are you? William will surely want to know who saved him.”

  “My name is Joe,” Kadir answered.

  “Joe who?” a customer asked, raising her voice as Kadir increased his step.

  “Just Joe,” he called. He took Cassandra’s arm and walked quickly away from the scene. “The pictures have been destroyed or stolen,” he said in a lowered voice. He turned his gaze to the photographer. “Can you describe the man you saw?”

  Distraught over losing his precious photos and chance at stardom, York sighed in disgust. “I suppose. But what difference does it make now?”

  Kadir’s patience was near an end. He could drag the annoying photographer into the nearest alleyway and force him to tell all he knew. He could, but he would not. “If you can lead me to the man who watched the explosion and then walked away with a smile on his face, I will give you an exclusive story that will indeed make you a celebrity. Everyone in Silvershire, and well beyond, will know your name.”

  “Why should I believe a thug like you?” York asked sullenly.