Son of the Sheik

by Ryshia Kennie

  When the call had ended, they’d reached an agreement. One that hadn’t made him happy, for it had been no agreement at all, only demands. He had to fix what he’d put into motion before he screwed himself out of the money that was his. He needed to get to Morocco and take control of his own scheme, but to do that he needed money.

  Everything would have been fine, if he’d kept a level head. But it had felt like his world was falling apart. He panicked, unable to think of how he would come up with the funds to even purchase an airline ticket to get there and get control of his own game. He’d been desperate. It was the quick rip-off of an elderly woman at an auto teller that had been his next mistake. He hadn’t expected the woman to not only fight and knock him off balance with a kick to the shins, but also yank out a shrill whistle and blow it again and again.

  He’d turned to push her out of the way, but she still had the whistle. When he’d decided to give up and run, he’d been waylaid by a punch from an overexcited do-gooder.

  And all of it ended in a humiliating choke hold as the curtain fell on his plan. Instead, the plan was radically changed by the glaring flash of the lights of a police cruiser. The memory of being roughly frisked and read his rights and then a forceful hand on his head that shoved him into the dark interior of a police cruiser.

  Now there was no stopping the force of the Pandora’s box he’d opened.

  For him it was over, for Sara...it soon would be.

  Chapter Eleven

  It felt like the breath had been knocked out of him. Talib had never imagined what it would feel like to learn that he was a father. He only knew that this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This wasn’t how most people might feel to become a parent. But most people didn’t become a parent in this manner. In a way he felt robbed. And what he knew for sure was that he was feeling too much. He needed to get it together and figure out this mess. He had to shove the emotions into boxes that they just didn’t want to squeeze into. He hated the feel of this, of being overwhelmed with confusing feelings for another human being.

  That had only happened once before. It had been Sara who had precipitated that confusing melee of feelings as well, but that time it had been in a good way. In the first blush of new love, in the hot demands and passion of a series of firsts. He’d broken up with her when the need for her had become too much, when it was all he could think of. But she’d gotten one up on him. She’d taken his son with her. He wasn’t sure if he could ever forgive her for that.

  “Damn!” He smacked his fist into the palm of his hand.

  Only his parents’ deaths had made him feel anywhere close to this betrayed. And their demise hadn’t been accidental—it had been murder. The emotion he felt now was different, but just as intense.

  He stood at the door to her hotel room for a full five minutes before he could bring himself to knock.

  When she opened the door less than an hour after he’d left, neither of them said anything. Instead, he looked beyond her to the bedroom where the boy slept, but there was only a small hill beneath a blanket in the middle of the bed. The outline of the child was there and now, instead of the nightlight, a small bedside light was on so that the boy wasn’t in the dark. The living area was dimly lit by one lamp on a desk and the blush of city light coming in from a window where the blind was partly up.

  “I expected more of you than that,” he said as he strode past her.

  Seconds ticked by and the silence deepened.

  “You expected...” She said the words softly, as if she couldn’t quite fathom the meaning of what he was trying to say. “More of me? I wanted more of our relationship. I expected more.”

  “You could have told me. I would—”

  “If you couldn’t handle our relationship, how were you going to handle a baby?” she interrupted.

  Silence pulsed through the room.

  “Why are you here, Sara? Why now?”

  “I never wanted you to know,” she said. “At least not now. Not while he’s so young.”

  The words were like a razor slicing skin. It hurt like few things could. He knew the boy was his son. He didn’t think she’d lie about that. He’d seen the similarity as much as he’d wanted to discount it. It was what she had done, or more accurately, what she hadn’t done that bothered him most of all.

  “You had no right,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Didn’t I?” She paused. “You were the one who walked out on me, not the other way around. Would you have come running back if I’d told you?” She turned away.

  That she thought he would walk from such an epic responsibility was inconceivable. He wanted to shout at the injustice of it all, but the source of his upset was sleeping not that far away from them.

  Silence ticked between them as she waited and he fought for control.

  He couldn’t look at her. Instead he turned his back to her and to the view of Marrakech, the city he knew so well and, in this moment, couldn’t care less about. He wasn’t sure who he was angry at—her, himself, or fate. Her words were valid. Three years ago, he hadn’t been ready for a relationship. But a child, that was different.

  Minutes passed.

  He went over to her and stood just behind her, hesitant to come any closer.

  She slipped past him, moving back into the living area.

  He followed her.

  “I wanted him to see where his ancestors came from,” she finally said.

  “At two?”

  “It’s never too soon,” she said.

  “You’re not the adventurous type, Sara. Travel wasn’t your thing and definitely not with a toddler.” He came over to where she stood, looking small and vulnerable, one shoulder against the wall. She wouldn’t look at him. He needed her to look at him. He put a thumb under her chin, nudging her to look.

  “What’s going on, Sara?”

  But his gut already knew. It was about money, like he’d already so ungraciously said. Her evasive nonanswer had been answer enough. Even though that was so unlike her. Even though he would have said with some assuredness that never would such a thing happen, now it was the only explanation that made any sense. All of it, her being here with the boy, at the hotel that he, at the moment, had a vested interest in—all of it stunk of desperation.

  “Damn it, Sara,” he said with a sharp edge that seemed to knife through the room.

  She shook her head and a tear rolled down her cheek.

  “I’m desperate or I wouldn’t be here.” She met his gaze with a half smile that was no smile at all. “I’m being blackmailed,” she said bluntly. “My ex-boyfriend. We didn’t go out long and we never...” She shook her head. “Never mind. That’s none of your business.” She was quiet for a minute, collecting her thoughts. “He didn’t like Everett. Actually, that’s not true, he just didn’t want anything to do with him. Because of that, I broke things off. Actually, it was because of a lot of things.”

  A minute passed, then two.

  “It turned out that he wasn’t interested in me. But he was interested in any money I could give him,” she added and a sour thread ran through the words.

  “A man leaching off a woman,” Talib said with disdain. There was nothing wrong with a strong, independent woman. That had been Sara. But there was everything wrong with a man who couldn’t support himself.

  “He was a stockbroker, at least that’s what he said.” She paused and wiped the corner of her eye. “It wasn’t true. He was only a two-bit con man who gambled his money away in the stock market.”

  She looked at him with wide eyes, a look that would have had her in his arms all those years ago. Instead he stood there and waited, prepared to wait for as long as it took for her to tell him the truth, all of it.

  “He went through my things one day when I was in another room changing Everett. I’d w
ritten out a list of instructions, in case anything happened to me. I wanted Everett to know who he was, where he came from. He saw your name.” Her eyes met his. “And your family, what I know of them. He saw it and...” She bit her lip, her fingers lacing through each other. “He knew who you were.”

  “How?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. He was Moroccan, but... I don’t know how he knew who you were or, more importantly, that you had money.”

  “And he’s the one who blackmailed you?”

  “He threatened to tell you...about Everett.” Pain seemed to lace each word, as if saying the fact again was more difficult than the first time she’d said it.

  “What was his name?”

  “Tad Rossi.” The name was stilted, without inflection. She folded her arms across her chest and turned away.

  She was silent, and he waited. This was on her. Her regret, her mistake.

  He waited until she turned around again to face him, but the pain in her eyes broke his resolve.

  “I could have protected him, and you.”

  “I know,” she whispered.

  “You should have told me,” he said and he couldn’t filter the anger from his voice. “If I’d known from the beginning, nothing like this would have happened.”

  “I was afraid,” she said softly. She’d moved to the couch, flopping down as if her legs would no longer hold her. “You’re my last resort. I’ve given him all the money I can. Now, if I don’t give him all the money he’s demanding.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how this is going to end. I’m scared that he might take Everett exactly like he threatened.”

  “Over my dead body,” he snarled. “That will never happen.”

  “They’ve found me everywhere I’ve gone.” Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were filled with pain. “I’ve moved to three different states in the last seven months.”

  His fist clenched at the thought of her running, frightened and without resources.

  “Everett in his hands for even an hour is incomprehensible.” Her voice trembled.

  Never. Not while I still live, he thought. And as far as the creep that had been stalking his girl, he would put an end to that. The thought stopped him—Sara was not his girl, not anymore. Then he remembered something else she had said, maybe just a misplaced pronoun, maybe something more.

  “You said they. Who else is there, Sara?”

  “I don’t know if there’s anyone else. It’s intuition only,” she said. “What I know of him. Some of the things he’s done are out of character. It’s like he’s getting advice somewhere else. And at the Desert Sands Hotel—I almost felt like whoever it was, whoever was helping him, was there. But that’s crazy and there’s no reason to believe anything like that. He didn’t have the resources to travel. He gambled away everything he had.”

  “From what you’ve said, it’s been a while since you’ve seen him. What resources he might have now is pure speculation. He could have found what was needed to come here, to follow you.”

  “Talib, you’re frightening me.”

  “How are you contacting your family?”

  “Through social media messaging.”

  He grimaced at that.

  “What? I... I don’t tell them much. Give them the new mobile number to reach me. It’s safe, it’s...”

  “There are apps that can hack that without problem, Sara,” he said. “I’m not saying that’s how he found you, but that’s definitely one way.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t believe it. I used disposable phones so they couldn’t get to me. The numbers are changed out regularly.” She frowned. “I messaged my parents with the new number every time.”

  “On social media. That wasn’t the smartest move.”

  Their research team had recently briefed him on another case, showing him how information could be mined from the web. One of the easiest places to fish for information was through social networks and their messaging systems.

  “I...” Her words choked off. She was clearly overwhelmed as she realized the mistake she’d made. She had chosen to avoid calling her parents because she wasn’t ready to answer the questions they would ask or the demands to come home that they’d already made. Both had been more easily evaded in writing than by telephone.

  In another time and in another place, he might have apologized. Not now. She needed to be on guard. His gaze went to the bedroom—there was too much at stake.

  He thought of the scene in the first hotel, the maid holding his son, her claim that she had been paid to bring him to a man who waited somewhere outside. He thought of how close he’d come to losing his son before he’d ever gotten a chance to know him, and the thought of that was incomprehensible.

  “I can’t lose him,” she repeated. “I’ll pay you back, Talib. I promise. If it takes me my entire life.”

  She would never pay him back. He wouldn’t allow it. But he told her none of that. Instead he asked, “How much, Sara? How much do you want from me?”

  She flinched and he knew that it was because of the way he’d worded that last question. He felt like the biggest jerk, the biggest bully. He’d worded it that way to make her feel uncomfortable. But now, seeing her discomfort, it didn’t give him any pleasure. In fact, looking at her, he was afraid he’d broken her.

  He was relieved when she drew her shoulders back and looked at him with stoic eyes. Even though her lips still quivered, she was giving him attitude, backbone—she was far from broken.

  And then she told him what she needed.

  At first he didn’t know what to say. The figure she mentioned was large even by Al-Nassar standards.

  “We’ll get this fixed. He won’t get away with this and you don’t need to worry, Sara. Not anymore. I’ll handle whatever demands they have directly.” No matter what she had done and how she had deceived him, Sara and his son would have no worries from here on out.

  His fists clenched as he paced the room.

  There were questions that needed to be answered, two years to catch up on and so much more that he hadn’t addressed. But in truth, he couldn’t look at her or his son another moment. For she only reminded him of the deception and the sleeping child reminded him of all that he had missed. He needed time and space, they both did. The morning would come soon enough.

  “Get some sleep,” he said. “I’ll be next door.”

  * * *

  SARA’S PHONE RANG at exactly 3:15 a.m.

  Her heart stopped.

  This was the time when all the calls had come in. It was the exact time that Everett had been born. She’d forgotten to tell that important fact to Talib, but their conversation had been so overwhelming.

  She debated not answering, but she didn’t want to wake Everett and she knew that he’d call again and again, until she answered. They would not give up. She’d purchased a disposable phone again, as she had every time she’d run. And he’d found her again, as he had every time. It was like a never-ending story that one might read to a child before bedtime, except this story threatened a very bad ending. She remembered what Talib had said, about the app that could track her and she cringed.

  She pushed Talk with a shaking finger.

  She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t bear to say more than necessary. Just to think that this man had once kissed her, that she’d allowed certain liberties—all of that made her queasy. The only good thing that hadn’t happened, consummating it—she would always be thankful he had never been the man in her bed. The thought of that made her want to hurl.

  “He can’t protect you,” a snide, almost robotic voice said.

  “Who are you?” She frowned. This wasn’t Tad. Not only was it not his voice, but Tad wouldn’t play such games. He would speak to her directly, as he always had.

  “Next
time we’ll take the boy and he won’t be able to stop it.”

  “What are you saying?” And who is we? she thought.

  “You don’t know?” A dry chuckle followed—it was more creepy than humorous. “If not for your boyfriend, we would have taken the kid before the fire was out at the Desert Sands.”

  “What?” Her breath caught in her throat.

  “Preventing that kidnapping was only luck on his part. Next time it will be real. Nothing except money will stop the inevitable.”

  The call broke off and Sara dropped the phone like it contained poison that might seep into her skin.

  Her mind went back to the hotel, to the smoke, the panic at losing Everett. It had been Talib who had found him, maybe even saved him, but saved him from what? Was the caller just playing with her emotions or had something happened that Talib had failed to tell her?

  She looked at her watch. Fifteen minutes had gone by.

  She couldn’t believe that Talib hadn’t told her that her son had almost been taken. It was typical Talib, the need to protect, to shelter. But he’d been wrong. She needed to know about all threats. There was no way to protect Everett otherwise.

  She sank down on the couch, her head in her hands. Who was she kidding? She was here because she couldn’t protect her son. She needed Talib, but his deception of silence was not acceptable and she would tell him that immediately. But it wasn’t just him, there were things that she hadn’t told. No more secrets, she promised herself.

  She went over to the desk and grabbed a blank piece of paper and a pen, and began writing it all down, everything that had happened, from the beginning. For there was more to all of this than even she knew. She was sure of it. Something far darker and more deadly lurked and she was putting her trust in one man, believing that he would know what to do. She trusted that he would find the truth and would be fair. For in doing this, trusting him, she stood to lose her son to the power that was Al-Nassar. He could take Everett and there was nothing she could do about it. It broke her heart to think of it, but considering everything, it might be best for Everett and that was all that mattered.