Sheik's Rescue

by Ryshia Kennie

  “I’m not looking forward to it.” She paused. “Didn’t you find it strange—the name he prefers?” It was the name that neither of them had yet used.

  “A bit old-fashioned.” He slid a hand into his pocket and rubbed an American penny he always carried between his thumb and forefinger. A long time ago his father had given it to him for luck. His father had been a very logical man, but he believed in talismans and luck. His parents had died tragically three days after his father had so casually tossed him the coin. Now he withdrew his hand, curious at her take.

  “Stanley?” Her frown deepened. “What Moroccan royal is named Stanley? I mean even as a nickname.” Her eyes crinkled as if she were holding back a laugh. “He uses the name exclusively.”

  “Royalty. Good chance he has an attitude, which will be a challenge,” he said, knowing that he should try to be helpful instead of goading her when they both knew that she was stuck with a dull case.

  “I’m betting you’re right.” She pulled a quarter from her pocket. “Want to flip for odds? Heads he’s a challenge.”

  “Tails, I lose,” he finished.

  She flipped the coin and looked up with a smile. “Heads. Doesn’t change the fact that I’ve got myself a code white.”

  He smiled at both the tone of her voice and her lighthearted approach that led them to betting on a case. That was a first, but he didn’t doubt that Jade was full of surprises—crazy little firsts.

  “Code white.” She shook her head, her brow furrowed as if the thought of it pained her.

  He empathized with her pain. The agency had codes for assignments. They ranged from the least dangerous, white, to the most, red. There wasn’t an agent at Nassar who didn’t dread a code white. They were well-paid assignments that were the bread and butter of the agency. But they were also, as in this case, ten days of guaranteed boredom.

  She waved as she turned to leave.

  “Take a good book,” he called after her.

  She gave him a look that would have torched a lesser man.

  He only laughed.

  Jade van Everett had been a pleasant surprise.

  * * *

  Three days earlier

  THE SMALL STONE house had stood on the edge of the massive estate outside Rabat, Morocco, for generations. It had survived two world wars. Now, an explosion rattled the windows of the main house and blew the roof off the small stone house. The outer walls held for seconds after the initial explosion before the shock rippled through the structure and caused the small building to fall inward. The resulting fire licked quickly through the old wood and paper within the building. The smoke curled easily into the still air. It wasn’t until the building was engulfed in flames and the last wall had collapsed that sirens could be heard. By then, it was too late. It was exactly as he had planned. Time would take care of the rest.

  His jaw tensed as he looked around in the dim light of the plane’s cabin. A young woman stood up two rows ahead of him and stretched. Behind him someone coughed. He covered his mouth and nose with the back of his hand. He hated flying, hated the people, the tight space, the snotty flight attendants. He hated all of it. He pushed his seat into an upright position and tried to stretch, but one foot was trapped by the seat in front of him. He was stuffed and cramped like he, too, was one of them, like the other nothings on this plane. But he was nothing like any of them—he didn’t belong here, and soon they would know it.

  He’d like to hurt someone right now. He knew that would make him feel better, but he couldn’t do that for obvious reasons. Instead, he relaxed his features and tried to keep a pleasant look on his face. The last thing he needed was to act suspicious so that when they landed he was pulled aside by security. That would have his entry into the States delayed or worse, denied.

  Calm down, he told himself. There was no reason for any of that to happen. But it wasn’t over. His fingernails dug into the armrest. He looked down and forced himself to relax. He’d learned years ago as a child that one must relax to gain control. A strap against bare skin was easier to take if one was relaxed rather than tense. It was a tough but useful life skill. He looked furtively around him. But there was nothing unusual. The lights dimmed, and ahead of him a reading light clicked on. To his left was an empty seat and beside that was an elderly woman who’d been snoring off and on since takeoff.

  He closed his eyes even as he knew that he couldn’t sleep. Minutes passed. He opened his eyes, and his thoughts went back to where they had never left, to all that had transpired. The explosion that was the first step in completing the job he’d been hired for. It was unfortunate that he’d only seen his handiwork from afar, that he couldn’t have stayed to hear the man’s dying screams. Instead, he’d had to leave, catching the explosion from a distance, seeing the lick of flames and knowing he was one death away from the cash prize.

  Across the aisle, a middle-aged man snored, lurched forward and shook himself awake.

  He looked away. To any of the other passengers he was unmemorable. A swarthy man with a tired expression in the aisle seat of the Boeing 737. He feigned reading a newspaper. His left ankle was crossed over his right. He ran a hand along the seam of his pant leg. He scowled and then glanced at the watch on his right wrist. He moved the silver band back and forth as if that would adjust the time, but no matter how he looked at it, there were still hours before they landed.

  He shoved the paper into the flap in the seat in front of him and looked up. He smiled at the passing flight attendant and thought how he’d like to twist her slim neck until it snapped. He forced his eyes closed, and smiled for the first time since he’d gotten the news. For it was in Jackson, Wyoming, where he’d finally finish what had begun so long ago.

  Chapter Two

  Take a good book.

  It was a lighthearted statement. At least that’s what she had thought at the time. Now Zafir’s comment held new meaning. At the airport, the client’s round, olive-toned face had lit up at the sight of her as if she were a prize in a game of chance. But an hour later, she would have preferred the company of a good book to the client’s chatter and fawning eyes.

  She remembered trying to lead him through the airport. He’d been distracted by everything. He’d stopped to stare out a window, claiming that he hadn’t seen anything so beautiful as that particular view of the Teton Mountains. And when she finally got his attention again, he’d asked that she call him Stanley and then followed her to collect his luggage. She’d had to nudge the duffel under his arm as she gathered his bags. She’d updated him on his living arrangements as she ushered him to the rental vehicle, but she wasn’t sure if he heard a word of it.

  At the van, she’d slid the door shut after wrestling his bags into the backseat. Stanley had dropped the duffel by the back door and taken his seat without asking whether she needed help with his luggage.

  On the way into Jackson, she asked him about the obviously expensive Nikon camera that he pulled out of its case shortly after they left the terminal. That’s when she’d found out that Stanley was a talker, at least about his passion—photography.

  “How much farther?” His voice would have been average except for the slightly nasal whine.

  “Five minutes,” she said shortly. She could feel his gaze on her but kept her attention on the snowy, and now icy, road. Her knuckles were white, and it wasn’t because of the driving conditions. She knew admiration when she saw it, but she knew it could also turn into something worse. Stanley kept glancing at her in a way she didn’t like. She wasn’t sure how she was going to make it through an assignment that would be not only a bore but annoying, as well.

  “We’re here,” she said minutes later as she parked the van. It was the only vehicle the rental agency had left that served her purpose. She would upgrade it tomorrow. Once that was done, she could take Stanley to the places he’d identified were per
fect for a photo shoot.

  “I’d like to take your picture, too, if...”

  “No,” she bit out. “I’m sorry. That was rather abrupt but no, I’m here to facilitate your trip.” An interesting way to put it, she thought. “Not be a subject for your photography,” she finished. “I’m sure we’ll find more than you can imagine as far as scenery and wildlife to photograph. You don’t need me.”

  “You’re beautiful and...”

  “No,” she repeated. “Enough. This is business, nothing more.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, looking rather abashed and completely out of his element.

  But this time she was sorry, sorry for so many different reasons than he might think. Sorry for making him uncomfortable, sorry for taking this assignment. Although she had to admit that there was no choice in the latter. It hadn’t been voluntary.

  Her attention went to the building in front of her. This was her headquarters for the duration of Stanley’s stay. The three-story red cedar apartment building was small but perfectly situated. She didn’t expect anything less. Leslie, Nassar’s relocation expert, had scouted the city and located this building. It had all the amenities the client requested as well as being easy to secure. The street was quiet, part residential and part business. Even now, mid-morning on a Saturday, there was little noise other than the soft drone of traffic on nearby roads. Stanley’s apartment was located on the second floor. The apartment above was vacant, as was the one below it. Combined with its small size, its low occupancy made the building even more perfect. She’d been briefed on the other occupants. All ten were trouble-free; none of them had criminal records. They ranged from two senior citizens to a professor currently on sabbatical overseas. The ground-floor apartment was assigned to Jade. The location was perfect for her to stay close for the duration of the client’s visit.

  “Let’s go,” she said as she unbuckled her seat belt and opened the van door.

  No response.

  She looked over at Stanley. He wasn’t looking at her but rather chewing his lower lip, almost like he hadn’t heard her. Maybe he needed a moment, she thought. But her other thought was that the man was a bit odd.

  She thought of Zafir. It was hard not to make the comparison between the two men. She had just recently met them both, and they were so completely different. Sinfully good-looking, cocky Zafir, she thought. She shouldn’t be thinking of him like that. But it was like she knew him. She’d studied every case he’d worked and heard stories of his exploits from his brother Faisal. In person, Zafir was more gorgeous and sure of himself than a man outside the pages of a men’s magazine should be, and yet there was something down to earth about him, too. He’d put her off balance, off her game. As a result, her first reaction was to snap at him.

  Stop it, she told herself. He was her boss on this case and not a man to be lusted after. Besides, looks weren’t everything. She’d learned that the hard way. Give her a homely man with a great personality any day, or better yet, no man. At least not at the moment. She was enjoying her job too much, current assignment aside.

  “This is it,” she said to Stanley, who hadn’t moved.

  He had a slight smile on his face and a glow in his eyes as if excited by the idea, yet he hesitated to open his door.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, I...”

  He was looking uncertain, as if he had made a bad choice. Fine time to think of that now, she thought, now that he was here. Despite the thought, she was concerned. As long he was in the States he was her problem, and the last thing she needed was for him to fall apart.

  His hands shook slightly as he fumbled with the seat belt. “Nothing at all.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. I always react like this after a flight. Kind of a delayed reaction.”

  An outright lie, she thought, noticing how his voice sounded thinner and he wouldn’t look at her. With any luck it was a temporary case of fear of the unknown. “Let’s get you settled,” she said. She got out and slid open the back door to get his luggage.

  “The photography will be amazing,” Stanley said from just behind her. Now his voice sounded normal, as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened. There was nothing but anticipation in his tone. It was like he was trying too hard to hide his unease. “I can’t wait.”

  “Wyoming is known for that, scenery. A photographer’s dream,” she agreed as she tried not to let her prejudice for all things Wyoming show. She supposed she’d already failed at that mission with her last sentence.

  She went to step back and was stopped by Stanley. “Give me a bit of room,” she said as she leaned in and pulled his too-heavy suitcase from the backseat. Too heavy for anyone visiting for only ten days.

  “Stanley,” she bit out as she backed up and her elbow bumped his soft midsection. “Move.”

  A few minutes later, she slipped the key in the lock to the apartment door. She could almost feel him breathing. She swung around.

  “Look, Stanley.” She hesitated, almost stumbling on the name. “If you want me to do my job properly, I need some space.” She wondered how many times she’d have to repeat that phrase.

  He took a step back. He looked puzzled and anxious. It was becoming like a dance with two mismatched partners. She took a deep breath. As soon as she got his luggage inside, it was a dance that was going to end.

  “In fact, wait here. Hold this.” She slipped the handle of the suitcase into his hand and turned to push the apartment door open. She was only mildly amused to hear the suitcase thump onto the floor.

  “Having trouble?” she asked. She glanced over her shoulder. He was fumbling with his vintage suitcase. It had no wheels and a worn faux-leather cover. It was an oddity. Like Stanley, she thought.

  Her hand dropped to her Colt. She had just purchased it. The gun had replaced her old standby Glock that had seen her through her training and first year. The Colt was an exciting purchase. She could hardly wait to see action with this in her hand. But so far, other than target practice, she had yet to use it.

  She moved past the entrance, noting everything. White laminate floors, gray walls, a couch to the left, table to the right. There was nothing else. She had to be sure. Stanley and his suitcase were forgotten. This was business. There was nothing but silence and the ticking of... She pulled the Colt, reveling in the feel of it in her hand. Other women loved new clothes. She loved guns. The thought made her smile. Something clicked. She swung, pointing the Colt in the direction of the sound. It was nothing but a wall clock in the kitchen. Someone had plugged it in since the last time she’d been here.

  “Is this necessary?” Stanley’s frightened voice came from the hallway.

  She held up a hand to him, motioning him to be quiet. On another assignment, in a different place, ticking had meant something so much more sinister. This wasn’t such a case, she reminded herself. Still, she needed to make sure. No matter the high probability that there was no threat. If there was, she needed to eliminate it. After all, someone had paid her to do just that.

  The kitchen and living area gleamed as if they’d been recently cleaned and infrequently used. She took a step in and then two—she did a visual sweep of the area. It was overkill, she knew that, but one could never be too safe. She’d learned that through her arduous FBI training. The experience had been put into practice during the last year with Nassar.

  A minute, two—she went through the small one-bedroom apartment. All clear, exactly as it should be. She went to the hallway and gave Stanley what she hoped would be interpreted as a friendly smile. One more come-hither look from him and she might punch him, she thought, knowing that of course she wouldn’t. She was too professional for that, but...the thought was out there.

  “Let me take that,” she said. She lifted his duffel bag and set it on the coffee table. “You might want to take
the suitcase into the bedroom.”

  “Fine,” he said, looking slightly bewildered.

  She opened the blinds that masked the balcony, letting in a stream of feeble sunlight. The snowstorm was on its last legs. The snowfall was a thin curtain, unlike the thick flakes that had blanketed the area in a layer of white earlier in the day.

  “You’ll have a good view, and I’ll be just downstairs while you’re here.”

  “Living?” he asked in a puzzled voice.

  “Yes. As long as you’re here, I will be, too.” Exactly ten days, she wanted to say, no more.

  His face lit up at that like she’d told him she’d be his best friend. And she supposed that in a way, for a time, she would be.

  “There’s a beautiful view of the mountains,” she said as she slid the glass patio door open. She could smell his aftershave as he approached. She’d first become aware of the scent at the airport terminal, where it had preceded him as he’d disembarked in a cloud that was as pleasant as the lingering smell of cooked fish. She’d felt some sympathy for his seatmates on the flight and even those who might have been sitting nearby. Stanley wasn’t one to slide into the background; everything about him was distinctive.

  She turned her attention to the street. A vacant lot was directly across from them. Beside it there was a parking lot with only a few snow-shrouded cars. The lot was blanketed in snow and shadowed by the stark branches of winter-dead trees. She frowned. The trees and shrubs blocked her view. She could see nothing between the parking lot and the low-rise brick building beside it.

  “This place is small,” Stanley said as he came up too close beside her.

  She moved one step over and thought again how this game was getting very old. She glanced at him, but he was looking not at the view but behind her, at the apartment. She turned back to the street.

  “That’s because it’s temporary.”

  And because they were staying away from the luxury homes and condos that would be harder to secure. She pressed a finger to her temple. She could feel the beginnings of a headache.