Sheik's Rescue

by Ryshia Kennie

  Home. He wanted to go home. This had been a mistake.

  He’d told Prince Rashad that protection on his trip was unnecessary. He’d insisted on it. He’d been wrong.

  He didn’t know why anyone would threaten him. He’d done nothing, had nothing. That was all going to change, but it wasn’t enough for someone to kill him. The trust fund would end if he died. So why would someone shoot at him?

  His phone beeped as if it had been listening, as if it somehow had the answer. He pulled it out and checked the text message, praying that it was Jade. Except it couldn’t be, for she didn’t have the number, didn’t even know of the phone.

  His hands shook, praying for salvation. But the words he read were some of the most terrifying of his life. He was reading the words of a ghost, a demon who was, and always had been, out to get him.

  He held the phone clutched against his sweaty palm. He couldn’t let it go. He was mesmerized. There should be no text. No one had the number except for his uncle. He’d left the information for him on a table in the small cottage on his uncle’s estate. It was the cottage where they’d spent many pleasant afternoons playing rummy and drinking tea. He’d bought the phone solely for this trip so that he could keep in touch with the animal rescue that was his passion, and his uncle, who was his responsibility. Until now, it was unused.

  For a minute, two—he couldn’t move. He thought about what was on that phone. Nothing. They were meaningless words. He took a deep breath. It was a lie. They weren’t meaningless words; they were the words that foreshadowed every nightmare he’d had as a child.

  He gripped the wheel. He needed help, and there was no help here. He was on his own. He had to save himself.

  He took a deep breath. He should never have run, but he’d also needed time to get himself together.

  “So, get it together,” he muttered through gritted teeth as he dropped his hands into his lap. He was in a bad situation, and it was his own stupid fault. Now he had to get himself out. He just wasn’t sure how or what he needed to do. Should he lie low for a while? If this was a scene from one of his favorite movies, that’s exactly what the actors would do.

  He stroked his camera and shrugged his jacket on. Despite his thoughts, he didn’t know what he was going to do. Everything had changed with that text. He wasn’t sure what it meant, and he knew he didn’t want to think about it. He looked at the map he’d lifted from the apartment. There was a small community five miles north of the last intersection. He could disappear into the wilds of Wyoming for a while, until he figured out what to do.

  He slipped out of the van. Snow had stopped falling but still the drifts were high enough for snow to fall over the tops of his sneakers. Too late, he realized that he should have listened to Jade and purchased boots. Of course, even if he had listened, there had been no time to shop. He turned around and grabbed his camera, ignoring the cold trickle that ran down his ankles. He’d have to endure that discomfort.

  He pulled the phone out of his pocket. He looked at the message again. He couldn’t help it. No matter how disconcerting it was, he felt like none of it was real. The dead didn’t come back to life, but the message suggested they did.

  No one ever said those words. For they were strange words that no one would say or had said in the context of most communication. No one but his brother had used those same words to torment him and to torment the animals he loved so well. But his brother was dead.

  He shivered, unsure of what it all meant.

  He looked at the message one more time before he threw the phone. He watched as it sank into the snow-covered ditch. He was left with only a memory and the knowledge that the dead really can come back to life.

  For the first time since he’d last seen his brother, he felt the urge to hit something. But violence wouldn’t fix anything; he’d learned that a long time ago.

  He walked, or more aptly, he slogged through the snow. He kept going long past where the van had been left. Finally, at the edge of the ditch, he bent down to crawl through the barbed-wire fence. He headed across the field. It was the shortest distance to the town on the map that he’d just stuffed into his pocket.

  He felt oddly exhilarated. The horror was behind him. He was taking charge of his own life.

  Everything was so silent, so still and so white. It was pristine, gloriously wild and untouched. He took a deep breath of air so clean that it made him shiver and want to hug himself with joy. This was how the world should be—innocent, beautiful and safe. He raised his camera to create a memory of the moment. He took one picture, then two. The camera click was the only sound in the pristine silence.

  Minutes passed.

  Leaving had been right, he was sure of it now as he aimed and clicked—repeating over and over...

  The first gunshot had Stanley diving face-first into the snow. Minutes ticked by. Gingerly he lifted his head. He was five yards away from a shanty. It wasn’t much. The weather-softened gray wood looked like it might tumble down with a slight breeze. He had been intrigued by it only seconds earlier. He already had a half dozen photos of it. Right now it was all that stood between him and imminent death.

  Jade was gone.

  Prince Rashad had been right. He needed protection. It wasn’t safe anywhere. He’d been right, but he’d been right for all the wrong reasons.

  He could do this. He had to do this; there was no one else but himself to depend on, to get away from the madman who was trying to kill him.

  Another shot sheared a drift of snow only ten feet away from him.

  A man shouted. The words were as indistinguishable as they were angry and threatening.

  Bile rose in his gut, and he fought to keep from throwing up. He couldn’t think about the past or about what the future might bring. He had to deal with the now. He had to stay alive.

  He crawled the remaining feet to the shanty. Then he stood up and bolted through the doorway, pulling the broken door closed behind him. He couldn’t move another step. Instead, he dropped to his knees. Huddled in a ball, his camera dangling around his neck, he considered how he could escape from this new insanity.

  Chapter Seven

  “The van’s not moving,” Jade said with a scowl. She shook the phone as if that would change what the app was telling her. “I thought the app had stalled out again. But that’s clearly not the case. The van just isn’t moving.” She paused and looked at him. Her delicate brows were drawn together. “I don’t think it’s on the road, either, but I can’t bring up a real-time photo.”

  “What are we looking at?”

  “Eight miles,” she said. “So less than ten minutes and we’ll have our answer.”

  “With any luck,” he said drily.

  They drove in silence. The snow had finally stopped falling. Here and there, gold shocks of prairie grass burst through the snow. A herd of antelope grazed a half mile to their right, halfway between the foothills and the road. Snow-capped mountains were visible in the distance. At another time, under other conditions, it would have been a scenic route.

  “There’s either a problem or it’s as simple as he stopped to take pictures.” She squinted as if that would somehow bring their client into view. “It makes sense. He probably isn’t feeling threatened. He feels safer out here. Like he left all the danger behind.” She paused. “I’m just speculating, but from what I know of him...”

  “He’s impulsive.”

  “Big-time.” She looked out the window and back down at the app. The van still hadn’t moved. She wondered if Stanley was still with the vehicle. She hoped so. “We might find the van, but there’s no guarantee that he’s still with it.”

  That possibility hung between them. Neither of them mentioned the other possibility, that Stanley was already dead. It was an option of which they were both aware but one that neither of them was willing to e
ntertain.

  “This case isn’t going to be like any other we’ve had.” He broke the silence as he glanced at her. “It’s the first to become transcontinental.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Emir called just before we left.” He navigated an icy patch on the road before looking her way again. “I would have told you immediately, but as you know, we were short of time and we had other priorities.”

  “What do you have?” she said, and couldn’t stop the hint of impatience in her voice.

  Hot air blew in from the vents, and snow dusted and swept across the road in seemingly chaotic swirls.

  The highway was becoming even more treacherous as the snow that had melted on the pavement turned to ice when the temperature plummeted.

  “There was an incident reported in Rabat, Morocco, three days ago. A cottage on the grounds of an estate was blown up. A gardener died.”

  “Wow,” she muttered. “How is that tied...” She broke off before her thought could even become a full question. Her gut told her that the case was about to be turned on its head.

  “What was destroyed was a cottage that Stanley apparently likes to retreat to. He often spends time there with his uncle playing cards.” He looked over at her. “The estate belongs to his uncle.”

  “You’re kidding me,” she said, and she couldn’t keep the edge out of her voice. She shook her head. “No, obviously you’re not. I can’t believe this.”

  He glanced at her, a frown on his face. “We didn’t hear anything until early this morning.”

  “And it took this long to tell me? And the case wasn’t upgraded,” she said. She was beginning to fume. Not only had the code not been changed until they’d been shot at, but she hadn’t been told earlier.

  “It was reported to Emir,” he said, mentioning his twin and head of the Marrakech branch. “The connection with Stanley wasn’t made until just before I left to meet you.”

  The Pathfinder skated for a moment over a patch of black ice. A minute passed and then two before he spoke again.

  “The results of the explosion didn’t even make Moroccan news. Stanley’s uncle has pull.”

  “How’d Emir find out?” Her hand relaxed and dropped from her waistband where her gun was concealed. It was an instinctive reaction to danger, perceived or otherwise.

  “Our family’s employee grapevine.”

  “Your employees? The ones who work on the family estate?”

  “Exactly. The Marrakech estate employees are sometimes our strongest communication device for homegrown cases. This time, one of our maids had a sister whose friend worked at Stanley’s uncle’s estate.”

  He offered her a lopsided smile. “Emir went to the mansion as soon as he heard and interrogated the uncle. According to Emir—to quote him, ‘he’s old, but a crusty bugger.’ Apparently, he’s an army vet and wasn’t intimidated by much, but Emir has a knack about him. If there’s information to be had, send in Emir. He’s the human bulldozer.”

  The news of the explosion was unexpected, and she knew, with the connection to Stanley, that it had the potential to change everything they’d thought about this case. She waited for him to continue.

  “We’re swamped. There’s not an available agent on either side of the Atlantic. Emir could only do so much with his time constraints. It’s our case, so he’s left the rest up to us.”

  “Anything else?” She thought of the implications, of the possibility that this might end overseas. She swallowed back the exciting challenge of an overseas case.

  “The gardener who died in the blast was a new hire. He had no connections to the family. His credit rating was clear—no debt, no grudges that could be found.”

  “No threat to anyone. Wrong place, wrong time.” It was such a common occurrence as to be trite, almost clichéd. Expect the Unexpected was a motto that few people lived by and more should. It was a motto that was almost a religion to her.

  “Exactly. But so far we’re basing everything on assumption. But it did flush something else out. The uncle obviously has money, and he’s a widower. More importantly, he’s just updated his will. The new beneficiary is none other than Stanley.”

  “Stanley?”

  He nodded. “It’s so recent and been kept so quiet that even Stanley may not know.”

  “This is crazy,” she said. “So Stanley stands to inherit what I assume may be a fortune.”

  “That’s what we have for now. But...”

  “You think there’s more,” she interrupted. This was going south fast.

  “Yes.” He looked at her with a hint of admiration with an overtone of surprise. “As you know, we’ve continued a low-key investigation in Morocco into Stanley’s background. It’s been hampered by a lack of resources. My sister, Tara, will be helping out part-time with the online investigation.”

  “Computer science is her major,” she said. “Perfect fit.”

  She smiled hearing what he wasn’t saying—that Tara’s involvement in the business was safe. Tara was Zafir’s youngest sibling and only sister. Only months ago she’d been the victim of a kidnapping. Since then, her brothers wanted to keep her safe by sheltering her. But their sister’s formidable will was well known throughout the agency. It looked like that will had won out. Jade thought, from everything she knew of Tara, that she’d make a fantastic agent once she finished her schooling. She was smart enough to know not to mention such an idea to Zafir.

  “So, Stanley’s inheritance, how much are we talking—enough to put his life in danger?”

  “More than enough. Around fifty million or so American dollars. That’s what Stanley’s uncle admitted to Emir,” Zafir said. “From what Emir told me of the estate, he’s probably not exaggerating.”

  She shook her head.

  “And Stanley...”

  “Like I said, Emir was fairly certain that Stanley was in the dark about the whole matter.”

  “If he knew, I don’t know if he could keep it a secret long.” Or could he, she thought, thinking of the Stanley who had stolen her rental and bolted. He wasn’t as open or as naive as he liked to portray. “So who wins if Stanley is taken out?”

  “That’s the burning question,” he said. “Is it enough motivation to take him out?”

  “It’s fifty million,” she said with disbelief in her voice. “I don’t know about your world, but in mine that’s a crazy amount of money.”

  “Which means it’s enough to kill for.”

  “Exactly. Can you step it up a notch?” She heard the edge in her voice. “I know, first I tell you slow down and now I’m telling you to speed up. Kind of contradictory.”

  “You think?” he asked.

  “I know it’s slick.” She shook her head. “I know—weather conditions. Of all times to get a late storm. Hopefully, Stanley manages these roads. Last thing we need...”

  Her words dropped off, for they both knew the other concern. Accidents on days like this were not uncommon. Toss in a traumatized foreigner and the odds just skyrocketed.

  Zafir glanced at her with a smile and a slight arch of his dark brow. “We’ll get this case roped in and under control,” he said. “Weather, assassin, whatever we have to tackle. We’ve both seen worse.”

  “We need to know the wording of that will,” she said. Her mind was already moving ahead to other issues. “And next of kin, including those not listed.”

  She looked at him with a half smile, but she clutched the door handle and squinted into the horizon. She saw what they’d both been looking for—the white flash of metal paint. They’d found the van. But it was also what they were hoping not to see, for the van was in the ditch and from this distance there was only the van in sight. So where was Stanley?

  Chapter Eight

  Zafir hit the brake and brought the Pat
hfinder to a stop on the edge of the highway. The sun had broken through minutes earlier and the snow had stopped over ten minutes before that.

  Jade had her Colt in both hands. She’d put a bulletproof vest on before they stopped. Now, like her, he made a visual scan of the area before approaching the van.

  He adjusted the vest, shifted his grip on his gun and moved in just behind Jade. Big mistake. She had a butt more attractive than any agent’s should be. He pulled his gaze back to the perimeter around the van. He crept up beside her. The side of the van nearest the field was sunk lower than the rest, the hood dipping into the ditch. The right front tire was flat. The driver’s door was half open as if the driver had exited in a rush. They split up, Jade approaching that side while he moved to the passenger door and pulled it open. It took a good heave to do it. He frowned. The van was old. It should have been moved off the lot rather than rented. Yet in an odd way it had been the perfect vehicle. Plain and unobtrusive, it blended.

  The van was empty except for the Wyoming tourism magazine that lay open to a page with a map of Wyoming. A half-eaten candy bar lay beside it and in the back was Stanley’s suitcase, duffel and his camera bag.

  “He ran,” Jade said with that soft-as-butter tone to her voice. She straightened, looking across the field as if seeing immediate danger there. But there was nothing. “Let’s hope he didn’t get far.” Her lips pinched as she looked at the van and back again at the landscape.

  She looked down.

  “What the...” She moved a few feet from the van and reached down to pick up a disposable phone. It was the kind bought in convenience stores for short-term use.

  She flipped it open. “I don’t think it’s ever been used,” she said after she scanned through the call history. “Wait, no, there’s a text. Number isn’t registering.” She frowned. “Doesn’t make much sense.”

  She handed it to him.

  “‘By your ears.’” He frowned. The phrase was odd and she was right, made absolutely no sense. “I’m not sure what the hell that’s supposed to mean if anything.” He handed it back to her, and she shoved it into her pocket.