“No,” said Harry. “Trust me, Tom. We want this guy.”
Tom looked at Rizaak and his eyes widened for a moment. He blinked and then looked over at Harry again. “No, Harry. The girl. A woman always plays better. Cops are more hesitant. Bring the damn woman!”
Now Dick called from the back door. “Jane’s here with the car. Let’s move, guys.”
Tom gave Harry a pointed look and then headed for the door. Now Harry looked at Rizaak, then over at Cristy, Rizaak again, and finally at Tom and Dick walking out through the door.
“Screw it,” Harry muttered now, pushing Rizaak towards the door. “Come on, Al. Hands on your head and move. Move!” he said.
Rizaak began to walk towards the door with his hands on his head, and Cristy watched him go. She felt strange as she watched him, almost like she was sad to see him go, like there was already a connection between them that was being strained by this separation. Yes, it was a feeling of being pulled apart, pulled along maybe, pulled in perhaps . . .
And then, as if she somehow knew it was going to happen before it happened, Cristy felt Harry’s gloved hand close tight around her upper arm.
“You too, honey,” he said now, dragging her towards the door even though she wasn’t really resisting. “You’re coming too.”
3
“What the hell is this?” Tom asked as Harry arrived at the back door with Rizaak in front of him and Cristy in tow.
Tom and Dick were standing inside the steel-and-glass rear exit, peering into the alleyway. Cristy could see three empty police cars parked haphazardly, and she could make out some movement behind the cars—probably cops taking their positions. The cars weren’t blocking the alley farther down, though, and Cristy could see a blue Honda Civic that seemed to have someone in the driver’s seat . . . someone with long blond hair. A woman. Jane? Tom, Dick, Harry, and Jane? OK. Sure.
“Two hostages are better,” Harry said now. “They may have snipers on the rooftops. The more human shields the better.”
Dick shrugged and Tom just sighed as he squinted through the door. “All right,” he said. “Stay close now. We’re moving.”
Tom grabbed Cristy and pushed her out the door first, holding her tight around the arm, his body pressing into her from behind. Cristy winced as she felt the skin on her arm twist as she stumbled forward, and she blinked in the bright sunlight as she felt herself being pushed along. Then from behind her came his voice, calm and steadying, assuring her that he was right behind her:
“There is no hurry,” Rizaak said calmly, his deep voice sounding very close even though Cristy knew Tom and Dick were behind her and in front of Rizaak. “No hostages have been injured, so the snipers will not take any risky shots. There is no hurry. We can take our time. Relax, Cristy. It will—”
“Yo, who the hell is in charge here, Al?” came Harry’s voice now, and Cristy could sense fear in his tone, nervousness in his delivery. “Just shut the hell up and move, or one of the hostages IS gonna get injured.”
The group of five shuffled along down the alley, and soon they arrived at the blue Honda Civic. Tom waited until all of them were gathered around the doors, and then he got into the front seat.
Dick crouched down and scurried to the right side and slipped into the back seat, and now Harry gestured to Rizaak and Cristy with his gun.
“Two of you in the middle,” he barked. “Don’t want you screaming from the windows or unlocking the doors and trying to jump out. In the middle. Come on. And squeeze in tight. Do it quick now. I don’t want to get shot standing out here, dammit.”
Rizaak slid into the backseat, moving close to Dick, and Cristy peered down and then got in. She sat up against Rizaak, keeping her thighs closed tight as she tried to be as small as possible in the cramped back seat. But when she looked over to her left, she realized there was no way Harry could fit on the seat with the three of them.
“Come,” Rizaak whispered now, his warm breath close to Cristy’s cheek. He patted his lap and smiled. “Come on.”
Cristy almost snorted with laughter. “Uh, I don’t think so,” she muttered, blinking as she tried to clamp her legs even tighter, squeezing her buttocks like that would magically create more space in the back. There was no way she was going to sit on anyone’s lap, let alone Rizaak’s! What if she crushed him?! Oh, God, how embarrassing!
Harry was bent over, looking into the car now, and as Cristy glanced into his eyes, she got the sense that he was thinking, calculating, perhaps deciding what to do. And then he opened his mouth to say something, and Cristy got the strangest feeling that he was just going to tell her to get out of the car, and without thinking any further, without worrying about how heavy she was or how she’d maneuver up on Rizaak’s lap in that tight skirt, she just leaned forward between the front seats, raised her bottom, and sat down as gently as she could on Rizaak’s broad lap.
He took her weight without the slightest sound or movement, and now his hands were firm on her soft hips, and he leaned forward and said, “Sit back, Cristy. I am very comfortable, so you may as well get comfortable too. Come. Sit back.”
Cristy felt her heart race as she wriggled her bottom and spread her legs a little to get comfortable. She was still leaning forward, resting some of her weight against the two front seats as she clutched them. But now Rizaak was gently pulling her back, his hands still on her hips, and she allowed herself to lean back, and her heart beat faster as she felt his muscular body harden as she put her weight against him, and there was a buzzing in her head now, and the world faded away and all that was left was the feeling of this strange, foreign man’s strong hands on her hips, his body pressed up close against hers, his face almost nestled in her dark brown hair. She could smell his cologne—a mixture of sandalwood essence and an Eastern musk-oil that sent tingles through her body as she breathed deep, taking in his smell, her senses opening up as she—
“What the hell is this?” came the blond woman’s voice now, sharp and cutting, nasal and high-pitched. “Are you kidding me? Tom? What is going on? Is this a goddamn bus service for newlyweds?”
Cristy blinked herself back to reality. The first thing she saw was her own reflection in the rearview mirror, and it damn well STARTLED her! Was she . . . was she . . . was she SMILING?! Oh, God, is this what it feels like to go into shock, she wondered as she stared at her reflection: that familiar round face, those smooth, creamy white cheeks, those full, light red lips that could perhaps use a touch-up or at least some Chapstick. And those brown eyes of hers. She blinked and glanced once more at the reflection, and now she could see HIS face in the background, Rizaak’s chiseled jawline, his high cheekbones, that sharp nose, and those eyes . . . those mystical green eyes. She looked at the two of them as that smile returned to her face, and for a moment she felt like the reflection was an old photograph, an old photograph of young lovers, like something you might find in a dusty old suitcase in someone’s attic in Europe or something. Yes, an old picture somehow brought back to life in the cracked, crooked rearview mirror of this blue Honda Civic, in the backalleys of South Baltimore, with police snipers on rooftops, men with guns all around them, and—
“Seriously, what the HELL is this?” the woman said, and Cristy wasn’t sure if she was repeating herself or if time had stopped for just a moment as that secret rearview photograph of Cristy and Rizaak revealed itself, like perhaps they were old lovers living new lives, an ancient love reborn in the modern world, perhaps an ancient love that had never died . . .
“What do you think it is, Jane,” Tom growled. “Hostages. Now drive. Slow and easy until we get some distance on the cops. Go slow. They’ll follow, but they’ll keep their distance. They know we have two hostages—one to spare.”
Jane shook her head and exhaled hard and adjusted the rearview mirror. Now Cristy looked into it and all she saw were two blue eyes, sharp and focused, looking right at her. The eyes narrowed for a moment, and then shifted focus, shifted to Rizaak, and Cristy stared as Ja
ne, this blond, blue-eyed woman who seemed to be the getaway driver, took a long, deep look at Rizaak Al-Khawas.
“Hostages,” Jane said, a smirk in her voice as she started to drive. “What, you pick up a couple on their honeymoon or something?”
Dick snickered beside them, and Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Just shut up and drive, Jane. Just drive.”
Jane laughed out loud now, tossing her long, silky blond hair back as she turned halfway and looked at Harry. She didn’t have a mask on, and she was strikingly beautiful, Cristy thought as she caught sight of Jane’s face in profile. Yes, striking, and with sort of a British accent, but not quite.
“Oh, was this your idea, Harry?” she said, her tone closer to mocking than teasing. “I should have guessed.” She laughed again, glancing into the rearview mirror, her smile changing form as she looked at Rizaak and took a quick breath.
Harry smiled. “Miss Piggy’s the bank teller,” he said. “And my buddy Al . . . well, he’s the goddamn bank!” He nudged Cristy in the side. “What was that number again, honey? Six hundred . . . shit, I don’t remember. What was it?”
He tried to poke her again, but this time she felt Rizaak’s hand smoothly move up her side, fingers firm against the warmth of her stomach, his arm tensing up around her as he shielded her from Harry’s jab. Cristy took a quick breath and brushed some brown hair from her forehead as she caught Jane looking at her again.
“Six hundred and ninety-two thousand dollars,” Cristy announced. “And forty-nine cents.”
“In his spare cash account,” Harry said triumphantly. “So that’s just the tip of the iceberg, fellas.”
“What?” said Dick.
Tom turned around and looked at Harry, and then at Rizaak. “Who are you?” he asked. “Someone famous or something?”
“He's Al,” said Harry. “He's my buddy Al!”
Dick grinned and leaned his head back against the seat. Jane half-turned once again, glancing at Harry before she broke into a huge smile and looked over at Tom.
Finally Tom took a deep breath, closed his eyes tight, and then nodded slowly. “Jesus Christ, Harry. Maybe you are a goddamn genius after all.”
And now the gang broke out into cheers, and the little blue car rocked with howls of laughter and wails of victory, and Cristy felt Rizaak’s arms slide around her waist, and she reached down and placed her warm hand over his as she leaned a little more of her weight into him, made herself a little more comfortable against his body, his body that already seemed familiar to her somehow, familiar like how that framed image of Cristy and Rizaak in the rearview looked familiar . . .
“This changes things,” Tom was muttering now, and he looked at Jane. “This changes everything, baby.”
“No shit,” Jane said, looking in the rearview and then smiling. “So we can stick with the original plan, yeah?”
Now Tom pulled off his mask and took a deep breath, and Dick and Harry followed suit. Tom had sandy brown hair, a rugged face with patchy stubble, and earnest, light blue eyes that made Cristy think he was younger (and perhaps nicer) than she might have guessed.
She glanced at Dick from the corner of her eye, and took in his soft, almost squishy features, big nose, double-chin, black hair that was thinning in front, fine lines and wrinkles around his dark brown eyes. He was probably the same age as Tom, but looked older because he hadn’t taken as good care of himself.
Finally she sneaked a look at Harry, and took a quick breath before looking away. Harry looked like he sounded—gruff, mean, and not very bright. His brown hair was buzzed down to the scalp, and his eyebrows looked as thick as the brown mustache he was sporting. His skin was pockmarked something wicked, and his eyes were almost a colorless gray. Those yellowing teeth didn’t help his look either, Cristy thought.
“So what’s the plan now, Tom,” Harry said through those teeth as he lit up a cigarette, thankfully puffing out through the open window. “Now that we got . . . hell, now that we got MORE than we expected.”
Dick chuckled again, and Tom nodded and looked over at Jane. “Jane’s right. I think we can go back to Plan A. What say, babe?”
“Dublin Dog?” Jane said. She nodded. “Yeah, I think it’s safe to say we can go with Plan A again. We can afford it now. Yeah. Dublin Dog it is.”
“Dublin Dog,” Dick said, nodding as he looked out the window and smiled.
“Dublin Dog,” Harry said, puffing on his cigarette and chuckling.
And now Jane checked her mirrors for the police tail, and after turning a sharp corner at a slow speed, she GUNNED the engine, taking three more zigzag turns through the narrow streets of the old part of Baltimore, the little car careening its way down towards the dockyards.
Cristy felt herself being thrown from side to side, and she would have been tossed all over the little car if not for Rizaak holding her tight, both arms circling her waist as he pulled her into him. Cristy could feel his face against her back, his rough stubble pressed against her soft skin, and she felt so secure with him, so safe with him, so . . . so . . . happy?
Happy? Was she insane?
“They got a chopper?” Jane asked, her voice tense as she focused on the road, taking another hard left and a quick right down an alley just broad enough for the little Honda Civic.
“Nah,” Tom said, leaning forward and peering up. “Not yet. We’re almost there now.”
One last turn and then Jane floored the accelerator, the little car shooting across an empty intersection and through a small gate that looked like a side gate that wasn’t used anymore but had been mysteriously left open . . .
And when Cristy got her bearings (and her breath . . .) she realized that they were in the dockyards, heading straight for the berths where the big commercial freighters docked to load and unload hundreds of massive steel containers, each the size of a semi-truck.
“There she is,” Jane said, and now it occurred to Cristy that the accent was Irish. “The Dublin Dog.”
The ship looked gigantic as they drove close, the black, rust-stained metal hull looking like a mountain that had no top. The ship was so long Cristy could barely tell where it ended, and it was loaded with containers stacked almost to the third story of the white accommodations stack.
Cristy could see DUBLIN DOG (IRELAND) painted on the side in large white block letters, and her heart almost stopped when the car screeched to a halt right near an imposingly long, mostly rusted, suspended gangway leading up to the ship.
Two rough looking men in grease-stained, white boiler-suits came hurrying down the gangway just as Tom and Jane stepped out of the car. One of the men hugged Jane and nodded at Tom. The other man quietly got into the driver’s seat of the Honda.
“Move, kids,” Harry said as he got out of the car. “Last stop.”
Cristy tried to get off Rizaak’s lap with as much ladylike grace as possible, but she was frazzled and turned around, and maybe part of her butt had gone to sleep! So despite all her efforts, as she slid off him and onto the empty back seat where Harry had been, she found herself rolling onto her back, her left leg rising up, the toe of her shoe catching on the car ceiling as her right leg almost kicked Rizaak in the face.
“Oh, GOD!” she exclaimed, trying to straighten herself and her skirt at the same time, not quite succeeding in doing either. “I am SO sorry!”
“It is no trouble,” Rizaak whispered, smiling as he pointedly held eye contact instead of letting his eyes wander to where Cristy’s light blue cotton panties would have been on full display. Why the HELL hadn’t she worn stockings or tights today?!
He waited until she gained her balance, found her form, straightened her skirt, and then Rizaak got out of the car on the same side as Cristy.
The man in the boiler-suit immediately drove off in the empty car, giving Cristy a start as she took a step back, instinctively reaching for Rizaak, who was right there. She looked up at him for a moment, and noticed that he seemed to thinking very hard as he looked at the ship, then at th
e four robbers and their big, burly contact who appeared to be an officer on the ship, perhaps the captain.
“Say goodbye to your little blue car, sis,” the man said to Jane. He smiled, and Cristy noticed he was missing a front tooth. “It’ll be in a hundred pieces at the bottom of Chesapeake Bay by sundown.”
“Cripes, Malone. You know I always hated that thing,” Jane said. “And I’m going to buy me a Mercedes Benz anyway. Just like in the song.”
Tom smiled grimly and Harry and Dick chuckled a bit. Malone looked around at them, smiling in some confusion.
“Where’s the money?” he asked now, looking at Tom.
Harry thumped Rizaak on the back as Tom answered.
“We’ll have it when we get there,” Tom said. “We'll have enough to pay you for the trip.”
“No good,” Malone said. “It's more than just me for the trip. I got to pay the men at the docks in Baltimore who helped us out.”
Tom frowned. “I thought we covered that already, Malone. We paid for that up front, man. Ten thousand, like you asked.”
Malone shrugged and rubbed his neck. “More guys need to get paid. More’n I thought. There’s the guys who opened the side gate. There’s some hush money to the local dock workers who’ve been loading the new containers. You want to vanish, yeah? Well, it costs. You know that.”
“OK, Malone. Sure. We’ll cover them all and then some,” Tom said. “But we don’t have it now.”
Malone smiled, but it was an anxious smile. “You don’t get it, do you?” he said, his greasy face breaking into a sweat now as he looked around. “If we don’t pay these guys before getting on that ship, they’re going to talk, and the Coast Guard is going to board us before we leave U.S. waters. And not only will they take you guys, but they’ll take me too, as well as the entire damn ship. So nobody’s getting on my ship until we have the money to pay these guys.”
Tom inhaled sharply, looking at Jane and then Rizaak.
But Harry piped in first. “Well, Al’s got six hundred and something thousand in his damn checking account. We can just go to a cash machine! Yeah! There’s probably one at—”
Hostage for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 3) Page 3