Her Sheik Protector
Page 4
Bringing himself back to his immediate surroundings, Darin felt confident enough that he and Rylie were isolated in the middle of a crowd. They could talk freely.
“Why?” Her voice was a bit stronger, a bit lower than yesterday.
Shaking his head at the out-of-place question, he was beginning to wonder if that explosion had affected her mind.
“Why are you here?” she blurted before he could say anything. “I wouldn’t think a Kadir would be willing to talk to a Hunt.”
Surprised by the question, but interested in where she was going with this line, he chuckled and gave her a polite nod. “Now it’s my turn to ask—why not? You don’t have plans to do me harm, do you?”
She didn’t answer, but before the lull in the conversation dragged into an embarrassing void, her wine and his water arrived. Her lack of a response, to both his question and his companionable attitude, did nothing to fill him with confidence. He had expected either a lie or an accusation. She confused him with a simple blank stare.
Rylie took a sip of wine and kept on staring at him. He felt as though he were a rat being studied in a scientific experiment, and he wasn’t crazy about the idea. Being too closely scrutinized had to be bad for covert operations. The longer she stared, the more he wondered if she was, in fact, working for the Taj Zabbar.
A spark appeared in her eyes. But before Darin could figure out if that spark meant a change of mood or something more dangerous, she asked, “Would you mind telling me about the Kadir and Taj Zabbar feud?”
In the middle of lifting his water to his lips, Darin choked, spilling the drink down the front of his button-down shirt.
“What did you say?” he sputtered. “Who told you anything about the Taj Zabbar?”
Leaning in toward him, she hurriedly dabbed at his chest with a paper napkin. Tiny smile lines appeared at the corners of her eyes. It was the first easy expression he’d seen on her face and the casualness of it made her glow. How beautiful would she be if she ever actually laughed?
He couldn’t imagine, but the mere idea made him want to see for himself.
Before Darin could give her an automatic grin, he ordered up the covert operative inside him and brushed her hands away. “Forget the shirt. The water will dry. Tell me what you know about the Taj Zabbar.”
“All I know is what a friend read on the Internet.” She sat back in her chair and looked as though she was poised to run. “The Taj Zabbar is in control of their own country again after nearly five hundred years of being oppressed by neighbors. And they apparently hate the Kadir family for some reason, but I can’t find out why.”
When he said nothing, she continued, “I do know the Kadirs weren’t the ones who enslaved them. You folks don’t even have your own country, do you? Why would they carry a grudge against your family?”
Under her shower of questions, Darin felt his jaw and shoulders tightening. He tried to relax. Beyond the obvious lust, what was it about her that so intrigued him?
If this was some kind of game, he would play along until he was satisfied she wasn’t working for the enemy.
“I suppose I can tell you the family legends of the Taj Zabbar feud. But then I have a question or two for you. Do you promise to answer truthfully?”
“Why should I?”
“Because otherwise this conversation is over. I have business matters that need attention.”
Her lip jutted out and her eyes narrowed. “Okay. Maybe. But I reserve the right not to answer.”
She frustrated him beyond belief. “We’ll see about that.” He tried to find some emotion he could pin down in her eyes, but all he found was hunger.
“Wait a second.” He lifted a hand, palm out. “I’ve decided there is one more condition. I’m going to order something for you to eat and I want you to eat every bite—or else no more conversation.”
Her mouth gaped open. “What is with you and the compulsion to feed me?”
“It’s just your tough luck that you picked this Kadir to harass. I won’t be responsible for you collapsing from hunger while you’re with me. And you look like you could be blown over by a light breeze. Is it a deal?”
“Fine,” she muttered. “Do you think this place serves salads?” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t I look like I need to diet?”
Nearly done chowing down on the huge bowl of pasta and seafood Darin had insisted she order, Rylie was trying to calm her racing mind. For the last thirty minutes, Darin had been almost overly polite. Talking casually about the chill in the air or the newly budded spring blossoms on the trees seemed bizarre. The evening was starting to feel like a date, except that his eyes kept darting around the room as if he were expecting someone else to show up.
Somehow over the last twenty-four hours, Rylie’s anger toward the Kadirs—or at least toward this Kadir—seemed to have subsided. She tried to dredge up a chunk of that old hatred, but all she came up with was curiosity.
She dropped her fork and blotted her mouth with a napkin. “Done. Will you—please—tell me the story of the feud now?”
“It isn’t a true feud. Feuds take two parties. The Kadirs have not held a grudge against the Taj Zabbar—in the past.”
The way he added that last part was curious. She made a mental note to ask about it later. But in the meantime, Darin sat back in his chair and sipped his sparkling water as if he was done talking. Like hell.
When she glared at him and fisted her hands on the table, he lifted the corners of his mouth and rolled his eyes. “All right. I guess I did promise. There’s an old legend about the family’s first encounter with the Taj Zabbar—over five centuries ago. Is that what you want?”
“To start.”
“Yes, well… For nearly a thousand years the Kadir clan have been nomads and traders. Originally we traveled the Spice Route in ten-mile-long caravans, staying for a time with the various peoples we met along the way. Our clan never claimed any lands as our own but would rely on the kindness of those who would allow us to pitch our tents on their land.”
Rylie leaned back in her chair and listened to him speak in that dreamy voice of his. As he spoke, she thought about the Arabian Nights tales. His hushed words tied her in a web of romance, destiny and mystic promise. Visions of sandstorms and camels and dark sheiks riding across dunes on horseback swam in her mind.
“At around sixteen hundred AD,” he went on, “the Kadir caravan arrived in a new territory. A land of vast, isolated deserts and rough mountain terrain. A land with easily accessible coastlines for commerce. The Kadirs found the territory was inhabited by a fierce warrior tribe called the Taj Zabbar.”
Darin was finally getting down to the legend. “The Kadirs have always come and gone in peace, no matter where they’ve traveled.” Shooting a quick glance around at the thinning crowds in the bar, he continued. “But the Taj Zabbar wanted no trade and no peace. Our people were preparing to move on when the caravan was attacked. Taj Zabbar warriors robbed, raped and murdered many of our people before the Kadirs could mount a defense.”
He’d stopped talking and a faraway look appeared in his eyes. Rylie wondered if the magic of the legend was affecting him the same way it did her.
“Don’t stop now. What happened next?”
“What? Oh, sorry.” He suddenly looked annoyed and Rylie was about to ask why when he said, “Do you see anyone watching us?”
She pivoted in her chair and checked around the bar. “Nope. Why?”
His lips narrowed into a grimace. “Nothing. It’s just…
“Never mind. Where was I?”
“Your ancestors defending themselves against attack.”
She couldn’t quite name the expression in his eyes, but in a moment he began his story once more.
“The Kadirs successfully defended themselves. But by then the caravan was destroyed. It would’ve been impossible for them to move on in the shape they were in. They were compelled to settle down where they were for long enough to repopulate their herds of camels an
d horses and to construct new tents. A second generation of our people had been born before the caravan was ready to travel again.”
“Wow. So, like, years, then? What about the Taj Zabbar during that time?”
“Yes, it was many years. And the Taj Zabbar continued their raids on our people.” Darin’s voice dropped to a near whisper and she was forced to lean forward to hear what he was saying. “Finally, in desperation, the Kadir elders decided they had no choice but to fight back. They rounded up as many of the Taj Zabbar as they could, executing the worst of the murderers and dispersing the rest.”
Rylie felt a whiff of air on the back of her neck at that moment and looked around to see if someone had opened a door behind her. She found the bar crowds had thinned considerably, and the door was firmly shut against the night air. She could barely believe she’d been so entranced by the story that she hadn’t even noticed the time.
Darin kept talking and she whipped her head back to hear what he was saying. “After the Kadir clan left their territory for good, the Taj Zabbar rulers and warriors had been so decimated that they couldn’t defend themselves. Their neighbors swarmed over their lands and enslaved what was left of the tribe.” Darin shook his head at his own words, which seemed a little strange to her.
“The Taj Zabbar never forgot or forgave the Kadirs, I suppose.”
“No. Not for the following five hundred years.”
“But it’s over now, isn’t it?” she demanded. “I mean, the Taj Zabbar finally got their territory back a couple of years ago. All the problems between your clans were long ago.”
“Not exactly.”
She thought about what he’d said at the start of his story…. Our first encounter with the Taj Zabbar—
“Something else has happened since? What?”
Darin raised his eyebrows. “Sorry. It’s my turn to ask the questions.”
“But…”
“Uh-uh.” His face lit up like he’d been given a special present. “A promise is a promise.”
He was right about that. She believed in honoring a promise, too.
But she didn’t have to like it. “Fine,” she grumbled. “What do want to know?”
Taking his time, Darin raised his glass and swallowed the last of his wine. “First, I would like an explanation of why you threw that accusation around last night about me causing the explosion?”
Struck, as if by his hand across her face, Rylie drew in a breath. “I didn’t mean you exactly. I was talking about…”
“My family?” he suggested. “But even that doesn’t make any sense. My uncle was killed in the explosion the same as your father. Thinking logically, why would the Kadirs kill a member of their family and cost their own company untold amounts of trouble and aggravation?”
“I…” It did sound ridiculous now hearing him say it. How would she explain herself?
The ugly truth was all she had to offer, but she vowed to take the punishing embarrassment that came with it like her father’s daughter should. “I wasn’t thinking clearly, I guess. Maybe I thought the explosion was some sort of suicide bombing.”
“Terrorism? You thought we…” He stopped talking and the strangest look crossed his face.
His shoulders raised and straightened as he glared at her. “Certainly an educated person wouldn’t let prejudice cloud their mind in such dark ways. You seem too sophisticated for racial profiling.”
“I am.” She heard the desperation in her voice and wondered why this man’s opinion of her had suddenly become so important. “I mean, I don’t really believe any of that stuff. But my judgment has been impaired since the explosion—since the death of my father. I…I haven’t been completely well. Obviously.”
It took him a second, but the hard expression in his eyes finally softened to sympathy as he said, “Which brings me to my next question. Why are you here? You should be home with your family and running what’s left of your company.”
She tightened her lips and glared at him, not ready to discuss this yet.
“I learned this morning that you have nearly bankrupted yourself and the entire Hunt firm,” he continued. “All in an effort to lessen the suffering for victims of the explosion—every one of them, and not only Hunt employees. That may be admirable, but what good are you doing them or yourself by coming here?”
The question made her stop and think. Why was she here? What had she hoped to accomplish?
“Justice.” Once she’d spoken the word aloud, it made sense. “I want to give the dead and injured justice. I am positive that explosion wasn’t caused by any accident. It was deliberate. And I intend to find out who caused it and why.”
Still stunned by a couple of things Rylie had said, Darin ignored the creepy sensation of being watched as he paid their bill and ushered her outside. He’d checked out every person remaining in the club before they left, but he couldn’t pinpoint anyone who appeared to be spying on them.
He wasn’t the kind of person who ordinarily gave himself over to fantasy. But he thought perhaps it was the strong sense of responsibility toward Rylie that he’d been experiencing that was making him paranoid on her behalf.
Her mention of justice had stopped him. He understood her sentiments and her loyalty to her father. Justice went along with honor and family loyalty. But on the other hand, for centuries the Taj Zabbar had used their quest for justice as an excuse for threats and dishonest behavior toward his family.
Justice was not a concept he took lightly. Over the last hour, he’d begun to reconsider some of the steps that the Kadirs had already taken against the Taj Zabbar—without any proof. Where was the justice in building a defensive line and spying operations without knowing for sure that the Taj Zabbar were already at war?
One thing would definitely be different for him after tonight. Darin felt confident Rylie was not involved with the Taj Zabbar in any way. She was merely a grieving victim, trying to make sense out of the nonsensical.
Death had a way of turning normally smart people into hysterical idiots. He knew that because he’d been there himself at least once. When his mother died, Darin had been ready to blame anyone and everyone—except the cancer that killed her.
Those thoughts made him wonder if the death of one of their own hadn’t also sent the Kadir elders into that same spiral of frantic paranoia. Both he and Rylie might be better off to quit their respective witch hunts and go back to work.
Gently laying a hand at her waist to help guide her through the doorway and outside to the walkway, Darin thought back on the other stunning thing she’d said tonight. Or perhaps it wasn’t what she’d said but the way she’d said it.
She had been wrapped up in the tale of his family when she’d looked up at him and demanded he finish the story. He’d gotten a good look at her eyes. Those eyes with their oceans of emotions had totally lost their anger. Instead, he spotted something else in them that he hadn’t expected.
Destiny. Preordained and undeniable. One day soon, they were fated to be together. Whether for one night, one week or forever, he could not say. But he was as sure of her as he was of the rising sun in the morning.
“I think I can manage to make it back on my own,” she said as her voice broke through his thoughts. “Thank you for the dinner and the history lesson.”
Not a chance. He wasn’t letting her go anywhere alone.
Before he could tell her that, a man appeared at the curb directly in front of her. A Middle Eastern man in the clan keffiyeh of the Taj Zabbar held his palms out as if pleading with her to understand. Rylie came to an abrupt halt and Darin could sense her tension in the way she held her body.
His own body was as tight as the skin on a conga drum. Sweat trickled at his temple. He prepared himself for defense, trying desperately to remember everything he had learned.
“Excuse me,” the man muttered in hesitant English. “Miss Hunt, my employer wishes to speak with you. You will come now?”
“How do you know my name?”
And for Darin, everything changed.
Chapter 4
Damn it. Just when she was starting to like Darin, it turned out he’d been lying. How stupid could she be?
Letting him lead her right into a trap.
Rylie ripped her arm out of the stranger’s grasp and stomped down hard on the man’s foot. As the guy yelled and danced around in pain, she rounded on Darin. But before she could rear back and jam her knee to his groin, Darin shot out of her reach. Next thing she knew, he was punching the strange man dressed in Middle Eastern garb and knocking him off his feet. With one smooth motion, Darin whirled and grabbed her around the waist, lifting her off her feet. He half dragged and half carried her down the mist-dampened sidewalk in the opposite direction of the man lying in the street.
“Move,” he growled in her ear.
“I’m not going anywhere. Not with that guy and not with you.” Balling her fists, she tried smacking Darin’s face.
Her efforts were ineffective because her feet were dangling in midair and she couldn’t get adequate force behind her swings. Darin never missed a step on the slick, uneven cobblestones. She gave a good show of kicking him, but he was moving too fast and her toes were still barely touching the ground.
They made it around the next three city street corners using the same combined running and crablike moves before Darin finally slowed, turned and checked behind them. He never loosened his hold on her, not even a little.
“Let me go.” She gulped in air while her heartbeat raced like a motorcycle engine.
“You were terrific back there,” Darin whispered, breathing hard. “Quit fighting me. If you act stupid now, he’ll catch up to us again. I think there’s a small hotel in the next block. I’m sure we can make it that far, and we’ll have the doorman summon a taxi and be long gone before your assailant ever comes to his senses.”
She’d heard real respect for her actions in the tone of his voice and it helped to put a stopper in her fear. “Let me down,” she said calmly. “I can run faster if you’ll let me go.”