by Linda Conrad
“How long will it take to bring Kadir and the Hunt woman here to Milan?”
“We must drive, my sheik. The train left Bellinzona an hour ago.”
“A couple of hours, then. Very well. Keep them both hidden, and hurry.”
Tarik Kadir stood on a siding at the Milan train station, hands on his hips and questions burning in his brain. “And you are sure this is the sleeping car where my brother and the Hunt woman were passengers?”
“Yes, sir.” One of Tarik’s Italian investigators stood beside him in the warm sun as the two stared up at the uncoupled car. “The Swiss police gave it a quick once-over in Bellinzona during their search for the missing man.
“But somewhere between there and here,” the investigator continued, “your brother’s compartment was tossed. Cushions and mattresses were slashed and storage bins broken apart. The porter, your brother and his friend are missing. The Italian police have set the car aside here and mean to go over it again tomorrow for evidence.”
“I need a few minutes inside first. Is that possible?”
“Yes, of course. Not a problem. The Italian police are your friends.” The investigator casually waved a hand toward the car’s steps, inviting Tarik aboard.
Tarik had been trying to reach Darin for the last couple of hours with no luck. But he hadn’t been overly concerned with his brother’s lack of communication until his man called a while ago, announcing that Darin had failed to arrive at the Milan station. Tarik already had a couple of men on their way to Bellinzona, the last place Darin had made contact. But he had little hope of locating his older brother there.
As he took the steps up to the sleeping car, a memory of a young Darin, trying his best to console his two little brothers after their mother’s death, crept into Tarik’s mind. Without Darin, Tarik never would’ve made it to adulthood. He owed his oldest brother his life.
Damn Darin anyway. He had no business playing at being an investigator with a group as dangerous as the Taj Zabbar. Tarik’s heart ached at the real possibility of losing his big brother.
But Tarik would not let that happen, despite the difficult circumstances. Their mission had already been complicated when his team surrounded the apartment where the Taj Zabbar leader was supposedly having a meeting, only to find the place empty.
Walking down the train corridor, Tarik headed for his brother’s former compartment. It was worth a look.
After that, Tarik would make use of his nervous energy and do what he did best. Locate the bad guys—and then locate his brother.
Darin had better still be alive or there would be hell to pay. The Taj Zabbar thought they were at war now? Ha! They had no idea what a real war of retribution could look like.
Chapter 12
Rylie stared mournfully through the dirty piece of glass next to her head at the traffic driving by. Too bad it wasn’t a true roll-down window but only a filthy, stationary sheet of glass. Not that she could’ve done much had it been a real window. Being hog-tied the way she was left little room for movement.
Sighing at the frustration of her situation, she let her head roll back on the cracked leather seat. Their three attackers took up most of the room in this old European car. Most of the air, too. She’d found herself squished into a tiny corner of the backseat, trying to keep at least a few inches between her body and big bear-guy’s rolls of fat. Middle Eastern man was riding shotgun, and the third mysterious man drove.
It felt like they’d been riding on these crummy cobblestone streets for hours. But she was fairly sure it hadn’t really been that long. Still, with each interminable second, all she could think about was Darin, locked in the trunk. Could he breathe back there? Was he bleeding? Throwing up?
With every bump, her heart broke. With every stop, she held her breath and listened for any sound.
Since they were now driving into Milan’s city proper, her hopes had built that one of the hundreds of pedestrians milling about would recognize her distress and come to the rescue. She didn’t want to think about the remoteness of such a possibility. But every street-corner cop they passed was like a symbol giving her false hope.
That hope dwindled more and more with every mile.
She closed her eyes and imagined talking to Darin in the trunk. You are the one who needs to stay alive now. Promise me.
A lone tear tried to escape from the corner of her eye. But Rylie never cried. Not even as a little girl. No amount of physical pain had ever been enough to bring her to tears. She had never once in her life cried over a man, either. Emotional crying seemed silly and useless. She hadn’t even cried at her own father’s funeral.
Sniffing back the single tear, she bit down on the inside of her cheek and thought again about the man in the trunk. I’ll find a way for us to get free if you stay alive, Darin. Trust me and hang in there. I know that as long as we’re together we’ll be able to master these idiots in one way or the other.
Together.
How could she be so sure they would be able to work together? It wasn’t logical. But she was as sure of that as she was about the afternoon’s sun setting in the west.
Rylie had discovered herself desperately in love for the first time in her life. Unfortunately, that life had been passing before her eyes for the last couple of hours—the way they said it did when you were about to die. Being on the edge of death had made the truth of her feelings become clear and sharp.
It didn’t matter how long she and Darin had known each other. It didn’t matter that they came from different parts of the world, or had vastly different backgrounds.
She loved Darin Kadir. Would always love him. Right to the last breath she ever took.
Exhaling on the prayer that she and Darin would have many more breaths to come, Rylie opened her eyes. Their car had stopped in the middle of a traffic jam. She glanced out the glass beside her and saw a man in the next car studying her. He wasn’t anyone she had ever seen before, though the man seemed to recognize her.
Rylie widened her eyes and mouthed the word help! But what else could she do to make him understand? She let her eyes plead with him for comprehension. Then she inched her hands up to the glass to show him the ties.
Middle Eastern man in the front seat must’ve noticed something amiss because he spoke to bear-guy right then in a voice that sounded like a growl. The large man suddenly wrapped a beefy arm around her head and pulled her away from the window, muttering something under his breath.
With her head locked between his biceps and dense chest, she couldn’t breathe and struggled for freedom. But nothing she did made a bit of difference against the wall of tubby flesh holding her tight. As she was about to pass out, the car rolled forward and bear-guy released her.
Sucking in air, she leaned back and sneaked a peek out the window. Both the man and his car were gone. Had she only dreamed them? Maybe she’d been wishing for help badly enough that any curious stranger was starting to look like a rescuer.
Their car made two more quick turns and within moments pulled into an alley behind an old four-story apartment house. Car doors opened and fresh air streamed in. Bear-guy jerked her out of the backseat and hustled her into the building.
What about Darin? She dug in her heels, trying to hang back and see if he came out of the trunk alive. But bear-guy dragged her behind him up the stairs. When she slipped once on the rough concrete steps, he just lifted her over one shoulder and thumped up the four flights with no trouble.
Next thing she knew, she was unceremoniously thrown into a tall, dark wardrobe. The door slammed shut behind her, locking the light out and her in.
Fruitlessly, she banged a fist against the wood, crying dry, silent tears for the man she loved.
Darin. Oh, Darin. Please be alive!
Darin came out of the car’s trunk dizzy from the carbon monoxide and blinded by the bright sunlight. His knees buckled when he tried to stand, but one of the kidnappers wrapped a firm hand around his arm and held him upright.
Gulping in fresh air, Darin fought to clear both his lungs and his eyes. His first thought was of Rylie, and as he came to his senses, he scanned the area looking for her.
“Inside, dog. Our employer wishes to speak to you.”
He tried to jerk his arm free, but received a hand across the face for his trouble. Still, he was able to scan the area around him and check out the parked car. It was empty now.
Darin experienced perhaps the worst moment of terror in his entire life. Had they killed Rylie in Bellinzona and left her body behind?
His shoulders slumped at the thought. If Rylie was gone, there would be no reason left for him to live. Let the Taj Zabbar torture him. But if he died, he would be taking a few more Taj Zabbar pigs along with him.
The henchman who’d yet to speak dragged Darin into an old building. Judging from the size of the buildings around him, the city had to be Milan. There weren’t any other cities as large in all of northern Italy, and Darin knew he hadn’t been driven around in that airless trunk for more than a couple of hours. In fact, another half an hour locked inside there and he might not have emerged alive at all.
“Up the stairs, Kadir.” The man dressed in robes, who seemed to be in charge, held a gun to his side.
These were not regular Taj Zabbar warriors. They did not wear the Taj Zabbar colors. He and Rylie had been assaulted by a specially trained set of agents. True, they spoke in a Taj Zabbar dialect, but it was one he did not recognize.
By the fourth flight of stairs, Darin was practically crawling. Every square inch of his body hurt, but he lacked the will to care.
Rylie. They had never gotten the chance to talk. He’d never told her how much his time with her had meant. How changed he felt by knowing her. If she were really dead and a way could be found to take revenge against her killers, Darin would stay alive long enough to take it.
Did he have any hope of that? He thought of his brothers. He thought of Tarik, the undercover expert, and suddenly he could actually feel his brother’s presence nearby.
He had hope.
At the top of the stairs, Darin was shoved through the door to an apartment larger than he would have thought possible from the outside. He landed on his knees on a dusty flower-patterned carpet.
The shoes of a large man appeared by his side. When he glanced up, he was looking at the visage of one of the Taj Zabbar’s most important elders. Darin wasn’t sure of the man’s name, but he recognized him from pictures. Besides, there could be no mistaking his position from the clothes he wore. The expensive suit. The purple-checked head scarf. Even the tie imprinted with the Taj Zabbar snake and staff said this man was a leader.
“Put him in a chair,” the elder ordered. “Tie him and then fetch water. We want him able to communicate, don’t we?”
When his orders had been carried out, the elder stood towering over him with his hands on his hips. “You are in the presence of Sheik Newaf Bin Hamad Taj Zabbar, elder of clan Zabbar and wizeer to thousands. And you are known as Darin Kadir, eldest son of the chicken thief called Khalid Ben Shareef Kadir. No need for further introductions between us. I have come to know you well over the last few days, Kadir.”
“What have you done with Rylie Hunt?”
Hamad Taj Zabbar put his hand to his chin in thought. “I can see that you are concerned. The woman is safe—temporarily. But I wish to have a calm discussion with you before the two of you are reunited. Agree?”
Rylie was still alive. Relief poured out of his pores like sweat.
Darin raised his chin and nodded sharply.
“Fine. Then the first question concerns the Hunt woman. Why did she come to Geneva? Are you and she in a…relationship…as they say in America?”
Darin wasn’t sure of the right answer. Yes, of course they were in a relationship, and chances were good that the Taj Zabbar intelligence already knew it. But then why the question?
“Yes, we are in a relationship,” he told Hamad, the elder. “Why have you been trying to kidnap her?”
Lights twinkled in the elder’s eyes for an instant. Then he waggled a finger at Darin.
“My questions, Kadir. Not yours.”
Hamad looked away a moment and brushed at an imaginary piece of lint on his sleeve. “You are apparently a master at covert relationships. There was not a breath of scandal about the two of you before Geneva. I am impressed.”
So. The Taj Zabbar had been keeping tabs on the Kadirs. Or at least on him. Interesting.
Darin shrugged and kept his mouth shut.
“Now for the most important question. Where did you hide the Taj Zabbar property you stole?”
Darin shrugged again and fought a grin.
“No answer?” Hamad turned and gestured to one of his men. “Well then, let’s see if we can make a trade. Your people take great pride in being traders, do they not?”
The elder’s henchman disappeared through a door into another room. Darin heard a slight commotion coming from that direction and then a soft feminine cry.
Rylie!
He twisted in his chair, struggling against his bonds. “Don’t touch her, you pig!”
The corners of Hamad’s lips came up in an evil approximation of a wry smile. But the elder said nothing more until his man dragged Rylie, kicking and screaming, into the room.
“Quiet down, Miss Hunt. Your companion would like to see you.”
“Darin!” Rylie’s struggles turned frantic but the silent henchman held her arms and kept her steady at about ten feet away. “You’re alive. Are you hurt?”
Blood had crusted over the wound on her neck and a rust-colored stain had dried on the shirt over her rib cage. It was all Darin could do not to cry out for vengeance.
Instead, he tempered his voice and spoke quietly, gently. “Shush, my darling. Say nothing. Remember your promise and trust me.”
Rylie bit her lip and her eyes clouded over.
“How touchingly romantic.”
At the sound of Hamad’s voice, Darin turned his head to find the elder had produced an ancient Taj Zabbar dagger with a panther carved into the hilt. Its silver tip gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the glass panels of a floor-to-ceiling door out to a tiny balcony.
Hamad waved the sharp blade closer to Rylie, while her narrowed eyes were shooting daggers of hatred right back at him. “Have no fear, Miss Hunt. It is not necessary for you to learn the true significance of the Taj Zabbar Panther of Death. Our business is with the Kadir dog.”
“Don’t touch her,” Darin growled.
No matter what it took, Darin vowed to kill this elder for causing Rylie pain. His brain churned with ideas for escape.
The elder touched the point of his blade to Rylie’s cheek. “Pretty skin. It would be a shame to mar such perfection.”
“I thought we were going to trade,” Darin said, hoping to bring the elder’s attention back to him.
“Oh, but we are trading. I am offering to keep Miss Hunt’s skin in one piece in trade for the return of my own property. More than fair, don’t you think?”
“Don’t give him anything, Darin.” Rylie was whispering, but her meaning was loud and clear. “He’s going to kill us both anyway.”
Darin couldn’t look at her. He needed to stay strong—for her sake.
“Not if he wants his property back intact.” Darin stared into Hamad’s rage-filled eyes. “Okay, here’s the deal I’m willing to make. I will go alone to pick up your papers. After I have them in hand, you will let Miss Hunt go in a public place of my choosing. When I see that she is safe, I will return them to you.”
“Darin, no! He’ll kill you.”
Hamad ignored Rylie’s outburst. Darin knew the elder was no fool. He must understand that Darin was offering to sacrifice himself to save her.
“Almost a deal, Kadir. With a few minor adjustments in my favor.”
The elder Hamad glanced over his shoulder to the bank of computers set up in the next room, then returned his attention to Darin. “One of my m
en will accompany you. You did not think I should be stupid enough to set you free to roam around Italy and contact police?
“My man will carry a phone with a camera built inside. He will take a photo of one of the pages you recover and send it to me. When I am satisfied that it is indeed my property, you may accompany him back here for the trade.”
“Darin, no.”
Darin shook his head at Rylie but never took his eyes off Hamad. “Not quite.” Darin knew Hamad’s offer had only been a first round and the man was waiting for a new bid. “Your man can come with me. But I will carry the phone. I will send a photo and directions for where we shall make the exchange once you send a return photo showing that Rylie is still safe and in one piece.”
“I assume my property is in Milan and in a public place, yes?”
“Yes. It’s still on the train like I told your idiot employees. A member of the Kadir clan does not lie.”
Hamad’s eyes filled with rage for a second, but he let it pass. “Very well. We will do it your way. But do not try to swindle me, dog. At the first sign of anything wrong, your lady here will begin losing body parts. A little skin. An ear. Then perhaps a finger or a few toes.”
Hamad glared, clearly hoping to force Darin into a mistake. But Darin never flinched.
“If you so much as cause her one more moment’s pain,” Darin began with calm promise ringing in his words, “I shall never rest until you are a dead man. Nothing will stop me from hunting you down. You will pay here, or I promise I will make you pay throughout all eternity. I swear it by my ancestors.”
Leaving Rylie behind with that bastard was the hardest thing Darin had ever done. Swallowing back his fear for her, he listened intently while Hamad’s men spoke to each other in their odd dialect and prepared themselves for this mission to recover their boss’s property. As difficult as it was to translate their speech, Darin hoped he’d learned enough to be prepared.
All three men who had assaulted them in Bellinzona pushed a still-tied Darin down the stairs out in front until they reached the alley. He understood that one of the men would accompany him as promised. But he also knew the other two would be tailing them, ready to attack if anything went awry.