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Her Sheikh Protector
Linda Conrad


Her Sheikh Protector
Linda Conrad


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Table of Contents
Cover (#u520d72e3-c907-5a79-bfe6-e43960105cc3)
Title (#ub37f5ba4-94a8-51dd-90bc-404e6b060fb3)
About the Author (#ulink_9b0bf70e-f1be-517d-a385-0fcb80cb2899)
Dedication (#ubd5e124c-628d-5b43-a0c9-ae029a929fb3)
Prologue (#ulink_c361c4cb-a46e-5831-bacc-59b1d5aeadb1)
Chapter One (#ulink_205e0af3-2da3-511a-8bde-3e18630882d6)
Chapter Two (#ulink_ae1e6a4c-246a-5733-a368-d5da52866252)
Chapter Three (#ulink_aaf77549-c568-58de-bdff-178e788681e0)
Chapter Four (#ulink_0de5c20b-1f0c-5061-9c78-c1179924fdb7)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#ulink_30051c27-f008-5cc2-a09a-d4e122f7fb48)
A bestselling author of more than twenty-five books, LINDA CONRAD has received numerous industry awards, among them the National Reader’s Choice Award, the Maggie, the Write Touch Readers’ Award and the RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award. To contact Linda, read more about her books or to sign up for her newsletter and/or contests, go to her website at www. LindaConrad.com.
To Jo Ann Zimmerman, who lived one of the most romantic stories of two people meeting that I have ever read. thanks for your story! And to the amazing author and my dear friend Karen Kendall. A special thanks for solving the mystery for me. You’re the greatest!

Prologue (#ulink_bd668de6-40da-532d-b35a-45e3bad65e09)
Running late.
Rylie Hunt knew it was her own danged fault she wouldn’t be on time for the presentation. She’d foolishly told her father she wasn’t coming at all and then stormed off in a huff. Oh, Lordy, how would she ever make it up to him?
Finally locating a remote spot to park, she shut down the engine of her snazzy red Corvette. The parking lot of her family’s newest oil-and-gas shipping facility was packed to overflowing due to the grand-opening celebration. The grand-opening celebration that her father, CEO of Hunt Drilling, had originally intended for her to officiate at as the vice president.
The mere idea of disappointing her dad gave her a sad twinge. Everyone had always said she was “Daddy’s little girl with an attitude.” But their last argument had been too bitter and had gone way too far. She and Marshall “Red” Hunt were too much alike—even down to their auburn hair. They butted heads on nearly every subject. Today she was making herself crazy wild, worrying over exactly how mad her dad would be this time.
If she hadn’t been late, Rylie would’ve stopped by the restaurant where she knew her mother was setting things up for the new board of directors’ luncheon. Her mother could give her a clue as to Daddy’s state of mind and to his reactions over the rather childish way she’d acted yesterday. With a wistful sigh, she prayed that her mom the peacemaker had already smoothed over this latest problem caused by Rylie’s big fat mouth.
But she was running late and she hadn’t taken the time to find out. She’d landed her little Diamond DA42 Twin Star at Executive Airport. Then she’d jumped into her car and raced toward the Houston Ship Channel, heading for the grand-opening celebration and her father. Eager to apologize, she couldn’t wait to get this test of their normally loving relationship behind them.
After locking her car, she planted her feet on the hot and sticky surface of the asphalt parking lot. She jammed the keys into her jeans pocket, refusing to pay any heed to the weird vibes she was suddenly getting. Okay, maybe deep in her subconscious she knew something—somewhere—wasn’t quite right.
The creepy sensation of being watched crawled down her arms, despite her attempts to shake it off. But Rylie was too late for the ceremony to pay attention. She made herself believe that the odd sensations were due only to guilt over the stupid argument with her father. Instead of looking for more trouble, she raced toward her family’s new shipping facility and the big celebration.
Daddy was bound to forgive her. She hoped.
The heat off the asphalt rose around her in waves as she weaved through the massive lot full of cars. It seemed as if she’d had to park a mile away today. Every news team in the state must’ve turned out for this shindig.
I’m sorry, Daddy. You were right.
Well, half-right, anyway. Despite her many misgivings about Hunt Drilling taking on new partners, partners by the name of Kadir who owned a huge international conglomerate that included the biggest shipping line in the world, her father had been positive that this move would assure continued success for their firm.
Rylie hadn’t given a rip about the Kadirs’ power or money. She was more worried about the public relations aspect of a Texas company going into business with a Middle Eastern-based concern. Ever since 9/11, Americans in general had been highly suspicious of even the merest hint that terrorist-influenced groups were taking over U.S. enterprises. Congress had already blocked several attempts by Middle Eastern businesses to buy American companies or real estate, and especially the port facilities.
Given enough time, Rylie was sure she could’ve found another company to come to Hunt’s aid, though she was well aware that few shipping firms flew an American flag these days.
Her dad remained firmly convinced he was right. He’d done his homework. The Kadirs were Bedouin, he’d said. For thousands of years they’d been nomads. Not connected to any politics, religion or particular country. They were definitely not terrorists or connected to terrorism in any sense, and they could do so much to promote Hunt Drilling.
Okay, Daddy, I’ve thought it over and agree. The PR might still be tricky, but you win. I agree the Kadirs aren’t terrorists and we’ll find a way to win over the hearts of Americans with the right media. She’d given up her stubborn stand, but hoped her father wouldn’t rub it in. If she had been the one who’d won, she would have gloated, and her daddy knew that well. Chuckling, she remembered how he’d always claimed she’d given him his prematurely gray hair.
In her haste to pick up the pace and make up time, Rylie stumbled over a gravel rock and went down on her knees. Shoot!
She was up on her feet again in an instant, but then decided she should stop long enough to dust off her jeans. Bending over to brush at the worst of the gravel, she thought about how glad she was to be wearing her boots and denim today instead of a fancy pantsuit or even a dress. She’d considered changing, but …
At that moment, without any warning, the whole world came apart in a powerful cataclysm. Violent gusts of wind knocked Rylie down, putting her flat on her back and taking the breath from her lungs. A flash of heat rolled over her body, singeing uncovered skin. The back of her head banged hard against the pavement, while earsplitting explosions blew out her eardrums and turned everything eerily silent.
Mustering all her physical resources, Rylie lifted her head and looked around. Through a bleary haze she saw thick, black smoke and fire, rising over her like a towering volcano a hundred feet in the air. The smell of sulphur assaulted her nose.
Dazed and confused as she was, it took a moment to understand what she was seeing. The new shipping facility was gone. All gone.
That must mean … But what had happened to her coworkers and the local reporters? What had happened to the Kadir company officials and their guests?
Light-headed and suddenly sick to her stomach, Rylie closed her eyes and slowly formed the most important question yet. What had happened to the CEO of Hunt Drilling? Where in God’s name was her father?
But before her wounded brain could even start processing those answers, reality began sinking away as everything in her immediate world turned from bruised purple to soggy gray—and in seconds went completely black.

Chapter 1 (#ulink_7285b640-58f6-5bbf-bf0f-854f93984381)
Six months later
You don’t have to do this, brother. Our cousins Ben and Karim are available and prepared. It would be best to let one of them attend the conference.”
Darin Kadir listened over his shoulder to his brother but concentrated on readying himself for his first mission for the family. While Shakir argued his point from the other side of the room, Darin checked the cylinder on his Ruger SP101 .357 magnum. Hefting the small double-action weapon, he felt the weight of it like ten tons of responsibility.
Sighting down the satin-finished barrel but making sure to keep his finger off the trigger, Darin answered, “My job makes me the best one for this mission. After everything that’s happened, I’m still considered the vice president of Kadir Shipping. It would’ve been my duty to attend the annual World Industry and Shipping conference before Uncle Sunnar was killed, and it might start rumors throughout the industry if someone else went in my place.”
Shakir moved around the hotel suite, stopping to stand with his back to the balcony’s glass doors, still not ready to concede. “If Uncle Sunnar hadn’t died in that explosion in America, you would be preparing to take over as president of the shipping division upon his retirement. But things have changed—drastically. You’re not ready for a field mission for the family, Darin. We need you at headquarters, strategizing and planning.”
Darin finally glanced over at his younger brother, dressed in camo fatigues and silhouetted against the stunning views of Lake Geneva and beyond to the Swiss Alps. “And let my brothers and cousins have all the fun?”
The look of sober dismay on Shakir’s face was a reflection of Darin’s own feelings. He pocketed the Ruger and put a steadying hand on his brother’s shoulder.
“We don’t know for sure if the Taj Zabbar family will send a representative to the conference.” He locked his gaze with Shakir’s and forced him to pay attention. “If they don’t, then I’m the best one to seek out information about them from our competitors in the industry. Remember, I’ve been working in the shipping world for the past ten years. I know the people who come to these conferences. No one else would have their confidence the way I do.”
Shakir dropped his gaze to stare at the floor, but Darin did not release the firm grip he held on his younger brother’s shoulder. He remembered a time when Shakir wouldn’t have questioned his big brother’s decisions, though Darin had only beena couple years older. In fact for much of his life, Darin had been the father figure for his two younger brothers. At the time of their mother’s death, Shakir, a ten-year-old stutterer and in particular need of help, had depended on his brother for lessons on how to develop the intense loyalty of the Kadir clan.
“I’m proud of you and Tarik,” Darin told Shakir gently. “Proud of the way you both have stepped up to the challenges our family must face. I’m aware you two have far more experience in the field than I do. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be of service to the family by obtaining covert information.”
Tarik and Shakir had both spent their adult lives in military training, Shakir for the English paratroopers and Tarik for the American Special Forces. Neither had been interested in entering the family businesses after college. Unlike Darin, who’d been eager to climb the ranks of the family’s shipping company after receiving his master’s degree in business at Columbia University.
But despite his business ambitions, Darin had spent the six months since the explosion secretly mastering the darker arts of weaponry and self-defense. Their father had not yet called upon him to take the lead in forming the family’s new offensive line against their ancient enemy, but Darin wanted to be ready.
He thought back to right after the explosion. Ignoring their grief over losing one of their own, his father and the other elders of the Kadir clan spent considerable time debating whether the incident could have been a first volley in an undeclared war. No one had taken responsibility for the explosion, but the centuries-old legends of the Kadir-Taj Zabbar family feud were recalled and retold by the Kadirs. Recent changes in the status of the Taj Zabbar family’s financial and political positions were studied in detail. Internet gossip was combed through. Then, and only then, had the Kadirs slowly conceded the possibility of the worst.
Shakir slipped out from under Darin’s hand. “You take our old legends too seriously, brother. Yes, the elders have decided not to promote you to president of the shipping line yet—for fear of repercussions or another attack. But this is the twenty-first century … not the sixteenth. You can’t seriously believe the Taj Zabbar might want to destroy our entire clan for something that happened between the two families centuries ago?”
“No, of course I don’t.” Darin straightened his tie and practically stood at attention. “But we can’t overlook the possibility that when the Kadir family sided with the country of Kasht fifty years ago at the time of the first Taj Zabbar uprising, we cemented our position as their sworn enemies.”
“But Kasht gave us the shipping rights and port facilities in Taj Zabbar territory that allowed our family business to rise to global dominance in three short decades.” Shakir held his hands out, palms up. “The Taj Zabbar would never have let us in.”
All true statements—as far as they went.
Darin rubbed the back of his neck while he thought of what he wanted to say. “Right. And our father was the leader who brought the Kadir family to prominence after his father made the original deal with Kasht. Out of duty and loyalty to him and to the other elders, I feel my obligation is to gather as much information as possible.
“The Taj Zabbar have sworn to get even with us.” Darin kept talking, wanting to impress hard truth on his brother. “We must make intelligent—and safe—decisions. We must be prepared before we act.”
Using the power of his voice to make Shakir understand, Darin swallowed when his words sounded as rusty as an old scuttled ship. “You and Tarik have sacrificed for the family’s sake. Just look at what you’ve done to date. You’ve put a hold on the security firm you and your buddies were trying to get off the ground. And Tarik. Tarik has resigned his commission from the U.S. Army.”
Shakir shrugged, not looking directly at him but shifting his gaze to the windows. “We were both in good positions to lend our specialized knowledge to the family’s efforts. You.” He let his words die as he waved a hand in Darin’s direction.
“I am an expert in gaining information,” Darin reiterated. “It’s what I do for Kadir Shipping. I’m the one who investigates other firms for financial stability prior to takeover. I search through both public and private documents for authenticity. It’s only fair that I share my expertise with the family as have my brothers.”
Shakir threw up his hands. “Information retrieval is not fieldwork. Don’t you see? You can help us the most by remaining at headquarters and leading the efforts at planning.”
Darin knew Shakir was only worried for his safety, but he was done arguing. “Enough. I want to be reasonable, but my mind is made up. I’m the best person for this job and as the older brother, I am finished discussing it. And I’m late.”
Darin pulled the conservative gray suit coat on over his long-sleeved blue shirt and shot the cuffs. “Stick around if you want and back me up. But don’t be too obvious about it.”
He headed for the hotel-suite door but threw one last bit of sarcasm over his shoulder, the way he would have done during their teenage years. “Do you need me to remind you of covert protocols, little bro? If you do decide to stay and want to show up at the conference, play it smarter than most of your hoorah paratrooper buddies, will you? And … at the very least change your shirt.”
Grinning to himself, Darin never turned around when he heard the crash of glass hitting the back of the door—at the exact moment as he’d stepped through and closed it. He picked up his pace and walked in haste to the elevator.
Rylie felt both tired and jet-lagged. The jet lag was new. The exhaustion was not.
She stepped off the public tram at a corner and took a few steps onto the wide boulevard known as Quai du Mont Blanc at the edge of Lake Geneva. Turning, she looked up the hill toward the city center twinkling at dusk with festive lights. Her old friend Marie Claire had given her directions for reaching the Presidents Hotel, where tonight’s reception for the World Industry and Shipping conference was being held. But Marie Claire had also said it would be a lot easier to take a taxi. Rylie no longer had the cab fare to throw around.
Once again in her relatively short lifetime, Rylie Ann Hunt was reduced to taking public transportation. Coach airfare and buses. The sides of her mouth automatically turned up with the heartbroken memory as she thought about the delighted look on her mother’s face the first time they’d taken a New York City shopping trip together after her daddy had hit it big. Rylie had suggested a cab.
“The Hunts no longer travel second-class, Rylie Ann,” her mother said with a giddy laugh as she’d dragged her daughter into a limo. “It’s first-class or nothing for these Texas gals from now on.”
Remembering her mother in happier times, a more current picture formed in Rylie’s mind. She knew exactly where her mama was today. Back in Midland in her tiny rental condo, sitting in an old borrowed rocker behind closed curtains, afraid to venture outside. Not a single smile had graced her mother’s lips for six inconsolable months.
Rylie could not imagine what would’ve happened to her mother during the long days while Rylie was in the hospital, floating in and out of a drug-induced haze, if not for a few of her dad’s old friends. And those friends would not let circumstances dissuade them, either, as they continued their care right up until today despite her mother’s objections. There’d been a time when it was her mother who cared for others. But that same woman had aged twenty years practically overnight since the day of the explosion. She’d become a recluse. A broken spirit.
A chilly wind blew across the lake and hit Riley on the back of her neck. When that life-changing day of six months ago sneaked back into her mind, guilt lifted its nasty hand and smacked Rylie right across the face.
Even while good friends tried to make a difference, her mother had lost her lovely home and preferred to be isolated and alone rather than face the whispers and the possibility of bankruptcy. Riley, too, felt she was all alone no matter where she was. Alone to think. Alone to grieve … and to deal with her sorrow.
Daddy was dead. Riley still couldn’t quite come to grips with the idea. But not one day went by that she didn’t relive the explosion—and both her self-reproach and her anger grew.
Wrapping her arms around her middle and ignoring the ringing in her ears that occasionally returned when she was tired, Rylie trudged up the city street away from the lake, still going over in her mind what she could’ve done differently. The police and the insurance companies had said the explosion was an unfortunate accident caused by someone’s carelessness at Hunt Drilling. She knew that wasn’t true. So far the insurance investigators hadn’t been able to prove their claims, either. Not one dime had been either paid out or denied yet.
Whether their company’s fault or not, Rylie and her mother refused their lawyers’ advice to wait until they were sued. In an effort to take care of the families of victims affected by the explosion who didn’t have the benefit of insurance proceeds, Rylie and her mother chose to sell off everything they had and to liquidate much of their company to pay for things like funerals and hospital bills. Yet many debts still remained. Worse, through all of it, all the selling of her family’s beloved things and all the pain of her burns and burst eardrums, Rylie’s guilt about living when many others hadn’t refused to die inside her and only gained power with each passing day.
The Kadir family must be responsible for the explosion and all this pain. It had to be them. Who else?
Perhaps their motive was insurance money. For whatever reason, they’d reduced her to nothing more than a lump of regret. The only thing keeping her going, keeping her plodding up this hill, was the need to prove them responsible for the explosion.
She would, too. Rylie was no less determined than a police dog on the scent and would find a way to prove the Kadirs were somehow connected. She couldn’t find any other reason why a brand-new storage facility that had recently been safety checked and rechecked would suddenly explode.
In her quest for truth, Rylie had done her homework. Kadir Shipping always sent a representative to the World Industry and Shipping conference in Geneva. If the shipping business was anything like the drilling business, and she knew it would be, gossip was easy to come by at the conferences. After a day of long, boring speeches, attendees of these things normally let their hair down and drank too much at the evening get-togethers before having to confront another gruelling day.
A few questions. A couple of come-hither looks. Riley was ready to do anything to get what she wanted. What she must have. Proof. For this first party tonight, she could accept getting her hands on only a rumor—if that rumor would take her to the next step toward obtaining enough proof to accuse the Kadirs in public.
She’d been trying to swallow down her anger, but it was slowly taking over her soul as the months went by. She wouldn’t readily admit it, but deep down she knew. The carefree young girl she had once been—the one who used to love everyone and needed everyone to love her in return—had changed forever. Her heart was quickly filling with hatred and her mind turning inward toward revenge. If she had looked in a mirror right then, Rylie wouldn’t even have recognized herself through the grief and rage.
“Certainly, mademoiselle,” the Frenchman politely told Rylie an hour later. “I am familiar with all Kadir Shipping representatives. A member of the Kadir family has been coming to our conferences for many years.”
The middle-aged man in the navy wool suit smelling of mothballs turned in a half circle. “Yes, yes, I see Darin Kadir now.”
He gestured to a small group of men nearby. “There, with several other gentlemen who also attend every year.”
“Um, which one is he?”
Staring at her as if she were a bug who’d crawled up on the food table, the Frenchman gave her the once-over. Rylie knew she must look like she’d been sent through the spin cycle. Her singed hair, cut short after the explosion, had grown back in crazy curls, far beyond anyone’s help. Her black dress was on loan from Marie Claire and too big. And her shoes were discount-store specials she’d bought right before leaving Texas.
Once upon a time, at her five-nine height, men had given her the once-over with a question mark, their gawking gradually evolving into lusty leers. But now that she had lost so much weight, she’d seen those same looks contorting into indifference or pity. And sure enough, the expression on the conference concierge’s face when his glance landed on her loose dress and then popped back to her eyes turned to anxious concern.
“Are you all right, mademoiselle?”
She swiveled to study the group of men standing nearby. A Kadir family member was actually close enough to touch. At last she would start getting answers. But with her eagerness also came light-headedness as the colors in the room began bleeding together. Conversations ran down the walls like water.
Suddenly unsteady on her feet, Rylie nevertheless straightened her shoulders. “Yes, I’m fine. Just a little jet-lagged. Now which one was Mr. Kadir?”
After he pointed out a rather distinguished-looking younger man in a well-tailored suit, the concierge excused himself and wandered off. Rylie tried thinking of a way to wangle an introduction.
She leaned against the hors d’oeuvre table, reaching for calm and at the same time studying her enemy. The ringing in her ears began again in earnest. Starting at midlevel with the man’s dark gray suit, she let her gaze roam up Darin Kadir’s body to take in the wide shoulders. He must be well over six foot two. A good four or five inches taller than she was. She noted the expensive maroon tie knotted perfectly at his throat and above it the hard, square-cut jaw. The skin on his face, hands and throat had a golden glow that to her seemed far too dashing in the dim cocktail-party lights. His hair was that shiny raven color she’d never before believed could be for real. But on him … well, it was all too real.
He flicked a glance in her direction. She caught sight of midnight-black eyes, scrutinizing the party with keen intellect and a sensual but cold sort of perusal that many women would die for. He looked like a raptor about to pounce on prey. Rylie’s knees wobbled as she put her hand out to grab on to the table like a lifeline.
Darin Kadir had the uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching him as his business associates began leaving his side, searching for the drink table. Was someone from the Taj Zabbar family close by? He absently touched the gun hidden under the suit coat at his back before glancing around the room once again.
He’d already learned the Taj Zabbar had sent family and business representatives to the conference this year. But so far, he had not run into any of them.
Catching sight of a tall woman standing at the food table watching him, he tried to decide if she was someone he had met before. She was obviously not part of the Taj Zabbar. Not with that curly dark red hair and fair complexion. But she did look vaguely familiar.
At that moment the woman’s eyes closed and her legs appeared to give out. She went limp, slowly slipping toward the floor. He was at her side in an instant. Before he knew it, his arms were around her waist. He’d grabbed her intimately without as much as asking her permission.
She mumbled something he couldn’t understand.
“Are you unwell? Can you stand on your own?”
She felt too insubstantial in his arms. All bones and skin and only a few bumps and curves in the right places to prove she was a woman. Not liking this forced involvement with a complete stranger, he nevertheless held on, hoping she would soon take charge of her own body.
“I … I guess I need to sit down.” Her voice was as weak as a day-old tea bag.
Darin half carried and half dragged her to a quiet corner where a small overstuffed sofa sat vacant. He would rather the dwindling crowds at tonight’s reception did not see this situation unfolding. He wanted no rumours. No questions. He’d been trying to blend in. In his opinion, rescuing a woman who was probably drunk would not be the best way of staying in covert mode and gaining information about the Taj Zabbar.
He tried to drop the deadweight of her body to the soft cushions, hoping to leave her in a comfortable position while he went to seek out the concierge. Someone else should take charge of her situation. But before he could let go and step back, she threw her arms around his neck and dragged him down beside her.
She clung to his arm like seaweed on the rocks during a squall. “You’re Darin Kadir?”
Blinking at him frantically and then pinching her lips, she gazed over at him with singularly bright blue eyes. The color of the Mediterranean on a cloudless day, they bore into his with an expression that at once seemed dazed, confused and questioning. But as he looked again, he noted another, more shadowed emotion in those oceans that he could only guess at as rage—seething and deep. And directed at him?
Darin flinched and snapped his arm away from her biting fingers. Gazing into her face, he expected to have a hint of recognition. If she knew him, he must know her, too. He didn’t. But what he did recognize was an unexpected kick of lust. Fascinated, he noticed she was beautiful, even considering the sharp angles of her too-thin cheeks.
“Yes. I’m Darin Kadir. Do I know you?”
“No.” She spoke with more strength than he would’ve thought her capable of. “But you should. I’m your partner.”
“Partner?” He sifted through his memory, trying to come up with his connection to this stunning but strange woman. “Sorry, you need to fill me in. What’s your name?”
“The name is Hunt, Kadir. Rylie Ann Hunt. I’m the new president of Hunt Drilling.” Her eyes pinned him with a look that could’ve burned through stainless steel—incongruously making him think of superhuman strength.
As her name was beginning to register, she spat out a much stronger sentiment, sending a swift punch of regret directly to his gut. “At least what’s left of it after you tried to blow us all straight to hell.”

Chapter 2 (#ulink_9ef95343-4657-5be7-9244-74b546b380ee)
Horrified by her own lack of self-control, Rylie pressed trembling fingertips to her lips, wishing she could take back the words. Why had she said that? She’d meant to be cool and conceal her true feelings. At least until she could coerce information from this man.
The festering bitterness boiling inside her was suddenly out there for the entire world to see. Her infamous impatience left her wide open. Would she never learn?
Darin leaned away from her, and his expression changed from what had appeared to be mild interest to a pucker of pure displeasure. “Miss Hunt, have you had too much to drink?”
Only a minute ago her overactive mouth was spouting off too much, and now she couldn’t seem to get a word out. She shook her head fiercely and swallowed several times.
“No? Then I suggest you choose your words with more care.” He stood, towering over her.
If looks could kill as easily as a chemical explosion, she would already be dead and in her grave.
“I am sorry for your loss,” he said, dragging his sentence out on a harsh hiss. “But why would you say …”
Letting the words die in his mouth, he quickly glanced around the room and then tilted his head toward her. “Red Hunt was a well-respected oilman. He will be missed by the industry and his business associates. But as you must be aware, Kadir Shipping has already sent a team of attorneys to America to sort out the many claims, and to review our respective companies’ currently complicated business association.”
Rubbing a hand over his mouth, he looked as though he were choosing his words carefully. “In the meantime, I would recommend you refrain from making any statements to either a Kadir representative or to anyone else—especially in public—that you may regret in the future.”
Struggling with both the light-headedness and the almost overpowering need to choke a confession out of this asshole, she screwed up her nerve and got to her feet. In league with terrorists or not, she needed Darin Kadir. Without him, Rylie knew she would never dig out the truth.
But once on her feet, her body swayed and she was forced to reach out and take his arm or else fall flat on her face. “Wait …”
His other hand closed around her biceps, keeping her from an embarrassing tumble but pulling her close against his chest instead. When she gazed into his eyes, her emotions began a roller-coaster ride. Deep within those coal-black irises she caught sight of a flash of—need.
Need? Hell’s bells. In the eyes of an arrogant terrorist? Or perhaps she’d been all wrong, and he was only a businessman who had no scruples and was trying to scam the insurance companies for big bucks. Either way, need was the last thing she’d expected to see in his eyes.
Taking a step back and planting her feet, she held his gaze, searching for any reason why she should find herself in such sudden turmoil over a man she had vowed to unmask as a murderer. In the next instant, she could swear she sensed loneliness in him—and a glint of something else. Something much deeper she couldn’t put a name to, coming from the same hidden recesses of his steady stare.
Then the moment was gone and his blank eyes were devoid of any expression save for irritation. But Rylie was shaken by what she’d seen.
As usual during times of stress, babbling words began spewing from her too-loud mouth. “I think I must be jet-lagged. I didn’t mean … I apologize, Mr. Kadir … uh … Darin.”
He let go of her arm and a wary look crept into his eyes. Not good. She didn’t want him to be on guard. Now she would have to start all over again and figure out ways to make him trust her.
Her knees wobbled once more, and she decided any information-gathering efforts would have to wait for another day. “I could stand some sleep, but I would like to talk to you when I can make more sense. How about tomorrow? Can we set up a time to get together?” Teetering on her narrow heels, she hung on to his arm.
He shook his head slowly and she knew he was about to turn her down. “I have a heavy conference agenda all day tomorrow.” Taking her by the shoulders, he eased her backward and helped her sit down on the couch. “But perhaps we could find a few free minutes after the workshops and before the evening banquet. Shall I plan to come to your hotel around five?”
Well, what do you know? Amazed by his sudden change of heart, she was too thrilled to ask why and take the chance of messing things up.
“Uh, no, not to my place.” She wasn’t registered at a hotel but didn’t want him to know she was staying on Marie Claire’s couch. “How about we meet at your hotel? Where are you staying?”
Tight lines formed around his eyes. “Let’s compromise. There’s a club … pub … bar, I guess Americans would say, called Arthur’s Rive Gauche. It’s rather more elegant than I would normally choose for conversation and it’s wildly popular, but I’m sure we can find a quiet corner. Why don’t I meet you there at half past five?”
“That’ll be fine. Great.” She made a move to rise, wanting to show him she could be perfectly civilized by shaking his hand. But she hadn’t even made it to her feet before the dizziness returned and threw her back into the cushions.
“Stay seated,” he insisted. “I’ll search out the concierge and have him bring you a plate of food. Eating may give you a much-needed temporary energy boost. However, I have no hope of it stilling your temper or mouth.” He cocked his head and waited for her to make a comment.
When she didn’t, he added, “A little sustenance might at least provide you with enough strength to take a cab back to your hotel. Allow me to arrange it, Miss Hunt?”
She closed her eyes and leaned back—for only a moment. “All right, but please call me Rylie. And thanks.”
“You must be joking, brother.” Shakir lounged in one of the club chairs of their hotel suite several hours later, with a bottle of dark ale in his hand and a smirk across his face. “Rylie Hunt had the nerve to accost you and bloody well accuse you of murder?”
“You should’ve seen the look in her eyes,” Darin told him. “It was enough to raise the hairs on the back of even your tough paratrooper’s leather neck.”
Shakir sat up straighter. “You don’t think she could be some kind of spy or lookout for the Taj Zabbar family, do you? It would make a kind of perverse sense. I know if I was into subterfuge and covert warfare, using a woman who has reason to hate the world would be perfect. Who knows what lies they could’ve told her in an effort to make her bend to their will.”
Darin gave it a moment’s consideration and quickly discarded the idea. “Not this woman. I have the feeling she could spot a liar from a mile away, and I doubt anyone on earth could bend her to their will. But I’ve agreed to meet with her. I need to uncover what she already knows.”
“Bad move.” Shakir screwed up his mouth. “You can’t seriously mean to get close to this woman. She could be dangerous. Why would you agree to do such a thing?”
“I felt sorry for her.” But that wasn’t strictly the truth. He’d felt something, all right. But the something was pure, unrefined and nearly uncontrollable … lust.
Theoretically, his sudden all-consuming erotic need should’ve been tempered by his empathy for her situation. After all, his life had been altered irrevocably with that explosion the same as hers. But the trouble with theories was they weren’t real life. In reality, despite what he should have felt, he’d searched his memory and couldn’t come up with a time when a stranger, or anyone at all, had affected him with quite this much seething passion.
He wasn’t sure why, either. She was a little too tall, a little too thin and a little too loud for his taste. Her overall appearance reminded him of what he’d always considered the looks of a spoiled girl from America’s western lands. Over-the-top—in every way. Not in the least his normal type of companion when it came to the opposite sex.
His brother was still seated, staring absently at the half-empty beer bottle in his hand. “This is not a good idea.” Shakir shook his head forcefully. “Even if she isn’t working with the Taj Zabbar, let’s suppose one of them spots the two of you together. That might give rise to a lot of false assumptions. False assumptions that could be life-threatening—to her or to you.”
“Don’t worry,” Darin told him, letting his voice carry a cavalier tone he was certainly not feeling. “I’ve suggested our meeting take place in a pub that’s popular with the locals but is out of the way for conference attendees. No one will spot us there.”
Later that same night in the dimly lit lobby bar of Darin’s hotel, Sheik Newaf Bin Hamad Taj Zabbar hung up his satellite phone when he spotted his distant cousin Samman Taweel walking his way. The young, hollow-eyed fellow weaved past several empty tables heading straight for him.
“Sit.” Sheik Hamad gestured to the chair across from him with the glowing tip of his Cuban Cohiba Behike. “I assume you left a compatriot to watch Darin Kadir. Is this so?”
“Yes, my sheik. The target you asked me to watch has seemingly retired to his room for the evening. One of the other men you hired is watching his door.”
“Very well. Then tell me what you observed of our target’s behavior at the conference reception.”
This distant cousin was far from brilliant. But Hamad had not hesitated to employ the dull but desperate man, because desperate men follow instructions exactly. Since the Taj Zabbar clan was finally on the cusp of exacting their ultimate revenge for the subjugation and humiliation they’d endured for centuries, he needed men like this one. Hamad knew better than to take a chance on hiring outsiders when his clan was close to their goals. The money was flowing. Let the retribution begin.
But patience was the key. For now, his goal was to detect new ways of embarrassing and humiliating three of the most important young Kadir men, the sons of the most powerful Kadir elder. Three of the Taj Zabbar’s greatest enemies.
Hamad wasn’t worried. Like this cousin, those rising Kadir stars didn’t seem like any great geniuses. And Hamad would accept nothing less than full capitulation from them in the end. He had little doubt his clan’s retribution would come to pass exactly as he’d planned. The entire Kadir clan would soon suffer in the same ways as the Taj Zabbar had suffered throughout hundreds of miserable years. He was counting on it.
Cousin Taweel’s hoarse yet respectful voice broke into his thoughts. “At the reception the target approached a pretty young woman and the two sat down together. They spoke for several minutes and then, before abandoning her, our target arranged with a concierge to see to the woman’s comfort. Food and taxi service back to her hotel.”
Hamad thought such behavior unexpected for the disciplined and rigid eldest Kadir son, and all exceptions from the ordinary worried him. “Did Kadir and this woman seem to be close friends? Did you find out who she was?”
“They appeared to be on most intimate terms, my sheik.” As he spoke, a tic appeared near an eyebrow, telling Hamad of his conservative cousin’s obvious disapproval.
Hamad didn’t consider either the disapproval or Kadir’s behavior important.
“I was told the name of the woman is Hunt. From America.”
Hunt. What would one of the Hunts be doing at a shipping conference? Hamad did not care for the idea. Had Darin Kadir invited the woman here to share information?
The Taj Zabbar elders had decided on temporary surveillance of the Kadir brothers rather than an outright attack. Extreme secrecy was essential for their revenge to succeed. Plans still had to be finalized and everything had to remain undercover until it was too late for their enemies to stop the schemes. But if it were true that Darin Kadir already suspected the Texas explosion was not an accident, his life would shortly come crashing to an abrupt end. It was Hamad’s duty to make it so.
Leaning back, Hamad tried easing his tension by chewing on the cigar. He felt positive that each detail in Texas had been dealt with cleverly, that nothing had been left to chance. The shipping facility explosion had been judged an accident, exactly the way Hamad planned it. Of course, he had anticipated the blame for the accident to accrue to Kadir Shipping instead of to Hunt Drilling the way their foolish American law enforcement believed. But the results were nearly the same. Kadir business interests had taken a loss, both financially and in reputation. All in all, it had been an excellent first shot in the Taj Zabbar’s war of retribution.
Hunt Drilling was only unfortunate collateral damage, as the Americans would say. His sources told him the Hunt organization had been fatally weakened and that the remaining Hunt family felt extraordinary anger toward the Kadirs. Had that changed?
Hamad needed to understand this new development. His plans could well depend on finding out what the Hunt woman knew—or thought she knew.
The flame had gone out of his cigar and he used the tip to make his point to the cousin. “I want to talk to this Hunt woman. Is it possible to find out where she is staying? Can you question her taxi driver?”
The young Taweel lowered his eyelids and shook his head slowly.
Growing impatient, Hamad tapped his cigar against the tabletop. “I will put out a few requests. Perhaps we can locate her hotel yet tonight. In the meantime, you are to remain with Darin Kadir. When he leaves his rooms, do not let him out of your sight. If he meets with that woman again, I want to be notified. And then, bring her to me.”
“You may be requesting an impossible task, my sheik. What if the woman does not wish to come?”
The cigar tip tapped rapidly against the table as Hamad held frustration in check. “Then you must insist. Or …” Tap. Tap. Tap. “Just see that you bring her to me.”
It was nearing 2:00 a.m. when Hamad Taj Zabbar placed his last phone call of the night. Frustration had decimated his posture since he had sent his cousin away an hour earlier. His shoulders were strung tight from the strain.
The Hunt woman was not registered in any hotel in the city. Due to the late hour, Hamad had been forced to give up his search. It was possible she’d registered at any number of inns, bed-and-breakfasts or hostels, and he would never be able to hunt through every one.
Unaccustomed to not winning each skirmish he entered, Hamad rubbed his temple, vowing that his failure to locate the Hunt woman right away would be only a minor setback.
Hamad felt confident that even his dull cousin could bring her to him at the first opportunity.
Taweel had better.
The next morning Darin rolled his feet out of bed and hung his head in his hands. What a long night it had been.
Dreams of drowning in vibrant blue-green eyes had kept him tossing for hours on end. He’d been lost in luxurious layers of auburn curls. Soft and shiny, so smooth against his skin. Like a bath in velvet.
What a fool he was. The urge to pound his fists into his empty head drove him to stand. Perhaps a shower would help. As he walked to the bath, it became clear he had better dredge up some of his infamous impassivity. It should come easy for him, as he’d been accused of being aloof and detached for most of his life.
Right now he could use some of that lethal remoteness. He’d not needed anyone, save for his two brothers, since his mother’s death. Women were friends, business associates and overnight flings, and this was no time for his libido to begin overruling his head. The middle of his first covert operation for the family would be the worst time to undertake a romantic relationship with a woman he barely knew.
While cranking the cold water on high, Darin thought of a brilliant plan. As soon as he stepped from the shower, he would find out as much as he could about Rylie Hunt’s background. No one could withstand his kind of scrutiny. No one. He was positive that the more he learned about Rylie the more this crazy obsession of his would wane.
Yes, a good plan. Such a good plan that he began to whistle. Until … he stepped into the shower and a shot of freezing water hit him flat in the chest.
As he swore, the first image that came into his mind was Rylie’s. Completely naked and lingering under the shower with him. Hell. Perhaps no plan would be good enough to rid him of his passion.
“Rylie, you asked me to wake you while it was still early. I’ve made a pot of tea.”
Marie Claire’s lilting voice caused Rylie to lift her scratchy eyelids and rouse herself from a fitful morning’s dream. She managed to sit up and put her feet on the rose-patterned carpet, but her T-shirt was wet with sweat. Her bones were still stiff from tossing and turning. Her mind still reeling from another night of seeing fire and smoke in her dreams.
Yawning, she glanced toward the rain oozing down a windowpane. Unlike Texas gully-washers, the wetness here seemed damp and depressing without being cleansing. Only enough mist and fog to frizz the hair and muddy the boots.
“Did you get enough rest?” Marie Claire sat in the one other chair in the room and began pouring them both cups of fragrant tea. “I’m not sure my sofa is comfortable. No one has ever stayed the night on it before and it’s too short for someone of your height.”
“The sofa was fine.” Rylie lied to her old college roommate as she reached for her tea cup. “I appreciate your hospitality. I’m not sure what I would’ve done if you hadn’t invited me to stay.”
Marie Claire gave her an I-know-you-and-you-would’ve-found-a-way look before blowing on her own steaming cup and glancing at Rylie over the rim. “I was searching the Internet for info on the Kadir family this morning. You seem convinced that they’re the bad guys and I can’t quite figure out why. I wanted to know more about them.”
Rylie felt the muscles in her face soften. Her dear friend had given up free time to help with Rylie’s important mission.
“I could’ve told you most of their background information if you’d asked. Between the original lawyers for our business merger and my own private investigators, I’m sure I know everything worth knowing about the Kadirs.”
Sitting back in her chair, Marie Claire’s lips pursed, making her look like a pixie with a secret. “Oh really? Then will you tell me more about the Kadir–Taj Zabbar family feud? Start all the way back in the fifteen hundreds, okay?”
A sudden swallow of hot tea burned Rylie’s tongue and left her sputtering. “What feud? And who are the Taj Zabbar?”
“The reason I was asking is because I couldn’t find an explanation for the feud online.” Marie Claire shrugged a freckled shoulder. “Just a mention of the Taj Zabbar holding their grudge for a long time. I do know a little about the Taj Zabbar clan, though. They live in a desolate place in the Middle East called Zabbaran. For centuries their territory was ruled by neighboring countries. One neighbor, Kasht, took over their land about a hundred years ago. The Taj Zabbar mounted a couple of rebellions along the way, but they never could break free.
“Then about two years ago, the Taj Zabbar managed to liberate themselves from Kasht, shaking off their oppressors with help from the world community.” Marie Claire took a sip of tea before raising her eyebrows. “Now it seems the Taj Zabbar family is suddenly rich. An ocean of oil has been discovered under their land.”
Dang. Marie Claire had sprung this new twist on her without warning. Rylie took pride in her information-gathering ability and had thought she’d been prepared.
Well … looked like maybe not so much. She’d apparently missed something important. An ancient feud and gushers of money made it sound as if the Kadir–Taj Zabbar situation could be potentially dangerous to not only Hunt Drilling but the rest of the world.
Still Rylie couldn’t put all the pieces together. She was still missing something. Why? What was behind the feud, and could it have something to do with an explosion as far away as Texas?

Chapter 3 (#ulink_dc3daef7-0855-5292-b2dd-599e16ac9a35)
Looking over the busy club at masses of people, Darin caught a glimpse of wild auburn hair in a far corner. Meeting Rylie here had sounded like a good idea yesterday. But now that it was happy hour and the place was packed with young professionals, he wasn’t so sure.
He made his way through the boisterous bodies, still wondering if tonight’s meeting was smart. It was possible his brother had been right last night. Despite his erotic dreams of her, Rylie Hunt could be in the employ of the Taj Zabbar, and talking to her might be dangerous. After all, he was a businessman. What did he really know about covert operations?
He knew one thing for sure: Rylie was who she said she was. He’d found pictures on the Internet of Red Hunt’s daughter in accounts of the explosion. But was she also a gorgeous and deadly spy? He couldn’t know that for certain unless he talked to her.
He’d asked around about her this morning and checked with others back at his office. He now knew that she’d spent weeks in the hospital after the explosion. Since her release, she’d also taken a few altruistic business steps above and beyond what Darin considered reasonable.
Admirable? Perhaps. Foolhardy? Very likely.
Did that necessarily mean she was not also involved with the Taj Zabbar? He had to coerce her into opening up to him in order to find out.
Her table was located in an alcove and seemed relatively quiet. As he arrived, she glanced over at him and froze. Even in the inadequate lighting, he noted that her pupils were dilated and her expression frazzled. Her face was a deathly shade of gray that seemed more pronounced in proximity to her black denim jacket and jeans. Her lips tensed and she crossed her arms tightly against her chest. Shrunken in on herself, she looked like a housefly suddenly caught up in a sticky web and docilely expecting the spider.
His heart thumped once and went out to her. If she was as innocent as she appeared, Rylie Hunt had no reason to fear a Kadir.
He simply could not put the picture she made sitting there, her whole body trembling, together in his mind with a Taj Zabbar spy.
When he got closer, two bloodred spots appeared on her cheeks and tears backed up in her eyes. For a moment Darin’s only thoughts were of calming her by taking her in his arms. Instead, he slid into the lone empty chair at her table with his back to the corner.
But it was all he could do not to reach out and cover her quivering hands with his own.
“Hello,” she said in a shaky voice. “I wondered if you would really show up.”
“I’m here.” He nodded at the waiter to get his attention and ordered himself a sparkling water and Rylie a glass of pinot grigio, hoping the lighter drink would calm her nerves without sending her into some alcoholic stupor.
After the waiter acknowledged the order and left, all was quiet at their table and Darin took a moment to look around the club. Rylie had put them in the best possible spot for quiet conversation. No one around them was paying any attention.
A couple of young lovebirds at the closest table, who might have been near enough to hear what was being said, were kissing and whispering with their foreheads touching together and their hands touching every where else. Impervious to all around them. Darin was almost jealous of the way they blocked out the world. His relationships were never so intense.
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 and 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?”
The man gave a tentative glance over her shoulder toward Darin. “You will come now, please. My employer insists.” He reached out and took her by the arm.
And for Darin, everything changed.

Chapter 4 (#ulink_ef2f3219-61d9-5320-9132-9b09bdb154dc)
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.”
Rylie had no intention of going anywhere with Darin, but together they would have a better shot at getting away. She could give him the slip later. Right this minute, he was the devil she knew.
Darin loosened his grip and lowered her to her feet. She was amazed he had actually believed what she’d said and her mouth dropped open. For a moment she stared into his trusting eyes. Then she turned and ran.
“Split up and double back,” she hollered over her shoulder. “I’ll meet you—”
She never had a chance to finish the thought because Darin caught her from behind, gripped her arm and kept up the momentum she’d begun as the two of them dashed down the half-lit sidewalks hand in hand. He might be trusting, but it seemed he wasn’t stupid.
Out of breath, they made it to the doorstep of an inn. Banging on the locked door with one fist, Darin kept his other hand glued tightly to hers. Apparently he was also familiar with the concept behind the saying “Fool me once …”
A particularly grumpy innkeeper finally let them in after Darin explained their circumstances in the man’s native French. Rylie wasn’t sure, but the memory of her old college French led her to believe Darin had also mentioned a bonus for calling them a cab.
Within a few minutes, money had changed hands and she was safely tucked into the backseat of a beat-up Mercedes taxicab.
Suddenly exhausted, Rylie leaned her body against the strength of Darin’s shoulder. “Where are we going? To the police?” No answer.

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