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“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.
