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Holly pictured Griff, whom she’d known casually for years. An easygoing, talkative fellow, he played drums in an alternative rock band with which Jazz sang.
He’d had a minor drug conviction a few years back, and he’d managed to avoid being questioned by the police since she reported Jazz missing. Nevertheless, she couldn’t imagine him hurting her sister.
“If he were up to something, why would he give himself away by bringing me the baby?” she pointed out.
The sheikh finished eating. “I do not know. I am grateful that at least he put my son in good hands.”
Holly’s cheeks warmed, and she hurriedly changed the subject. “I think she left of her own free will, but then something prevented her from coming back for Ben. I’ve been so worried.”
“I share your concern that something has gone wrong,” he said slowly. “This Noreen Wheaton, the director of the clinic, might be afraid of someone, or she is playing a game of her own.”
He pushed back his chair and walked to a leather suitcase. From a side pocket, he drew some papers. “Here is a copy of our contract with the clinic. I brought it to prove that the baby is mine. Perhaps you will see something in them that I have missed.”
The papers bore the name of the Crestline View Clinic. The legal terminology covered such issues as privacy and liability.
Holly studied the signatures at the bottom: Sharif Al-Khalil, witnessed by Zahad Adran, and Noreen Wheaton, witnessed by someone named Manuel Estrellas.
“Do you know anything about this man Estrellas?” she asked.
The sheikh took a seat beside her. “A clinic employee, I presume.”
She scanned the contract again. “Why isn’t Jazz’s name on here?”
“We were told she signed a separate contract with the clinic,” Sharif said.
“But she knew about you, right?” Holly returned the document to him. “I mean, that the baby was going to be raised by your aunt and your cousin?”
“You make it sound as if there were something wrong with my arrangements.”
Holly plunged in. “I just don’t believe Ben will be happy growing up without a mother.”
A tightening of the sheikh’s mouth indicated that she’d overstepped her bounds. “I would not have arranged to have a son if I could not provide him with a proper home.”
Tears pricked Holly’s eyes. “I just don’t want to lose him.”
His harsh expression softened. “Have you considered what will happen when your sister returns?” he said. “By your own account, she is unreliable, and you could not prevent her from reclaiming the child. What kind of life would he lead then?”
“I’ve been trying not to think about that.” Staring down at the table, Holly took a deep breath.
She reminded herself that Trevor wanted to marry her, and there was no reason they couldn’t have children of their own. But those children wouldn’t be Ben. They wouldn’t be the baby who’d opened the floodgates of love inside her.
The sheikh brushed a tear from her cheek. “To lose this child would hurt you very much.”
All she could do was nod.
“You are a woman who lives for others,” he murmured. “What then is left for yourself?”
“I don’t need anything for myself.” It seemed so obvious that she was surprised she had to explain it. “What more could a person want than to ensure the happiness of the people she loves?”
His hand cupped her chin. The roughness of his palm testified to a hard life, and yet his fingers stroked her jawline as lightly as a whisper. “Let us reach a sensible agreement, Holly Rivers. One that is truly best for all of us.”
“An agreement?” She allowed herself to meet his gaze.
“I propose that, tomorrow, you and I go together to the authorities,” he said gravely.
“You mean you’ll turn yourself in?”
“As soon as I find a lawyer, yes.” He studied her. “Will you promise to explain that you entered my car of your own free will?”
She nodded. “Of course. It’s the truth.”
“I will present the contract and show that I have only taken my own son,” he said. “It is a gamble, but I doubt they will press charges. It would be the fastest way to resolve this situation. And for us to get away from whoever is trying to kill me.”
“Then what happens to Ben?” Tears threatened again, because she knew the answer.
“You must admit that he will be better off with me than with your sister,” said the sheikh. “Also, in compensation for spoiling your wedding, I will pay for a private detective to search for her.”
For a crazy moment, Holly contemplated offering to go to Alqedar and take care of Ben. Just to keep him close, this child of her heart. To give him a mother, after all.
But what place could she have in a land so unfamiliar she doubted she could find it on a map?
Doubts tore at her. What if Sharif was tricking her in some way? The contract might have been altered. Maybe nothing was as it seemed to be.
She’d never had to deal with such a situation before. If Trevor were here…but, of course, he wasn’t.
She needed this man’s trust. And her deepest instincts told her that he would never, under any circumstances, harm Ben.
“All right,” she said slowly, still not certain she was making the right decision. “If everything is as you present it, I agree not to fight for custody.”
Outside, the rain settled into a steady, lulling pattern. The long day, the full meal and the lingering effects of medication must be taking their toll, because Holly found herself fighting a yawn.
“You need sleep.” Taking her hand, the sheikh pulled her gently to her feet.
At the bed, Holly curled beside Ben. She was only vaguely aware of Sharif tucking the covers around them.
SHE AWOKE to semidarkness and the scents of wood-smoke and baby powder. Rain pattered on the roof while, across the room, the TV glimmered, its sound turned low.
A flash of lightning showed Sharif dozing at the dining table, his head cradled on his arms. Sleep appeared to have caught him unexpectedly.
Beside Holly, the baby murmured and nestled closer. Slowly she began sinking back into slumber.
A quickening in the TV announcer’s tone barely penetrated her consciousness until she picked out the words “body” and “woman.” The fears of the past few months returned in a flash.
Sliding from the bed, Holly hurried to the set. Cool air nipped her shoulders above the crumpled wedding gown, and the wooden floor chilled her stockinged feet.
“The victim, believed to be in her mid-twenties, was found by off-road bikers in the desert,” said the announcer. “Police haven’t released her identity.”
On the screen, paramedics loaded a blanket-covered body into an ambulance. When they tilted the stretcher, the blanket fell back to reveal a bare arm.
The camera zoomed in on a small tattoo, a botanical cluster of four-petaled blooms.
Holly recognized them at once. They were jasmine flowers.
Chapter Four
Jazz had come home late one day from high school, proudly displaying the tattoo to which her boyfriend had treated her. It was her namesake, a little bunch of jasmine flowers.
“…appears to have been dead for several weeks,” said the announcer.
Several weeks. Holly’s head buzzed. If she could believe Griff, Jazz had been alive a month ago and had planned to pick up Ben in a few days.
She must have been killed in the interim. All this time that Holly had been searching, and jumping with fear at every ring of the phone or doorbell, her sister had been lying dead in the desert.
Who had done this? Had Jazz taken up with the wrong set of friends? Had Griff gotten greedy?
There was one other possibility she had to face. That Jazz had purposely sent her son to Holly because she was going to meet the one man who could take him from her.
Sheikh Sharif Al-Khalil.
Holly’s throat tightened until she could barely breathe. Could Sharif have done such a thing?
At the table, still in his robe, he lay sleeping harmlessly. Yet she could see the powerful thrust of his shoulders, and the strength in his arms. This was not a man to be trifled with.
She didn’t want to believe that the man who had gazed at Ben with such adoration, and treated her with such kindness this evening, might have killed Jazz. He’d spoken so rationally about hiring a lawyer and going to the police tomorrow, that she wanted to believe him.
But a calm facade could hide a lethal temper. Maybe, if crossed, he exploded into an uncontrollable fury.
In Holly’s mind burned an image of Jazz’s inert body, lying on a stretcher amid the glare of police lights. She’d been cast aside in the desert as if she were nothing. Only one little tattoo announced to the world that this was an individual, a person with friends and dreams of her own.
Through Holly’s grief, one point stood out: Her life might be in the same danger as her sister’s. Danger rose like woodsmoke, filling the cabin and obscuring every thought except that of flight.
When thunder rumbled, she caught her breath. Would it wake Sharif?
At the table, he muttered softly and shifted position, then stilled. His silence felt like a reprieve.
Gently, she lifted the baby. Since she had no coat, she made a cloak of the bedspread and draped it over them both.
She hated to take the baby into the rain, but she couldn’t leave him. If Sharif had a violent temper, he might unleash it on anyone at hand.
To reach the cabin door meant crossing the room. At the moment, it looked as wide as a football field.
Adrenaline and fear powered Holly out of the alcove. One noiseless step followed another.
A board creaked beneath her satin wedding pumps. Holly froze.
The man didn’t stir. She moved forward, acutely aware of the weight of the baby in one arm and the swish of fabric audible above the rain. Outside, the wind rose, and a branch scraped the window so loud that it sounded, to her ears, like a bomb blast.
The door. She turned the knob and pulled. It held stubbornly in place.
There had to be a bolt. She just hoped it didn’t require a key to open from the inside.
With Ben resting against her shoulder, Holly clamped the bedspread beneath one elbow to keep from dropping it as she probed with her free hand. Was the lock above or below the knob?
Next time I get kidnapped, I’ll make sure to check out the door while there’s enough light.
The grim humor steadied her, and she located a small slide-lock about six inches above the knob. Struggling against the stiff device while trying not the jolt the baby, she tugged on it.
The metal rasped, halted, then slid the rest of the way. Breathing hard, Holly grasped the knob.
Icy wind hit her in the face. Ben squirmed beneath the spread.
Trying to let in as little cold air as possible, she edged outside and closed the door. From beyond a small overhang, rain gusted into her face.
Holly could see nothing except sheets of water and the outline of black trees against a charcoal sky. It was as if she stood on an island surrounded by a raging sea.
A flare of lightning showed her a muddy, unpaved clearing overhung by low branches. A rutted path led away through the brush, with no lights or traffic noises to indicate how close a road might be.
Tightening the makeshift cloak, Holly stepped off the porch into the full force of the storm.
A RAW BLAST of air woke Sharif. He came awake instantly, his warrior’s training jolting him to full alert.
The door had opened. Someone had come in or gone out.
Cursing himself for falling asleep on watch, he ducked and dodged in case of attack. Nothing moved, other than a flicker of light from the TV screen. Except for him, the cabin was empty.
The woman had taken his child.
He had promised to deliver her safely to the authorities. She had agreed to tell them the truth. Now she had betrayed that agreement.
He knew better than to assume she was unarmed. Although there were no guns in the cabin, she might have found a knife in a drawer.
A pat of his robe confirmed that the phone was in place, so she hadn’t been able to call for help. She wouldn’t be able to travel fast on foot, either.
If she blundered into the woods, however, she might easily get lost. A few hours of exposure could prove fatal to the child.
Sharif did not wish to injure Holly. Despite his anger, he couldn’t entirely blame her for fleeing. But he must retrieve his son at any cost.
The overriding need to reclaim Ben drove him to action. He yanked open the door and leaped out, to give the woman no chance to react.
Another long step carried him beyond the porch to the dark cloth-covered shape struggling away from him. Their bodies collided, hard.
In the darkness, Sharif must have misjudged the distance, because he shot way over balance. Grabbing Holly, he managed to twist partway beneath her as they fell, to shield the baby from hitting the ground.
A gasp from the woman blended with the squalling of the bundle in her arms. The impact knocked the breath out of Sharif, but he had no time to waste.
Grasping the child, he rolled away through the mud. Raising himself on one knee, he kept the child tight against him and the woman in sight.
Rain poured over them. The sheikh ignored it as he watched for the flash of a blade.
