The Chatsfield: Series 2

“Well, I think we’re going to have a problem.” She lifted her chin, her expression defiant, eyes glittering.

He looked around the darkened car, at the streetlights moving quickly by, bathing her face in quick flashes of light. “Excuse me, little sheikha, but I fail to see what problem you could possibly pose to me in this position.”

She drew back slightly. “I scream very loudly.”

“I am certain you do.” He reached up and thumped his knuckles on the back of the black partition between the back and front seats. “But everything in here is soundproof. And bulletproof.”

“What does it being bulletproof have to do with anything?”

“Just in case you were going to get some ideas about breaking a window. If a sniper’s bullet couldn’t manage it, you certainly can’t.” He leaned back in his seat. “I don’t want you breaking an elbow trying to force your way out.”

She sniffed loudly. “I don’t know why you would worry about my elbow. Not when you have seized my person.”

“I have not broken your person, have I?” She only glared at him, her expression mutinous. “No, I have not,” he said, answering his own question. “And I would prefer to keep it that way.”

“I assume this is supposed to make me feel calmer about the fact that you forced me into your car and are now taking me who knows where.”

“I know where.” A bit of an overstatement. He wasn’t entirely certain where he was going to take her, or what he was going to do with her. He didn’t know if she knew who he was, or what she had overheard. And he needed to find a way to ascertain that without giving away any more than he needed to.

He only knew he had to keep her. That this was his chance to seize control of this situation. To fix it.

“Oh, how interesting,” she said. “I might appreciate being let in on that information.”

“Sorry, that sort of information is a privilege.”

“What are you doing? Why are you bothering with me? I’m not anyone. No, scratch that, I am someone. I work for a very prestigious newspaper and if you don’t let me go...”

“You’re a reporter?”

“Yes,” she said, seeming to change tactic abruptly. “I am. An intrepid one. A real one. Kind of a big deal.”

“What were you doing in that alley?” He had to know now, because if she was telling the truth, that meant that she was far more dangerous to him than an ex-lover of Chatsfield’s would be. She was the very thing he feared most. The very thing that could do the most damage to his family.

To Leila.

Leila had made a mistake in sleeping with James. But ultimately, Leila was so innocent that her stake in it was much lower than Chatsfield’s. She had been taken advantage of, of that Zayn was certain. And this woman would drag her before the press, who would tear her apart like ravenous wolves. Because she was a woman, because the media, and the public, would see her fault as the greater fault.

Because she was a princess and being royalty she would be the bigger target.

No, he could not allow it. He had already put one innocent sister in harm’s way. He’d already failed her. In a way there was no coming back from. He would be damned if he’d do it again.

He would fix this. By any means necessary. A disgruntled lover might have taken a payoff, but not a reporter. No, this would require more extreme measures.

He would remove her from contact if need be. Even if he had to pick her up and carry her back to Surhaadi.

She hesitated, clearly trying to decide what she could say now that would help her out of her current situation. That was enough to inform him that whatever she said was very likely to be a lie.

“I was following James,” she said finally. “I’m working on something that concerns the Chatsfield family.”

“Clearly not something they would be very happy about.”

“Well, probably not. But I can see you’re not James’s biggest fan. It would please you to know that I’m not a big fan of the Chatsfield family as a whole. And I don’t think they necessarily deserve the somewhat pristine reputation in the public they seem to have cultivated recently.”

“So what is it you’re after?”

“A scandal.”

“Of course, I should’ve known you were after a scandal. What good reporter isn’t?” Unfortunately, she was very close to a scandal. One that would involve his family, his sister. One that was simply unacceptable to have out in the open.

“Well, exactly.”

“And you know that I’m not James’s biggest fan?”

“Well, clearly not. As he seems to have gotten himself involved with your sister.”

Instantly he realized that whatever else she knew, she knew too much. With an entire newspaper to back her, she would be parlaying this information to interested parties, who would likely do much more digging than he would like done.

“Yes, indeed.” And just like that, he made his decision. He leaned forward and pressed the intercom button on the partition between the backseat and the front seat. “We are not going back to the hotel. We will be going straight to the airport.”

CHAPTER TWO

IT TOOK QUITE a bit to rattle Sophie Parsons. She hadn’t gotten where she was in life by being a shrinking violet. But currently, she was feeling extremely rattled. And slightly like shrinking.

She figured it was understandable. As she had just been forced into a limo by a man who stood nearly a foot taller than she did, and who must outweigh her by more than one hundred pounds of lean muscle. And now they were going to the airport, apparently.

She eyed the speedily passing scenery and considered attempting doing a tuck and roll.

“The doors are locked.”

It seemed he was a mind reader in addition to being a kidnapper. Except he seemed to take offense to the term kidnapper. Did she really care? She took offense to being forced inside of a limo and taken to God knows where.

“Right, well, it’s not like I was going to go jumping out of a moving vehicle.” Except she had been thinking of doing just that. “Although you’ve given me no reason to believe that I wouldn’t be better off taking my chances with the asphalt than I am staying here with you.”

“You have nothing to fear from me. I do not intend to hurt you.”

She assessed him, his hard expression, his dark eyes glittering. She had yet to get a good look at his face; from the dim lighting outside, to the even dimmer lighting in here, it made it difficult to assess his features fully. But from what she could tell, he was an exceptionally handsome man. An odd thing to observe about one’s captor, but in her line of work observation was everything. He had high cheekbones, a square jaw and a strong chin. The planes and angles of his face cast into sharp relief each time they passed a brightly lit building, or row of streetlights.

“What do you intend for me, then?” It was important to know. Because if he was intending evil things for her she needed to know whether or not she should be trying to fashion a weapon out of the paper clips and Chapstick in the bottom of her purse.

“It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“Inconveniently for you, I find I’m exceptionally worried about what exactly a stranger intends to do with me. Even if it is rather mundane. Even if you just intend to ask me about different styles of napkin folding, which I could give you a comprehensive lesson on because I am something of an expert.”

“I do not wish to learn to fold napkins.”

No, of course he didn’t. And she didn’t, for one moment, think he had. But it was a better thought than the others swirling in her head. Because as far as she knew, men only had a few things they wanted from women when they removed them from a place forcibly. None of them were any good. None of them were anything she wanted a part of.

She really was in over her head now. She’d wanted to help Isabelle out, and she still did. But she had not realized that digging up scandal on the Chatsfield family to get Spencer Chatsfield off her friend’s back would end with her being shoved into a car by an angry stranger. No, indeed, she had imagined she would do a little bit of reconnaissance, and catch James doing what James did. He had been, in her mind, the easiest target.

The Chatsfields were currently making it their mission to take over Harrington Hotels, Spencer Chatsfield doing his best to ruin Isabelle Harrington’s life, as if he hadn’t already done enough years ago. That was why Isabelle had asked her to do what she could to dig up the scandal on the family, to throw the press a headline bone they couldn’t ignore and keep the Chatsfields busy scrambling to cover their butts while Isabelle shored up the defenses for The Harrington.

No, she wasn’t exactly a lead reporter for the Herald. She was more lead coffee maker and vapid party summarizer for the society pages. But, given that, she had the authority to run a piece on the Chatsfields.

Though, as much as Sophie loved Isabelle, as much as she wanted to help out her friend, she wasn’t sure if this was what she signed on for. No, she was certain this wasn’t what she’d signed on for.

“So what is it you want?”

“It’s quite simple, really. I need to keep you busy for a while.”

“I like a scavenger hunt. If you wanted to set up some kind of elaborate game, I might be persuaded to participate. That could keep me busy for a bit.”

“That is not what I had in mind.”

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, goose bumps breaking out over her arms. “Organizing your sock drawer?”

“Getting warmer.”

“Okay, you need to start talking, because I’m starting to panic.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“I have an idea.” She had overheard enough of his conversation with James to start piecing some things together. And what she surmised was that he was royalty of some sort. Because he had accused James of sleeping with his sister. His sister, who happened to be a princess. So unless he was some kind of royal bastard, he had to be a prince, sheikh or otherwise titled person. A quick internet search when she’d gotten back to her computer would’ve clarified everything. Of course, now she was separated from her computer, for who knew how long, so finding out who he was wouldn’t be as simple as she imagined.

Though if she could get her phone...

“I am Sheikh Zayn Al-Ahmar, of Surhaadi. And I am taking you back to my country for the foreseeable future.”

Her stomach jumped up and hit the back of her throat.

“What do you mean I’m coming back to your country with you?”

“Just exactly what I said. You are returning to Surhaadi with me, until I can figure out a means of dealing with you.”

“Well, I don’t want to.”

He shifted in his seat, one arm draped over the back of it, his legs thrown out in front of him. He had the posture of a lazy cat, as though this were mundane. As though he kidnapped women from alleys in New York every day, and threatened to take them back to his desert kingdom. As though this were as commonplace as ordering sparkling water instead of still.

But she had a feeling it was only an illusion. That, much like a cat, the lazy posture was simply lulling her into a false sense of security, so that she would be all the more surprised when he pounced. She decided then and there that she would not be lulled.

“All of this has very little to do with want, as far as I’m concerned,” he said. “Do you truly think I want to bring you back to my country with me? If so, you are mistaken. This goes deeper than want. This is about what I must do.”

“Well, what is it you must do? Let me help you with that, and perhaps we can both be spared this whole taking me back to the desert thing.”

“I am afraid I do not have time to negotiate.”

“I’m asking honestly, what is it you need? What is it you want from me?” Anything was preferable to this. Well, okay, not anything. But a lot of things.

“I require your silence, habibti. And while under normal circumstances I would be willing to pay for your silence, I find that I must be even more diligent in this instance. I cannot take the chance you will simply take my money and then give away my secrets, anyway.”

“I have a lot of honor. And I also have a lot of bills. So, all things considered, a payoff might be your best bet.” At this point, she just wanted to forget she had ever even seen the man. No payoff required. She was starting to get seriously freaked out.

“As I said, under normal circumstances I might have gone that route. But there is too much at stake. Anyway, what sort of paltry story do you suppose you could bring out of the Chatsfield name? There is more to this story. More to what I know about James Chatsfield. Come back to the palace with me, and I will tell you everything.”

Oh, no, that was far too easy, and made absolutely no sense. The man was trying to get her away from people, away from New York, to keep something secret. He was hardly going to give her surrounding information.

“I don’t trust you.”

“All things considered, I doubt there is any chance of there being trust between us.”

“Well, perhaps we don’t need trust. Perhaps we just need you to not force me to go someplace against my will. Right now, I would take that over trust.”

The limo started to slow, pulling into a driveway that she didn’t recognize. This didn’t look like any of the airports she was familiar with, or at least not a terminal she was familiar with. Not that she had spent very much time traveling, but she had dropped friends off when they went on trips.

Still, she was not an authority on air travel. “Where are we?”

“A private section of the airport, reserved for visiting dignitaries. It allows us to sidestep a lot of bureaucracy.”

She was starting to put the pieces together, but between the general feeling of shock and the haze of disbelief covering this whole thing she wasn’t feeling as quick as she usually did.

“I need you out of the way for a while. Surhaadi is the best place, where I can keep you close. Where I can keep an eye on you. But never fear, you will come away from this rewarded.”

A chill spread over her. “I have a job, I have a life, I can’t just leave.”

Okay, so saying she had a life was pushing it a bit. She had a life of working sixty hours a week, and doing her very best to climb the ladder, such as that was in her industry. She had spent her entire life working her way up from, if not the gutter, certainly a disadvantaged position, to where she was now.

Isabelle Harrington had helped her secure her place at the Herald, and Sophie owed her. More than that, she refused to squander any opportunity she was given. The vast majority of the work she had done to elevate her status had been accomplished on her own. Due to nothing more than sheer bloody-mindedness, determination and a burning sense of injustice that sat in her stomach, making her feel hollow. Driving her on, looking for a way to fill it.

But her position at the Herald was one of the few things that had been provided for her by her creative friends. Isabelle had recommended her for the position, and Sophie took it very seriously. She didn’t take for granted what she had been given. The thought of just leaving the job, for an indefinite amount of time, was unthinkable.

“Where is it you work?”

“I work at the New York Herald, and I can’t just leave.”

“I will call your boss, and I will speak to him.”

“Uh...no. You won’t. That is not happening.” Knowing Colin, he would smell a story and be no help in bailing her out. Her boss had the morals of a vulture. He was opportunistic in the extreme. A man who had attached himself to a very wealthy wife, using those connections to land himself a position as head editor for the Herald, all while sleeping with younger socialites behind her back.

He was opportunistic, but not, in Sophie’s experience, particularly sneaky. Either way, she did not want to bring him into this.

“You have now told me where you work. I am more than happy to take the ID out of your bag, find your name and call your boss. I will tell him that one of his reporters has greatly offended the sheikh of Surhaadi. And I will tell him I want you fired.”

Fear streaked through her. She despised it. Despised this feeling of being so disadvantaged because she was, by birth, lesser.

But I shouldn’t be. I should be one of them. But because my father didn’t choose me...

“You don’t actually think that would work, do you?”

“I do not see why it wouldn’t.”

“Well, perhaps in any other industry, it would work. But this is the media, if you give any hint of a scandal, they’ll just want to know what the scandal is. No one is going to fire me for creating a little bit of dust between myself and a sheikh.”

“You see, that is where you’re wrong. Because I have the capability of offering them a much bigger story than you ever could with your half-heard findings in the alleyway. But I would make it contingent upon them letting you go. And rest assured they would.”

“I can’t believe this. Are you seriously going to get me fired from my job? Because of...just because I overheard that Chatsfield slept with your sister?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice grave. “I would do just that. Do not doubt it. There are two things in this life that are dear to me. My people, and my family. I will do whatever is necessary to protect them. Sometimes, when you are the ruler of the country, that means being willing to go to war. When you are the head of the family, that means being willing to wage war on a more personal scale.” His gaze met hers, and even in the darkness of the car, she could feel the righteous fury emanating from him, could feel the heat. “There is nothing I would not do to protect my family. And right now, I feel that my hand is being forced.”

“I’m not forcing anything.”

“Your very presence does. Your name?”

“Why should I tell you?” He gave her a hard look, one that told her he would get it one way or another. She would just tell him. At least then it would be her choice. “Sophie Parsons.”

“And who do you report to directly?”

“Colin Fairfax.”

“Phone number?”

She rattled it off, because at this point, if she had her boss on the other end of the phone, perhaps she could at least signal her distress. Sheikh whatever-his-name-was retrieved the phone from the interior pocket of his jacket, and dialed the number she had given. A moment later she heard the phone stop ringing on the other end, and heard her boss’s voice coming through the line, muffled but recognizable.

“Yes, I am calling about an employee of yours. Sophie Parsons.”

She could hear words, but not what they were.

“She has done nothing wrong. She is with me, in fact...Sheikh Zayn, of Surhaadi...Yes, that one. We got into a bit of a discussion, and we spoke about her coming to Surhaadi to run a piece on my upcoming marriage.”

The implications of what he was saying turned over in her mind, and for the first time, she realized that some of this could actually go her way. That she could get something out of this.

Except where Isabelle is concerned. You’re leaving Isabelle up a creek without a paddle.

Not that she was doing it on purpose. If she had her way, she would escape the limo and run screaming into the night. But she didn’t seem to have much choice. He would load her onto the plane kicking and screaming if he had to, of that she had no doubt. There was barely another living soul out here, at least no one who didn’t work for him. And he had her boss on the line, her job in his hands, and if she did not have access to the media, the help that she could be to Isabelle was limited, anyway.

No, she wasn’t deserting her friend for self-serving reasons. She wasn’t deserting her friend for any reason that was in her control.

“She is a very charming young woman,” Zayn continued. “I find myself captivated by her. I should like to read her perspective of the goings-on.”

Her boss responded, his voice sounding much more cheerful and genial than it ever did when he spoke to her. Probably because she was a gopher and not a sheikh.

“I am not certain how long I will have her in Surhaadi, but of course we do have internet connections, and she will be able to make contact.” Somehow, Sophie doubted he would allow her free contact.

“Yes, I daresay it will be a wonderful exclusive for your paper. She will be in touch soon.” Zayn hung up, putting the phone back inside his jacket pocket. “There, that was relatively painless, wasn’t it?”

“For you, perhaps. I find all this has been quite painful.”

“I have scarcely laid a finger on you.”

“Pain can come in a lot of forms. Often I find the physical is the least of my worries.” That much was true, she had enough emotional garbage to last a lifetime.

“Well, it is all settled, your boss is happy to have you come to Surhaadi with me. And if you refuse, I will not hesitate to call him back and let him know you blew the story, and that I will require your immediate termination if the paper is to get the exclusive that I have now promised.”

“So those are my options? Be carried onto the plane kicking and screaming and lose my job, or get on the plane and keep my job.”

“That about sums it up.”

“What about my scandal? I need to do this. If you think I was out here for my own gratification, you’re wrong. I’m doing this for someone else. For a friend, and it’s important.”

“Come with me, and you will have your scandal.” His dark eyes were fathomless, impossible to read. But she could also see that she had no choice but to go with him.

She swallowed hard, trying to combat the swarm of nerves crawling through her system like a hoard of ants. “Then I guess we are going to Surhaadi.”

* * *

Zayn’s private plane was far more luxurious than anything Sophie had been exposed to before. And in the years since she’d moved up from her nondescript existence in a quiet neighborhood, tucked away from people she and her mother might encounter who would know who her father was, she had seen a fair bit of luxury.

She had not, however, seen private plane levels of luxury.

She felt like it had to be some kind of mental disconnect happening within her brain right now. Because she was essentially being kidnapped, and yet she was admiring the butter-soft quality of the leather that covered the chairs that were stationed throughout the airplane cabin.

All things considered, she didn’t feel like this was the time to be admiring the qualities of leather. Though if she thought about anything much deeper she might go insane. Because all of this was just too much to digest at once. She needed time to get used to this whole being kidnapped by a sheikh thing.

“There are two bedrooms in the back of the plane, and you’re welcome to use whichever one you like,” he said, speaking as though he was playing host at an extremely civilized dinner party. “You are also welcome to stay up here should you prefer. Can I get you a drink?”

“Well, the offer of the bedroom is certainly appreciated. As is the offer of a drink. Which I accept.”

She had never been much for drinking. After Isabelle had accepted her into her group of friends, Sophie had often found herself dining in places that were way above her pay grade. Soup or salad, coupled with the water, had often been the only thing on her menu. Certainly, had her friend been aware of the fact that Sophie couldn’t afford the places they’d gone, Isabelle would have happily given Sophie the money to pay for her meal. But charity had never sat well with Sophie. And anyway, the burning hunger to one day be able to order the fish dish, rather than ordering from the appetizer section, was one of the things that kept her going.

She had often been afraid that if she took those kinds of incentives from herself she would lose some of her drive. And that, in her mind, was unacceptable.