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Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Sheikh Defence (#litres_trial_promo)
Back Cover Text (#litres_trial_promo)
Introduction (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
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)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Sheikh’s Rule (#u776862c2-f61c-5978-8ae6-2449639215c3)
Ryshia Kennie
He’s an investigator on a mission, but it’s impossible to ignore the brilliant woman helping him complete it…
His sister’s life is at stake, and despite his wealth and power, Sheik Emir Al-Nassar feels helpless. At least heading his family’s security agency provides him with resources to track down her kidnappers. But when the ace profiler he’s sent turns out to be K. J.—Kate—Gelinsky, Emir is furious. Finding the kidnappers’ desert hideout is dangerous enough without the distraction of a beautiful woman.
But K.J. is unlike any woman he’s ever known. Her fearlessness and incisive mind inspires Emir’s admiration. And her compassion breaches his guarded heart. Still, rescuing his sister is a perilous mission. And allowing desire to cloud his focus could endanger them all.
Desert Justice
“You’re the new agent?”
Emir’s words were heavy with disbelief. “You’re the one Adam recommended?”
“Yes,” Kate said. “I’m K.J.…”
“This won’t work.”
“By this, you mean me?” She took a step forward. Now she was in his face.
“That’s what you meant, wasn’t it? I’m not a man so…” She left the remainder of the sentence hanging.
“You need to get on the first flight home,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Give me a chance.”
“It’s not me that’s the problem.”
“I know,” she interrupted. “It’s the customs, the tribes outside the city, the…”
“It won’t work.”
“Look, I know what I’m getting into. I’m qualified. I specialized in Middle Eastern studies—an exchange student. I’ll help you find your sister. You just need to trust me.”
RYSHIA KENNIE has received a writing award from the City of Regina, Saskatchewan, and was also a semifinalist in the Kindle Book Awards. She finds that there’s never a lack of places to set an edge-of-the-seat suspense, as prairie winters find her dreaming of warmer places for heart-stopping stories. They are places where deadly villains threaten intrepid heroes and heroines who battle for their right to live or even to love. For more, visit www.ryshiakennie.com (http://www.ryshiakennie.com/).
For Rourke, who was dedicated to the art of fun.
The “Wookie Man” would have loved to
rip this book to shreds, while enjoying
every word and every moment of it.
Chapter One (#u776862c2-f61c-5978-8ae6-2449639215c3)
Marrakech, Morocco
Monday, September 14, 5:54 a.m.
The first haunting notes of the call to prayer seemed troubled, almost off-key, when usually the melodious sound wove through the predawn stillness, beckoning with an easy allure not unlike the nimble fingers of the weavers in the casbah who wove the many rugs sold to the tourists. Like the rugs, the ancient chant was as much part of the rhythm of life and the fabric of Marrakech as was the still night-shrouded skyline. But today, in a mansion hidden in the depths of palatial grounds and secured by the most current technology and the best in security guards, the simple power of the timeless notes not only felt off, they were lost in the guttural roar that sounded more wounded beast than man.
Emir Al-Nassar crushed the pen in his right hand. On the desk, the smartphone lay where he had thrown it, the blue protective cover fractured, the crack running through the Blue Jays’ baseball emblem. A thin line of ink ran down his arm and dripped onto the thick Persian carpet. Like blood, he thought, and wondered how much more blood would be spilled before she was safe once again.
“I won’t lose her, too,” he muttered thickly, his voice choked. The emotion that had welled up only seconds earlier had taken everything he had. “None of us will.”
But, despite his words, the unthinkable had happened. His sister had been kidnapped.
He couldn’t fathom how frightened she might be. And at this particular moment there was nothing he could do. He was at the whim of the demands of others. But inaction was not in him, no matter what they had ordered.
His mind was already jumping through a series of options. Most importantly, what action would not increase the danger that already threatened Tara and what would ultimately bring her home where she belonged. He needed to think logically, think that it was someone else’s sister, that it was not Tara. It was the only way he could give everything to her rescue without the emotion he knew would only cloud his judgment.
He dropped the broken pen, not caring about the stain that might ruin the ancient carpet. He took a step away from the desk as the last notes of the call to prayer died away. He turned slowly, as if facing an executioner. Through the open blinds, the city lights shone a warm glow across Marrakech’s still-shadowed beauty. It was a view he never got tired of. But today he could have been anywhere in the world for he saw none of it.
A door slammed somewhere in the hallway and suddenly the room was full of unleashed testosterone as two of his brothers, Talib and Zafir, entered the room.
“Emir, what’s going on?” Talib began. “Your Jays are done and the Yankees don’t play for another hour, even with the time difference, so—”
“Shut up about bloody baseball, Talib,” Zafir interrupted as he looked at Emir and the silent awareness that had always run between the twins jumped like a living coil across the space that separated them. “No one cares about your fave team or even Emir’s for that matter. He wouldn’t call us here, at this hour of the morning, unless—” He broke off, looking to Emir for confirmation, his eyes troubled, as if expecting the worst.
“Tara’s been kidnapped,” Emir said with no emotion. His back was to them and he was still facing the window that allowed a view of the grounds his sister loved so much. He turned to face his brothers, schooling his features, reining in his thoughts. It was difficult, for he couldn’t believe how foolish his sister had been.
“Kidnapped,” Zafir repeated, a frown slicing his handsome face, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing.
“Impossible!” Talib said as his fist smacked the palm of his hand and disbelief laced through the word. “We have one of the best security teams in the country. How?”
The word reverberated for a second, then two, as Talib and Zafir processed what this meant, how the impossible had become possible.
“She was on a night out with the girls. But, at the end of the night, she left her girlfriends behind and, it appears, her security, too. Fortunately her team caught up with her. The reports say she was with her security team just outside the gates. The evidence is in the signs of a scuffle and the fact that they left one of them dead.” Emir said the words reluctantly, as if it had been his fault. “I can’t imagine how they got so close to the compound—how they got her—unless security was distracted. They were two of our best.” It wasn’t an excuse and he still couldn’t believe it had happened.
Zafir clenched his fist, his jaw tight. “She’s alive?” And while it sounded like a question, they all knew it was really a command or, more accurately, a demand that she was alive or there would be hell to pay.
“As far as I know,” Emir said, his voice devoid of emotion. He glared at Zafir for flirting with the reality he hadn’t dared consider—that Tara was hurt, or worse. “She was taken just outside the grounds.”
“She dodged her security?” Talib repeated as if not believing the possibility. “She knew the risks. She...” His voice broke and he turned away.
“When we find her, she’ll be grounded for the rest of her life,” Zafir snarled as if anger at her would somehow ensure his sister’s safety.
“She’s twenty years old,” Emir reminded him. The words came almost by rote, meaningless considering the scope of what had happened. But sometimes it was difficult to remember that his sister was officially an adult. He thought of her as his little sister in need of protection. And the fact that, physically, her petite size made her almost doll-like only accentuated those thoughts. But Tara’s personality was another story. It was as forward and brash as her physical being was delicate. Emir prayed that her larger-than-life personality and piercing intelligence that could challenge and often match him in many a game of chess would see her through.
“Her security tracked her, apparently found her immediately before the kidnapping,” Emir continued. “The kidnappers used knives. Ahmed lived...” he said, referring to one of the men assigned to Tara. He took a breath, as if that would put reason into the insanity they faced. “He’s in rough shape. It’s touch and go right now. He’s not able to give any information but when he is...”
“I’m on it.” Zafir’s jaw clenched as he said it and at the same time Talib’s open palm slammed against a vase that, at best guess, had been created over three centuries ago. The vase crashed to the floor and none of the brothers bothered to look as pieces flew across the room. Instead they stood poised like predatory animals, unmoving, contemplating the unfathomable.
Normally, Emir would have been all over Talib and his well-known temper for breaking the vase. He was the one who cared about the irreplaceable items that foretold a long and venerable heritage. But now, in a crappy and equally frightening situation, he knew Talib’s anger was more than justified.
He’d felt the helpless rage himself and, as much as he hated the emotions that had rolled through him in the minutes since he’d learned the incomprehensible truth, he couldn’t stop them. He’d been at the kidnappers’ mercy. And, without consultation with his siblings, he’d given in to their first demand in the hope of buying time and knowing what they asked was small enough to assure a second request, possibly even a third. That’s what he told himself. The truth was that he wasn’t sure what to expect or even what to do in this situation. The only thing he wanted to do was to kill the men who held his sister, if he only knew where or who they were. Kidnapping was neither his nor his brothers’ expertise.
“We’ll need guns and—”
“No,” Emir growled as he cut Talib off. He turned to Zafir. “I need you to take my phone. Not now,” he said as Zafir held out his hand. “Later. That’s how they’ll contact us.” Their voices were similar and, as identical twins, one could easily imitate the other. “When I get an idea of where they might have gone, I’m going after her—alone, at least without the two of you. All of us moving in a pack would alert the perps to what we’re doing. Therefore, we all can’t go. Someone—” he looked pointedly at Zafir “—has to be available for their demands. Let them believe we’re waiting, getting funds together—playing the game as they want.”
“There’s already been a request,” Zafir said quietly as he put a hand on Emir’s shoulder. It was not a question; as twins there were things each had always known about the other.
“It was small. There’ll be more,” Emir confirmed.
Although he was by no means a kidnapping expert, he knew the pattern with other kidnappings of strangers, people he had not known or loved—people who were not his sister. And, while they weren’t following the M.O. of an average kidnapper—sadly there was such a thing—he suspected they weren’t unique. He moved away, slipping from his twin’s abbreviated touch.
Zafir nodded. “And you’ve paid it.”
“You think that will get Tara back?” Anger was tight in Talib’s voice. He was a gifted member of their team but, of all of them, Talib had the least control over his emotions, especially now.
As always, his twin was on the same wavelength, he knew that as he saw the look of approval in Zafir’s eyes. He was the one who would most likely hold his emotions in check and who could make it look like Emir was doing exactly what the kidnappers wanted—waiting and complying.
“No. They’ll want more. But for now we look cooperative, and that’s good for Tara,” Zafir said.
“Hopefully we’ll have bought enough time to get some help,” Emir said.
Talib paced, his fists clenched and his jaw set. “We can’t do nothing,” he growled.
“Agreed.” Emir paused, considering the options. He met Zafir’s eyes. Although Zafir was younger by only minutes, there was never dissention because of birth order; they were usually in agreement. The slight tilt of Zafir’s head told him they were in agreement in this situation, as well. His gaze went to Talib—of the three of them, the one most likely to act impulsively, more likely to insist, as he already had, that they go at the kidnappers en masse with guns blazing. He didn’t blame him. They all felt the pain, the shock and the anger. For it was their baby sister they were talking about.
“For now, we act like nothing has happened,” Emir said.
“No.” Talib’s fist clenched and he brought it down on the desk, making a trio of pens jump. His eyes met Emir’s, passion blazing as his jaw clenched. His shoulder-length hair did not hide the strength in his jaw or the anger in his flashing brown eyes. “I’ll kill...”
