Sheikh Surrender Page 11

  The detective folded his hands on the table. “You should listen to me, Jenny.”

  Frustration wiped away her tact. “Which part of ‘it’s my decision’ don’t you understand?”

  “What I understand is that—”

  He broke off as Zahad entered from the living room. Although they’d been talking quietly during the interview, they’d raised their voices during the last part and Jenny suspected he’d overheard.

  Her hunch was confirmed by the glitter in the sheikh’s eyes. “I am impressed with your efficiency, Officer,” he said icily. “You have inspired a woman beater to attempt to break into his ex-wife’s home. You have put a foreign dignitary at risk of being shot. You have also recovered a key and a gun from the prime suspect in a murder case. And on what do you focus your attention? On trying to control the sex life of the pretty woman who lives across the street from you.”

  Parker got to his feet faster than she would have believed possible. To Jenny’s horror, she saw his hand poised above his holstered revolver. “Don’t push me, Mr. Adran.”

  “Anyone would think you wanted Mr. Sanger to burst in here and get rid of me,” Sahad said. “Why? Is it jealousy or do you have something to cover up?”

  Couldn’t he see the detective had no reserves of patience left? Jenny wondered. Glaring, she moved between them and made a time-out T with her fingers.

  Zahad ducked his head in acknowledgment and Parker moved his hand away from his gun. She was pleased to see that the signal worked as well on testosterone-infused men as it did with schoolchildren.

  “I’m sure Sergeant Finley will take appropriate steps to deal with Grant,” she said. “Won’t you, Parker?”

  His gaze never left Zahad. “I’ll arrange to have his home, office and storage unit searched. If he’s your stalker, we’ll find the evidence.” He stretched his shoulders stiffly. “In the meantime, I’m taking him into custody for attempted breaking and entering and illegal possession of a gun. Satisfied, Jenny?”

  “As long as you keep him in jail and away from me.” More and more, she believed Grant must be the one who’d been targeting her on the Internet, although she wasn’t convinced he’d killed Fario.

  “That’ll be up to the district attorney and the judge,” Parker replied.

  A bright spot occurred to her. “I don’t think he’s going to make much headway trying to get custody of Beth after this.”

  “Let’s hope not,” said the sergeant. “But right now, who’s watching the prisoner?”

  Zahad, who stood close to the door, glanced into the living room. “He appears unrepentant, but he is not attempting to escape.”

  “As I told Jenny, I’m sorry about this,” Parker explained. “That doesn’t change the fact that I think it’s a big mistake letting you stay here. You and Mr. Sanger both have alibis for the day of the murder but that doesn’t rule out a conspiracy, for either of you.”

  “There is one important difference between him and me,” the sheikh said.

  “I’m listening.”

  “He had a key to this house. I did not.”

  “From what I’ve been told, there isn’t a lock in California that could keep you out if you really wanted to get through it.” The sergeant nodded to Jenny. “I’ll stay in touch.”

  “Thanks for coming,” she said. “I know how hard you’re working.”

  A rare hint of warmth pierced Parker’s stony expression. “Nobody wants this case solved more than I do, Jenny, believe me.”

  She walked into the front room with the two men. The sight of her ex-husband sitting handcuffed threw Jenny back to the night when he’d attacked her. Although she’d fled before calling 911, she’d had to go to the police station in Long Beach to make a statement, and she’d seen Grant in custody.

  He wore the same air of offended dignity now as then. Some people never changed, she thought with a surge of anger.

  “What about medical attention?” Grant demanded.

  “Are you injured?” Parker asked.

  “He damn near cut my throat open.”

  The detective glanced skeptically at the tiny wound. “We’ll get someone to look at it. Come on, cowboy. I’ve had a long night.”

  “You’re taking me in?” Apparently this was news to Grant. Despite the handcuffs, he drew himself up as if he were king of the world.

  “That’s what we usually do with men who try to break into their ex-wives’ homes,” the sergeant said. “Do I need to call for backup or are you going to cooperate?”

  “I’ll come along quietly, Officer.” He spoke the line with a note of sarcasm.

  After scooting awkwardly to his feet, Grant glowered at Jenny. When he opened his mouth to speak, she said, “If you’re going to tell me this is all my fault, I’ll slug you. And I don’t care if Parker books me for assault.”

  Her ex-husband blinked. Slowly the aggression wilted from his stance. “I was going to ask you not to tell Beth I’ve been arrested. It’ll upset her.”

  “I’ll use my judgment.” It occurred to her that Shelley wouldn’t be happy with her husband, either, but that was between the two of them.

  The detective called to let the station know he was bringing in a perpetrator and to arrange for someone to collect Grant’s rental car. After he escorted his prisoner into the overcast morning, Jenny realized with a start that day had dawned.

  She closed the door, swung around and ran straight into Zahad. He felt so solid that Jenny sagged against him, her energy depleted. If he hadn’t caught her, she would have collapsed onto the carpet.

  With her cheek resting on his shoulder, she felt the thrum of his heartbeat pumping strength into her. Jenny wound her arms around Zahad’s neck and simply clung as the full shock of the past few hours rushed over her.

  “I could kill him for doing this to you,” the sheikh said.

  “If you hadn’t been here…” The gun hadn’t been loaded and the key hadn’t worked. But Grant was still larger and stronger than Jenny, and she’d have had to open the door to let Beth in.

  “Do not waste time on what-ifs.” Zahad steered her gently toward her bedroom. “Remember instead that perhaps the perpetrator has been caught and your troubles may be over.”

  “I hope it’s that simple.” Shock had temporarily evaporated all of Jenny’s self-reliance. How strange, she reflected, that circumstances had brought a total stranger to protect her when she needed him. It felt right that he should be here, guarding her home, watching over her and Beth.

  She knew her overstressed mind was playing tricks on her, but she didn’t care. Zahad’s company was a gift that she accepted gratefully.

  “I appreciate that you defended me to the detective,” he said as they entered her room.

  “What did I say?” Exhausted, she could scarcely remember her conversation with Parker.

  “That you felt safe with me.” Zahad lowered her onto the bed.

  Jenny thought about removing her robe and decided against it, not from modesty but because she was simply too tired.

  “I value your trust.”

  “You’ve more than earned it.” She struggled to keep her eyes open.

  The sheikh pulled the sheet and the quilt over her. “You should sleep as late as you like.”

  “I’ll get up when Beth does.”

  “I will make sure she is all right.”

  Jenny wanted to thank him again, but her muscles had gone slack and her tongue felt impossibly heavy. As if from afar, she felt his gentle fingers stroke her hair away from her temple.

  Utterly at peace, she slept.

  ZAHAD NAPPED FOR a couple of hours. At eleven o’clock, he arose, showered and donned slacks and a pullover. After checking his e-mail and confirming the address of Fario’s friend Ronald Wang, he went into the kitchen.

  Outside, the morning light filtered through cloud cover revealed a patchy vista of half-melted snow. Inside, it filled the house with soft radiance.

  As he waited for the toaster o
ven to crisp the frozen waffles, he noted the welcoming effect of the red-and-white chairs against off-white linoleum and beige countertops. Jenny’s spirit filled this house. Fario had come here to meet a fantasy woman, but the reality was far more complex and, in Zahad’s viewpoint, far more desirable.

  He had brewed coffee and was removing the waffles when a small voice asked, “Are those for me?”

  Surprised that he hadn’t heard the child approach, he made a brief examination of the pajama-clad pixie standing a few feet away. Beth was, Zahad saw with a twist of appreciation, a miniature version of Jenny, from the fine drift of blond hair to the assessing way she tilted her head. Only the eyes, blue instead of green, hinted at differences.

  “I made them for myself, but I will give you half. Then I will make four more and share them also. Will that be acceptable?”

  She nodded, but her forehead puckered. “Who are you?”

  He took out another plate and a mug, decided that coffee might not be suitable and replaced it with a glass. “My name is Zahad. I am a friend of your mother’s.”

  “I never saw you before.” Beth climbed onto a chair and curled her bare feet beneath her.

  Zahad poured milk into the glass. That was what Amy always served her children, who were a few years older than this poppet. “I am visiting.”

  “Did my daddy leave?”

  “Yes.” He saw no reason to elaborate.

  Beth chewed on her lip as she watched him across the table. At last she transferred her attention to her waffles. “You forgot the syrup.”

  “A serious omission,” Zahad agreed, and went to get it from the refrigerator. He put more waffles in the toaster, as promised. “I am not very familiar with children. Do you pour your own syrup or would you like me to?”

  “Me.” Beth took the bottle and glopped an outrageous amount on her waffles, pouring it all over the plate as well. “That’s how you do it.”

  “I see,” said Zahad, and poured the same outrageous amount on his own waffles and plate.

  “You’re funny,” said the little girl, who had skewered her stack and was sawing raggedly with her knife.

  “How so?” He handed her a paper napkin from a basket and took one for himself. On second thought, he gave them each an extra.

  “The way you talk. I’m only five. You talk to me like I’m a grown-up.”

  “This is the way I talk to children,” he explained. “Even to my cousin Sharif’s son, Ben, who is three.”

  “I bet he likes you.”

  “I hope so. Many adults believe I am crunchy. Excuse me, I mean crusty.”

  Her smile reminded him of sunshine breaking through clouds.

  “I want to be crunchy, too.”

  She scooped a huge dripping piece of waffle into her mouth. For a moment, Zahad feared it was too large and that she would choke, but she chewed mightily and downed the food with a gulp of milk.

  It surprised him to discover he found this child interesting. He spent little time with youngsters and then usually in the company of their parents, so there was no need for him to interact. He had always had the impression that those below the age of adult reasoning were best left to their mothers.

  As their conversation continued, what impressed him most about Beth was how seriously she took herself and everything in her world. Although she might look helpless, she had a strong sense of personal power and held to firm opinions.

  She waxed scornful on the subject of her stepmother who, it seemed, believed that Beth ought to like the same clothes and toys she herself had once preferred. “Shelley’s not a mom,” the little girl concluded as she mopped the last syrup from her plate. “She thinks she is but she’s not.”

  “You do not get along with your stepmother?” Zahad reflected that he had a similar problem, although on a larger scale. Such clashes were unfortunate but far from inevitable. After the war in Alqedar, he had seen many stepmothers become a blessing to motherless children.

  “She’s always mad at me,” the little girl said. “Like when I painted my face with her lipstick.”

  “What did she do?”

  “She called me a bad name.” Beth’s lower lip trembled until she got it under control. “I said I was sorry. But I wasn’t.”

  “Sometimes I do things other people don’t like, and I am not usually sorry, either.”

  At this remark, laughter erupted behind him. “Mommy!” cried Beth in delight, and nearly overturned her chair as she ran to Jenny.

  Zahad watched with pleasure as the two blondes hugged each other. With a little assistance from Jenny, Beth climbed up her mother like a monkey until they were face-to-face. They played a quick kissing game back and forth on cheeks and noses. Then Jenny lowered her daughter to the floor.

  “It’s good to have you home,” she said.

  “Zod and I had breakfast,” Beth explained.

  “Zahad,” her mother corrected.

  “Zod likes his waffles the same way I do,” her daughter continued.

  Jenny eyed their plates. “Drenched?”

  “Your daughter has expanded my range of culinary experiences.” The sheikh cleared their dishes to the counter. “Now I must leave for the afternoon. It may be late when I return.”

  “Will you be here tomorrow morning?” Beth asked.

  “That is my intention.”

  “Good,” she said.

  Hugging her daughter from behind, Jenny smiled at him. “I’m glad you two hit it off.”

  “We are very much alike, I think,” Zahad said gravely.

  He wasn’t happy about leaving. Many things might go wrong for Jenny today, from Grant being released on bail to another Internet Romeo showing up. To his surprise, he found that he regretted leaving not only because of the danger but also because he was sure to miss a great deal of playing and perhaps some more doses of pint-size wisdom.

  However, it could not be helped. He must talk to Fario’s friend, whom he hoped to catch off guard. There were many things about his brother that Zahad did not know, including whether he had made enemies locally. And, of course, he must try to gather as much information as possible about Hashim’s movements.

  “Good luck with your mission.” A shadow of anxiety fleeted across Jenny’s face. For an instant, he thought she was going to ask him to stay, but she lifted her chin and remained silent.

  “You will be careful.” He knew better to say more in the child’s presence.

  “Of course.”

  He sketched the ladies a bow, the formal kind with one hand behind his back, and retrieved his coat before venturing out into the tingling air. Zahad briefly contemplated buying a gun on the black market but decided it would be too time-consuming and, in view of Detective Finley’s suspicions of him, perhaps too risky.

  As he got into his car, he hoped he would not regret that decision.

  Chapter Nine

  Jenny had known Zahad would take good care of her daughter while she slept. What she hadn’t expected was to see him addressing Beth as an equal and behaving in a manner that could only be described as charming.

  Grant rarely gave the little girl his full attention. He loved her, of course, but even when he played with her, he always seemed distracted.

  The sheikh’s behavior did not mean he was ready for fatherhood, she reminded herself. Nor did she want him to be. Beth had a father already, deficient though he might be.

  She’d expected her daughter to stay happily at home today playing with toys she hadn’t seen in two weeks, but the youngster had other ideas. Jenny had barely finished breakfast when Beth announced she wanted to play with Cindy.

  “I don’t know what her family’s doing today.” After all, it was Sunday. “I’ll call them later.”

  “Call them now!” The little girl folded her arms and tapped one foot on the linoleum, a pose Jenny hadn’t seen before.

  “Is that the way Shelley stands?” she asked.

  “I guess so.” Beth relaxed her arms. “Please call them.�
��

  Since it was already afternoon, the Rivases had probably returned from church by now. “Okay, since you asked nicely.”

  The line was busy. “They’re home but they’re on the phone,” she told her daughter.

  “Let’s go!” Beth pelted into the rear hallway and pulled down the coat Jenny had hung there last night.

  “You haven’t finished unpacking.” She hated to barge in on her neighbors unannounced. “I’ll call them again in a few minutes.”

  “I want to go now!” The little girl fumbled with her front snaps. Judging by her pout, she was on the verge of a tantrum.

  Normally, Jenny didn’t tolerate defiance. Today, however, she felt in no mood to fight, not after they’d been apart for so long. Also, Beth must be feeling off-kilter from yesterday’s long trip.

  The Rivases knew what little girls were like, and Cindy would be happy to see her friend. It wouldn’t hurt to tell her neighbors what had happened last night, either.

  “I’ll tell you what,” she said. “We’ll walk over and knock on the door. If they’re busy, we’ll leave and you’ll be a good sport about it. All right?”

  Beth nodded. “Okay.”

  Jenny tucked her cell phone in her pocket. As they went out, she set the alarm and explained to her daughter how it worked. “There’ve been some strange men hanging around and we want to be careful,” she added.

  “I know.” One of the would-be lovers had been waiting on the porch a few weeks ago when they got home from school. Fortunately, he’d backed off quickly when he learned the truth.

  “Did your daddy say anything about what happened while you were gone?” She’d been debating with herself whether to mention the murder, but perhaps Grant had already done so.

  “He said a man got hurt on the walkway and went to heaven,” Beth told her.

  “That’s right.” Silently, she thanked her ex-husband for his uncharacteristic tact. “We’re very sad about it. He was Zahad’s brother.”

  Beth skipped ahead on the pathway that led downhill to the Rivases’ house, but the rough terrain soon slowed her and she let her mother catch up. “I like Zod,” she said as if the conversation had never been interrupted.