Sheikh Surrender Page 13

  A sadness touched with regret came over Zahad. To receive this knowledge of his brother’s admiration from beyond the grave was a rare gift, but also a reminder of what might have been had Fario lived.

  “I wish I had known this while he was alive,” he said.

  “He came here because of you.” The young man tapped the copies into a neat pile and handed them over. “He wanted to make something of himself so you’d respect him.”

  “Thank you for telling me these things.”

  “I’m glad to help any way I can. I sure hope you catch that woman.”

  “The person who lured my brother was not Jenny Sanger,” Zahad said. “I suspect it was a man.”

  “No way!”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because he talked to her on the phone.”

  Stunned, Zahad took a moment to respond. “How did this happen?”

  “She asked him to send her his phone number,” Ron explained. “He told me she was curious to hear what a sheikh sounded like.”

  This was amazing news. “Did you hear her voice? Perhaps you would recognize it if you heard it again.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t.”

  So the stalker had been a woman. Zahad had met four female neighbors, but of course there must be women teachers at Jenny’s school who could have also done this.

  “You must convey this information to the police,” he urged. “Please call them on Monday, but do not mention that you talked to me.”

  “I don’t know if I should,” Ronald said. “I had this little marijuana conviction. He’ll probably think I’m a suspect, too.”

  “He needs this information. Both about the second stalker and about the woman on the phone.” On a spare pad, he jotted down Parker Finley’s name. “It’s the Mountain Lake Police Department.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Wang said. “And I won’t rat you out. You’re doing exactly what Fario would have wanted.”

  “Thank you.” They shook hands.

  Zahad had just stepped into the hall when his cell phone rang. Retreating to the stairwell, he answered it.

  “It’s Jenny.” He could tell something was wrong. “They’re releasing Grant on bail. Apparently they searched his home and office and didn’t find anything, so he’s just facing charges from this morning.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m at Ellen’s, but I’m going to the station,” she said.

  “I will come as fast as I can.”

  After hanging up, he took the stairs at a rapid clip. On his way down, it occurred to him that Grant Sanger had a wife who wanted Jenny’s child.

  Could the voice on Fario’s phone have been hers?

  Chapter Ten

  After calling Zahad, Jenny headed toward town. The day had warmed above freezing, although the weather forecast on the radio predicted lower temperatures tomorrow and a storm after that. She saw hardly any motorists on the way, but that wasn’t unusual, since Pine Forest Road didn’t connect to any major highways.

  Her mind played over the conversation at the Rivases’ house. She hoped Ray wouldn’t do anything illegal at the bank. It seemed unlikely he could uncover clues simply by poking through people’s account records, anyway. And if by any chance the killer really had deposited his hit money there, he might decide to come after Ray.

  If Ray was in danger, so were Ellen and Cindy. Jenny shook her head at her own paranoid imaginings. Nobody was going to start killing people en masse in Mountain Lake. The worst thing likely to happen was that Ray might get fired from his job, which would be bad enough.

  At least Ellen’s hostility had eased. It wasn’t hard to guess that she’d been jealous, although heaven knew why. Learning that Ray had encouraged Zahad to stay must have persuaded her he didn’t have designs on anyone else.

  At the thought of Zahad, Jenny began to smile. Wouldn’t people be amazed if they had seen him joking with Beth across the breakfast table.

  If only Grant had been so genuine and open. In retrospect, she could see how manipulative he was. Unfortunately, he exuded a superficial affability that she’d been afraid would work on his behalf in a custody case. Well, he’d just shown what kind of man he really was, and he had an arrest record to prove it.

  Jenny rounded a curve and snapped back to the present. Ahead, a green sedan blocked her lane. While two guys peered beneath the hood, a third man in a windbreaker stood in the left lane, waving for help and blocking the road.

  Normally, she would have stopped. Now uneasy questions nagged at her. Why hadn’t the men pulled to the shoulder? Didn’t at least one of them have his own mobile phone?

  Carjackers.

  She might be wrong. But why was that man standing on the left, endangering himself to force her to stop? A stalled vehicle only a few miles from town in clear weather hardly required such measures.

  Jenny’s stomach clenched. If she stopped, even with the doors locked, they could smash her windows and haul her out, grab her purse and take the SUV. She’d be at their mercy.

  Jenny couldn’t turn around on the two-lane road and she couldn’t pass them to the right on the narrow shoulder. To the left lay a sharp drop into a creek bed.

  She’d have to speed by in the left lane and hope no other car approached. And she must do it fast. As she drew closer, she made out a large wrench in the man’s hand, plenty big enough to smash her window.

  She was never, never going to let another man push her around.

  Jenny hit the gas and steered left. A few dozen yards ahead, the man held his ground. He was daring her to hit him and smugly certain that she wouldn’t.

  He wore a smirk, just like Grant. Or like Oliver when he’d grabbed her arm.

  Fury whited out Jenny’s constraints. She didn’t want to kill anybody. But if she veered off the road into the creek, she herself might be killed.

  Her jaw tightened. She braced for the thump.

  At the last minute, she made eye contact with the would-be robber. His sneer mutated into alarm.

  As if in slow motion, she watched him dive toward his companions. Jenny flashed by inches away, her foot hovering between the brake and the gas. Her SUV slowed for a second until she realized she hadn’t struck anyone, and then she floored it.

  The men might have guns. They might come after her.

  She flew along the road, watching for oncoming cars to warn but did not see any. She couldn’t bring herself to pull over and she was going too fast to risk calling the police. She’d be at the station in a few minutes anyway.

  Two miles passed with agonizing slowness despite her speed. There was no sign of anyone following, but on such a winding road they might not lag far behind. At last she turned on Lake Avenue and hit green lights all the way to the civic center.

  Not until Jenny parked and slid out did she realize she was shaking. Holding on to the vehicle door, she forced herself to breathe evenly.

  The realization that she’d won steadied her. She hadn’t panicked. She hadn’t let the criminals intimidate her.

  She was no longer a little girl cowering from her father’s anger. She wasn’t Grant’s wife, either, trying to placate him and save her marriage. She was a school principal and she’d stood up to carjackers.

  Jenny marched across the pavement and through the front door of the station. The desk officer, a member of the PTA, recognized her at once. “Hello, Mrs. Sanger. Are you here to see Sergeant Finley?”

  “Yes, but first I have to make a report,” she said. “Three men tried to carjack me. At least, I think they did.”

  Her teeth started to chatter. Disgusted with herself, Jenny collapsed into a nearby chair. “I’m sorry.”

  “You all right?” He was dialing someone as he spoke.

  “I could use a stiff shot of rum.” She managed a tremulous smile. “Just kidding.”

  A minute later, a black-haired detective arrived. She’d met the officer, Hank Rygel, during the initial investigation into Fario’s murder.

  He was
taking down the information when Parker joined them. Jenny described the men she’d seen and their car’s color and possible make, but she didn’t have a clue about the license plate.

  After issuing an all points bulletin and assigning someone to warn Jenny’s neighbors of the activity in their area, Parker escorted her to his office for further questioning. By the time he finished, Jenny felt as if her brain had been picked clean. Three interviews by Parker Finley in one week seemed more than any human being should have to endure.

  The interviews weren’t really the problem, she admitted silently. It was the fact that every criminal in California and maybe a few other states seemed to have her name tattooed on his brain.

  Parker shook his head. “We thought we were driving the carjackers out of town. Instead, we just chased them into outlying areas where they’ll be even harder to catch.”

  “Maybe they’ll stop considering the locals easy prey now,” she replied without much conviction.

  “We should be so lucky.”

  “How’s Grant?” she asked, getting back to the original reason for her visit.

  “Beginning to see the error of his ways, I suspect. Mrs. Sanger—the second Mrs. Sanger—got here a few minutes ago. She stopped by the jail to pay him a visit. Hang on while I finish my notes, would you?”

  “Sure.” Sitting back, Jenny wished she didn’t have to deal with her controlling ex-husband. Thank goodness Zahad was coming. It felt good to have someone backing her up.

  She wanted him to stay a little longer. At least until they solved Fario’s murder and she could shelve her imitation of Superwoman for next Halloween.

  The phone rang. Parker answered, acknowledged the message and hung up. “Sanger’s wife posted bail and they’re releasing him. Are you sure you want to see them? You’ve been through one hell of a lot today.”

  It was tempting, but she wanted to see where Shelley stood on this custody business. In light of Grant’s arrest, his wife might have second thoughts about engaging in a lengthy court battle with Jenny.

  “How could I miss this?” she said with a lightness she was far from feeling. “It’s my own personal soap opera.”

  “In that case, I’m sorry I left my video camera at home,” Parker joked, and escorted her back to the lobby.

  The last time she saw Shelley, Grant’s wife had worn an expensive business suit and perfectly coiffed hair. This afternoon, as she stood at the front counter, her eyeliner was smudged and the dark roots of her blond mane needed a touch-up.

  She addressed Parker edgily. “My husband is willing to plead guilty to misdemeanor trespassing if you’ll give him probation.”

  “The district attorney decides on the charge,” Parker replied. “You should know that. And he’ll have to enter his plea in court.”

  “I’m not a criminal attorney.” With a clear effort of will, Shelley forced herself to look at Jenny. “You could use your influence. I’m sure the D.A. would listen to you.”

  “What he did was serious, Shelley. He tried to break into my house with a gun,” Jenny said.

  “Unloaded.”

  “It was still a gun. He’s fixated on me,” Jenny added. “I want him out of my life and this custody business is going to make it worse.”

  Wearily, Shelley pushed a loose strand behind one ear. “You don’t have to worry about that. I changed my mind. Your kid drives me crazy. I can’t understand how you put up with her. As far as I’m concerned, the less we have to do with her, the better.”

  “She’s just a normal five-year-old,” Jenny said.

  “If she’s normal, I guess I don’t have mothering instincts, after all.” Shelley sounded surprisingly vulnerable. “My friends are all having babies and I thought I wanted a kid, too. Boy, was I wrong.”

  Jenny spared her a moment’s sympathy. Beth certainly could get into mischief, but any competent parent would recognize that she’d been acting out because she missed her mother.

  An inner door opened. “Oh, great,” Shelley said. “Here comes Einstein now.”

  A rumpled Grant appeared in the company of a pokerfaced guard. His gaze traveled uneasily between Shelley and Jenny. “What happens next?” he asked Parker.

  “Your wife’s posted bail but you need a criminal lawyer,” the detective replied. “You’ll be arraigned in court within a few days. As for the exact charges, that’s up to the district attorney’s office.”

  “We’ll find an attorney,” Shelley said.

  “Because this is a domestic-violence situation, I’m going to give your ex-wife an emergency restraining order,” Parker added. “It’s good for five days, during which time she can get one that lasts up to three years. If you go anywhere near her or your daughter without a judge’s permission, you’ll be back in custody, Mr. Sanger, and this time you won’t get out so fast.”

  The last scrap of pomposity wheezed out of Grant. “What I did was stupid. Believe me, I’m not planning to make it worse.”

  Jenny hoped she could believe him. Since their divorce, it was the first time he’d pulled anything like this. Assuming, of course, that he wasn’t her stalker and Fario’s murderer.

  Through the glass, she saw Zahad striding toward the entrance. It was good to see him. Wonderful, really. She felt as if they’d been apart for much longer than a few hours.

  Jenny ached to smooth back that shaggy hair and fasten a button he’d missed on his brown suede coat. And she wanted to tell him everything that had happened so he could help her sort it out and make it right.

  The sheikh opened the door. Parker went rigid, like a dog scenting an enemy. Grant merely looked disgruntled.

  “I asked him to come,” she said. “He’s acting as my bodyguard, remember?”

  The detective nodded tightly.

  Zahad caught sight of Jenny and his eyes lit up. She felt pulled toward him, and only held back by reminding herself where they were and who was watching.

  As she greeted him, it saddened her to give him more bad news, but he needed to know about the attempted carjacking. Neither Grant nor Shelley had heard of it, either, and they all listened with varying degrees of dismay.

  “I’ve put out an all points bulletin,” Parker added when she finished.

  “I hope they are caught quickly.” Zahad looked grim.

  “This was near your house?” Grant said. “I can’t imagine how you can consider this place safe for Beth. Where is she now?”

  “With a retired policewoman,” Jenny snapped. “I might remind you, I’m not the one who left her alone in a car while I tried to break into someone’s house.”

  Shelley held up one hand to forestall further arguing. “I don’t think we’re in any position to question Jenny’s parenting decisions, Grant. Let’s get going. I want to find a motel and take a shower.”

  Parker directed them to the Mountain Lake Inn down the street. After the couple departed, he said, “I’m going to get Jenny a restraining order against Mr. Sanger. Then, Mr. Adran, I have to ask you to step into my office.”

  “What for?” Jenny inquired.

  “This is between the sheikh and myself.” The sergeant’s eyes never left Zahad’s face.

  “Of course, Sergeant. I am always ready to cooperate.”

  Jenny wished she’d never mentioned that Zahad had gone into Los Angeles. It was too late to do anything about that now, though.

  THEY’D NO SOONER reached Finley’s office than he turned on Zahad. “I told you to stay the hell out of my investigation. What were you doing in L.A?”

  “Sight-seeing,” Zahad said.

  “The hell you were!”

  He hated to lie, especially since Ronald Wang might slip tomorrow and admit having talked to him. That is, assuming Wang actually did call. On the other hand, if he told the truth, the detective would likely arrest him for interfering. “There is much to see. Have you visited the La Brea Tar Pits, Sergeant?”

  “I know what you’re up to,” Finley retorted. “One of the neighbors called to compl
ain about you pestering people. I want you to pack your bags and move to Crystal Point until the coroner releases your brother’s body. Let me know where you’re staying.”

  Which neighbor had called? Zahad hadn’t interviewed the Garroways, but they seemed the most likely to object to his presence. On the other hand, perhaps Ray Rivas had more to hide than he let on.

  “Mrs. Sanger has requested that I stay at her home. It appears she is in danger on several fronts and you are unable to guarantee her safety.”

  “And you are?”

  “No one can guarantee safety. But I was there last night and you were not.”

  “Mr. Sanger would never have gotten into that house if you hadn’t opened the door,” the detective snarled.

  His skin looked sallow this morning, a sign that lack of sleep and pressure were catching up with him. Zahad didn’t spare him any sympathy. This man’s bullheadedness was endangering Jenny.

  “You have lost your objectivity,” he told the sergeant. “You dislike me for personal reasons and therefore you seek an excuse to get rid of me.”

  “Oh, I’m biased, am I?” Finley growled. “I had an interesting telephone conversation this morning with a Mr. Hashim Bin Salem.”

  This was unexpected. “How did you come to contact him?”

  “He said he was calling from Alqedar,” the detective told him. “Mr. Bin Salem informs me that your president may appoint him governor instead of you and he’s afraid he’s next on your hit list.”

  “Hashim fears me?” Zahad wouldn’t mind giving the callow young man a fright, but he suspected an ulterior motive lay behind the phone call. “What else did he say?”

  “That’s not public information,” the sergeant replied.

  “He called to stir your suspicion of me,” Zahad speculated. “Perhaps he told you that Fario also feared me.”

  “He sure did.” Weariness and resentment loosened the detective’s tongue. “He said your brother was going to appoint him chief adviser and kick you out of power entirely. According to Mr. Bin Salem, that’s why you killed him.”

  After talking to Ronald Wang, Zahad knew better than to believe his brother had intended any such thing. “Hashim is playing you. He wants me out of his way. If he fears me, it is because my influence in our country interferes with his ambitions.”