Sheikh Surrender Page 7

  The upstairs room held a queen-size bed, a pine bureau and a desk. After lowering her onto the covers, the sheikh removed her shoes. “Can you finish undressing unaided?”

  “Yes.” She would sleep in her clothes if necessary.

  “If you need anything, you have only to call. I will hear you.” His dark eyes lingered on her.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Jenny said.

  He nodded. “It is as it should be.” When he stood up, the bed released him with a sigh.

  After he went downstairs, Jenny listened to the clink of dishes being washed and, later, the creaks as the couch was transformed into a bed. Feeling more secure than she had in a long time, she fell asleep.

  TEMPTRESS. He’d been wrong to use that word to Jenny’s face, Zahad mused as he lay trying to ignore the lumps in the thin mattress. Yet that’s exactly what she was. Not in the way he had once assumed, however.

  He understood why men became fascinated with her. Superficial beauty was commonplace, but intelligence and wariness tempered by vulnerability were not. A man wanted to explore this woman and the sweetness beneath the peppery surface.

  Not him, of course. Although possessed of normal drives, he had never been susceptible to feminine allure. As a soldier and fighter, he sublimated the needs of his body.

  There had been women, of course. While a student in England, Zahad had dated a girl who considered his background romantic. She had not considered it romantic when he left to train at a military camp, however, and had soon found someone else.

  His only other involvement had been with a French photographer who covered the revolution that restored democracy to Alqedar. She had seemed a kindred spirit, reveling in hardship and danger. But once peace broke out, she lost interest in Zahad and in Alqedar. The last time he’d seen her byline on a photograph, it had been from another war-torn country.

  Until he became sheikh, Zahad had not considered marriage a desirable goal. Now that the title was thrust upon him, he supposed he would have to do so. He intended to choose a woman from his own background who cared about his people as he did. In the meantime, he took no interest in casual liaisons.

  He smiled at the absurdity of contemplating a casual liaison. Jenny would slap his face if she even suspected him of harboring such intentions.

  Amused in spite of himself, he finally found a comfortable position on the bed.

  JENNY AWOKE IN BLUE-BLACK STILLNESS. Through the tall windows, she could see scattered stars against the deep sky. The storm must be clearing.

  The hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of a clock reverberated from downstairs. These sounds were not yet familiar enough for her to ignore.

  She’d been dreaming again. Certain images haunted her: a shadow moving in her yard, a hand clamping her wrist. When she moved her arm, her shoulder ached. Like some ugly burned thing, fear hissed and shriveled inside her.

  Jenny craved reassurance. Was Zahad still here? Surely he was, yet she needed to be sure.

  As she slid her feet into her slippers, she pulled on a robe. At the railing that overlooked the lower floor, she studied the angular shapes of the furnishings. It was impossible to see whether anyone lay on the pull-out couch.

  He wouldn’t have left. She should go back to bed.

  It was impossible to sleep, though, in the aftermath of that dream. The tension in her lungs seemed to gain strength the more she tried to subdue it.

  Perhaps she could fix a cup of tea without disturbing him. After a moment’s internal debate, Jenny eased her way down the stairs. At the bottom, she decided to make a quick pass by the bed to satisfy her curiosity.

  When she came close, she made out Zahad’s solid shape sprawled across the mattress, a thin blanket bunched around him. Jenny listened with satisfaction to the regularity of his breathing.

  Earlier, he’d said that she ought to be with family at such a time. Ironically, Jenny felt more at ease with this stranger than she ever had with relatives.

  She’d grown up half-afraid of her rigid father. Despite an occasional show of tenderness, there’d been no predicting when his temper would flare and he’d lash out at her.

  Only once had he physically hurt her: she’d messed up during a softball game and he’d become so incensed he’d deliberately thrown a ball, hard, into her arm. She’d wanted to take after him with the bat, but she hadn’t been able to stir, just clutch her aching arm and stare at him in disbelief.

  She hadn’t fought back. Maybe that was why she still felt angry about it.

  No matter what the provocation, Zahad would never vent his fury on a woman or a child. Jenny sank onto the edge of the bed and let his presence soothe her. If she sat here for a while, she might be able to sleep again.

  Her eyelids drooped. Overcome by weariness, she lay down, just for a moment.

  ZAHAD AWOKE with his arms around a woman. Sweet-smelling blond hair tumbled across his face and his body hardened with desire where it pressed into her back.

  Although she was clothed, he wore nothing beneath the blanket. His instincts urged him to rearrange her garment and, with a few short strokes, unite them. Then he remembered where he was and who he held in his arms.

  Instantly, he released her. She half turned and blinked in the morning light.

  He sat up, adjusting the blanket to keep himself covered. “Why are you here?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry.” Jenny rubbed her eyes. “I had a bad dream. I just sat down here for a minute.”

  Zahad had no wish for her to guess his state of arousal. It was merely an instinctive response, after all. “It appears the storm is over.” After pulling on the cloth robe that he’d left by the bed, he slid from beneath the covers and went to the window.

  Outside, sunlight refracted off snowy branches and thick whiteness. Zahad wasted no time on sentiment. He had looked with some appreciation at the snowy landscapes in Europe as he passed by on a train, but he’d never had to drive through the stuff. On the positive side, the pristine surface gave no sign of any visitors.

  Jenny joined him at the window. In her flowered robe, the woman was a rainbow of soft colors, Zahad reflected grumpily. He did not wish to have rainbows and gardens inflicted on him first thing in the morning.

  “We should not delay,” he said. “I may have only a few days, if that long, to conduct my investigation.”

  “And I have to get the house ready for Beth. Grant’s bringing her home tomorrow,” Jenny replied. “You use the bathroom and I’ll make breakfast.”

  “Very good.” Zahad marched across the room to retrieve his clothes.

  IT WAS APPARENT TO JENNY the moment they stepped outside that the rental car would not be able to negotiate snow of this depth. She offered the sheikh a lift as well as an introduction to her neighbors.

  “I’ll be coming back here later to collect my things,” she said. “It’s warm enough, so the snow should start to melt and maybe you can get out then.”

  “You plan to stay at your own home tonight?”

  “I think so.”

  As she unlocked her vehicle, Jenny hoped she would feel less spooked by the evening. She had to pull herself together before Beth arrived tomorrow, both for her daughter’s sake and so she could stand up to any attempt by Grant to keep her. She was a little surprised her ex-husband hadn’t called and demanded this already, since he must have learned about the murder from Parker.

  Perhaps he realized she would never consent. And if he violated his visitation agreement by holding on to Beth longer than agreed, he’d hurt his potential custody case.

  “I accept your offer,” Zahad said, interrupting her train of thought. “It will help me make the most of my time.” He took the passenger seat in the SUV.

  He hadn’t mentioned anything about her waking up in his bed this morning, Jenny reflected as she slid behind the wheel. She had a hazy memory of him holding her close, then pushing her away. She appreciated his self-control.

  She tried not to think about the muscula
r body she’d glimpsed in nearly all its glory. A long white scar that zagged across one shoulder emphasized the sheikh’s ferocity. His leanness, the absence of any wasted bulk, made even the athletes she saw on television seem soft in comparison.

  Last night, she’d hotly denied any suggestion of being a temptress, and then crawled into his bed. Despite his rough manners, Zahad was more of a gentleman than most men would have been.

  Her own response had been far from demure. The close contact and his tantalizing scent had filled her with longings she did not intend to act on.

  As she backed out of the carport, Jenny noticed a stubble of beard darkening Zahad’s jaw. He hadn’t asked to borrow a razor and didn’t seem to care that he lacked one. The man was obviously untroubled by vanity. She felt a bit alarmed by how much she was starting to like his raffish side.

  Several inches of snow had fallen, with deeper drifts. No one had broken the surface on the side street, so it was slow going. Once she reached Pine Forest Road, where traffic had turned the snow to slush, she began to make better time.

  Jenny rounded a corner near her home and slowed, her throat tightening at the sight of a group of neighbors standing across the street from her house. There were no emergency vehicles, but half a dozen people didn’t stand around talking in the snow for no reason.

  “Something’s wrong,” she said.

  Although what she could see of her home through the trees looked undisturbed, frightening possibilities raced through her mind: Oliver had come back; another unwanted visitor had arrived; someone had broken into the house.

  Jenny wished for one crazy moment that she could retrace their path to the cabin. She wished it were last night again and she lay curled against the sheikh, sheltered by his warmth.

  Zahad studied the assemblage as Jenny halted in the entrance to her driveway. “Who is who?”

  “I’ll give you the short course.” She pointed out widowed Louanne Welford, who lived on the far side of Parker Finley’s house, and Tish and Al Garroway, the young couple in front of whose home the group stood. Dolly and Ellen, both stocky with short, reddish brown hair and freckles, were unmistakably mother and daughter.

  Everyone turned to look at Jenny and Zahad, but only Dolly and Al Garroway waved. She saw no sign of Ray, who was probably working on his car as usual.

  Jenny made her way across the street. “What’s going on?”

  “You know those carjackings near the ski lodge?” Dolly replied. “Someone jumped Tish last night. Got away with her Accord and her purse.”

  “Were you hurt?” Jenny was willing to set aside personal differences, even though she knew her neighbor had taken a dislike to her.

  “I’m fine,” Tish answered curtly. Of medium height, she had a bony build and blond hair with dark roots. Parker had said that, from a distance, she looked a little like Jenny.

  Seeing everyone’s attention fix on her companion, Jenny said, “I’d like you all to meet Sheikh Zahad Adran. It was his brother who was killed on Monday.”

  Ellen paled. “I’m so sorry.” She’d taken the news hard, Dolly had told Jenny a few days ago. They’d all been shaken to realize that, had Dolly tried the door during one of her patrols, she rather than Fario would have caught a gunshot in the chest.

  “I’m just glad my wife wasn’t hurt last night.” Al slipped an arm around Tish’s waist. In his midtwenties, the ski instructor had dark hair, a narrow face and a scraggly goatee. “You guys don’t think these carjackers are connected with the murder, do you?”

  “How many carjackings have occurred?” Zahad asked.

  “Five successful ones and three attempts,” Dolly said. “They started about three months ago, targeting the ski area. People carry a lot of cash when they’re on vacation.”

  “The police think it’s some gang members from L.A.,” added Louanne. Although wrapped in a coat, scarf and short, clunky boots, the widow shivered as a breeze stirred snow flurries. “We never used to have crime around here. I didn’t even lock my doors until those men started pestering Jenny.”

  “Another one showed up yesterday, an ex-con,” Jenny said. “Zahad chased him away.”

  “This is all about you, isn’t it?” Tish snapped. “I’m the one who got shoved out of my car and lost my new Honda, and all you can talk about is how tough you have it.”

  “It’s not a competition,” Jenny snapped, and then wished she hadn’t.

  “She’s got good reason to be upset,” Al reproved.

  “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”

  “At least the cyber-stalking ought to stop now.” Ellen’s voice shook. “I mean, whoever’s been putting this stuff on the Internet about Jenny, surely they’ll quit when they find out about the murder.”

  “Unless the stalker is the killer and he isn’t finished,” her mother pointed out.

  “Oh.” Ellen blanched.

  “I can tell you the stalker is still active on the Web. An associate of mine trolled the chat rooms yesterday and was solicited in Jenny’s name.”

  “You’re kidding!” Ellen hugged herself against the cold. “How could they…” She let out a short puff of breath. “I’m going to post the news of the murder everywhere. I’ll make sure people quit falling for that maniac.”

  “Thank you,” Jenny replied. “I’d be grateful.”

  “It is an excellent idea,” Zahad agreed.

  Tish eyed him coldly. “I’d like to know what the number-one suspect is doing hanging around here.”

  An uncomfortable silence fell over the group. “I don’t believe a suspect has been identified,” Dolly said after a beat.

  “Parker was talking about him last night at the robbery scene,” Tish went on. “I heard him grousing about this sheikh getting underfoot.”

  “This sheikh was in his own country on Monday and has witnesses to prove it.” Jenny didn’t know why she sprang to Zahad’s defense, except that in a way Tish was impugning her, too. And despite her sympathy over the carjacking, she had tired of her neighbor’s gratuitous nastiness.

  “My brother deserves justice,” Zahad added. “If the police are going to waste their time targeting me, it appears I am the one likely to solve this case.”

  “I can see why Parker doesn’t like you,” Tish said.

  Al shook his head at his wife. “Why don’t you cut people a little slack?”

  “Because I don’t feel like it,” she said, and went into the house. Al spread his hands and followed his wife.

  “What’s with Tish?” Dolly asked.

  “Oh, leave her alone. She got robbed and thrown out of her car. How would you feel?” Ellen stamped her feet. “My toes are going numb. Excuse me.”

  “I’ve got to go, too,” Dolly said. To Zahad, she explained, “My husband, Bill, suffers from fibromyalgia. He’s in a lot of pain, and he’s absentminded, too. Last week he was going to the store and got on the wrong bus. If Ray hadn’t found him wandering around Crystal Point, I don’t know what would have happened. But if there’s anything I can do to help, please tell me.”

  “Thank you,” he replied.

  That left only Louanne. “I’d be happy to help, too, but I’m afraid I don’t know anything.”

  “It is possible you have observed more than you realize. May I accompany you to your house and ask a few questions?”

  “I’d be honored.” The widow beamed. “I never thought I’d have a sheikh visit me!”

  “I will come by later,” Zahad told Jenny.

  “I’ll be there, scrubbing away.” Struggling to focus on the chores ahead instead of on the memory of yesterday’s unwelcome visitor, Jenny crossed the street to her property. She couldn’t keep relying on the sheikh to protect her.

  She hoped he would learn something valuable in his questioning and that this whole mess would soon be over. Because she didn’t want to go on feeling her breath catch in her throat and her hands grow moist every time she turned up her own driveway.

  Chapter Six

&n
bsp; If any uncluttered space had dared to present itself in Mrs. Welford’s house, its owner would no doubt have hunted it down and stuffed it with bric-a-brac. Zahad had never seen so many figurines, doilies, souvenir plates and stuffed animals. Despite the scent of lemon cleanser, dust clung to the air particles.

  The widow herself proved a font of neighborhood chit-chat, none of it very helpful. However, Zahad listened politely and filed everything away for future reference.

  Over hot tea and crisp cookies, the widow described Cindy Rivas and Beth Sanger as two little dolls. She was glad Jenny had moved into the former home of her great-aunt, who’d been a good friend of Mrs. Welford’s.

  She also told him about Dolly Blankenship’s marital history. “She and Bill were newlyweds when they moved here,” the widow confided. “She was married twice before. Her first husband, Ellen’s father, died of something—a heart attack, I think. They say her second husband won the Florida lottery after she divorced him. If you ask me, she should have waited!”

  “Indeed.” Zahad was more interested in learning about Dolly’s son-in-law, who might have been the source of the scrap of paper he’d found. “I understand she retired. Why did her daughter’s family move here?”

  “Ray’s a nice fellow but things never seem to work out for him.”

  His hostess offered him more cookies. He declined. A man who consumed too many sweets grew soft. “What do you mean?” Was Ellen’s husband unstable?

  “I heard he first wanted to be a pilot, but there was some problem with his eyesight. Nothing serious, but you know how picky the airlines are.”

  She seemed to require feedback, so the sheikh made an encouraging noise.

  “After he moved here, Ray worked as a deliveryman but he hurt his back,” she went on. “He started doing repairs, handyman stuff, but he didn’t charge enough and he spent too much time chitchatting. I hope that job at the bank pans out for him.”

  “He must have spent a lot of time in people’s houses.” That meant Ray might have known where Jenny kept her gun. And a handyman would have had no trouble duplicating a key or rigging a booby trap.