Sheikh Surrender Page 9

“On occasion.” Only when it was required by custom or suited his purposes, but he saw no reason to explain that.

  “Wow!” Reluctantly, she moved back. “Go on, Bill. He’ll take care of you.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Bill grumbled as she went in. On the sidewalk, a young couple with a baby approached. He made no attempt to move aside, forcing them to push their stroller around him.

  Although the older man’s hand shook as he clutched his cane, Zahad felt ambivalent about taking his arm. “Do you require assistance?”

  “I don’t require any durn thing. Are we going to get in the flipping car or are we going to stand here and freeze to death?”

  Why had Dolly married such a snappish person? Zahad wondered. But perhaps he owed his ill temper to his pain.

  When they reached the SUV, Bill struggled to ease himself inside but never asked for help. Ray had said his father-in-law used to be a truck driver. It must be difficult for him to accept his disability.

  “You’ve been snooping around,” Bill said as they pulled away from the curb.

  “I have a duty to my brother,” Zahad told him. He expected no sympathy and he received none.

  “You sheikhs oughta stay in your own country.”

  “I will make sure to advise my fellow sheikhs of your opinion.” He halted at a red light.

  “I got no patience for small talk,” Bill said. “Whatever you want to know, be quick about it. Once we get home, I’m heading for the bathroom, and I intend to be there a while.”

  “Very well. I would like your opinion of the neighbors.”

  “You want a rundown? Okay.” The light changed and they started forward a little too hard, forcing the old man against his shoulder harness. “Hey! How’d you like it if somebody hit you across the chest with a board full of nails?”

  “I am sorry.” Zahad pointed to the bag. “Perhaps you should take one of those pills.”

  “They’re laxatives.”

  “On second thought, never mind.”

  Bill cackled. “Naw, they’re for pain. But I got to take them with water.”

  “Then I shall drive quickly. Please, fill me in on the neighbors.”

  Bill ran through the cast of characters, at least those he remembered. He didn’t seem to know much about Tish and Al, who, Zahad recalled, had moved in recently.

  According to Bill, Dolly was a decent wife although she snored and left hair in the sink. Ellen suffered from fits of jealousy, possibly because Ray had a wandering eye. “He’s a hot-and-cold sort of fella,” Bill added. “One minute he’s your best friend and the next he won’t give you the time of day.”

  Ray hadn’t struck Zahad as volatile. He filed away the information.

  “You don’t need to know about the children, so I’ll skip them,” Bill said. “Jenny’s a pretty woman. Ought to have a man in her life. Parker Finley, he’d like to be that man but he ain’t her type.”

  “What is her type?” the sheikh asked.

  “The kind that leaves her alone.”

  “How about Mrs. Welford?”

  “Who?”

  He dredged up her first name. “Louanne. The widow across the street.”

  “Don’t have an opinion on her. Too boring. Now you tell me.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “What they said about me.”

  The answer came promptly. “That you’re tightfisted.”

  “I’m a retired fella with no pension and a lot of medical bills the government don’t cover. You try living on social security. No, don’t try it. You ain’t entitled because you ain’t American. What do they do with old people in your country?”

  “Their children take care of them,” Zahad said. Elders were respected and honored in Alqedar.

  “What if they don’t have children?”

  He’d never thought about it. “I do not know.”

  “You’re the sheikh. Ain’t you got social programs?”

  “I am a sheikh of recent vintage. I will look into it.” He meant that.

  Also, Bill’s remark made him wonder about Numa. In her late forties, she didn’t have much to look forward to with her only child dead. Of course, if her sole concern was her financial future, she’d have done better to placate the new sheikh than to antagonize him.

  Nevertheless, Zahad knew his father would have wanted his widow to live in comfort. He reminded himself to set up a pension for Numa and assess the needs of elderly people who lacked families.

  “Ain’t you going to ask me anything interesting?” Bill asked.

  “Such as?”

  “Like whether I got a history as an ax murderer?”

  “It is unlikely you would tell the truth on that score.” Still, it couldn’t hurt to sound him out. “Very well. How much do you know about the Internet?”

  “I been on it a few times. My wife’s got a computer. Seem to be a lot of dirty pictures on it.” He didn’t sound unhappy about that.

  Zahad turned left into the driveway on Dolly’s property. He passed the Rivas house and continued up a slope to the smaller cottage. With the snow melting rapidly, he had no trouble negotiating it.

  The Blankenship house, constructed of dark wood with a deck visible in the back, lay in the deep gloom of overgrown pines. “You ought to get Ray to thin these out,” he said.

  “Didn’t know you sheikhs was into that Better Homes and Gardens stuff. Wanna come inside and rearrange the furniture?”

  “I will forgo the pleasure.” Zahad got out and opened the passenger door. Although he didn’t offer to help, he stood ready to catch the old man if he slipped.

  The front door scraped and Dolly came out. “Bill! You should have told me you wanted to go into town. I’d have taken you.”

  “Just because I can’t drive no more, that don’t make me an invalid.” The old man wiggled down from his seat, anchoring himself with the cane.

  His wife shook her head. “He’s going to be sore as heck tonight. I can’t believe he walked all the way to the bus stop in the snow. Thanks for bringing him back, Zahad.”

  “Exercise is good for my heart.” Bill regarded the sheikh. “I suppose you’ll be expecting some kind of thank-you for the ride.”

  “It is of no importance.”

  “Don’t encourage him,” Dolly said. “His manners are atrocious.”

  “Who’s this ‘he’ you’re talking about?” asked her husband. “It can’t be me. I’m standing right here.”

  “Sorry,” said his wife.

  To Zahad, Bill said, “Thank you. If my wife can be polite, so can I, I guess. Don’t count on it happening again.”

  “I assure you, I won’t.” With a wave, Zahad got back into the SUV and traced the short distance to Jenny’s house.

  The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting harsh shadows across the snow. Against the looming darkness, the house glowed from within. And as he emerged from the vehicle, he caught a whiff of coffee. How easily a man could be lulled into a sense of comfort.

  Zahad reminded himself that, beneath the snow, blood still soaked the earth. He had learned many things today, but none brought him measurably closer to solving his brother’s murder. And, for him, time was running out.

  Chapter Seven

  In the late afternoon, Jenny and Zahad drove to Lew’s cabin, collected her possessions and put chains on the car, although she doubted the sheikh would need them for long. Still, with another storm predicted in a few days, they might come in handy.

  She made one last check of the premises and left a thank-you note. Then she locked up and dropped the key through a return slot, as Lew Blackwell had requested.

  At home, they ate a quiet dinner of groceries Zahad had brought from town along with his possessions. Afterward, he excused himself to set up his laptop in her home office, which doubled as the guest room.

  The dishes done, Jenny laid out scraps of fabric on a pad atop the dining-room table. She wanted to keep her hands busy and her mind occupied so she wouldn
’t dwell on the fact that an edgy and dangerously attractive man was sharing her home.

  Flipping through a box of tiny dress patterns, she chose one for Beth’s favorite doll. Even though Grant and Shelley usually showered her with expensive toys, her daughter would enjoy the gift. Like any five-year-old, Beth was susceptible to bribery, but only up to a point.

  The last time she’d spent a week with them, they’d gone to Disneyland and the beach in Orange County, about a two-hour drive away. At first enthusiastic in her phone calls, Beth had gradually wearied of the excitement. When she finally got home, she’d gone around the house touching the furniture and had stared at her favorite blue-and-white swirled glasses as if reassured to see them safely in their accustomed places. That was one of the reasons Jenny had been so eager to restore everything before tomorrow.

  She and Beth both liked order and feminine frills. Simply laying the small pattern pieces along the bits of fabric, lining up the arrows with the grain and imagining how the seams would fit together gave Jenny an almost sensual pleasure. Her father had scorned fashion and disapproved of makeup beyond a bare minimum. She loved being able to indulge her child and the child in herself.

  After a few minutes, she glanced through the kitchen to the office where the sheikh sat in profile at the desk. Wearing a loose-knit fisherman’s sweater over jeans, he frowned as he typed on his laptop. Was he searching for the cyber-stalker?

  In spite of their tentative alliance, Zahad might take the opportunity while living here to go through her computer for signs that she’d been the one who’d e-mailed his brother. She didn’t like the idea, but if he did, finding nothing should put an end to any lingering suspicions.

  Jenny returned her attention to the dress. She loved the colors and patterns in the fabric scraps, leftovers from a craft project that one of the teachers had saved for her. Minnie, Beth’s doll, would look pretty in flowered sleeves, a solid bodice and a striped skirt, all in shades of white, blue and burgundy.

  Without looking up, she registered the sound of Zahad rising and approaching across the kitchen linoleum. He moved so lightly that she imagined he could easily slip past someone’s guard.

  Coming alongside, he regarded her handiwork. “What are you making?”

  “Doll clothes,” she said.

  “Your daughter is fortunate.” He watched her hands adjusting the small pieces. Rather than feeling self-conscious, Jenny enjoyed being the object of his attention.

  “I suppose women in your country must be good at crafts. Do they mostly stay home with the children?”

  “Traditionally, yes,” said Zahad. “However, these days most families educate their daughters. We are a small country and cannot afford to waste human resources.”

  “There’s a practical point of view.” His nearness made her conscious of the way her hair floated around her neck and her sweater clung to her breasts. If he noticed, however, he gave no indication. “What about your cousin Amy? I presume she’s educated.”

  “She is an economist. I have placed her in charge of economic development for Yazir.”

  “Is she married? Does she have kids?” she asked.

  “Both.”

  Jenny finished pinning the pieces in place. “Okay, you get points for equal-opportunity employment.”

  He must have moved closer, she realized when his breath tickled her neck. “I am a great believer in equality.”

  She made the mistake of looking up. She noted the bristle of fresh beard along Zahad’s jawline and the unruly fullness of his thick black hair. His eyes were full of hunger, his scars a vivid reminder of the battles he’d fought. His wildness took her breath away.

  Jenny edged around the corner of the table and picked up a pair of scissors. Zahad made no attempt to follow.

  “Did you have any luck on the computer?” she asked.

  “I was trying to trace the movements of Numa’s nephew Hashim, the man who wants to be governor. Amy discovered he was out of the country these past few weeks.”

  “Do you consider him a suspect? I thought he and your brother were friends.”

  “Young men may hang about together and share good times. That does not mean they can be trusted when money and power are at stake.”

  The sheikh remained on the far side of the table. Although she was the one who’d moved away, Jenny missed the frisson of excitement from being close to him.

  “What’s Hashim like? He didn’t grow up the way you did, did he?” She was beginning to get a picture of two very different sets of people among his country’s elite, those who had trained in desert camps and fought for freedom, and those who had lolled in the comfort of a European exile.

  “Hashim is no warrior, nor is he, in my opinion, to be relied upon. He told everyone he was in England, partying, before Fario died, but tonight I heard from a friend of his in London who says Hashim disappeared for almost a week.”

  Her mouth went dry. “When, exactly?” Maybe Zahad really had found the murderer. It was almost too much to hope for.

  It also would mean the killer was an opportunist, not the stalker. Hashim couldn’t have been aware of Jenny’s existence until he learned about her from Fario. Her troubles wouldn’t be over even if he was caught.

  “He was last seen in London twelve days ago,” the sheikh said. “He returned to Alqedar last Sunday.”

  “The day before Fario died.” Not guilty, then.

  “Yes, if his friends are telling the truth, but that is far from certain.” Despite Zahad’s level tone, strong emotions strained beneath the surface. “Nor do we know where he went. We cannot rule out Los Angeles.”

  After cutting the last piece of the garment, Jenny began cleaning away the cloth fragments. “But he got home on Sunday.”

  “Still, if he was here, he might have made arrangements. Los Angeles is a big city and there are always people ready to sell their souls for money.”

  There it was again, the chilling scenario of a hired killer. Jenny kept trying to reject that scenario, she realized, because the idea of such a cold-blooded crime seemed all the more repellent. “How can you find out?”

  “I will drive into L.A. tomorrow to seek my brother’s acquaintances. Fario had been there almost four months and he made friends easily.”

  A wistful note in his voice caught her attention. “And you don’t?” she guessed.

  He gave her a crooked smile. “No, indeed. But the ones I make, I keep forever.”

  A longing enveloped Jenny to be taken into this man’s inner circle. But what would it mean if he kept her forever? Obviously he didn’t plan to stay in Mountain Lake.

  Besides, she suspected that Zahad, if he ever loved, would want to possess a woman completely. And the only kind of man Jenny wanted was the kind who gave her space.

  “Tomorrow’s a good day for you to go into L.A.,” she said. “It’s best if Beth has me to herself for a while after Grant brings her back.”

  “When will that be?”

  “The last time I talked to him, he planned to arrive around 3:00 p.m.”

  “I would like to know more about your ex-husband. Aside from Hashim, he appears to have the most to gain from this situation.”

  How could she sum up the man she’d been married to for four years? It seemed easiest to start with practical details. “You already know that he’s a computer consultant. His wife, Shelley, is an attorney who handles contracts for him. She’s twenty-eight.”

  “And she wants a child.”

  “That’s right.” Jenny felt the tension rising inside her. “They’ve been married maybe a year and a half. A few months ago, Grant told me she has a medical condition that precludes her having children and she wants Beth.”

  The half-dozen times Jenny had met Shelley, the young woman had seemed self-absorbed and brittle. She was certainly selfish. Just because Shelley couldn’t have a child, that didn’t give her the right to try to take someone else’s.

  “It would devastate my daughter to lose me,”
Jenny went on. “I told him children can’t be handed around like possessions.”

  “What was his response?”

  “He said she’s as much his as mine and that he and Shelley can offer her a more secure two-parent home.” Jenny’s hands formed fists. She barely avoided pricking herself with the needle.

  “Was this before the stalking started?”

  She nodded. “About two months before.”

  “Has he taken legal action?”

  “No. I expected Shelley to file the court papers by now, but maybe they need to hire a California attorney.”

  “Perhaps he hopes to harass you until you send your daughter away for her own safety.”

  “If that’s his game, he doesn’t know me very well,” Jenny said. “I swore when I left him that I’d never let him push me around again, and I won’t.”

  “I am surprised you ever tolerated his abuse.”

  She knew the sheikh well enough to detect the anger simmering just below his self-controlled surface. “Things didn’t start out that way.” Wanting him to understand that she hadn’t been a doormat, Jenny sketched the circumstances of their marriage.

  She’d been a teacher in Long Beach when she met Grant at a party. Twelve years older than she, he’d been a welcome contrast to the immature men Jenny usually fended off. Also, after losing her father the year before, she’d felt in need of stability. They’d married shortly after she turned twenty-five.

  Given the difference in their ages, she’d fallen easily into letting Grant make the rules. Since he’d been reasonable and considerate at first, that hadn’t been a problem. She’d felt they were building a future together.

  After several years of teaching, Jenny had taken leave when Beth was born. During her extended leave, she’d completed work on a master’s degree.

  Slowly their relationship had changed. Looking back, Jenny supposed there were several reasons. Having a child meant not only that her attention was divided but that she assumed a more adult role. Also, after her husband’s business suffered a setback, she needed to return to work. Gradually the balance of power between them shifted.