Desert Rogue. Erin Yorke
only Cameron were here, fluttered the anxious mother. He would know how to avoid scandal, and the longer Victoria was gone, alone and unchaperoned, the more likely it appeared that would be necessary. Perhaps if she sent a note to Hayden, deploring the hour and asking him to escort Victoria home? That was it. She would dispatch a message as if nothing were wrong and the girl had planned to visit him tonight. If Hayden sent word that he hadn’t seen Victoria, then Grace would have garnered his assistance without directly asking for help.
Relieved at having made a decision, she sat at her husband’s desk to compose the note, only to be interrupted by the houseman.
“This was just delivered, Mrs. Shaw. The boy said it was urgent or I would have left it until morning,” he explained, handing over a heavy envelope sealed with wax that bore no imprint.
“Thank you, Ahmet. I shall need you to take a message to Mr. Reed for me shortly. I will ring when it is ready.” Her hand shook only slightly as she slit the packet, her unacknowledged fear finally taking hold. Victoria was missing, a young white woman in uncivilized Egypt. What else could this be but a monetary demand to guarantee her safety?
With icy fingers, she turned the envelope upside down, spilling out a crudely drawn map, a page of irregular print and the brooch Victoria had worn that evening. Her fears were confirmed.
Scanning the poorly spelled missive, Grace Shaw expelled a slow breath and, leaning back in Cameron’s chair, uttered a prayer.
“Oh, Lord, I don’t often ask favors of you, but please take care of my dear girl. I vow I’ll get the money these devils lust after, but let them be satisfied with that,” murmured Grace. “Surely if I do as they say, they won’t harm her. Hayden will know how to handle them. He’s good at problems and he cares for Victoria. I know he’ll see the ransom paid if I give him the money. And then Victoria will be home safe and sound.”
But after she had been abducted would Hayden Reed still wish to claim Victoria for his bride? With a strenuous effort, Grace concentrated on the matter at hand. There would be time enough to worry about that later; until then, emotionless efficiency must be her goal. First the message to John Thomas, Cameron’s assistant at the bank, asking him to discreetly release the funds to Hayden. Then the letter to Hayden himself.
* * *
Hayden Reed, consular agent, finished buttoning his trousers and passed the back of his hand across his sleep-laden eyes. Struggling to attach his shirt’s stiff collar, he wondered what emergency it was that would call him from his bed at two o’clock in the morning. He hoped that whatever it was, it had nothing to do with him and his work. Yet no matter the situation, the tall, slim Englishman vowed he would handle it. With unperturbed movements that belied his nervousness, he applied pomade to his hair, and a few swift strokes of his silver-backed brush soon had every golden strand impeccably in place.
He rinsed his hands and wiped them fastidiously, then checked his appearance in the mirror. Should the matter now demanding his attention call for the appraisal of his immediate supervisor, Hayden wanted to look every inch the proper British government servant. And if it was, indeed, his superior who had summoned him for questioning, a flawless appearance would not be amiss.
Easing into his expensively tailored suit jacket, and gently tugging the end of each sleeve so that not too much shirt cuff was exposed, he opened the door between his temporary bachelor rooms and the long hallway that led to the government offices at the other end of the building.
His inordinately fine leather shoes softly tapped out his progress as he trod along the corridor, happy that marrying Victoria Shaw meant he could leave his rather Spartan quarters behind and move into a house in a fashionable area of Cairo. A private residence would be so much more useful to a man in his line of work, and he looked forward to taking possession of it two days hence, a full three months before his wedding day.
When he reached the door that led to the office, Hayden straightened his tie and shoulders before making his entrance, his left eyebrow cocked to a suitably inquisitive yet critical degree.
Prepared for just about any crisis, the tall, wiry Englishman had never expected a sight the likes of which greeted him. It caused him to breathe easier. There standing on the costly, intricately handwoven carpet before his desk were two of the most bedraggled human beings Hayden had ever seen in the company of a common Egyptian constable, who appeared to be tempering his own irritation toward the pair with obsequious apologies for disturbing him at such an odd hour.
The unlikely duo was a study in contrasts. One was Egyptian, of obvious Bedouin stock, yet his demeanor and clothing, shredded though it was, proclaimed him to be a man of business rather than a nomad. But it was the other man who commanded Hayden’s attention. A Caucasian, the fellow was nonetheless one of the scruffiest-looking specimens Hayden had encountered in quite some time. Dressed in the sort of well-worn kit one might don on an archaeological dig, the man sported a heavy brown stubble of beard and, judging from his arrogant grin, an attitude that struck Hayden as even more prickly.
“What’s all this, then?” Hayden asked condescendingly. The question had been directed to the police official, the two men apparently in custody being, of course, beneath his notice.
“Most honored sir,” the constable began, “a small problem has arisen.”
“If it is so trifling, why bother me with it?” Hayden inquired, not troubling to offer the policeman a seat. This was merely a civil matter and not his own actions being called to task.
“Please hear me out. You are aware, of course, that the Egyptian constabulary is autonomous,” the officer began, his spine straightening and his chest puffing out with importance. “It is only as a favor to you that I bring these two men here, and certainly not because we are subordinate to Britain.”
“Yes, yes, get on with it,” Hayden brusquely commanded with a wave of his hand, knowing as well as the uniformed Egyptian that the police force was independent in name only.
“My presence tonight concerns these two,” the policeman stated with a nod, his tones made more deferential by Hayden’s obvious impatience.
Hayden studied the pair in question, noting the apprehension in the Bedouin’s eyes and the casual nonchalance of the other man. The one was obviously contrite about his part in whatever had occurred, while his companion appeared to be merely amused, a sentiment Hayden did not share as he thought of his comfortable bed at the opposite end of the corridor and the upset he had felt when he had been awakened.
“These criminals were involved in a most dreadful altercation, mudir. But since I suspected that fellow there might be a countryman of yours,” the constable said as he gestured toward Jed Kincaid, “and despite the fact reports show this is the third fight the fellow has been involved in today, I thought it best to learn your wishes in the matter before I placed him and his opponent in jail.”
“I tried to tell him I’m an American and not English,” came a casual drawl from across the room, forcing Hayden’s attention.
“Your nationality is quite evident,” the British official replied in clipped tones. The man, with his sun-burnished skin and raw strength, was all too primitive for Hayden’s taste. There was very little that was civilized about him, from his clothing to his manner. Dismissing him, Hayden pointedly turned to the portly constable once more. “As far as I am concerned, you can throw them both in jail for as long as you wish.”
“No, most respected sir,” the Egyptian in custody protested, his concern for Fatima overcoming his natural cautiousness in dealing with British officials. “I am not to blame. I was merely trying to recover money from this villain for the damages he did to my humble shop during one of his rampages. I asked him for payment, and that is when he set upon and attacked me.”
“And with good reason,” Jed growled, remembering the dark eyes and soft femininity of the woman employed at Nadir’s establishment.
“There was nothing to excuse your assaulting me,” interrupted the constable, his pride as bruised as his jaw.
“I wouldn’t