Sheikh's Rule. Ryshia Kennie
jets was still a novelty.
No expense had been spared to get her on a jet and flown over the Atlantic at a moment’s notice. Briefly, she considered the resources of the men who owned both the agency in Wyoming and in Marrakech.
She’d met only Faisal and then only briefly. But she’d liked him immediately. His youth had surprised her. But, at twenty-five, only the snowboard he’d carried under his arm when she’d met him unexpectedly in the parking lot had indicated anything other than what he was: a serious business owner. He’d welcomed her to the team and put the snowboard down to shake her hand with the cordiality she’d later heard he offered to all his employees.
Faisal was approachable, friendly—the opposite of what she’d heard of his oldest brother who was rarely seen, at least by the Wyoming branch of the agency.
With only hours before wheels to the ground in Marrakech, she was anxious to get started, intrigued by the assignment and more than curious to meet Emir Al-Nassar. The head of the Moroccan branch of the agency, Emir, and his twin, Zafir, were the reason the agency had expanded as rapidly as it had. Emir was a friend to the man she directly reported to, which was interesting in itself, as were Adam’s words as she’d prepared to leave. “He is one of the few people on earth I would trust completely.”
This assignment was a coup for any agent. She’d been lucky that both her skill set and the fact that she’d been in New York on the last day of a training session had placed her as not only the logical choice but four hours closer than she’d normally have been.
She pulled her thoughts back to the case. The fact that she would be working with Emir and what kind of man he might be was irrelevant. What recognition she might get from her employers, the potential boost to her career, also moot points that only clouded her thinking. And yet they were very valid moot points. This case would—could, she amended—be career-making. She emptied her mind, bringing herself into a state of meditation for a few minutes.
Fifteen minutes later she was centered and focused on one thing: finding Sheikka Tahriha Al-Nassar.
On the tray in front of her was everything she knew and everything she might need to know about the case. She’d been through much of it already. Now she scrolled through the pictures Adam had just sent her. She memorized the features of the kidnapped sister, but it was the picture of her oldest brother that wouldn’t leave her mind. Despite the fact that he was the president of the company, she’d never before seen a picture of him. She’d known that he and his brother Zafir were twins, but she hadn’t known they were identical. She’d never seen either of them in person. Adam had provided her with a picture of each of them, for although it was Emir she’d be working with, they were all in Marrakech awaiting her arrival.
She clicked on Emir’s picture, noting the difference that ran deeper than the length of their hair—Emir’s shorter than his brother’s, clipped above his ears. The difference was in the depth of his piercing brown eyes. She kept going back to his picture and told herself it was part of this assignment to know who she was meeting at the other end. But that was only part of the truth. Emir had an aura about him, a powerful sense of confidence that seemed to emanate from the picture.
K.J. closed her eyes. Despite her mind-focusing meditation, a nap would help her hit the ground running. But that wasn’t an option. There was more to be done. She needed to know everything they had on the Al-Nassar family.
Despite working in the office headed by Faisal, she’d had little contact with him or his family, and now it was critical to fill in those gaps, along with learning everything about today’s Marrakech. The last time she’d been in Morocco had been five years ago. She needed to familiarize herself with not only present-day Marrakech but also with the surrounding area if she was to get Sheikka Tahriha safely home.
She remembered the conversation just before she had taken off.
“There’s been a payment,” Adam had said in his usual, abbreviated, no-intro sort of way. “Hopefully that will hold them off.”
“You’ve advised that no more payments are to be made.”
“Emir is well aware of that.” Adam paused, clearing his throat. “One other thing. Be careful. A woman in rural Morocco—” he shook his head “—I’m taking a chance on this.”
“I know. Don’t worry, Adam,” K.J. had said with a confidence she hadn’t felt. It might be the twenty-first century, but this was the land of sheiks where ancient traditions and strict religious laws governed much of day-to-day life, especially in the rural areas where it was highly possible the kidnappers had fled to. She’d considered that and brought tops with long sleeves, and long pants. She’d also be sure to secure her long hair before she landed so that it was away from her face. Still, she knew it wasn’t enough. But it was the best she could do. Her knowledge of the area would be her best defense. And if they wanted the best, she thought with more self-awareness than conceit, they would have to take her as she was.
She scrolled through the additional information. Then, she set down the tablet and lifted the paper report and skimmed through the pages. The report didn’t give her a lot of hope. The kidnappers weren’t sophisticated, judging from the trail of evidence. Thugs were more difficult to reason with. In some instances, thugs couldn’t be reasoned with at all. She feared that, in this situation, that might be the case.
Emir glanced at his watch. Adam’s last text told him that the investigator was thirty minutes away from landing. It was 2:30 p.m. and, according to the evidence, Tara had been missing for over twelve hours. Time was slipping away and yet there was nothing he could do beyond what he already had. Now, he waited, and only his iron-clad will kept him from taking charge of this case alone. That, and the knowledge that emotion had already colored his judgment.
The airport was crowded with people and luggage as commercial airline queues filled up and passengers waited for their flights, oblivious to his inner turmoil or to the fact that his family was in dire straits.
Emir strode through the crush of incoming passengers emerging from one flight and into a back room where few were admitted, to the security area where the pulse of the airport was monitored on a second-by-second basis.
“How much longer, Sihr?” he asked the man who had first become familiar to him in the aftermath of the horror of the car crash that had killed both his parents six years ago. It had been here where an emergency crew had taken off in the hope of airlifting survivors from the isolated mountain road, and this man who had facilitated the quick takeoff. Emir ran a hand over his chin as if that would dispel the memory of a tragedy that had changed everything. Instead, all he felt was stubble and a reminder that time was slipping away.
He went over the expected time of arrival in his mind juxtaposed against weather conditions. As an amateur pilot he knew that, despite Adam’s report fifteen minutes ago, flight conditions could easily have changed the plane’s arrival time. “Early?”
Sihr gave him a brief nod. “It’s landing now.” The lean, middle-aged man swept his arm toward the back of the small office. “We can go out this way and meet them at the gate.”
Emir was three steps ahead of the smaller man as he strode down a narrow corridor that turned into a common area used only by security. They were in an area that was off-limits to the average passenger, but not to Emir. Despite the fact that he had come to know Sihr during one tragedy where rules had been bent, despite the fact that his family employed Sihr’s brother, being allowed into the security area wasn’t a favor, at least not one in the traditional sense. It was how things were done for him, his family and those around him. It was how it had always been.
As they made their way through the bustling security area and Sihr opened a door that led directly to the runway, a small breeze hit him. That was immediately overlaid by the smell of jet fuel and the roar of a commercial airliner taking off that erased the chance of any conversation even if Emir had felt like starting one. He did not. He had nothing to say and nothing that Sihr needed