Captured By A Sheikh

Chapter Two

The sheikh had thought himself prepared for any development. But he had not anticipated that this woman would throw herself into the car through its half-open rear door when it was already beginning to move.

“Push her out!” cried Zahad, who had thrust the baby into a basket on the floor, and was stepping on the gas. “Close the door!”

The veil and attached circlet of flowers fell to the pavement as the woman clutched at Sharif. “Give me my baby! Give him back!”

“We will not harm him!” Didn’t she realize who they must be? “Zahad, stop and let me remove her.”

“No!” The woman held fast to Sharif’s arm. “I won’t leave him!”

“You must close the door!” said his aide. “We are attracting attention, and I cannot drive properly.”

As a veteran of many battles, the sheikh would not hesitate to attack a foe. He saw no justification, however, for shoving Holly Rivers from a moving car.

Instead, he yanked her onto the seat beside him, reached past her and slammed the door. Immediately, his cousin whipped onto a street to their right. He swerved again, setting a complicated course in case of pursuit.

As the woman beside him straightened herself, Sharif got a better look at her face. The amber eyes were wide with alarm, and the dishevelled red hair tumbled around her shoulders as if she had newly arisen from bed.

A stunning woman. In spite of himself, he could not help wishing she were his.

Perhaps he had been unfair. In his anger, Sharif realized, he had not considered how strong the surrogate’s attachment to the infant might be. Under other circumstances, such mother love would be admirable.

“We do not intend to harm you,” he said. “We can release you here if you like.”

The woman ignored the offer. “What do you want, a ransom?” Her voice trembled. “I don’t have any money but my fiancé does.”

“You think we are kidnappers?” She had no sense at all. “You insult us!”

“In a sense, you must admit, we are kidnappers,” Zahad said with his usual maddening exactitude.

“You exaggerate!” Sharif returned.

“It is a point of fact,” his cousin replied, and snapped the sedan around another corner so abruptly that the surrogate fell onto the sheikh’s lap.

It had been a long time since Sharif held a woman in his arms. Perhaps this long abstinence explained why he found himself so keenly aware of every soft curve pressed against his body. Of the pulse of Holly’s throat, and the sound of her breathing, and the light sweet scent of her.

He reminded himself that this woman had cheated him and still posed a threat to his people’s future. And to his right to share his son’s life.

“Let me go!” she gasped.

“I am not restraining you,” Sharif replied.

Scrambling onto the seat, she said, “Of course you’re restraining me! You’re holding my child hostage!”

“Hostage?” He raised an eyebrow. “You should not be surprised that I expect you to make good on your bargain.”

“What bargain?” She scooted as far from him as the space allowed. “No bargain gives you the right to assault me at my wedding and snatch Ben! Where have you put him?”

“The baby is in a basket on the floor beside me,” Zahad said. “He is smiling. I think he will like to drive fast when he grows up.”

“He should be in a car seat!” Holly said. “It’s the law!”

Her outrage startled a chuckle from Sharif. The woman certainly had spirit! “And you have observed that we are great devotees of the law?”

From her tightened fists, he got the impression she would like to teach him respect, for the law and for a few other things as well. What a splendid bride she would make for a desert warrior! But not for him.

As Zahad slowed, the sheikh saw that they had reached a broad thoroughfare. Without stopping for the red light, he turned right and accelerated ahead of a bus.

Holly flinched. “You’re going to get us killed! There’s a reason why you’re supposed to stop for red lights, even if you don’t care about the law!”

“As a point of fact, we do care about the law,” said Sharif. “And about civil contracts. It is unfortunate your concern does not extend to those.”

“Contracts?” She blinked at him. “What are you talking about?” Some of the fight evaporated from her bunched muscles. “Does Jazz owe you money?”

“Who is Jazz?” he asked.

“My sister.”

He remembered the stocky woman at the church. “I know nothing of your sister.”

The woman swallowed. “You haven’t hurt her?”

This conversation made no sense. The sister had not even come outside, so how could he have hurt her? “Of course not.”

“Then—then you’re not in any real trouble yet. Just give me the baby and let us go.” Tears glittered in Holly’s eyes. With her full lips parted, she looked vulnerable and very desirable.

She was a fool if she believed he would part with his son because of a woman’s tears. “You are wasting your breath.”

“Get down!” shouted Zahad, and the car veered. Without waiting for an explanation, the sheikh grabbed Holly and flattened them both on the seat.

The left-hand passenger window exploded. Bits of glass sprayed across the exposed skin of Sharif’s neck.

“The boy?” he demanded. “Is he hurt?”

“He is fine,” his cousin said.

“Someone’s shooting at us?” Judging by the pitch of her voice, Holly Rivers teetered on the edge of hysteria.

He doubted the police would be so reckless, with a woman and child in the car. “Perhaps this is how your groom thinks to reclaim you.”

“Trevor wouldn’t do that!”

“I agree, it is not him.” Zahad sped through traffic. “The attorney drives a new Cadillac. We are being chased by an old sedan with dark windows.”

“It seems my enemies have tracked us,” Sharif muttered.

“What enemies?” Holly was shaking. “Who are you guys, anyway?”

It was an odd question for a woman who had agreed of her own free will to bear his child. “We will discuss that later,” said Sharif. “By then, I think the answer will come to you.”

A series of furious zigzags climaxed in a swift ascent and rapid acceleration. They had entered the freeway.

Zahad checked his rearview mirror. “Our pursuers are dropping back. There is a highway patrol car… They have turned back.”

Cautiously, Sharif helped Holly sit up. “How is the baby now?”

“Sleeping,” said his cousin.

A moment later, he discovered that he should not have taken his attention from the woman. The combination of a shattered window and an approaching highway patrol car proved irresistible.

“Help!” she screamed, leaning out. “I’ve been kidnapped!”

The wind tore away her words. From his pocket, Sharif pulled a dampened cloth that Zahad had provided for such an emergency.

Clamping it over the woman’s face, he hauled her back into the car. She struggled briefly, then sagged.

When he was certain she slept, Sharif removed the cloth. Although his cousin had promised the dose was not harmful, he was relieved to hear her steady if shallow breathing. A check of the patrol car showed that it had surged ahead in the fast lane, paying them no attention.

“I will pull over at the next exit,” Zahad said. “We must leave her.”

“Lying by the road, unconscious?” The sheikh shook his head. “Not unless we can find a hospital.”

“So you will walk in there and say, ‘Excuse me, please take this woman, goodbye?”’ His cousin grimaced in the rearview mirror. “We have problems, my friend, and we do not need to add to them.”

“We have no problems that will not be solved by flying home,” Sharif said.

His cousin passed a slow-moving panel truck. “Think, my friend. Maimun’s surviving zealots are not stupid. They found us near the church. That means perhaps they can find us again.”

Reluctantly, Sharif conceded the point. “They must have learned of Ms. Rivers’s marriage, as we did. So they know about her, and therefore about my son.”

“Someone has been tracking our comings and goings,” his aide said. “Possibly an employee of the airlines or the airport in Alqedar. They must have tracked me on my last visit here.”

“Then they also know of our return reservations.” Sharif shook his head, impatient with these obstacles. “So we simply take a circuitous route. Fly from Los Angeles to, say, London. Then to Riyadh…”

Zahad grimaced. “I advise that we do our homework first. We have no idea how many of them there are, or how well-placed. We need more information before we dare to appear in public.”

Sharif started to argue. But he knew his cousin was right. They were stuck here, at least for a while.

Another thought hit him. “Then we must keep Ms. Rivers in our custody until we leave. Otherwise, she would give the police too much information.”

“Unfortunately, you are right.” Zahad punched the radio controls. “Let us see if we have yet made the news reports.”

As they listened to sports headlines, Holly snuggled against Sharif’s shoulder. The scent of flowers clung to her, along with a trace of baby powder. She seemed less a woman than a nymph, dozing in a cloud of red hair.

A newscaster’s voice broke through the sheikh’s thoughts. “Police in Harbor View say a bride has been kidnapped moments before her wedding. This happened less than fifteen minutes ago outside the First Community Harbor View Church.”

“They are quick with their news,” Zahad observed.

“The police no doubt want the public to watch for us,” Sharif said.

“The woman, whose identity is being withheld, has collar-length auburn hair and is wearing an ivory wedding gown,” said the announcer. “A witness reported seeing her forced into a tan car driven by two men with dark hair and short beards. We’ll keep you posted as this story develops.”

When a commercial came on, Zahad smacked the steering wheel. “What witness? I saw no one! Americans are too nosy.”

“We made a spectacle of ourselves, as I recall,” the sheikh said. “Well, we will need to change our appearance as soon as we reach the safe house.”

“That is so.” Zahad drove for a time in silence.

Sharif wondered if, once Holly awoke, he could persuade her to admit that he was entitled to his son. Perhaps, in exchange for her immediate release, she would help them settle the matter with the police.

Then he could focus on the would-be assassins. And on forgetting a clear-eyed woman with fiery hair and flower-scented skin.

On the radio, the announcer returned. “Here’s an update on that kidnapping of a bride in Harbor View. Apparently her three-month-old nephew was also abducted. Police are already investigating the earlier disappearance of the child’s mother.”

A cold chill swept over Sharif. Holly Jeannette Rivers wasn’t the mother of his child. He had taken the wrong woman.

HOLLY’S HEAD felt as if someone had stuffed it with wool, and her wrists chafed. Through the thin mattress, springs and crossbars dug into her back.

She struggled to connect the scattered images in her brain. Alice and the flowers. Trevor, giving her that familiar lopsided grin. The church courtyard, with clouds gathering overhead.

A man stood in the alley, his hands thrust in pockets set into the front of his sweatshirt. Despite his jeans and baseball cap, his beard and his intensity made him seem foreign.

And then—a madly swerving car. And the man, holding her.

The hardness of his body had imprinted itself on her memory. In his grip, she’d felt a reluctant stirring of something she didn’t want to name. Something she’d never felt for Trevor.

Then had come the shock of being yanked onto the seat. Had she hit her head? Had she been shot? Anguished, she tried to force herself awake, but her eyelids stuck.

She felt the bite of winter air, tinged with waves of warmth and laced with the aroma of burning wood. Not far off, a low voice murmured in a language she didn’t understand.

Then something erased all other perceptions. It was the sound of Ben gurgling and cooing.

Frustrated, Holly tried to sit up, and discovered that her hands and feet were tied. When she managed to open her eyes, moisture blurred her vision until she blinked twice to clear it.

Her first impression was of a rustic cabin. She lay on a fold-out couch in an alcove, beyond which she could see a wood-paneled room with blinds on the windows. A table lamp was augmented by the flickering of an unseen fire.

She inched along the mattress until a large stone fireplace came into view. On a small table nearby, a blanket had been spread. Atop it lay the tiny figure of Ben, his arms waving.

One glimpse of the man towering over him made Holly go rigid.

Although the beard and mustache were gone, the piercing gaze belonged unmistakably to the man who had attacked her in the churchyard. Instead of jeans, he wore a white headdress and robe that made him look utterly alien.

Her first, confused reaction was that a sheikh had ridden out of some old movie. Reality was much more terrifying. The man who had her and Ben at his mercy must be some kind of delusional maniac.

She prayed that he wouldn’t notice she was awake. Surely she could find a way to untie her hands and rescue her nephew.

Holly studied the cord binding her. There was no slack, and no apparent weakness in the rope, either.

Cautiously, she twisted her wrists. The cord bit harder. Holly pressed her lips together to keep from crying out.

Her captor paid her no attention. But he must be doing something that Ben didn’t like, because the baby began squalling.

“Don’t hurt him!” she called. “If you have to torture someone, do it to me!”

The dark man looked up, and she noticed a white object in his hand. A diaper. For heaven’s sake, he was trying to change the baby!

If Holly hadn’t been so frightened, she might have found his expression comical. It was the kind of befuddled expression Trevor had worn once when she thrust Ben into his arms so she could answer a phone call.

“So, you are awake,” he said. “I am sorry I was forced to drug you. Do you have any pain?”

“I’m just…sleepy.” Her voice sounded hollow. “What time is it?”

“A little past seven.”

Holly groaned. Her wedding was ruined. The guests, Trevor, Alice. What must they think?

“Believe me, I have no intention of torturing anyone.” Her captor indicated her ties. “The sooner I can return you to your bridegroom, the better, but in the meantime certain precautions were regrettably necessary.”

Holly had to admit that, clean-shaven, his face was handsome in a thoroughly masculine way, and his expression not unkind. But what about the outlandish costume?

“Why are you wearing that?” she asked.

He smoothed down his robe. “I would not go outside dressed this way, not in your country. But I wanted my son to see me as I really am.”

“Your—?” She didn’t need to finish the question. Not when she’d finally realized why those penetrating eyes looked so familiar.

They were Ben’s eyes.

“You’re his father,” she whispered. “Oh, Lord.” Through the lingering effects of medication, her brain churned over this disturbing discovery. She’d found Jazz’s secret lover, or, rather, he’d found her and Ben. “What have you done with my sister?”

The man returned his attention to the baby. “Nothing. I thought you were her.”

“What?” Holly made the mistake of trying to push herself up. The cords tightened again, making her wince. “How could you?”

“I know her only from a photograph. It was arranged through a clinic. She did not tell you?” He put one hand beneath the baby’s backside and tried to raise his bottom while sliding the diaper beneath it.

Free-spirited Jazz would never have agreed to bear this child for pay! “I don’t believe you. Why would my sister want to be a surrogate mother?”

“I was told she wanted money to make a demonstration recording.” He broke off as Ben kicked lustily, flinging one of his booties into a corner and dislodging the diaper from the man’s grip.

“You’re doing that wrong!”

“Evidently.” Keeping one hand on the baby, the man leaned back and squinted at the child. “It appears to be a problem of structural engineering.”

“You’re an engineer?” Holly needed to make sense of this situation, and to learn anything she could.

“I am many things,” the man replied enigmatically. “But I am not an abuser of women. I will release you from your bonds if you will care for my son. As you have pointed out, I don’t seem to be doing very well at it.”

His accent sounded Middle Eastern. “Where are you from?”

“Your sister told you nothing of me?” Wrapping the fussing baby in the blanket, he carried him, along with the diaper, to Holly.

“Nothing at all. And believe me, I tried to find out who the father was.” She started to reach for Ben, and stopped with a gasp.

The man set the baby on the center of the bed. “My cousin Zahad must have tied the rope too tightly. He was in a hurry.”

At close range, she could see small cuts on the man’s neck from where shards of glass had hit him. Other than that, his skin had a smooth olive cast, with some roughness where he’d recently shaved.

The man smelled of shampoo, and his thick hair, what she could see of it, was damp, so he must have showered since they arrived. Yet there was an under-current of wild musk about him that no soap could wash away.

From inside the robe flashed a knife. Holly scarcely had time to register the danger before the man sliced the cord between her wrists, then the one at her ankles. The knife disappeared into the folds of cloth.

Prickles of agonizing sensation shot through her hands and feet. “Your cousin—that would be the driver? Is he here?”

“He thought it best to stay in a different place.” The bed dipped as the man sat beside her. With a shiver, Holly saw the smoldering fire in his gaze as he watched her. “Although this canyon is remote, if he and I were seen together, it might draw suspicion.”

“You mean from the police?” Although her captor spoke calmly, she reminded herself that law-abiding men didn’t go around snatching brides and babies.

“Yes. Among others.” Before she could query further, the man said, “I don’t think it is good for the boy to lie here in only his little shirt. Do you know how to put on a diaper?”

“I should hope so.” She flexed her stinging limbs. “But it might take me a minute to get full sensation back in my hands. Thanks to your overeager cousin.”

“He takes pride in his thoroughness,” the man said.

“He should take a little more pride in showing consideration for others!” she flared.

Her captor smiled. Pure white teeth gleamed against his tanned skin. “You sound like my cousin Amy. She finds fault with Zahad also.”

The prickly sensations eased. Skillfully, Holly caught the baby’s ankles in her left hand, hoisted up his bottom and slid the diaper into place. Ben chuckled and reached for her.

“Amazing,” said the man in the sheikh’s robe. “You do that with such ease. And he is clearly attached to you.”

“He knows I love him.” Holly cradled the baby in her arms.

The man watched them, his expression unreadable. “I, too, love him.”

“How can you, when you don’t even know him?”

“And you think you do?” The man unfolded himself from the bed and began to pace, his restless energy filling the room. “What do you know of this boy’s history? Of his heritage or his future? To you, he is a tiny baby, but someday he will be a great man!”

“He’ll be whatever he wants to be. You can’t force a child to meet someone else’s expectations.” Holly held Ben close. There no longer seemed to be any point in safeguarding her wedding dress, which was thoroughly rumpled and flecked with blood from Sharif’s injuries.

“Your sister understood my son’s importance, according to the clinic’s director,” said her companion.

“The clinic,” she repeated. “This is so unlike Jazz.”

“Jazz?”

“My sister. It’s short for Hannah Jasmine,” she said. “We’ve called her that since she was a kid. She hated going to the doctor. And she wasn’t even close to what you might call maternal.”

Outside, something thwacked against a window. Holly’s heart skittered into her throat.

Moving quickly and silently, her captor switched off the lamp. As its circular glow faded, scarlet fire-light crept eerily across the walls.