a hand over his mouth, he looked as though he were choosing his words carefully. “In the meantime, I would recommend you refrain from making any statements to either a Kadir representative or to anyone else—especially in public—that you may regret in the future.”
Struggling with both the light-headedness and the almost overpowering need to choke a confession out of this asshole, she screwed up her nerve and got to her feet. In league with terrorists or not, she needed Darin Kadir. Without him, Rylie knew she would never dig out the truth.
But once on her feet, her body swayed and she was forced to reach out and take his arm or else fall flat on her face. “Wait …”
His other hand closed around her biceps, keeping her from an embarrassing tumble but pulling her close against his chest instead. When she gazed into his eyes, her emotions began a roller-coaster ride. Deep within those coal-black irises she caught sight of a flash of—need.
Need? Hell’s bells. In the eyes of an arrogant terrorist? Or perhaps she’d been all wrong, and he was only a businessman who had no scruples and was trying to scam the insurance companies for big bucks. Either way, need was the last thing she’d expected to see in his eyes.
Taking a step back and planting her feet, she held his gaze, searching for any reason why she should find herself in such sudden turmoil over a man she had vowed to unmask as a murderer. In the next instant, she could swear she sensed loneliness in him—and a glint of something else. Something much deeper she couldn’t put a name to, coming from the same hidden recesses of his steady stare.
Then the moment was gone and his blank eyes were devoid of any expression save for irritation. But Rylie was shaken by what she’d seen.
As usual during times of stress, babbling words began spewing from her too-loud mouth. “I think I must be jet-lagged. I didn’t mean … I apologize, Mr. Kadir … uh … Darin.”
He let go of her arm and a wary look crept into his eyes. Not good. She didn’t want him to be on guard. Now she would have to start all over again and figure out ways to make him trust her.
Her knees wobbled once more, and she decided any information-gathering efforts would have to wait for another day. “I could stand some sleep, but I would like to talk to you when I can make more sense. How about tomorrow? Can we set up a time to get together?” Teetering on her narrow heels, she hung on to his arm.
He shook his head slowly and she knew he was about to turn her down. “I have a heavy conference agenda all day tomorrow.” Taking her by the shoulders, he eased her backward and helped her sit down on the couch. “But perhaps we could find a few free minutes after the workshops and before the evening banquet. Shall I plan to come to your hotel around five?”
Well, what do you know? Amazed by his sudden change of heart, she was too thrilled to ask why and take the chance of messing things up.
“Uh, no, not to my place.” She wasn’t registered at a hotel but didn’t want him to know she was staying on Marie Claire’s couch. “How about we meet at your hotel? Where are you staying?”
Tight lines formed around his eyes. “Let’s compromise. There’s a club … pub … bar, I guess Americans would say, called Arthur’s Rive Gauche. It’s rather more elegant than I would normally choose for conversation and it’s wildly popular, but I’m sure we can find a quiet corner. Why don’t I meet you there at half past five?”
“That’ll be fine. Great.” She made a move to rise, wanting to show him she could be perfectly civilized by shaking his hand. But she hadn’t even made it to her feet before the dizziness returned and threw her back into the cushions.
“Stay seated,” he insisted. “I’ll search out the concierge and have him bring you a plate of food. Eating may give you a much-needed temporary energy boost. However, I have no hope of it stilling your temper or mouth.” He cocked his head and waited for her to make a comment.
When she didn’t, he added, “A little sustenance might at least provide you with enough strength to take a cab back to your hotel. Allow me to arrange it, Miss Hunt?”
She closed her eyes and leaned back—for only a moment. “All right, but please call me Rylie. And thanks.”
“You must be joking, brother.” Shakir lounged in one of the club chairs of their hotel suite several hours later, with a bottle of dark ale in his hand and a smirk across his face. “Rylie Hunt had the nerve to accost you and bloody well accuse you of murder?”
“You should’ve seen the look in her eyes,” Darin told him. “It was enough to raise the hairs on the back of even your tough paratrooper’s leather neck.”
Shakir sat up straighter. “You don’t think she could be some kind of spy or lookout for the Taj Zabbar family, do you? It would make a kind of perverse sense. I know if I was into subterfuge and covert warfare, using a woman who has reason to hate the world would be perfect. Who knows what lies they could’ve told her in an effort to make her bend to their will.”
Darin gave it a moment’s consideration and quickly discarded the idea. “Not this woman. I have the feeling she could spot a liar from a mile away, and I doubt anyone on earth could bend her to their will. But I’ve agreed to meet with her. I need to uncover what she already knows.”
“Bad move.” Shakir screwed up his mouth. “You can’t seriously mean to get close to this woman. She could be dangerous. Why would you agree to do such a thing?”
“I felt sorry for her.” But that wasn’t strictly the truth. He’d felt something, all right. But the something was pure, unrefined and nearly uncontrollable … lust.
Theoretically, his sudden all-consuming erotic need should’ve been tempered by his empathy for her situation. After all, his life had been altered irrevocably with that explosion the same as hers. But the trouble with theories was they weren’t real life. In reality, despite what he should have felt, he’d searched his memory and couldn’t come up with a time when a stranger, or anyone at all, had affected him with quite this much seething passion.
He wasn’t sure why, either. She was a little too tall, a little too thin and a little too loud for his taste. Her overall appearance reminded him of what he’d always considered the looks of a spoiled girl from America’s western lands. Over-the-top—in every way. Not in the least his normal type of companion when it came to the opposite sex.
His brother was still seated, staring absently at the half-empty beer bottle in his hand. “This is not a good idea.” Shakir shook his head forcefully. “Even if she isn’t working with the Taj Zabbar, let’s suppose one of them spots the two of you together. That might give rise to a lot of false assumptions. False assumptions that could be life-threatening—to her or to you.”
“Don’t worry,” Darin told him, letting his voice carry a cavalier tone he was certainly not feeling. “I’ve suggested our meeting take place in a pub that’s popular with the locals but is out of the way for conference attendees. No one will spot us there.”
Later that same night in the dimly lit lobby bar of Darin’s hotel, Sheik Newaf Bin Hamad Taj Zabbar hung up his satellite phone when he spotted his distant cousin Samman Taweel walking his way. The young, hollow-eyed fellow weaved past several empty tables heading straight for him.
“Sit.” Sheik Hamad gestured to the chair across from him with the glowing tip of his Cuban Cohiba Behike. “I assume you left a compatriot to watch Darin Kadir. Is this so?”
“Yes, my sheik. The target you asked me to watch has seemingly retired to his room for the evening. One of the other men you hired is watching his door.”
“Very well. Then tell me what you observed of our target’s behavior at the conference reception.”
This distant cousin was far from brilliant. But Hamad had not hesitated to employ the dull but desperate man, because desperate men follow instructions exactly. Since the Taj Zabbar clan was finally on the cusp of exacting their ultimate revenge for