Son Of The Sheikh. Ryshia Kennie

are you suggesting?” Talib scowled.

      “Someone tries to kidnap the child. I’d say they’re trying to get money from Sara or her family.”

      “I considered that possibility. But unless things have changed, Sara has no money.”

      “Her family?”

      “Same.” He shrugged. “She doesn’t come from money. The family fishing business has never been prosperous. It supports the family, her parents and her sisters’ families, but that’s about it.” He looked off into the distance, as if he could find the answer there. “I had the office do a quick search on the family and on Sara. She’s been underemployed for a while.” He frowned—that information was not in line with the ambitious, professional woman he knew. Something rang sour about all of this.

      “So the attempted snatching, just a crime of opportunity, black-market adoption?” Ian mused.

      “I don’t know.” Talib shook his head. “Seems a bit of a stretch. I suppose we can only be thankful that the maid got cold feet.”

      “We’ve got a half-dozen children registered under the age of ten.” Ian ran a hand through his hair.

      “Frightening,” Talib said. “We need to up your security, like yesterday.” He didn’t need to point out that his earlier advice hadn’t been followed. That the hotel had opened under Ian’s new management before all systems were in place.

      “You were right,” Ian agreed. “Whatever the reason behind this we can be thankful that no one was seriously injured. There was no irreparable damage done, except to my reputation. I’ll reimburse any of the guests who lost belongings. Meanwhile, I’ve done a check with my public relations people. It looks like other than being shaken up, the hotel guests, with the exception of a few, are more than happy to take advantage of my offer. A free full-spa experience and one-night free stay, and coverage of alternate rooms for tonight. Most are willing to come back for the remainder of their stay here.”

      “That’s generous,” Talib said.

      “You think? After scaring them to death with what looks like a terrorist attack.” He stood up, pushing back from the desk. “It’s the least I could do.”

      “Makes sense. You don’t want to lose any business. Although, you’re pretty much guaranteed to lose some.”

      “I don’t think it will affect business in the long term and that’s all that matters. That’s my priority. That, and making sure that this doesn’t happen again,” he said with a look at Talib.

      “When I’m finished, you’ll have security that will make the royal family jealous,” Talib said. “This time give me carte blanche and stand aside.”

      “You’re on,” Ian said. “I can’t have a repeat of this. I’ll have my assistant get the employee records together. Should be an hour, two at most.”

      Talib glanced at his watch. “I’ll check in with you later.”

      He stood up. His hand swept through his hair as if it was long enough to get in his face. Three years ago it had been. Three years ago he had experimented with a ponytail. Three years ago he’d experimented with a few things.

      He left with a quick shake of hands and his mind already moving forward to the piece that didn’t fit the puzzle—Sara and the boy.

      Why were they here—why now... Why at all?

       Chapter Seven

      Sara shifted her sleeping son in her aching arms. She pushed back the soft dark curls that framed his face and repositioned him so that his weight lay across her, his head in the crook of her left arm. After Talib had given him back to her, in those moments of relief tinged with panic and despair, she’d seen what the future would be and she’d clung to her son. She would refuse to relinquish holding Everett to anyone, ever again. In the short time since Talib had found her, in all the chaos that had followed, he’d calmly made arrangements for an alternate place for her to stay and she hadn’t been allowed to lift a finger. The arrangements had been made swiftly, silently and efficiently. She wasn’t used to that. It was usually up to her, as a single parent, to do it all. Not now. The only thing she’d done was carry her son and she knew that she only had to ask and someone would do that, too. She wasn’t ready to relinquish Everett after everything that had happened. She knew that after all the craziness of the explosion and evacuation, holding Everett was more for her than him. He was over it and she knew that as soon as he awoke, he would rather be on the ground, exploring on his own terms.

      From the moment the car pulled up to the new hotel, the Sahara Sunset, again, everything was done for her. Assad opened the door. The valet offered to take her bags. She refused. She didn’t have much. Her suitcase had been left behind at the Desert Sands Hotel, part of the evidence in the investigation.

      Everett sniffed as if he was waking up and then settled against her shoulder with that familiar yet strange little sound. It almost sounded like an old man sighing. Sometimes her son seemed older than his years, and she wondered what he would be like as he grew up.

      That thought made her more determined and her fright faded into the background as she entered the hotel lobby. Nothing could stop her. She’d come all this way. Now, the only challenge she had yet to face was herself. But she knew that fear could stop her despite the distance she traveled. One sign that Everett was safe without Talib’s protection and she’d turn and run back the way she’d come. But that was asking for a miracle, and for the last seven months there had been none offered through the long days, transient jobs and three states. Every one of those days had been a nightmare, highlighted by fear that any minute she’d be discovered. Now, she had little money and no place to live. More importantly, no place to hide—no options.

      She shifted her purse.

      “Can I take that, ma’am?” a man with threads of silver in his short, dark hair asked. He was wearing a djellaba with a gold belt around his waist. The traditional Moroccan garment had the insignia of the hotel on his shoulder. It seemed to be the uniform of many of the men employed by this hotel.

      “No, I... Thank you. I have it,” she replied. Even though that was a lie. She barely had it, one bag was slipping but she refused to relinquish any of her belongings. There wasn’t much. Only her purse, the diaper bag and the bag with the essentials to get home or, alternatively, everything they would need if they had to run. It was an outrageous thought, but maybe not so much considering everything that had happened today.