survivors’ pension had only stretched so far. Lina had worked two minimum-wage jobs, coming home worn-out, but always finding time for Miah—helping her with homework, listening eagerly to her talk about her day, keeping their connection strong and intact—before falling exhausted into bed.
So tight was their bond, Miah had never had an inkling she was adopted. It had come as quite a shock, one she still battled to believe, even with daily, hourly proof staring her in the face.
Like the chauffeured limousine awaiting them at the curb, provided by her birth father—her real-life fairy godfather—Sheik Khalaf Al-Sayed, a multimillionaire oil mogul. It amazed Miah how quickly a person could come to accept luxuries as the norm.
The chauffeur helped Lina into the back seat, then turned to Miah. “Ms. Mohairbi, I found this on the floorboard. I thought perhaps it had fallen out of your pocketbook.”
Miah frowned, accepting the envelope. The moment she recognized the block lettering, she froze. This hadn’t come from her purse. Someone had placed it in the car. When? How? “Did you leave the limousine unattended at any time, Mehemet?”
His black eyes became evasive. “Only one moment…to answer nature. But I lock first.”
“Okay.” It was a silly thing to lie about, but she knew he couldn’t have locked the car. Otherwise, the note would not have been in it. And it was unlikely he’d seen whomever had put the envelope inside it. She quickly read the enclosed note, feeling the heat drain from her cheeks.
“Avoid stress,” the doctor had said. But this…this… Miah squished the blackmail note in her fist and shoved it into her pocket. This would bring her mother’s ailing heart to a dead stop.
Miah squelched the urge to curse and got into the car, letting the soft leather embrace her. She’d thought the first payment to the vile extortionist would be the end of it. But there had been a second demand. And now another. God, how naive she’d been. He wanted ten thousand more or he’d ruin her wedding. Destroy her mother. Start a scandal that could strip her of her future. She stared out the window as the limo merged with traffic. She hated the shivering in her stomach that felt as if she’d swallowed a full glass of ice shavings.
Fear.
Truth didn’t scare Miah. Lies did.
Perhaps that was because she’d discovered last January that her whole life had been a lie. Had Grant Mohairbi’s life also been a lie? Had the father she’d grown up loving, adoring, honoring been who her mother and she had thought he was? Had he been a freedom fighter? A hero? Or had he been a mercenary? An assassin?
“Darling, is something wrong?” Lina touched her clasped hands. “You’re very pale. For a moment there, you looked absolutely…terrified.”
“Terrified? Don’t be silly. No, no,” she managed to say in a tone that sounded normal. “I was thinking about the wedding. Nothing for you to fret about, honest.”
But her mom’s brow knit, a sign she wasn’t going to let this go so easily. “Are you having second thoughts about marrying someone you’ve been betrothed to since you were a baby?”
She doubted anyone would blame her if she were having second thoughts, but she couldn’t afford them. She had agreed to the marriage without coercion from anyone, agreed to it for all that it would give her—including her own money, an enormous inheritance that would allow her to pay off the extortionist once and for all. She said, “No second thoughts.”
None she would admit to out loud, anyway. Not to her mother. Not to herself. Outside, stifling damp heat prevailed; inside, air-conditioning froze the sweat on Miah’s brow.
“You’re going to be a beautiful bride, darling.” Lina touched her hand as the car inched along in heavy morning traffic. “I’m so excited about tomorrow.”
Miah’s internal alarm went off, shredding all thoughts of the blackmailer’s note. “Well, you don’t want to get too excited, Mom. Perhaps you should take a nap this afternoon.”
“That sounds like a great idea, but not if you’re going to pace the floors, bored while I rest.”
“I’m not going to pace. Fact is, there are a few minor details, a couple of items for my trousseau I want to pick up. So, I’ll be plenty busy.”
The limousine pulled up to their building farther along Lake Shore Drive. They occupied a penthouse with a magnificent view of Lake Michigan. It was a far cry from the tenement apartment they’d called home for most of her life.
Miah walked Lina through the lobby to their private elevator. “I’m just going to change into something a little more comfortable.”
“MORE COMFORTABLE” was impossible for Miah to achieve. The ice chips in her stomach still had her shivery half an hour later. She had to get the money and drop it off before one today, and it was nearly that now. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass doors as she exited the apartment complex. Her long, lean legs flashed from beneath the scrap of hot pink skirt that hugged her slim hips, while her slender upper body sported a neon green, sheer top over a creamy camisole. Her thick, blunt-cut raven hair swung across her mid-back and shoulders with every step, and framed her face…which looked shades too pale at the moment.
Her outfit drew a look of disapproval from the chauffeur as she met him at the curb. She climbed into the back seat of the limo and waited until he closed the door, then tugged on the hem of her short skirt. Her mother had tried to steer her toward the conservative styles she favored, but Miah needed variety. Color. Flash.
Making her clothing allowance stretch had meant shopping in consignment stores and thrift shops. Even though she could now afford to buy her favorite designers new, or spend thousands on a single blouse, she still shopped in the same stores she’d always frequented.
She liked her style. But no one else seemed to. Not her mother, not her newly discovered father, and especially not her fiancé. Too bad, she had decided. She was who she was. Nothing could change that. And today, she needed the “old” Miah more than ever to get through the next hour.
The chauffeur intruded on her thoughts. “Where would you like to go, Ms. Mohairbi?”
Oh God, she’d been daydreaming, wasting time she didn’t have. Her heart moved with uncomfortable quickness. “Chicago First Federal, Mehemet.”
Miah tried relaxing, but the traffic moved with aching slowness while time seemed to spin off the dial of her wristwatch. Would the blackmailer keep his threat if she was late? Would he send his vile story to the editor of The Clarion, a local tabloid that thrived on exposés and half truths? Her father, the sheik, had warned her that a scandal in the States could affect her acceptance by the people of Nurul. She could not afford to let this story get out. Not even if it were a lie. She tapped her foot, feeling ill, helpless, muttering, “Hurry, hurry, hurry.”
After what seemed an hour, Mehemet pulled into the bank’s parking area. Miah was out of the limo and to the front doors before he could unstrap his seat belt. When she returned a few minutes later, he was standing beside the open back door of the stretch car with his dark face clenched, but he said nothing, only nodded.
Miah swept past him. She clutched her purse—with the ten one-thousand-dollar bills secured in a plain white envelope within—to her thudding heart. Mehemet had been hired by her father and likely ordered to keep watch over her. She was not making his work easy, and a flash of concern that the chauffeur might report her odd behavior to the sheik scraped her aching nerves raw. She didn’t want to have to explain herself. Her actions.
She edged onto the seat, gripping her purse in both hands as if someone might reach into the locked car and snatch it from her. “The Brinkmire Cavalli Gallery, Mehemet.”
As the words slipped from her, Miah realized she’d repeated this trip with Mehemet two other times in the past four weeks, first to the bank, then to the Brinkmire Cavalli Gallery. Three times in the past four weeks. She groaned inwardly. The blackmailer was draining her financially