Her Sheikh Protector. Linda Conrad

it’s over now, isn’t it?” she demanded. “I mean, the Taj Zabbar finally got their territory back a couple of years ago. All the problems between your clans were long ago.”

      “Not exactly.”

      She thought about what he’d said at the start of his story…. Our first encounter with the Taj Zabbar—

      “Something else has happened since? What?”

      Darin raised his eyebrows. “Sorry. It’s my turn to ask the questions.”

      “But …”

      “Uh-uh.” His face lit up like he’d been given a special present. “A promise is a promise.”

      He was right about that. She believed in honoring a promise, too.

      But she didn’t have to like it. “Fine,” she grumbled. “What do want to know?”

      Taking his time, Darin raised his glass and swallowed the last of his wine. “First, I would like an explanation of why you threw that accusation around last night about me causing the explosion?”

      Struck, as if by his hand across her face, Rylie drew in a breath. “I didn’t mean you exactly. I was talking about …”

      “My family?” he suggested. “But even that doesn’t make any sense. My uncle was killed in the explosion the same as your father. Thinking logically, why would the Kadirs kill a member of their family and cost their own company untold amounts of trouble and aggravation?”

      “I …” It did sound ridiculous now hearing him say it. How would she explain herself?

      The ugly truth was all she had to offer, but she vowed to take the punishing embarrassment that came with it like her father’s daughter should. “I wasn’t thinking clearly, I guess. Maybe I thought the explosion was some sort of suicide bombing.”

      “Terrorism? You thought we.” He stopped talking and the strangest look crossed his face.

      His shoulders raised and straightened as he glared at her. “Certainly an educated person wouldn’t let prejudice cloud their mind in such dark ways. You seem too sophisticated for racial profiling.”

      “I am.” She heard the desperation in her voice and wondered why this man’s opinion of her had suddenly become so important. “I mean, I don’t really believe any of that stuff. But my judgment has been impaired since the explosion—since the death of my father. I … I haven’t been completely well. Obviously.”

      It took him a second, but the hard expression in his eyes finally softened to sympathy as he said, “Which brings me to my next question. Why are you here? You should be home with your family and running what’s left of your company.”

      She tightened her lips and glared at him, not ready to discuss this yet.

      “I learned this morning that you have nearly bankrupted yourself and the entire Hunt firm,” he continued. “All in an effort to lessen the suffering for victims of the explosion—every one of them, and not only Hunt employees. That may be admirable, but what good are you doing them or yourself by coming here?”

      The question made her stop and think. Why was she here? What had she hoped to accomplish?

      “Justice.” Once she’d spoken the word aloud, it made sense. “I want to give the dead and injured justice. I am positive that explosion wasn’t caused by any accident. It was deliberate. And I intend to find out who caused it and why.”

      Still stunned by a couple of things Rylie had said, Darin ignored the creepy sensation of being watched as he paid their bill and ushered her outside. He’d checked out every person remaining in the club before they left, but he couldn’t pinpoint anyone who appeared to be spying on them.

      He wasn’t the kind of person who ordinarily gave himself over to fantasy. But he thought perhaps it was the strong sense of responsibility toward Rylie that he’d been experiencing that was making him paranoid on her behalf.

      Her mention of justice had stopped him. He understood her sentiments and her loyalty to her father. Justice went along with honor and family loyalty. But on the other hand, for centuries the Taj Zabbar had used their quest for justice as an excuse for threats and dishonest behavior toward his family.

      Justice was not a concept he took lightly. Over the last hour, he’d begun to reconsider some of the steps that the Kadirs had already taken against the Taj Zabbar—without any proof. Where was the justice in building a defensive line and spying operations without knowing for sure that the Taj Zabbar were already at war?

      One thing would definitely be different for him after tonight. Darin felt confident Rylie was not involved with the Taj Zabbar in any way. She was merely a grieving victim, trying to make sense out of the nonsensical.

      Death had a way of turning normally smart people into hysterical idiots. He knew that because he’d been there himself at least once. When his mother died, Darin had been ready to blame anyone and everyone—except the cancer that killed her.

      Those thoughts made him wonder if the death of one of their own hadn’t also sent the Kadir elders into that same spiral of frantic paranoia. Both he and Rylie might be better off to quit their respective witch hunts and go back to work.

      Gently laying a hand at her waist to help guide her through the doorway and outside to the walkway, Darin thought back on the other stunning thing she’d said tonight. Or perhaps it wasn’t what she’d said but the way she’d said it.

      She had been wrapped up in the tale of his family when she’d looked up at him and demanded he finish the story. He’d gotten a good look at her eyes. Those eyes with their oceans of emotions had totally lost their anger. Instead, he spotted something else in them that he hadn’t expected.

      Destiny. Preordained and undeniable. One day soon, they were fated to be together. Whether for one night, one week or forever, he could not say. But he was as sure of her as he was of the rising sun in the morning.

      “I think I can manage to make it back on my own,” she said as her voice broke through his thoughts. “Thank you for the dinner and the history lesson.”

      Not a chance. He wasn’t letting her go anywhere alone.

      Before he could tell her that, a man appeared at the curb directly in front of her. A Middle Eastern man in the clan keffiyeh of the Taj Zabbar held his palms out as if pleading with her to understand. Rylie came to an abrupt halt and Darin could sense her tension in the way she held her body.

      His own body was as tight as the skin on a conga drum. Sweat trickled at his temple. He prepared himself for defense, trying desperately to remember everything he had learned.

      “Excuse me,” the man muttered in hesitant English. “Miss Hunt, my employer wishes to speak with you. You will come now?”

      “How do you know my name?”

      The man gave a tentative glance over her shoulder toward Darin. “You will come now, please. My employer insists.” He reached out and took her by the arm.

      And for Darin, everything changed.