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,