Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) (45 page)

Jasim is the first to break the silence. He leans forwards.

“Father, I would like to go to Paris.”

The emir is deep in contemplation. He’s been listening intently to the discussion going on around him, and I wait with baited breath for his response. It’s this powerful man who needs to be convinced. As monarch he won’t be rushed, and to my impatient mind it seems for ever before he speaks. When he does, his voice is grave and profound.

“Sheikha Cara. We are men of the desert, with the blood of our ancestors running through us. Life can be harsh, retribution swift. Even in the most civilised of us, the need to fight to defend our honour sometimes slips its leash. The strength that’s required to be a leader sometimes has the propensity to turn upon us, to fight when we should talk, to strike when we should hold back. What is your English saying? ‘There, but for the grace of God, go I?’ I believed my son capable in the same way I believe that any of us could break, were the provocation severe enough. I’m not proud of that; it is simply the case.

“Could I, as you are suggesting, have done my son a severe injustice? I must at least consider the possibility. You have presented an alternative scenario that we need to take into account. There is the chance that, with the threat of the court case, prison, adverse publicity and so on,we moved too quickly to contain the damage to our country, and questioned the evidence in front of us too little. If Nijad had protested his innocence, we would doubtless have made further investigation. But he, too, accepted the scenario as it had been presented to him. Jasim, by all means, go to Paris. Seek out this woman and get the truth.” Then the hope that had momentarily lightened his face fades again. “But Cara, you must accept the outcome. All Jasim may do is prove Nijad’s guilt.”

Jasim wastes no time, swiftly rising to his feet. “Your Highness.” He bows to his father and nods to myself and Kadar. “I will start immediately. I will contact Grade A Security and ask for their help. I’d like Jon Tharpe on board, given that he examined the original scene. I will find this Chantelle and get the truth from her.” The expression on his face was fierce and ruthless and I shiver, suddenly glad I am not the woman he is going to see.

Cara

Life can seem to go slowly, or race past. It’s been two days now that I’ve been waiting to hear from Jasim. Logically, I know it will probably take a while to locate the woman and question her, and even longer to find the man involved, but my impatience to uncover the truth makes me restless and I can’t settle. As the antique clock in my suite chimes midnight, I know I need to try to get some sleep, but it’s so difficult to switch off my thoughts. After the meeting in the emir’s office I felt some optimism, but now I worry Jasim might be on a fool’s errand. I could so very well be wrong.
But at least this time we’ll know the truth!

Gloomily, I undress and get ready to go to bed, consoling myself yet again, as I pull my long hair back into a braid, that it is still early days and tomorrow is, as they say, another day. Perhaps I’ll sleep tonight, after all the nights I’ve spent just tossing and turning. Sliding under the covers, I rest my tired head on the pillow – only to be disturbed almost immediately by a loud knocking on the outer door of my suite. I switch on the bedside light and call out permission to enter. A tall figure appears in the doorway to my bedroom. It’s Jasim! I start to push back the covers.

“No, Sheikha, sister,” he says, laughing. “Stay where you are. My brother would probably kill me just for being in your bedroom, but if you leap out of bed and I see you in your nightgown, he’d torture me first.”

He’s light-hearted? Joking?

“Jasim, what have you found?” I demand. I stay put as he instructs, but fidget with impatience.

He comes over to the bed and perches on the edge, reaching over to take my hand in his, and gives it a squeeze. “Short answer? You were right.”

Gasping, I don’t dare let myself believe it. Forgetting what he said I sit up, luckily still sufficiently covered by my silk nightgown.

“Are you saying he’s innocent?” I can barely get the words out I’m so excited.

“Yes. Wait, Cara…” Again I start getting out of bed, but he pushes me back. “There is nothing you can do now. I’ve already told the emir and Kadar. Kadar is flying to Z̧almā first thing in the morning to give the details to Nijad first-hand. This information is too important for a phone call. It will be a lot for him to take in. He didn’t even know I was going to Paris as we didn’t want to get his hopes up. Kadar is going to bring him back with him.” He laughs, “And he won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“So I’ll see him?”

He nods. “Hopefully tomorrow. He’s convalescing still, of course, so it depends if any special arrangements need to be made for him travel. And it’s going to be a lot for him to process. He’s got to rewrite three years of his life.”

Jasim grows serious with concern for his brother. I lie back, closing my eyes, thinking this is the best news I’ve received in my life. I want to know more details. “Jasim, what happened? Tell me everything, please.”

“Are you not tired, Cara? In need of rest? You should think of the baby.”

“How the hell do you expect me to be able to sleep tonight?”

He brushes his hair back off his forehead. His usually tidy beard hasn’t been trimmed and I realise he probably hasn’t rested himself in his rush to bring the truth back to the palace. Suddenly I feel shame for my impatience hits me.

“I’m sorry, Jasim. You need your sleep too.”

Laughing softly, he tells me, “I’d rather stay if I may. I’m too wired about everything to rest. Lie back and I’ll tell you what happened. I could do with a drink. You?”

There’s a minibar in the room that’s kept stocked. I don’t drink alcohol now, of course, but I could use a fruit juice. He goes over and brings back a soft drink for me, and is carrying two of the small whisky bottles, the sort you get on an aeroplane, for himself. He opens one, pours it into a glass and takes a long drink.

“Better?” I ask him.

“Better,” he confirms with a smile. “I managed to get hold of Jon Tharpe. You met him in the desert city; he helped me install, er, certain equipment in the palace.” He chuckles at my embarrassed grin, as I nod to confirm that I remember him. “He had his doubts that Nijad was innocent; having been there at the time and everything had pointed to his guilt. But he agreed if there was any way to clear him, he wanted to help. He got his colleagues in Grade A Security involved, and contacted a couple of their operatives already stationed in Paris. With men on the ground and the company using its analysts in London we found the woman, Chantelle, pretty quickly. To say she was down on her luck is an understatement – and the truth!” He allows himself a small grimace before continuing.

“It was exactly as you suggested. To get her drugs from her dealer she gave him everything he wanted, including her body and the key to our apartment. I suspect a robbery was planned as well. Dealer man didn’t take kindly to being shoved out of the front door and returned to confront Nijad but, coward that he is, he was reluctant to take him on in a fair fight. So once he entered, he took advantage of Nijad’s distraction with Chantelle and put him out of commission immediately by hitting him with the lamp. My brother was lucky he wasn’t killed. The plan was hatched quickly, while Nijad was unconscious. Nijad’s knuckles were bleeding. His blood was already on her face and, conveniently, on some of her clothes. The Kassis family, they were certain, would pay anything to keep one of their own out of gaol. Chantelle agreed to let it look like it had been Nijad who attacked her, and that’s the story she gave to the police, and to Jon.” Jasim pauses and looks grave. “She admitted she got more than she bargained for and ended up afraid for her life. After the vicious beating, her dealer friend smeared her blood on Nijad and left the apartment. At that point she was more afraid of Henri returning to finish the job if she changed her story, which is how she was able to make her version so credible. When she was released from the hospital the dealer, Henri, made contact with her again, virtually taking her prisoner, and laid claim to her compensation money as payment for the drugs she continued to consume. I reckon the more drugs she took, the less attractive she became. To cut a long story short, before the year was up Chantelle was out on the streets, penniless and selling her body to keep alive. She’s in a pretty poor state now, a shadow of her former self.”

“She’ll tell the police?”

“No, she won’t change her statement. Not unless we pay her off again.”

“Are you going to?”

Leaning his head back as if to remove a kink, he then rolls his neck from side to side. I feel compassion for him; he must have been on the go most of the last two days.

“I’ve discussed it with the emir. As it stands, Nijad lost his reputation but has no criminal record. The truth as she’s now told it will be made known throughout Amahad, and that’s the only thing of real concern to us. And, more importantly, Nijad has been given back his life, his integrity. His international reputation isn’t as important and, in truth, his part in the affair was forgotten as soon as another salacious story hit the press. We’ll give her no money; we won’t allow her to blackmail us, but we will pay for her to go to rehab. It’s up to her what she does with her life after that.”

“What about the man? Did she tell you anything about him?”

“Only that his name is Henri Bellerose. Jon’s staying on to try to track him down. He’s not going to get away with it.” Jasim covers his mouth in an attempt to suppress a loud yawn but is not particularly successful.

“You should get some rest.”

“Soon.”

He yawns again; he can hardly keep his eyes open. He looks fit to drop. I slide over in the bed and gently pull his hand towards me. Almost asleep where he sits he flops down, and then lies, fully clothed, on top of the covers on one side of my large bed. Within minutes, I hear him gently snoring. I grin to myself, thinking it’s probably for the best Nijad never gets to know I slept with his brother.

****

Why I’m running full pelt through the palace, I don’t know. My feet are pounding the floor purely on instinct; I’ve no idea where I’m going, no destination in mind. I just need to run. Guards and servants try to stop me, but I rush past, not caring they must think I’m a mad woman. One even steps out drawing his gun, checking behind me, thinking I must have someone pursuing me.

One minute I’d been sitting in the throne room, discussing the events in Paris calmly; accepting the thanks which the emir and his sons seemed to think my due for instigating the investigation and awaiting Nijad’s arrival from the desert. Then I’d heard the helicopter coming in to land, and that was it. Dizziness came over me. I thought I was going to pass out, and then the only thing I knew was I had to get out of there. It seemed there was no air in the room and I felt like I was going to suffocate. As each breath inhaled became more and more of a struggle, I knew I had to leave. Excusing myself on the pretext of needing a bathroom, I managed to make a reasonably graceful exit, leaving them expecting my prompt return. But instead, once out of the royal apartments, I started to run.

I don’t think my heart can take it if Nijad rejects me in front of his father and brothers. For him, it is to be a welcome celebration, and I expect they all have some grovelling to do too, they too, having believed the worst. But I’m so terrified of seeing him again there’s no way I can greet him in a formal session. All my hopes, dreams, even my life, rest in his hands, and with just a few words he can destroy me. Why would he want me now? The contract was drawn up based on a false premise. There never was a savage sheikh.

Through corridors and corridors I run, passing into the older, unpopulated parts of the palace. I’ve no idea where I am running to, but as large golden doors appear in front of me I just know I’ve reached my destination. I don’t even pause before I push open the heavy doors and step inside, sinking to the ground shaking and panting, out of breath and out of hope, but feeling safe. No one will think of coming to look for me here.

It isn’t that I don’t want to see Nijad; I do, as much as I want my next breath. But it hit me, there in the throne room, waiting for Nijad to arrive, that I might be the last person he’d want to see. He no longer has a reputation for violence, no longer has reason to be punished, and no longer has reason to be married to me. He can have any woman in the world. So why, for God’s sake, would he want me, a boring accountant with a talent for hacking and poor judgement about who to trust?

I’ve done the right thing. I’ve given Nijad the space to be welcomed back into his family on his own, without the encumbrance of a wife he never wanted or needed. At least I’ve spared him the embarrassment of that. He’s no longer the black sheep; his name and reputation are now untarnished. He’s facing a fresh start.

Hey, baby
. I run my hand over my stomach, which only just shows the early signs of a baby bump.
It’s just you and me now. We’ll be fine; we’ll have each other
. A sob escapes me at the thought of a dark-haired boy or girl so resembling their father. But I’ll have something of him with me always. Though it’s not nearly enough; in a perfect world, I’d want it all. But wants are not the same as haves.

I glance at the surroundings which have become so familiar to me, the place I’d wanted so desperately to escape from, but the place where now, strangely, I feel safe. They’ll be missing me, might send people to search for me, but probably won’t come here. And the emir and his sons will have so much to discuss they really won’t give very much thought to my absence. They can get on and discuss Nijad’s future without the awkwardness of an unwanted wife in the room. No, they’ll be pleased I’m not there.