Son Of The Sheikh. Ryshia Kennie

both the chaos and his thoughts. It brought his attention, to the lobby.

      “Everett!”

      The voice sounded familiar, even muted by the chaos of sounds that swirled around him. He didn’t have time to analyze it. Instead, he moved deeper into the lobby, turning left and following the path of the maid he’d seen head in that direction. He turned a corner in the corridor and that’s when he saw her. She was holding a small boy by the wrist, causing him to stand on tiptoes. The child’s cheeks were wet from crying and he had his free thumb in his mouth. She was wearing a cream-colored head scarf and the beige uniform he’d caught a glimpse of earlier. Nothing about her seemed out of the ordinary. It appeared only that she was leading a child to safety.

      But his gut told him that something was very wrong. “What are you doing with him?” he asked in Arabic. He doubted that the child was hers. No worker would have brought their child to work.

      His theory was justified by the look of panic in her eyes and the way she held the boy by the wrist rather than by his hand. Clearly, she was unfamiliar with children that young, the panic obvious in her entire demeanor. He supposed his size and the fact that he was carrying an unconcealed firearm made him look official. Police, she might be thinking, although it wasn’t true.

      “Where did you get him?” he asked without explaining who he was. He acted on his first hunch. “He’s not yours.” Aggression could work to his advantage in this instance.

      Her mouth tightened and her eyes darted, as if she was seeking an escape.

      He strode forward and kneeled down in front of the child, who now had half of his free fist stuck in his mouth. His face was smeared with what looked like dirt and streaked with tears. His dark hair curled wildly in every direction, but his shimmering light brown eyes looked at Talib with more curiosity than fright.

      Talib stood up. He wasn’t sure what was happening here, but he intended to get to the bottom of it.

      “A man said his wife had taken him. He paid me to deliver him to the back exit.” She clasped her hands and backed up. “I...” She stumbled, speaking in Arabic. “It was easy to take him. There was so much running, screaming.”

      “You took him in the confusion?” he asked.

      She nodded. “I don’t understand much English and that’s what he—” she pointed at the child “—speaks. Although he can’t speak much, he keeps saying Mama.” She looked genuinely frightened and possibly even sorry. “I...something was wrong. I was going back to the desk to tell Mohammed,” she said.

      “Who’s Mohammed?” Talib asked and made no effort to filter the edge from his voice.

      “My supervisor,” she said anxiously.

      “How much money were you offered?”

      “None. I wouldn’t—”

      “If you want to keep your job...” He let the threat dangle. He was beginning to lose patience with the whole situation. “Look, I assume you need the money but this kid isn’t the way you’re going to get it.”

      “He said he was his father. I needed the money. But I was going to take him back.” She shook her head and looked down at the boy.

      “You were doing the right thing,” Talib said, strangely believing her. Poverty could cause good people to do desperate things. And in Morocco, the father’s rights could still often trump those of the mother. It was possible that she truly thought she was bringing the boy to his father. Possible, but unlikely. He squatted down and picked up the child.

      “I’ll take it from here,” he said with the voice of authority that was never questioned. “I’m sure his mother is beside herself with worry.” The woman’s story had rung true and odds were that she was struggling to feed a family, possibly extended family, on a maid’s wages. Still, she had taken this child, and in ordinary circumstances he would have detained her. He shifted the toddler on one arm just as the panic in her eyes flared and she bolted. He had no choice but to let her go.

      He looked down at the child in his arms and was met by curious eyes that looked at him in an oddly familiar way. “You’ve had quite the day, little man,” he said. The toddler smiled and pushed a finger against his chin.

      But as he reentered the lobby, a scream rose above the alarms and the sirens of the emergency vehicles that had just arrived.

      A woman charged through the throng of people, heading straight toward him.

      “Everett!” she screamed.

      She was a petite whirlwind. She was moving so fast, so ferociously, that there was little doubt that she was emotionally invested, that the child was hers. There was also no doubt that he knew her.

      He allowed the child to be plucked from his arms. She held the boy so tightly that he began to cry, but it was the panicked look in her gray eyes and a vision from long ago that registered with Talib. He shoved the disconcerting memory away. What mattered most was getting the two of them out of here. Smoke still filled the area. Firefighters were just entering the lobby and were already directing the remaining guests outside.

      “Let’s go,” he ordered. It didn’t matter why she was here or even who she’d been to him. He needed to get her and the boy he assumed was her son to safety.

      “What were you doing with him?” she demanded. Her eyes pinned his like a thick gray mist and were the first warning that she was dangerously angry.

      It was similar to the last time he’d seen those eyes.

      Except, the last time she had only recently left the bed that was still warm from their lovemaking. He remembered that she’d given him a dreamy look and told him that she loved him. He didn’t like to think about that moment, for he wasn’t proud of how he’d reacted.

      It hadn’t gone well after that, after what he had said.

      She’d been proud and angry and told him what she’d thought of him, which hadn’t been at all flattering. He’d said nothing, for there’d been nothing to say. Every word she’d spoken had been the truth. After that, he’d driven her home in a car that was thick with silence. He was sorry, but at the time what he had told her had been the truth. It was what he’d told every woman who’d fancied him. He wasn’t ready to settle down, be serious, or declare undying love for anyone. He doubted that he ever would. Unfortunately, he’d told her that. It was then that she had tried to kill him with a look deadlier than he’d ever seen. Then, she’d managed to chip the custom paint job on that year’s vehicle when she’d kicked the door with one tiny, stiletto-clad foot. To her credit, he didn’t think it was deliberate. But he had his doubts. Especially because she’d done all that while telling him in a deadly calm voice that he could go to a place where it was just a bit hotter than the Sahara in midsummer.

      It hadn’t been his best breakup.

       Chapter Three

      “Sara?”

      The voice was filled with that deep, commanding ring that she had never forgotten. It peeled back the layers of panic, penetrated the emotional chaos of losing Everett and her maternal fussing that she couldn’t stop. For the first time that tone, that sense of self and of control, didn’t grate, but instead was a life raft in a sea of insanity. The tone cut through everything and his presence broke easily through the crowd. She knew his voice like she knew her own heartbeat, would always know it, could never forget it.

      He was back and he’d brought her son, when she had thought that her baby was lost. There was only one thing important in this moment—getting Everett out of the hotel.

      “Are you all right, baby?”

      She ran her hands over her child as if she expected to find a fatal wound, a broken bone or some injury equally as threatening. There was nothing. Only a nose that was running and eyes that were red