Sheikh Defence. Ryshia Kennie

Faisal said, remembering all Dan had done. The Al-Nassars were an old and revered family in Morocco and Nassar Security was an established business in Marrakech. His family had been anxious to expand and it was partially because of Dan, who had lived in Wyoming at the time, that they had chosen that state. The rest, he knew, had been his own doing. He’d pushed the envelope with his siblings. He loved Wyoming and the wide open spaces. It was where he’d finished his degree. Fresh out of university, he’d been eager to be part of the new venture, especially if he could convince his siblings to choose Wyoming...and he had. He’d loved the new branch from the beginning, particularly because of the challenge. He’d known that in Wyoming his name and status as Sheik Faisal Al-Nassar would not open doors like it did at home. The idea had challenged and excited him. And despite the obstacles, his brothers had agreed—they’d all welcomed the challenge. And so Nassar Security had expanded. Dan had been a mentor to him in the early years.

      During that first year of getting a footing in a new country, Dan had been the father that Faisal had lost too young. He shook his head as if that would dislodge memories. He’d never forget how special Dan Adams was to their family. Nor, despite losing touch with her, did he forget how special his daughter had once been to him. In fact, he was reeling more from knowing that Ava too was now considered lost at sea. His mind kept going back to the dark-haired beauty. He’d spent his last year of university with her. He remembered the jokes, the teasing and the parties, and he remembered something else—how she had made him feel.

      Three hours later, from one of the Nassar Gulfstream jets, Faisal looked out the window. It was dark and cloudy in the minutes before the sun began to rise. His mind went beyond what he could see to the Atlantic where two people he cared for were now missing.

      According to the United States Coast Guard, there had been only one call for help. It was thought to have come from the Adamses’ yacht as that was the only vessel reported missing. They had heard a name but the call had disconnected. There hadn’t been enough to give them a location, nothing. All they had was the name Ava spoken in a male voice.

      He pushed back a strand of hair that seemed to have a mind of its own. He should get it cut but there never seemed to be enough time. He’d tried it short but that hadn’t lasted. Ava had once told him that she loved his hair just over the tips of his earlobes and longer if he’d consider it. The latter wasn’t a consideration but the former had stuck in his mind. He’d met her during his senior year in university and they’d become friends. They’d both grown up since then and gone their own ways. That part of his life was long over. At least that’s what he told himself. Except today. He was again faced with the truth. He’d never forgotten her.

      “We’ll find them,” he said in an undertone as if saying the words made them somehow more real. Maybe the words made his doubts of success smaller. While the Bahamas were close to the continental United States there was still a lot of ocean to cover. Without coordinates of any kind, they had only guesswork. Despite that and maybe because of it, he was not going to sit around waiting. Dan had planned to see him in Fort Lauderdale—it was up to him to make sure that meeting happened.

      His thoughts went back to the last phone call.

      Based on what they knew, the Adamses could be anywhere. They were no longer close to Paradise Island’s shoreline. A search by the Bahamas Air Sea Rescue Association had already exhausted that option. Wherever they were, whatever had happened, the answers were on that yacht.

      * * *

      AVA ADAMS OPENED her eyes. Her head ached and something deep inside her hurt. That hurt was overshadowing the thumping that seemed to want to break her skull. Yet it wasn’t pain. Not a physical pain but something more emotional. Fear. Anger. She didn’t know what. Instead, she shivered. She was alone and she wasn’t on the yacht. Where was she?

      The yacht was gone. She had no idea what had happened to either it or her father. It had disappeared while she’d slipped out of consciousness. She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious. Nothing held any relevance, not time nor space—nor anything that had happened. All of it was a frightening blur.

      The breeze ran light, cool fingers across her damp skin and she shivered. She didn’t know how long she’d been unconscious, all she knew was that she was alone and there was no land in sight. Her head pounded and her vision was blurred. She couldn’t see clearly no matter how hard she tried. She was fighting to remain conscious so that she could make that promised call to get help. Her father was counting on her.

      The thought made her prop herself up despite her shaking limbs. She tried not to look at the dark water. There was only a thin layer of rubber and canvas between her and it. She couldn’t think of it any more than she could contemplate the fate of her father. All she knew was that the yacht was gone and with it her father. She didn’t know when it had disappeared or if her father was on board or if he was even alive. She struggled to sit up and the world spun. She took a deep breath and passed out.

      The next time she came to, she could see that the sun was higher in the sky. It was behind her and she guessed that she might be heading west. She had no idea what that might mean about where she would end up. Or if she would end up anywhere except maybe at the bottom of the ocean.

      Fear threatened to overwhelm her even as her gut knotted along with her fists. Her head spun and she had to fight not to black out again. She needed to think and yet she was fighting not to lose consciousness again. She needed to get help not just for her but for her father. He needed her. He was alone.

      That thought collided with another. Was her father alive? She’d heard the gunshot as the life raft had slipped away from the yacht, carried by the ocean current. There had been silence after that as she’d drifted farther away.

      The gunshot had echoed long after the actual event. The haunting reminder was like an omen. She could die out here and her father could already be dead. Those scenarios were ones she couldn’t, wouldn’t consider. Not anymore. She refused to think of him as anything but alive—just as she was determined to reach land, one way or another.

      She took a deep breath and again she fought to sit up. The life raft rocked, threatening what stability it had as water sloshed in the bottom. She wasn’t sure how it had taken on water unless it had been in those first moments as it had gone from the yacht to sea. The sea had been rough. It hadn’t calmed much since then. It was cloudy and the breeze was picking up, only a bit of sun peeked through the otherwise dreary sky.

      She had nothing. She looked down. She was virtually naked. The skimpy sleeping outfit had been a bad choice. Fortunately, her father had thrown his jacket over her. Who would have known that a trip that had begun as a lark would end like this?

      It wouldn’t end.

      Determination shot through her chilled body. She had too much to do with her life. She had a new career that had yet to begin. Again she repeated that promise to herself and to her father. They would live. He would live. They had to.

      Something cold pressed against her hip. She slipped her hand under the waistband of her panties and pulled out her father’s phone. She’d forgotten it was there.

      Her heart stopped. She remembered that he’d handed it to her. It was a miracle that it had not dropped to the bottom of the dinghy, into the water that was gathering there.

      She held it, the memory of her father handing it to her clear in her mind.

      “Call Faisal.”

      She knew, as did her father, that if anyone could help them, it was Faisal. He headed the powerhouse investigative company run by his family, Nassar Security. At least he was in charge of their Wyoming branch.

      The phone slipped in her damp hands.

      * * *

      “SHEIK FAISAL,” SHE MURMURED. It was an odd thing to say, to even think. But in the chaos and panic of what had happened, she vaguely remembered what now seemed like so long ago. It had been her senior year of college when she’d first met Faisal. He’d transferred in for that last year. He’d been two years older but she’d been two years ahead of her grade.