Son Of The Sheikh. Ryshia KennieЧитать онлайн книгу.
with ones that might somehow affect this case. For now, he’d follow one of Nassar’s cardinal rules—secure the innocent, regardless of whether or not they were potential witnesses.
* * *
“WE CAN’T FIGHT an Al-Nassar. As long as he didn’t know, that was one thing. We could blindside him through Sara. Playing her was easy. But the Al-Nassars have resources. I don’t know if they’ve ever lost a case.” This wasn’t turning out as Tad Rossi—who disliked his given name, Tadbir, and was never called anything but Tad—had planned. He knew he should have given this plan more thought, but when she’d run, he’d panicked. That wasn’t what he’d intended.
“Speed will be our secret weapon.”
“Secret weapon. You’re talking stupid and—”
“Don’t you ever call me that, ever!” The last word ended in a shout. “We clean house once and run,” his partner said calmly as if he hadn’t just lost his temper. “We’ll be in and out before anyone is any wiser.”
“What do you mean by that?” Tad gripped the phone. He was beginning to have qualms about contacting this man in the first place and definitely about calling him now. But he’d never expected Sara would run to Marrakech. And when she had, he’d become desperate. He couldn’t lose her. He’d reached out to one of the few contacts he had left in that country and he’d known almost the minute he’d done it that it had been a mistake. He’d known him since public school. They’d been friends, as only two mismatched souls could be, and they had bonded together. He’d known Habib’s disdain for the Al-Nassar family even then. He’s also known that his childhood friend’s life hadn’t amounted to much except petty crime. Despite all that, they’d remained friends of sorts, oddballs thrown together by life. That was until he’d left Morocco. Then, he’d lost touch.
His old friend was someone who had every quality he required—ill feelings against the Al-Nassars and someone with no scruples. He hadn’t anticipated that the grudge that motivated his accomplice was as large and far-reaching as it was. Unfortunately, now it was clear that the man would stop at nothing now that the window of opportunity had been opened. His ideas were outrageous and he couldn’t believe what he was now suggesting.
“I know where he works and where he plays for the next few days. He’s going to be tied to her and if he’s not, he’ll be at his friend’s hotel. It’s fairly easy, at least it is at the moment.”
“Easy?” This had been a mistake and he was too far away to change any of it. “You have no idea what crap the Al-Nassars can pull, or the strings they’ve yanked. I wouldn’t want to face one of them.”
“Face? That’s never going to happen.” He chuckled. “That’s the sweet spot. Talib Al-Nassar will never know who we are or who brought him down. He’ll be done and never know what hit him. Besides, you screwed up, idiot. You’re not even in the country. You’ve got no control over what happens.”
He was right about that. Tad rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. He’d lost control and he needed to get it back. He needed to stop this thing, because what he was hearing was leading dangerously close to a place he didn’t want to go—murder.
“The key to success is a clean sweep.”
He knew what that meant. The only part of this plan that they both agreed on was the end, which left Sara as she had always been—a destitute single mother and of no interest to anyone, despite her model looks. That was exactly what she deserved. The only problem was that in his plan no one died. What was being proposed was nothing he would agree to. He needed to stop this before things got out of hand.
“It might only be about the money for you, but it’s about much more for me.” His accomplice continued, as if justifying his dark intent.
“That wasn’t part of the deal.”
“Too bad. But I see the biggest threat to my happiness on a morgue slab in the near future.” Silence slipped darkly between them. “When that happens, money or not, I’ll call it over.”
He was insane. But Tad had known that before he’d contacted him. No, he corrected himself, he knew that he’d always been a little crazy. He hadn’t expected this full-scale madness. He had to reel him in before his blood thirst destroyed everything. He’d acted on emotion, on panic, and reached out to the wrong man.
“This is over,” he said. “I can’t be part of this.” He remembered how it had started, when he’d first seen Sara and been wowed by her looks. He’d only been into her for what he might get, then he’d thought it would be about sex but she’d disappointed there, refusing any of his overtures. It had been luck that had caused him to stumble on something even better than sex—money. When he’d realized who her son’s father was he’d known he’d hit a gravy train he hadn’t expected. That kind of luck was once in a lifetime.
“Too late. Dress rehearsal is over. We’ve taken the boy—”
“No!” Kidnapping wasn’t in the cards—at least not what one would call a traditional kidnapping. A threat here or there, maybe. But murder hadn’t been, either, and now he was suggesting both.
“You’ve lost control, my friend. It’s my game now.” He ended the call before Tad could say another word.
This was his fault, his stupidity. He’d bought time with a madman. He’d been desperate and desperate men did desperate things. He was living proof of that. But threatening to kill an Al-Nassar was insanity. Their reach and scope was not something a common man could go up against. He knew that, he’d always known that, just as he’d always known that it was Sara who was the key to everything.
And now it was Sara who was close to ruining his life, his plan—his everything. She was the path to getting what he wanted. He had to shut down his accomplice and he had to do it now. Except all he had was the twenty in his pocket. It wasn’t enough for a bus across the country, never mind a plane across the Atlantic.
He was screwed unless he moved to Plan B. The thought of that cheered him, gave him hope.
If Sara wanted to play hardball, she’d be sorry. Soon she was going to learn who she was dealing with.
Talib watched until the car was out of sight and Sara and the boy were out of the area—out of danger. He stood rocking on the balls of his feet, then spat the remains of his mint gum into the trash. He glanced at the No Parking sign above the trash can that was so faded, it was almost illegible. He thought of the boy. There was something familiar about him. In a way, it was like looking in a mirror. But that was ridiculous. Sara would never do that to him. She obviously liked Moroccan men and she’d made a mistake, but it hadn’t been with him.
He reached into his pocket as if a pack of cigarettes was there. Stress always seemed to bring with it the need for tobacco. If nothing else, the gum took the edge off the craving and replaced a much worse habit that he’d kicked only six months ago. He’d started smoking three years ago despite his otherwise health-conscious lifestyle. It had been different then. He’d needed something, as the cliché went—a crutch. His mind flashed back to when Sara left. At the time, it seemed as though smoking was the only way to get through the pain he refused to admit he was feeling. Still refused to admit.
A senior police officer who he’d known for years came out of the north entrance, spotted him and came over. He gave the officer what information he knew.
Now, he waited as Ian crossed the street.
“How the hell could this have happened?” Ian asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “Anything new?” The frown lines carving his tanned face reflected his unspoken worry, that the explosion could have a catastrophic effect on a new opening.
“No,” Talib said. “I haven’t had a chance to do more than a cursory investigation and the police are