Her Sheikh Protector. Linda Conrad
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anyway. Despite her many misgivings about Hunt Drilling taking on new partners, partners by the name of Kadir who owned a huge international conglomerate that included the biggest shipping line in the world, her father had been positive that this move would assure continued success for their firm.
Rylie hadn’t given a rip about the Kadirs’ power or money. She was more worried about the public relations aspect of a Texas company going into business with a Middle Eastern-based concern. Ever since 9/11, Americans in general had been highly suspicious of even the merest hint that terrorist-influenced groups were taking over U.S. enterprises. Congress had already blocked several attempts by Middle Eastern businesses to buy American companies or real estate, and especially the port facilities.
Given enough time, Rylie was sure she could’ve found another company to come to Hunt’s aid, though she was well aware that few shipping firms flew an American flag these days.
Her dad remained firmly convinced he was right. He’d done his homework. The Kadirs were Bedouin, he’d said. For thousands of years they’d been nomads. Not connected to any politics, religion or particular country. They were definitely not terrorists or connected to terrorism in any sense, and they could do so much to promote Hunt Drilling.
Okay, Daddy, I’ve thought it over and agree. The PR might still be tricky, but you win. I agree the Kadirs aren’t terrorists and we’ll find a way to win over the hearts of Americans with the right media. She’d given up her stubborn stand, but hoped her father wouldn’t rub it in. If she had been the one who’d won, she would have gloated, and her daddy knew that well. Chuckling, she remembered how he’d always claimed she’d given him his prematurely gray hair.
In her haste to pick up the pace and make up time, Rylie stumbled over a gravel rock and went down on her knees. Shoot!
She was up on her feet again in an instant, but then decided she should stop long enough to dust off her jeans. Bending over to brush at the worst of the gravel, she thought about how glad she was to be wearing her boots and denim today instead of a fancy pantsuit or even a dress. She’d considered changing, but …
At that moment, without any warning, the whole world came apart in a powerful cataclysm. Violent gusts of wind knocked Rylie down, putting her flat on her back and taking the breath from her lungs. A flash of heat rolled over her body, singeing uncovered skin. The back of her head banged hard against the pavement, while earsplitting explosions blew out her eardrums and turned everything eerily silent.
Mustering all her physical resources, Rylie lifted her head and looked around. Through a bleary haze she saw thick, black smoke and fire, rising over her like a towering volcano a hundred feet in the air. The smell of sulphur assaulted her nose.
Dazed and confused as she was, it took a moment to understand what she was seeing. The new shipping facility was gone. All gone.
That must mean … But what had happened to her coworkers and the local reporters? What had happened to the Kadir company officials and their guests?
Light-headed and suddenly sick to her stomach, Rylie closed her eyes and slowly formed the most important question yet. What had happened to the CEO of Hunt Drilling? Where in God’s name was her father?
But before her wounded brain could even start processing those answers, reality began sinking away as everything in her immediate world turned from bruised purple to soggy gray—and in seconds went completely black.
Six months later
You don’t have to do this, brother. Our cousins Ben and Karim are available and prepared. It would be best to let one of them attend the conference.”
Darin Kadir listened over his shoulder to his brother but concentrated on readying himself for his first mission for the family. While Shakir argued his point from the other side of the room, Darin checked the cylinder on his Ruger SP101 .357 magnum. Hefting the small double-action weapon, he felt the weight of it like ten tons of responsibility.
Sighting down the satin-finished barrel but making sure to keep his finger off the trigger, Darin answered, “My job makes me the best one for this mission. After everything that’s happened, I’m still considered the vice president of Kadir Shipping. It would’ve been my duty to attend the annual World Industry and Shipping conference before Uncle Sunnar was killed, and it might start rumors throughout the industry if someone else went in my place.”
Shakir moved around the hotel suite, stopping to stand with his back to the balcony’s glass doors, still not ready to concede. “If Uncle Sunnar hadn’t died in that explosion in America, you would be preparing to take over as president of the shipping division upon his retirement. But things have changed—drastically. You’re not ready for a field mission for the family, Darin. We need you at headquarters, strategizing and planning.”
Darin finally glanced over at his younger brother, dressed in camo fatigues and silhouetted against the stunning views of Lake Geneva and beyond to the Swiss Alps. “And let my brothers and cousins have all the fun?”
The look of sober dismay on Shakir’s face was a reflection of Darin’s own feelings. He pocketed the Ruger and put a steadying hand on his brother’s shoulder.
“We don’t know for sure if the Taj Zabbar family will send a representative to the conference.” He locked his gaze with Shakir’s and forced him to pay attention. “If they don’t, then I’m the best one to seek out information about them from our competitors in the industry. Remember, I’ve been working in the shipping world for the past ten years. I know the people who come to these conferences. No one else would have their confidence the way I do.”
Shakir dropped his gaze to stare at the floor, but Darin did not release the firm grip he held on his younger brother’s shoulder. He remembered a time when Shakir wouldn’t have questioned his big brother’s decisions, though Darin had only beena couple years older. In fact for much of his life, Darin had been the father figure for his two younger brothers. At the time of their mother’s death, Shakir, a ten-year-old stutterer and in particular need of help, had depended on his brother for lessons on how to develop the intense loyalty of the Kadir clan.
“I’m proud of you and Tarik,” Darin told Shakir gently. “Proud of the way you both have stepped up to the challenges our family must face. I’m aware you two have far more experience in the field than I do. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be of service to the family by obtaining covert information.”
Tarik and Shakir had both spent their adult lives in military training, Shakir for the English paratroopers and Tarik for the American Special Forces. Neither had been interested in entering the family businesses after college. Unlike Darin, who’d been eager to climb the ranks of the family’s shipping company after receiving his master’s degree in business at Columbia University.
But despite his business ambitions, Darin had spent the six months since the explosion secretly mastering the darker arts of weaponry and self-defense. Their father had not yet called upon him to take the lead in forming the family’s new offensive line against their ancient enemy, but Darin wanted to be ready.
He thought back to right after the explosion. Ignoring their grief over losing one of their own, his father and the other elders of the Kadir clan spent considerable time debating whether the incident could have been a first volley in an undeclared war. No one had taken responsibility for the explosion, but the centuries-old legends of the Kadir-Taj Zabbar family feud were recalled and retold by the Kadirs. Recent changes in the status of the Taj Zabbar family’s financial and political positions were studied in detail. Internet gossip was combed through. Then, and only then, had the Kadirs slowly conceded the possibility of the worst.
Shakir slipped out from under Darin’s hand. “You take our old legends too seriously, brother. Yes, the elders have decided not to promote you to president of the shipping line yet—for fear of repercussions or another attack. But this is the twenty-first century