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ago?”
“No, of course I don’t.” Darin straightened his tie and practically stood at attention. “But we can’t overlook the possibility that when the Kadir family sided with the country of Kasht fifty years ago at the time of the first Taj Zabbar uprising, we cemented our position as their sworn enemies.”
“But Kasht gave us the shipping rights and port facilities in Taj Zabbar territory that allowed our family business to rise to global dominance in three short decades.” Shakir held his hands out, palms up. “The Taj Zabbar would never have let us in.”
All true statements—as far as they went.
Darin rubbed the back of his neck while he thought of what he wanted to say. “Right. And our father was the leader who brought the Kadir family to prominence after his father made the original deal with Kasht. Out of duty and loyalty to him and to the other elders, I feel my obligation is to gather as much information as possible.
“The Taj Zabbar have sworn to get even with us.” Darin kept talking, wanting to impress hard truth on his brother. “We must make intelligent—and safe—decisions. We must be prepared before we act.”
Using the power of his voice to make Shakir understand, Darin swallowed when his words sounded as rusty as an old scuttled ship. “You and Tarik have sacrificed for the family’s sake. Just look at what you’ve done to date. You’ve put a hold on the security firm you and your buddies were trying to get off the ground. And Tarik. Tarik has resigned his commission from the U.S. Army.”
Shakir shrugged, not looking directly at him but shifting his gaze to the windows. “We were both in good positions to lend our specialized knowledge to the family’s efforts. You.” He let his words die as he waved a hand in Darin’s direction.
“I am an expert in gaining information,” Darin reiterated. “It’s what I do for Kadir Shipping. I’m the one who investigates other firms for financial stability prior to takeover. I search through both public and private documents for authenticity. It’s only fair that I share my expertise with the family as have my brothers.”
Shakir threw up his hands. “Information retrieval is not fieldwork. Don’t you see? You can help us the most by remaining at headquarters and leading the efforts at planning.”
Darin knew Shakir was only worried for his safety, but he was done arguing. “Enough. I want to be reasonable, but my mind is made up. I’m the best person for this job and as the older brother, I am finished discussing it. And I’m late.”
Darin pulled the conservative gray suit coat on over his long-sleeved blue shirt and shot the cuffs. “Stick around if you want and back me up. But don’t be too obvious about it.”
He headed for the hotel-suite door but threw one last bit of sarcasm over his shoulder, the way he would have done during their teenage years. “Do you need me to remind you of covert protocols, little bro? If you do decide to stay and want to show up at the conference, play it smarter than most of your hoorah paratrooper buddies, will you? And … at the very least change your shirt.”
Grinning to himself, Darin never turned around when he heard the crash of glass hitting the back of the door—at the exact moment as he’d stepped through and closed it. He picked up his pace and walked in haste to the elevator.
Rylie felt both tired and jet-lagged. The jet lag was new. The exhaustion was not.
She stepped off the public tram at a corner and took a few steps onto the wide boulevard known as Quai du Mont Blanc at the edge of Lake Geneva. Turning, she looked up the hill toward the city center twinkling at dusk with festive lights. Her old friend Marie Claire had given her directions for reaching the Presidents Hotel, where tonight’s reception for the World Industry and Shipping conference was being held. But Marie Claire had also said it would be a lot easier to take a taxi. Rylie no longer had the cab fare to throw around.
Once again in her relatively short lifetime, Rylie Ann Hunt was reduced to taking public transportation. Coach airfare and buses. The sides of her mouth automatically turned up with the heartbroken memory as she thought about the delighted look on her mother’s face the first time they’d taken a New York City shopping trip together after her daddy had hit it big. Rylie had suggested a cab.
“The Hunts no longer travel second-class, Rylie Ann,” her mother said with a giddy laugh as she’d dragged her daughter into a limo. “It’s first-class or nothing for these Texas gals from now on.”
Remembering her mother in happier times, a more current picture formed in Rylie’s mind. She knew exactly where her mama was today. Back in Midland in her tiny rental condo, sitting in an old borrowed rocker behind closed curtains, afraid to venture outside. Not a single smile had graced her mother’s lips for six inconsolable months.
Rylie could not imagine what would’ve happened to her mother during the long days while Rylie was in the hospital, floating in and out of a drug-induced haze, if not for a few of her dad’s old friends. And those friends would not let circumstances dissuade them, either, as they continued their care right up until today despite her mother’s objections. There’d been a time when it was her mother who cared for others. But that same woman had aged twenty years practically overnight since the day of the explosion. She’d become a recluse. A broken spirit.
A chilly wind blew across the lake and hit Riley on the back of her neck. When that life-changing day of six months ago sneaked back into her mind, guilt lifted its nasty hand and smacked Rylie right across the face.
Even while good friends tried to make a difference, her mother had lost her lovely home and preferred to be isolated and alone rather than face the whispers and the possibility of bankruptcy. Riley, too, felt she was all alone no matter where she was. Alone to think. Alone to grieve … and to deal with her sorrow.
Daddy was dead. Riley still couldn’t quite come to grips with the idea. But not one day went by that she didn’t relive the explosion—and both her self-reproach and her anger grew.
Wrapping her arms around her middle and ignoring the ringing in her ears that occasionally returned when she was tired, Rylie trudged up the city street away from the lake, still going over in her mind what she could’ve done differently. The police and the insurance companies had said the explosion was an unfortunate accident caused by someone’s carelessness at Hunt Drilling. She knew that wasn’t true. So far the insurance investigators hadn’t been able to prove their claims, either. Not one dime had been either paid out or denied yet.
Whether their company’s fault or not, Rylie and her mother refused their lawyers’ advice to wait until they were sued. In an effort to take care of the families of victims affected by the explosion who didn’t have the benefit of insurance proceeds, Rylie and her mother chose to sell off everything they had and to liquidate much of their company to pay for things like funerals and hospital bills. Yet many debts still remained. Worse, through all of it, all the selling of her family’s beloved things and all the pain of her burns and burst eardrums, Rylie’s guilt about living when many others hadn’t refused to die inside her and only gained power with each passing day.
The Kadir family must be responsible for the explosion and all this pain. It had to be them. Who else?
Perhaps their motive was insurance money. For whatever reason, they’d reduced her to nothing more than a lump of regret. The only thing keeping her going, keeping her plodding up this hill, was the need to prove them responsible for the explosion.
She would, too. Rylie was no less determined than a police dog on the scent and would find a way to prove the Kadirs were somehow connected. She couldn’t find any other reason why a brand-new storage facility that had recently been safety checked and rechecked would suddenly explode.
In her quest for truth, Rylie had done her homework. Kadir Shipping always sent a representative to the World Industry and Shipping conference in Geneva. If the shipping business was anything like the drilling business, and she knew it would be, gossip was easy to come by at the conferences. After a day of long, boring speeches, attendees of these things normally let their hair down and drank too