Son Of The Sheikh

Heir to a Fortune

Someone is threatening to expose Sara Elliott’s secret. After draining her bank account, she flees to Morocco to face the one man she fears, the only man who can truly protect her son. Sheik Talib Al-Nassar has money and power beyond compare, but nothing could prepare him for seeing his ex, especially in his homeland. Though suspicious of this reunion, he would do anything to shield her and her little boy from further danger. He welcomes them to his family compound, but Talib’s shelter has a price of its own. Like Sara’s blackmailer, he desires only one thing: the truth about her son…

Desert Justice

“I’ve lost my son.”

She gasped for air. Tried to think straight, tried to remain calm, but it was all impossible. “He’s two. Please.” She bit back hysteria. “Help me.”

“Ma’am, I’m sure he’s been found and taken outside. Go outside and wait.”

“Wait?” It was the second time she’d heard it and this time she could take no more. “My son is missing!” She clenched her fists, driving her recently home-manicured nails into the palms of her hands. A sharp pain ran up her arms. It grounded her, temporarily dispelled the blinding panic.

Her hands shook and her head pounded. She wouldn’t give up. Coming to Marrakech had been a decision made in desperation. For it was here, in the land of the sheiks, where she searched for the lifeline that would protect her heart. Only one man could save her son and keep them both safe.

She needed to find Sheik Talib Al-Nassar. But first she had to find Everett. He was her heart, and without him, there was nothing.

Son of the Sheikh

Ryshia Kennie

www.millsandboon.co.uk

RYSHIA KENNIE has received a writing award from the City of Regina, Saskatchewan, and was also a semifinalist for the Kindle Book Awards. She finds that there’s never a lack of places to set an edge-of-the-seat suspense, as prairie winters find her dreaming of warmer places for heart-stopping stories. They are places where deadly villains threaten intrepid heroes and heroines who battle for their right to live or even to love. For more, visit www.ryshiakennie.com.

When I was a toddler, you read endlessly to me and then

wondered why I became a bookworm. I suppose that makes

you partially responsible for the writer I am. You taught me how

to read and you also taught me self-reliance. If it can be bought,

it can be made. From soup to wedding veils. For my mother,

who reminds me every day that nothing is impossible.

Quit just isn’t in her vocabulary. To you, Mom.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Epilogue

Extract

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

Marrakech, Morocco

Tuesday 4:00 a.m.

He slipped out of the back entrance of the Desert Sands Hotel and disappeared into the darkness. And, although he didn’t move far away, he looked back only once, and with a self-satisfied smile. He had been in the hotel for a little over twenty minutes. It had all been too easy. He had come in through the unlocked fire exit where security cameras hadn’t been installed. He didn’t glance at the man at the front desk, for he knew that he had also been paid both for his assistance and his silence.

Neither of them would be here for the outcome. They only knew their parts, nothing more. He waited for the one other player in this game. She arrived exactly thirty minutes later, on schedule, as was her habit. Despite her initial reluctance, a doubling of the original sum was all that was required.

He glanced at his watch. It was five o’clock. He had ten hours before the second act.

He vanished into the narrow and twisted corridors of the Medina, where he had lived the majority of his life and where the plan had incubated. It was here where he would wait for his finale and then others would take charge. He was only a pawn in a much bigger game.

The signs of a new day merged into late morning and then followed into early afternoon. It wasn’t until the day drifted close to midafternoon that the man from the Medina returned. And then he waited. There was no need to enter the hotel. Everything he needed would be brought to him, as planned.

* * *

THE FIRST SIGN of trouble went unnoticed by anyone in the lobby of the Desert Sands Hotel. The day began like any other, full of promise for business and tourists alike. The hotel was abuzz with the imminent arrival of a busload of tourists that would soon mesh with the energy of the guests already there. Times were changing and new ideas were being implemented. The hotel was under new ownership and so far, the change had been flawless. Everything was going as beautifully as the clear September day that held such promise for those eager to explore the city. Marrakech was full of places to discover, secrets waiting to be found. The city had an exotic history that was steeped in the depths of the Medina. There, the hustle and bustle in the souks, the numerous and varied shops with the merchants peddling their wares, added excitement and mystery, as had been the tradition for centuries. It was the place tourists came to spend good money and be part of that rich history. It was a special place, an exciting place. For most, it was very different from what they were familiar with. For others, it was a place of business—a place where commerce was at the center. For there was money here as well as history. There were other things, too, like poverty and crime, that lurked in the narrow alleys where he waited.

Now, near the heart of all that, the low ticking of an explosive device went unheard. It had been placed close to where the luggage rack was customarily parked. It hid in the far corner of the lobby, buried beneath the chatter of the guests and the stream of voices that kept the hotel running without a hiccup. The deadly, monotonous beat was too quiet to be heard or seen...yet.

Chapter One

Marrakech, Morocco

Tuesday 3:15 p.m.

At the Desert Sands Hotel registration desk, Sara Elliott laid her passport on the counter. She then set her two-year-old son beside it so that she could keep an eye on him while completing the hotel registration. It had been a long flight and they were both exhausted. Despite the fact that it was midafternoon, she was looking forward to getting a snack and then getting her son bathed, and both of them having a nap. Traveling over an ocean and between continents with a two-year-old was no picnic. Only her son had managed to sleep on the long flight from Maine to Marrakech. For her, there had been no pleasure in it, but rather, only an endurance test in a flight borne out of desperation.

She had her arm around her son’s waist, for a hand on his leg wasn’t enough. Everett was a busy little boy. He didn’t like to sit still for any length of time and now was no different, as within seconds he was reaching for the registration pen. Then he poked the edge of the registration clerk’s computer while endearing himself to the older couple beside her who were checking in, as well.

After a minute of that, his bottom lip began to quiver as he lost interest. She guessed that he was realizing that despite devouring two cookies on the ride between the hotel and the airport, he was hungry. She dug in her purse for his soother. He was too old for such a thing. That was what the latest parenting book she had read indicated, but they hadn’t mentioned another option for situations such as these. The soother was immediately grabbed up in her son’s chubby hand and popped into his mouth. Her nerves settled slightly. Now she had a few minutes of peace. Time to get them registered and settled in their room.

She closed her purse, using one hand to steady her son as she juggled the diaper bag that was over one shoulder, along with her carry-on bag and purse. She fisted the hotel pen in an attempt not to drop it when what sounded like outrageously loud fireworks went off behind her.

She jumped and dropped her purse onto the counter. The hand holding her son remained, instinctively, protectively, there. Someone screamed and a man shouted. The registration clerk jumped back, shock in his dark eyes. Smoke immediately began to fill the room and it was unclear what had happened.

She pulled her son off the counter, holding him tight against her side, his legs dangling. She turned to see what was going on, and one of the three bags she carried caught on the thin wooden panel that acted as a counter divider. Her carry-on twisted and wrapped around her arm, locking her in position. Smoke was billowing from the corner of the lobby, where the suitcase trolley was, and a small fire was licking at a couple of the bags. The smoke only added to the confusion because minutes earlier, the lobby had been flooded with an influx of tourists that had just gotten off a tour bus.

There was chaos in the haze, as people began to run for the exit. They pushed through the crowded area where others stood, stunned. She could see that the window that faced the parking lot had been blown out. A bomb, she thought with shock, and then realized that it was an outrageous idea.

It was seconds before the reality of what had just happened seemed to hit her full-force. They needed to get out of here. Who knew what might follow. There could be another explosion, a larger fire. The situation was unpredictable and dangerous. She’d wasted precious seconds. Her son was in her arms, but her important documents were in the bag caught on the counter. She wasn’t frightened enough to leave the bag behind, at least not yet. For without their passports and travel documents...she couldn’t think of it. But she also couldn’t hold her son any longer and continue to juggle her bags. She put Everett back down on the counter. His hands immediately went over his ears as he sniffled, but didn’t start crying.

A woman jostled Sara and when the fire alarm began to bleat it was somehow unexpected and she let out a small involuntary scream. Everett immediately followed her example, as he always did, his soother now clutched in his chubby fist.

Darn it, she thought. But she couldn’t have bit back her reaction, it was as involuntary as every other shriek that had run through the room.

“It’s all right,” Sara said quickly, not knowing how all right it might be. She held him in place with one hand while with the other she tried to free the caught bag. Her purse banged against her hip as Everett began to wail.

A short, thick woman pushed past her, herding a trio of children, knocked her elbow and threw her completely off balance. She staggered against the counter and noticed, while not really acknowledging, that all the staff had now vacated their posts.

A snowy-haired man with a pleasant expression and eyes that crinkled with concern approached her. “Here, let me help you.” He reached for Everett. “Let’s get you out of here,” he said to her son.

Everett stopped crying long enough to look at the man and held his tiny arms out.

“No!” The word was sharper, louder and fiercer than she intended.

She guessed that he didn’t mean any harm. Still, despite everything, she wasn’t taking any chances. The thoughts ran rapidly through her mind and she considered the possibility that he might really just want to help. The offer seemed suspect, but he was from a generation where helping someone with their child was natural. The simple kindness did not place you immediately in a lineup as a suspect to potential kidnapping, as it did today.

He looked at her and moved to her other side. “I’m sorry. You just looked like you had your hands full.” He reached over and unhooked her bag. “That should help.”

She looked at him sheepishly. “Thank you,” she said as the man nodded and moved on. And she was thankful in more ways than one, for despite the noise and confusion, Everett had stopped crying.

She lifted her son, who, at thirty-two pounds, was a good size for a two-year-old. Normally she had a stroller, but that was somewhere with the luggage, what might be left of it. She had no choice but to carry him.

“It’ll be all right,” she whispered to him and wasn’t sure if that helped. She was just glad he hadn’t let out a howl of outrage. Instead, his arms were around her in a death grip and he was sucking his soother again. If her arms stopped shaking she’d be all right. But the man was right about one thing—they needed to get out of here. The smoke was swirling through the lobby, making it almost impossible to see to the other side, where their luggage was, or to her left, where the exit was.

She moved forward. She meant to follow the crowd to the exit, when the stairwell door opened and people streamed out as they began to come down from the upper floors. The hotel lobby was suddenly not just busy but congested to the point that no one could move. Everett twisted in her arms, trying to get down, and with her arms still shaking, his squirming made him difficult to hold. The soother was gone. It must have dropped. She looked down but there was nothing but smoke and chaos. He began to cry, she imagined more from frustration than fright.

“No, sweetie. You can walk once we’re outside.” She tightened her grip as his cries threatened to match the noise of the fire alarm.

“Ma’am,” the concierge said, taking her by the elbow. “You’ve got to leave now. Get the little one out of here.”

“Yes,” she agreed as she fumbled, the pull on her elbow the final straw to her already shaky grip that was weakening the more Everett squirmed.

“Mama!” he yelled.

“We’re going, Ev. We’re going.” But she wasn’t so sure as Everett twisted again and slid halfway down her chest.

The concierge had already moved on, unaware that his actions had loosened her hold on her son. She struggled to get a better grip on him, but he was slipping further. It was all made worse by the crowd as they jostled them this way and that. Someone knocked her left side and this time she lost her grip. She didn’t have any choice but to either drop Everett, or set him down.

She placed him on the ground, her hand on his shoulder as she stood up. But the split second between that and when she reached down to take his hand found her fishing for air. She looked down. In the space of a second he had disappeared. There was nothing but a sea of people amidst the chaos of noise and smoke. Her heart raced.

A woman screamed.

To her right, in a thick cloud of smoke, something tipped and crashed to the floor. There was another scream. This time she realized that it was her. Panic threatened to engulf her. She couldn’t let it. She had to find Everett.

Through a break in the smoke, she could see that the flames were licking one corner of the wall behind where the suitcase trolley had been standing. Shock raced through her at the fire and at the thought that everything she had brought was more than likely about to be, or already was, destroyed. But the thought was fleeting, for none of that mattered. She had to find Everett.

A man with a hotel employee jacket rushed forward with a fire extinguisher. He blasted the flames that were eating up the wall. Another employee attacked the flames that were threatening one suitcase with a dripping wet towel. But his attempts only caused the fire to move from one area to another. Clothes were strewn around the luggage rack. It was obviously an explosive device of some type, at least that’s what her suspicious and slightly hyperactive mind thought. It was a strange thought, considering the panic that was filling her every second that went by. Instead, she saw trivial details like that. Details that meant nothing when the entire hotel could go up in flames at any moment and her son was nowhere in sight.

“Everett!” she screamed.

To her right she distinctly heard a woman’s unpleasant voice tell her to shut up. She swung around. She was facing the opposite way that the crowd was moving. She’d been oblivious to the danger to herself, or the obstruction she was to others. It was like she faced the enemy alone, as the crowd seemed to act like one beast racing for the main exit.

She looked down, as if expecting to see Everett right there, right at her side where he should be. Instead, she bumped elbows with a matronly woman, who pushed past her, causing her to stumble. A man shoved by on her other side and as he did, he tripped and caught himself as he grabbed her arm, before he righted himself and disappeared into the smoke.

“Have you seen a little...”

She was shoved from the side as more people emerged from the stairwell and headed for the exit. Water began to spray from the overhead sprinklers.

“Ma’am,” a man said. Her burning eyes could barely make out the uniform, but it was a hotel employee, and all she could think was that finally there was help.

“My son...” she began. “I’ve lost my baby!” The words came out in a panicked shriek. She’d lost control. She was beyond words. She had to get it together. She had to find him.

“You’re going to have to leave,” he said as he pushed her forward toward the exit.

“No!”

His grip on her elbow tightened. Now he was pulling her toward the exit.

“No!” This time it was more forceful and she considered that she might have to do something violent if he didn’t let go, like kick him in the shins. Something. “I’ve lost...”

“Ma’am.” He kept walking, dragging her along. “This is an urgent situation. You need to leave now. The emergency crews will handle it. You’re making it difficult for the others, blocking the exit.”

“What? My—”

“Out!” he said shortly, obviously losing patience with her.

She was ready to smack him if that was what it took. Instead they were pushed from behind and his grip loosened. She pulled free of him, backed up and dodged her way through the stampede.

“Everett!” she shrieked.

“Get moving!” someone else snarled as they shoved past her.

She gagged on smoke. She imagined her baby struggling to breathe. She imagined him trampled as people pushed their way out of the hotel.

She tried to call his name again but her throat was dry and tight. She coughed. He could be crushed. He was so small, too small. How had she lost him? She was a horrible mother and, despite everything that had happened, she was more frightened than she’d ever been in her life.

Someone rammed her shoulder. She was knocked off balance. She staggered, fighting to prevent herself from falling. Yet even as her hand hit the carpet, she was still frantically scanning the area. In fact here, low to the ground, she could see better, for the smoke was less dense and she was at his height, the height of a two-year-old. She was also in danger of being trampled, as she was sure he was. She swallowed against the panic and smoke that was locking her throat. Her voice was all she had—he had to hear her. For there was danger everywhere and he was alone.

Sirens were wailing in the distance, the haunting call both frightening and hopeful. Would they get here in time? They had to. She had to find him. She would find him. There was no other outcome, not one that she could survive.

“Everett,” she croaked as she stood up and elbowed her way against the crowd.

Where could he be? Had someone taken him? It was another thought to cloud her mind with fear. It was a thought that taunted the mind of every parent. A fear fed by the media and that one never outgrew—the boogeyman in the closet.

But this time the boogeyman had gotten out! He had her son and her heart constricted at the thought. She bumped into a woman and pushed away from her without a second look. That wasn’t her. She wasn’t a rude, self-serving woman who shoved people to the side without an apology. It didn’t matter. She was now. She’d be anything she needed to be if only she could find her little boy. She was bent low to the ground, not crawling, still standing and buffeted on either side by the relentless crush of panic rushing to escape.

“Crazy,” someone muttered.

“Get out of my way,” someone else said as a knee caught her shoulder and threatened to knock her off balance.

She stood up, saw another hotel employee and tried to make her way to him. “Help me,” she said.

“Ma’am. You’ve got to leave.”

“My son...”

She was thrown off balance as a tall, heavyset man, leading with his belly, knocked her aside as he headed for the exit.

It was impossible. She couldn’t give up. She had to find him. Tears began to blur her vision and her head pounded from the smoke. What must he be feeling? She squinted in the murky lobby that oddly seemed clearer than it had only a minute ago.

She would die if she lost him. Her throat closed and smoke threatened to choke her, but she forged ahead.

Yet no matter how hard she fought against the tide of panicked hotel guests, her son was nowhere in sight. Her baby had disappeared!

“Everett!” Her son’s name came out in a choked mockery of a shout. This wasn’t happening! She hadn’t come all the way to Morocco to lose him now, or for that matter, to lose him ever. She was here to make him safe, keep him safe. She’d given up a job, security, and now he was gone. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This trip, the uncomfortable flight, all of it was supposed to result in her keeping him away from the danger that threatened him in the States. And now he was missing!

It was unbelievable. She took a deep breath and screamed his name. Smoke billowed around her and a man looked at her curiously.

“Can I help?”

“I’ve lost my son.” She gasped for air. Tried to think straight, tried to remain calm, but it was impossible. “He’s two. Please.” She bit back tears. “Help me.”