Son Of The Sheikh. Ryshia Kennie

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Son Of The Sheikh - Ryshia Kennie Mills & Boon Intrigue

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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,

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