out of place in the posh cosmopolitan sitting room with elaborate brocade sofas and antiques dating back centuries.
“The ones I tried on fit perfectly. I loved this one the best.”
“It was the color of your eyes,” he said.
She caught her breath. Had he noticed enough to request this special color? She searched his eyes for a hint of the truth, but though he looked at her for a long moment, his expression gave nothing away. He’d be terrific at high-stakes poker.
“I thought from your visa photo that you seemed young to be an experienced pilot. Now it appears you’re far too feminine to fly planes.”
“I’ve had plenty of training.” She didn’t know whether to be flattered at the subtle compliment or defensive for her abilities. Did he think women weren’t as capable as men to pilot aircrafts?
“You graduated from the U.S. Air Force Academy, took flight training and flew a number of fixed wing crafts and helicopters while serving,” Rashid said. “I read your background sent from Starcraft.”
“You needn’t worry I can’t handle your new jet.”
He laughed, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I never doubted it. You brought it safely from the United States. Come, dinner will be ready by now.” He offered his arm to Bethanne. She took it, feeling awkward. She was more at ease in the casual restaurants she normally patronized than dining with an Arabian sheikh. But her experiences taught her how to meet every challenge—even this one.
Dinner proved to be less disconcerting than she’d expected. Once seated, the conversation centered around the new jet, its performance and the enhancements Rashid had ordered. After they ate, Rashid insisted they share hot tea on the veranda overlooking the garden. By the time it grew dark, Bethanne was glad to retreat to her bedroom. It had been a long day. One that had not ended as expected.
He bid her good-night at the foot of the stairs and even as she climbed them, he left the villa. The sound of his car faded as she shut her bedroom door.
Bethanne twirled around the large room in sheer joy. She felt as if she were a part of a fairy tale. Handsome sheikh, beautiful setting, lovely clothes and nothing to do but fly a plane at his whim. Could life be any better?
Falling asleep to the soft soughing of the sea relaxed Bethanne like nothing else. Before dropping off, she vowed she’d begin her search for her father tomorrow. But for tonight, she wanted to think about the dashing sheikh who chose her for his special guest—if only temporarily.
Minnah awakened Bethanne the next morning when she entered the bedroom carrying a tray of fragrant hot chocolate and a basket of fresh pastries and croissants. Breakfast in bed was not a luxury Bethanne enjoyed often and she plumped up her pillows and took the heavy silver tray on her lap with delight. There was an English newspaper folded neatly on one side.
“Thank you,” she said as the woman went to the French doors to open them wide to the fresh morning breeze.
“I will bring you bathing suits after your breakfast. His Excellency suggested you’d like a swim before starting your day.” The maid’s English was practically flawless. “Later a driver will pick you up to take you to the airport. His Excellency is anxious to fly in the new plane.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Bethanne said, already savoring the rich dark chocolate taste of the hot beverage. The feeling of being a princess living in the height of luxury continued. But she dare not waste a moment.
“Before you leave,” she said to Minnah, “did you know Hank Pendarvis? He was also a pilot for the sheikh. Or at least the oil company.”
The maid tilted her head slightly as she tried to remember. Finally she shook her head slightly. “I do not know him.”
That would have been too easy, Bethanne thought. She thanked her and resumed eating breakfast.
Selecting a one-piece blue swimsuit from her new wardrobe a short time later, she donned the accompanying cover-up and headed for the beach. A short swim would be perfect. It was warm enough to enjoy the water without the blazing heat that would rise later in the day. Fatima accompanied her. She had been informed of Bethanne’s plans by the maid. For the time being, Minnah would act as the go-between. Bethanne wondered how she’d learned English. When they reached the beach, Fatima sat on one of the chairs near the edge, apparently content to watch from a distance.
Feeling pampered and spoiled, Bethanne relished each sensation as her day started so differently from normal. Shedding the cover-up near the chairs, she ran to the water, plunging in. It was warm and buoyant. Giving in to the pleasure the sea brought, she swam and floated and thoroughly enjoyed herself. She had a goal to reach and a job to do. But for a few moments, she felt carefree and happy.
At the airport an hour later, Bethanne’s attitude changed from bemused delight to efficient commander. She talked to the ground crew through a translator the sheikh had provided, reviewing items on the checklist. She listened to how they had refueled the aircraft. She did a visual inspection of the jet. She wasn’t sure when the sheikh would want to take the maiden flight, but she was ready when he was. Now she had nothing to do but await his arrival.
She beckoned the translator over. “Can you ask among the crew if any of them knew Hank Pendarvis? He was a pilot and probably flew from this airport,” she said.
He nodded and walked back to the group of men.
Two spoke to his question and both looked over at Bethanne. Breaking away from the rest, the two men and the translator walked to her.
“These men knew him. He was a pilot for His Excellency’s father, Sheikh Rabid al Harum.”
“Is he dead?” she asked bluntly, studying the two men who had known her father.
One man looked away when the question was posed in Arabic. The other looked sad and shook his head at Bethanne, speaking rapidly.
“It is unfortunate, but it appears he has vanished. Was he a friend of yours?”
Bethanne didn’t want to reveal her connection to all and sundry. “An acquaintance. I heard he had a job in Quishari and hoped to look him up while I am here.”
There was lengthy conversation between the three men, with a couple of glances thrown her way as the one man grew quite passionate.
Finally the translator turned to her. “The man was a pilot. One day he took a plane without permission. He never returned. It is surmised he either flew to another country or the plane crashed. No one has heard from him in almost three years. And the plane has not flown over Quishari skies since then.”
She wanted to protest that her father was not a thief, but these men confirmed what Rashid had said. But it couldn’t be. Her father was nothing like that. He was loyal to the al Harum family. Loved his job. He would not risk it to steal a plane, no matter what the provocation.
“Did they search for a crashed plane?” she asked, holding on to her composure with effort. Had no one been concerned when he disappeared? Had they so quickly condemned him as a thief that no one searched in case there had been an accident? Her heart ached. Her father had to be dead. He would have contacted her long before now if he could have. She refused to believe he stole the plane.
Another bout of conversation and then one of the
