up an equal amount of energy at the thought of riding in such an expensive car for the first time in her life. Unfortunately, all her extra attention was focused on continuing to breathe. Being too close to dangerous, not to mention mysterious, Rafe Stryker left her gasping.
What was wrong with her, Zara wondered. Why was she reacting this way to the man? Yes, he’d attacked her, throwing her to the ground, and that would have rattled anyone. But she should be over it by now. Unless her brain had somehow been scrambled during the altercation. Maybe that was it—she had a brain bruise.
Cleo slipped into the limo first. Unfortunately, she took the seat behind the driver, which left Zara to slide across the seat facing front. Rafe settled next to her. She scooted all the way to the corner so there would be plenty of room between them. She needed the distance to keep her thoughts from scattering.
“I should have stayed home,” she said aloud, before she could stop herself.
Rafe glanced at her. “It’s too late now.”
She didn’t want to think about that. The car pulled away from the palace. Cleo leaned forward and stared out the darkened window.
“It really is pink,” she said, her voice laced with awe. “I read that people call it the pink palace when we were doing our research, but I thought they were kidding.”
“It’s an effect of the marble,” Rafe told Cleo. “Something about the way the light hits it.”
“I like it,” Cleo announced. She leaned back in her seat, one hand stroking the supple leather. “I just wish we’d seen some of the royal cats while we’d been on the tour. We read about those, too. Does the king really keep dozens of cats in the palace?”
Rafe nodded. “They are considered a national treasure.”
“Lucky cats,” Cleo said, and grinned at Zara.
Zara tried to respond in kind, but her lips weren’t cooperating. She’d barely managed to slow her heart rate to something other than the speed of light. Now she concentrated on taking deep, cleansing breaths.
“How did you do your research?” Rafe asked.
Cleo shrugged, her pretty face completely open.
“Mostly on the Internet. Zara’s at the University, so she looked in some books there, but I checked online. I have Internet access at my work. It was pretty easy. There’s a ton of information on the history of the country and the royal family. We downloaded pictures and everything.”
Zara winced. Cleo was only making things worse, but Zara couldn’t tell her that. Not in front of Rafe. He’d already decided they were gold diggers. Now he would think they were using technology to gather information to aid their scheme. Not that she could blame him. If she looked at the situation from his point of view there really wasn’t another explanation.
It was time to go home, Zara thought. She’d been crazy to think this would ever work. Even if King Hassan was her father, she wasn’t likely to have any contact with him—there would be too many watchdogs in place. She’d survived twenty-eight years without a father; she certainly didn’t need one now.
The limo pulled up in front of their hotel. Zara remembered neither she nor Cleo had told Rafe where they were staying. The realization that he could get that information so easily made her shiver and reinforced her decision to leave. She wanted to go home where she felt safe. In Bahania she would only ever be out of place.
Rafe climbed out first, then held the door open for them. Zara forced herself to be gracious as she thanked him for the ride.
“You’ve been very kind,” she said. “We won’t be troubling you again.”
But he didn’t climb back into the car. Instead he took her arm and led her into the modest hotel. “I think we have more to discuss,” he said, not giving her an opportunity to protest. Cleo trailed along behind.
Zara made one attempt to pull free of his grip, but as she’d suspected, he didn’t let her go. No doubt he wanted to scare them into leaving. As soon as they were in private, she would tell him that he didn’t have to worry. She and Cleo would be heading back to the States as soon as possible.
They moved through the lobby toward the elevator. Zara tried not to notice the clean but slightly shabby furniture. Prints added color to the white walls. There were a few plants scattered around, but little else in the way of decorations.
She knew what he was thinking. She could read his thoughts as clearly as if they were her own.
“Just because we’re on a budget doesn’t mean we’re in it for the money,” she said in a low, angry voice when they stopped for the elevator. “You have no right to judge me or find me wanting.”
Those amazing blue eyes turned toward her. She met his gaze, despite the powerful force he exuded. Pride stiffened her spine and made her strong.
The elevator doors opened, breaking the spell.
“So do you know the king?” Cleo asked, oblivious to the tension between them.
“Yes.”
She laughed. “You’re not real chatty, are you? It doesn’t matter how mad you want to be. The truth is Zara is his daughter. She has letters and a ring. I think you should do your darnedest to prove them to be fakes. When you can’t, you’ll have no choice but to accept her for who she says she is.”
For the first time since they were led away from the tour group, Zara felt herself relax. Maybe it was a little too soon to think about running away.
“You have an excellent point,” she told her sister.
“I am more than a pretty face,” Cleo reminded her, as the elevator came to a stop on the fourth floor.
Zara turned to the man who still had a death grip on her arm. “Are you willing to look at the evidence? Despite already reaching a conclusion?”
“Absolutely.”
“And when you find out you’re wrong?”
“Let’s discuss that if it happens.”
Thirty minutes later Rafe was less convinced this was a hoax. He fingered the dozen or so letters Zara had shown him. The subject matter—especially the comments about the cats—made him suspicious. All the information could have been gathered by careful research. However the handwriting looked like Hassan’s, and the syntax was pure royal-speak. But what convinced him the most was the feeling in his gut.
Long years of experience had taught him to listen to his instincts—instincts that had saved his life on more than one occasion. He fingered the yellowing linen paper, then glanced at the stack of letters on the small desk in the hotel room. Despite his assumptions that Zara and her sister were looking to make an easy couple of million, there was a good chance he’d been wrong.
“Anything else?” he asked, turning his attention to the woman sitting on the bed next to the desk.
Zara reached into her carry-on bag and drew out a pad of paper. “Here’s a list of the jewelry I can remember my mother selling. It’s not
