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 much at the evening get-togethers before having to confront another gruelling day.
A few questions. A couple of come-hither looks. Riley was ready to do anything to get what she wanted. What she must have. Proof. For this first party tonight, she could accept getting her hands on only a rumor—if that rumor would take her to the next step toward obtaining enough proof to accuse the Kadirs in public.
She’d been trying to swallow down her anger, but it was slowly taking over her soul as the months went by. She wouldn’t readily admit it, but deep down she knew. The carefree young girl she had once been—the one who used to love everyone and needed everyone to love her in return—had changed forever. Her heart was quickly filling with hatred and her mind turning inward toward revenge. If she had looked in a mirror right then, Rylie wouldn’t even have recognized herself through the grief and rage.
“Certainly, mademoiselle,” the Frenchman politely told Rylie an hour later. “I am familiar with all Kadir Shipping representatives. A member of the Kadir family has been coming to our conferences for many years.”
The middle-aged man in the navy wool suit smelling of mothballs turned in a half circle. “Yes, yes, I see Darin Kadir now.”
He gestured to a small group of men nearby. “There, with several other gentlemen who also attend every year.”
“Um, which one is he?”
Staring at her as if she were a bug who’d crawled up on the food table, the Frenchman gave her the once-over. Rylie knew she must look like she’d been sent through the spin cycle. Her singed hair, cut short after the explosion, had grown back in crazy curls, far beyond anyone’s help. Her black dress was on loan from Marie Claire and too big. And her shoes were discount-store specials she’d bought right before leaving Texas.
Once upon a time, at her five-nine height, men had given her the once-over with a question mark, their gawking gradually evolving into lusty leers. But now that she had lost so much weight, she’d seen those same looks contorting into indifference or pity. And sure enough, the expression on the conference concierge’s face when his glance landed on her loose dress and then popped back to her eyes turned to anxious concern.
“Are you all right, mademoiselle?”
She swiveled to study the group of men standing nearby. A Kadir family member was actually close enough to touch. At last she would start getting answers. But with her eagerness also came light-headedness as the colors in the room began bleeding together. Conversations ran down the walls like water.
Suddenly unsteady on her feet, Rylie nevertheless straightened her shoulders. “Yes, I’m fine. Just a little jet-lagged. Now which one was Mr. Kadir?”
After he pointed out a rather distinguished-looking younger man in a well-tailored suit, the concierge excused himself and wandered off. Rylie tried thinking of a way to wangle an introduction.
She leaned against the hors d’oeuvre table, reaching for calm and at the same time studying her enemy. The ringing in her ears began again in earnest. Starting at midlevel with the man’s dark gray suit, she let her gaze roam up Darin Kadir’s body to take in the wide shoulders. He must be well over six foot two. A good four or five inches taller than she was. She noted the expensive maroon tie knotted perfectly at his throat and above it the hard, square-cut jaw. The skin on his face, hands and throat had a golden glow that to her seemed far too dashing in the dim cocktail-party lights. His hair was that shiny raven color she’d never before believed could be for real. But on him … well, it was all too real.
He flicked a glance in her direction. She caught sight of midnight-black eyes, scrutinizing the party with keen intellect and a sensual but cold sort of perusal that many women would die for. He looked like a raptor about to pounce on prey. Rylie’s knees wobbled as she put her hand out to grab on to the table like a lifeline.
Darin Kadir had the uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching him as his business associates began leaving his side, searching for the drink table. Was someone from the Taj Zabbar family close by? He absently touched the gun hidden under the suit coat at his back before glancing around the room once again.
He’d already learned the Taj Zabbar had sent family and business representatives to the conference this year. But so far, he had not run into any of them.
Catching sight of a tall woman standing at the food table watching him, he tried to decide if she was someone he had met before. She was obviously not part of the Taj Zabbar. Not with that curly dark red hair and fair complexion. But she did look vaguely familiar.
At that moment the woman’s eyes closed and her legs appeared to give out. She went limp, slowly slipping toward the floor. He was at her side in an instant. Before he knew it, his arms were around her waist. He’d grabbed her intimately without as much as asking her permission.
She mumbled something he couldn’t understand.
“Are you unwell? Can you stand on your own?”
She felt too insubstantial in his arms. All bones and skin and only a few bumps and curves in the right places to prove she was a woman. Not liking this forced involvement with a complete stranger, he nevertheless held on, hoping she would soon take charge of her own body.
“I … I guess I need to sit down.” Her voice was as weak as a day-old tea bag.
Darin half carried and half dragged her to a quiet corner where a small overstuffed sofa sat vacant. He would rather the dwindling crowds at tonight’s reception did not see this situation unfolding. He wanted no rumours. No questions. He’d been trying to blend in. In his opinion, rescuing a woman who was probably drunk would not be the best way of staying in covert mode and gaining information about the Taj Zabbar.
He tried to drop the deadweight of her body to the soft cushions, hoping to leave her in a comfortable position while he went to seek out the concierge. Someone else should take charge of her situation. But before he could let go and step back, she threw her arms around his neck and dragged him down beside her.
She clung to his arm like seaweed on the rocks during a squall. “You’re Darin Kadir?”
Blinking at him frantically and then pinching her lips, she gazed over at him with singularly bright blue eyes. The color of the Mediterranean on a cloudless day, they bore into his with an expression that at once seemed dazed, confused and questioning. But as he looked again, he noted another, more shadowed emotion in those oceans that he could only guess at as rage—seething and deep. And directed at him?
Darin flinched and snapped his arm away from her biting fingers. Gazing into her face, he expected to have a hint of recognition. If she knew him, he must know her, too. He didn’t. But what he did recognize was an unexpected kick of lust. Fascinated, he noticed she was beautiful, even considering the sharp angles of her too-thin cheeks.
“Yes. I’m Darin Kadir. Do I know you?”
“No.”
