of her own country than this foreigner.
He dished some food onto her plate. Inhaling the aromas, Holly found that she really was hungry.
For a while, they ate without speaking. Under the table, the sheikh’s legs brushed hers. Although he moved them away, she was left with an impression of muscle and sinew.
“Tell me exactly why you kidnapped Ben,” she said. “You were afraid of a custody battle?”
“Exactly. The practices of your legal system do not always tally with those of my country,” he said. “We hoped for a quick getaway.”
“But now that your plan has failed—”
“It hasn’t failed, it has suffered a few setbacks,” he replied. “We incurred what you Americans call ‘the double whammy.’ We got shot twice, first by a camera and then with a gun.”
“You never explained who was firing at us,” she said. “Do you know?”
“Not for certain.” As Sharif ate, she saw that the backs of his hands bore thin, straight scars, as from knife wounds. “I have enemies, from my country’s fight for freedom. It is also possible that your sister has enemies.”
“Jazz hangs out with some strange people, but as far as I know, they don’t carry weapons.”
“What kind of strange people?” From a plastic bottle, he poured mineral water into two glasses.
“Musicians.” With their long hair and disorderly life-style, Jazz’s colleagues had little in common with most people Holly knew. “Maybe they only seem strange in Southern California, because they’re more interested in making music than money.”
“Your sister was interested in money, to make a demonstration recording,” Sharif reminded her.
“I wish she’d told me,” Holly said. “I would have loaned it to her. Or Trevor would have. He manages my parents’ estate, not that it’s worth much. But he’s always come through in a pinch. How much did you pay her?”
“A hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” Sharif said.
She choked on her food, and had to wash it down with water. “A hundred and—? Jazz got that much?”
“No, only half was paid in advance, and the clinic took a share,” he said. “I presume she received something in the order of thirty or forty thousand.”
“She left eleven thousand dollars in her checking account,” Holly said. “I’m sure she spent some money on living expenses and maternity clothes. She must have taken the rest with her in cash.”
“And you truly have no idea why she left?”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t know why she sent Ben to me, either.”
“Perhaps that musician friend of hers was involved,” he said. “Ten or twenty thousand dollars would be a fortune to him.”
Holly pictured Griff, whom she’d known casually for years. An easygoing, talkative fellow, he played drums in an alternative rock band with which Jazz sang.
He’d had a minor drug conviction a few years back, and he’d managed to avoid being questioned by the police since she reported Jazz missing. Nevertheless, she couldn’t imagine him hurting her sister.
“If he were up to something, why would he give himself away by bringing me the baby?” she pointed out.
The sheikh finished eating. “I do not know. I am grateful that at least he put my son in good hands.”
Holly’s cheeks warmed, and she hurriedly changed the subject. “I think she left of her own free will, but then something prevented her from coming back for Ben. I’ve been so worried.”
“I share your concern that something has gone wrong,” he said slowly. “This Noreen Wheaton, the director of the clinic, might be afraid of someone, or she is playing a game of her own.”
He pushed back his chair and walked to a leather suitcase. From a side pocket, he drew some papers. “Here is a copy of our contract with the clinic. I brought it to prove that the baby is mine. Perhaps you will see something in them that I have missed.”
The papers bore the name of the Crestline View Clinic. The legal terminology covered such issues as privacy and liability.
Holly studied the signatures at the bottom: Sharif Al-Khalil, witnessed by Zahad Adran, and Noreen Wheaton, witnessed by someone named Manuel Estrellas.
“Do you know anything about this man Estrellas?” she asked.
The sheikh took a seat beside her. “A clinic employee, I presume.”
She scanned the contract again. “Why isn’t Jazz’s name on here?”
“We were told she signed a separate contract with the clinic,” Sharif said.
“But she knew about you, right?” Holly returned the document to him. “I mean, that the baby was going to be raised by your aunt and your cousin?”
“You make it sound as if there were something wrong with my arrangements.”
Holly plunged in. “I just don’t believe Ben will be happy growing up without a mother.”
A tightening of the sheikh’s mouth indicated that she’d overstepped her bounds. “I would not have arranged to have a son if I could not provide him with a proper home.”
Tears pricked Holly’s eyes. “I just don’t want to lose him.”
His harsh expression softened. “Have you considered what will happen when your sister returns?” he said. “By your own account, she is unreliable, and you could not prevent her from reclaiming the child. What kind of life would he lead then?”
“I’ve been trying not to think about that.” Staring down at the table, Holly took a deep breath.
She reminded herself that Trevor wanted to marry her, and there was no reason they couldn’t have children of their own. But those children wouldn’t be Ben. They wouldn’t be the baby who’d opened the floodgates of love inside her.
The sheikh brushed a tear from her cheek. “To lose this child would hurt you very much.”
All she could do was nod.
“You are a woman who lives for others,” he murmured. “What then is left for yourself?”
“I don’t need anything for myself.” It seemed so obvious that she was surprised she had to explain it. “What more could a person want than to ensure the happiness of the people she loves?”
His hand cupped her chin. The roughness of his palm testified to a hard life, and yet his fingers stroked her jawline as lightly as a whisper. “Let us reach a sensible agreement, Holly Rivers. One that is truly best for all of us.”
“An agreement?” She allowed herself to meet his gaze.
“I
