CHAPTER ELEVEN
ESME SCOTT JERKED awake in the split second between her phone vibrating and the bell ringtone blaring through her darkened bedroom. Heart racing, she lifted her head off the pillow and stared at the illuminated screen.
As a social worker, it wasn’t unusual for her phone to ring in the middle of the night. The problems of her wards and an overstrained system required twenty-four-hour dedication.
Except she knew instinctively that this phone call had nothing to do with her job. The same gut instinct she’d been forced to hone for less altruistic purposes in her past.
But she’d left that life far behind.
After the fourth ring, she reached for the phone, willing her hand to stop shaking.
‘Hello?’
‘Am I speaking to Esmeralda Scott?’
Esmeralda. Her heart sank further. The only person who used her full name was her father. The man she hadn’t spoken to or seen in eight long years.
She forced her jaw to relax. ‘Y-yes.’
‘Daughter of Jeffrey Scott?’ came the deep, cultured, slightly accented query. The voice was stamped with enough authority and arrogance to make her grip tighten on the handset.
No, this was no ordinary phone call.
Sitting up, she turned on her bedside lamp, although she couldn’t focus on anything but the ominous voice on the line.
‘Yes. Who is this?’
‘My name is Zaid Al-Ameen. I’m the chief prosecutor in the Royal Kingdom of Ja’ahr.’ The voice was filled with deep pride. Implacable purpose.
Esme’s breath snagged in her lungs, but she refused to let the premonition lurking in her mind take hold. ‘What can I do for you?’ she asked, using the tone she reserved for calming her most agitated wards.
Momentary silence met her cool query. ‘I called to inform you that your father is in jail. He’s due to be arraigned in two days when formal charges will be brought against him.’
A thousand icicles pierced her skin, the boulder in her stomach confirming that even though she’d written him off when she’d walked away eight years ago, her father still possessed the power to rock her foundations.
‘I...see.’
‘He insisted on using his one phone call to reach you, but it seems the number he had for you is out of order.’
There was speculation in the crisp, no-nonsense tone but Esme wasn’t prepared to inform him that she’d made sure her number was unlisted for this sole purpose.
‘So how did you find me?’ she asked, her mind swirling with a thousand questions. None of which she wanted to air to the deep-voiced stranger on the phone.
‘I have one of the best police forces in the world, Miss Scott,’ he replied haughtily.
I?
The possessive reply made her frown a little, but she couldn’t put off the one question sitting on the tip of her tongue no matter how much she hated to ask. ‘What are the charges against him?’
‘They’re too long to list. Our investigation unearths a new charge almost on the hour,’ he replied, his voice growing colder with every answer. ‘But the main charge is fraud.’
Her heart banged harder against her ribs. ‘Right.’
‘You don’t seem surprised by the news.’ This time the query held stronger speculation that snapped her spine straight.
‘It’s the middle of the night here in England, Mr. Al-Ameen. You’ll pardon me if I’m struggling to take it all in,’ she replied, transferring the phone to her other hand when her palm grew clammy.
‘I’m aware of the time difference, Miss Scott. And while we’re not under obligation to track you down on behalf of your father, I thought you might like to know about the incident—’
‘What incident?’ she blurted.
‘There was an altercation in the jail where your father is being held—’
‘Is he hurt?’ she demanded, her stomach hollowing at the thought.
‘The medical exam shows a mild concussion and a few bruises. He should be well enough to be returned to custody tomorrow.’
‘So he can be attacked again or will you be doing something to protect him?’ she screeched, tossing aside the duvet to get out of bed. She paced from one end of her small bedsit to the other before the man at the end of the phone deigned to answer.
‘You father is a criminal, Miss Scott. He doesn’t deserve special treatment and he will be given none. Consider yourself fortunate to be receiving this courtesy call at all. As I mentioned before, his arraignment is in two days. It’s up to you to attend if you wish. Goodnight—’
‘Wait! Please,’ she added when the man didn’t hang up. Esme forced herself to think rationally. Were this one of her young wards, what would she do?
‘Does he have a counsel? I’m assuming he’s entitled to one?’
The terse silence that greeted her told her she’d caused offence. ‘We’re not a backward country, Miss Scott, despite what the world’s media likes to portray. Your father’s assets are frozen, as is the law in fraud cases, but he’s been given a public defender.’
Esme’s heart sank. In her experience, most public defenders were overstretched and overworked. Add the fact that her father was indubitably guilty of the charges levelled against him and the outlook was bleak.
The part of her that experienced the urge to end the conversation right now and pretend this wasn’t happening was immediately drowned out by the heavy guilt that followed. But she’d cut ties with her father for a very good reason. She’d turned her life around. She wouldn’t feel guilty for that.
‘Can I talk to him?’
For
