From the top desk drawer, he withdrew a photograph. It was the woman he knew as H. J. Rivers.
Her face riveted him, the hazel eyes strikingly intelligent within a heart-shaped face. She had dramatic dark-red hair and a gentle mouth that reminded him of Yona.
The accompanying description was spare. Age twenty-five, never married, Ms. Rivers works as a manicurist at a beauty salon and lives with her older sister. She has sung professionally.
She wishes to help Your Excellency secure your peoples future, and plans to use the money to make a demonstration recording to further her singing career.
Mrs. Wheatons one qualm was that H. J. Rivers had never previously given birth. Sharif, however, preferred that his son have a virtuous mother. A woman who lived an apparently chaste life, sharing quarters with her sister, suited him well.
Now he wondered whether anything had been omitted or misrepresented. Above all, why had this beautiful woman disappeared with his soon-to-beborn son?
From the desk, he drew the other photograph, the one he had received four months ago. A blurry ultrasound image formed the shape of a baby boy, a son who would enrich his fathers life, and those of their people.
Sharif had fallen in love with this child from the moment he saw the picture. How could he bear to lose him?
Suddenly finding it hard to breathe, he threw open the window. Outside the palace, October sunshine baked mud-brick houses, and a breeze carried the aromas of coffee, spices and frankincense from an open-air marketplace. It was a poor city, although rich in tradition.
The entire Arabian nation of Alqedar had its share of economic woes, but it was the fifty-thousand residents of Bahrim City and its environs who concerned Sharif, because they fell under his familys protection. For the first time, prosperity lay within reach.
The regions twisted, pale Jubah trees yielded a silklike fiber prized for its softness and durability. Recently, the fiber had been synthesized under Sharifs patronage.
He owned the patent jointly with chemist Hakem Harry Haroun, who was married to Sharifs cousin Amy. Soon large-scale production of Jubah cloth would fund badly needed public works. Then no man, child, or woman of Bahrim would die, as Yona had, for lack of a modern hospital.
All was not secure, however. Other regional leaders eyed the project enviously. Also, Sharif had received death threats for his role in overthrowing the late dictator, Maimun.
The future of Bahrim could not rest on his shoulders alone. He needed an heir. The love he felt for his unborn son had been an unexpected bonus.
The creak of hinges snapped Sharif to attention. Pivoting, he reached for his
gun.
Jumpy as a cat, arent you? His aunt Selima glided into the room. In her late sixties, she had a strong, watchful face and black hair distinguished by a shock of silver fanning from a widows peak. A gold-embroidered crimson dress skimmed her ample figure.
Has Zahad told you what happened? he asked, withdrawing his hand from within his jacket.
Yes, but we must hope for the best. His aunt whisked aside piles of paper to clear a space on his desktop. You requested my instruction and you shall have it.
Aunt Selima, this is no time for such matters!
Ignoring his frown, she unrolled a pad and, from her woven shoulder bag, produced a cherubically naked plastic doll. Well? she demanded, holding out a thick, folded cloth. You wont learn anything standing over there!
There was no point in fighting the inevitable. With a rueful smile, the sheikh went to take his first lesson in diapering.
Chapter One
Harbor View, California
Where had the baby gotten those dark, piercing eyes? Holly Rivers wondered as she gazed down at the child in her arms. Whoever the father was, if he had eyes like those, he must exert a hypnotic appeal.
Little Ben blinked, and the impression of ferocity vanished. When he stretched his tiny arms and yawned, her heart clenched.
She had thought she knew what love was, until the first time this baby was placed in her arms. Then shed discovered, in a burst of wonder, the true depth of the human heart.
Did he have to be such a chunky fellow at three months, though? Although her arms were beginning to hurt, Holly hesitated to position him any closer against her for fear of spoiling her antique lace wedding dress.
She hoped Alice Frey, her matron of honor and her employer at the Sunshine Lane Salon, would return soon with their flowers. She needed Alices help to feed Ben before the four-oclock ceremony, and they only had half an hour left.
Hey, can I come in? The question was followed by a belated knock on the partly open door of the churchs dressing room. Without waiting for an answer, in marched Trevor Samuelson.
Her groom. The man she was to marry for all the kindness and caring hed shown over the years, and for the secure home he was offering her and Ben.
Although black and white werent the most flattering colors for a blond, blue-eyed man, the tuxedo looked handsome on Trevor. You look terrific, she said, smiling.