Chapter Eleven

“What the hell do you mean you’re going to Turkey with my mother?” Demetri paced the patio, his hands clenched into fists at his side.

“I told you weeks ago that your mother wants to try to find your father. She’s finally worked up the courage to tell your grandparents. And we think we’ve located him, so we’re going to see if it’s really him. Besides, you’re traveling to Tirana next week to meet with the Albanian government.” Rania stretched, hoping to distract her husband from his anger. He’d come home early from work and caught her on the phone with his mother while she sunbathed on the patio. His eyes flicked over her bikini-clad body but he made no move to approach her. Damn, he was in full control. It was hard to reach him when he had all his shields up.

“I expected you to come with me.”

“I’ve been there, done that. Albania doesn’t interest me. Plus, you suggested getting some rugs for the house. Turkey is the ideal place to buy rugs.”

“Don’t try to get practical on me, Rania. It doesn’t suit you. I don’t want my mother to go to Turkey. I don’t want you to go to Turkey. How do I know you won’t try to get into Egypt? My lawyer tells me you call him every day for an update. I know you’re frustrated with the slow progress in your uncle’s case. The negotiations are delicate and have to be conducted with utmost secrecy. All that takes time.”

“Time, time, time. Do you know how long I’ve heard those words? It takes time, Rania. Be patient, Rania. Sit down and let the men handle it, Rania.” She leapt to her feet and stopped Demetri mid-pace with a finger on his chest. “Time’s up. I’m done being patient.”

Demetri grabbed her shoulders and waited for her to look him in the face. It was hard, as though sculpted from stone. She cursed the flutter in her chest at his intense expression. How annoying was it that all she wanted was to throw herself in his arms and never leave when there was still so much to be done?

“I asked you to trust me. I promised you I would get your uncle free. We are so close. If you go barreling in there now, you’ll destroy the past two months of work. Don’t make me force you to come with me, for your own safety.”

“My safety? Or your pleasure? What will you do without your interactive sex toy for three days? Because that’s what’s holding us together, sex.”

Demetri released her suddenly, and she stumbled backward, narrowly avoiding falling into the pool. His hands clenched once more at his side and he hauled in several deep breaths. When he turned back to her, his face was impassive again, which only infuriated her further.

“You may accompany my mother to Turkey on one condition. A bodyguard who I select and hire will go with you. If you try to get to Egypt, I’ll have you bound and gagged and returned on the next plane.”

Rania clenched her teeth together to stop the violent outburst threatening to erupt. She was a grown woman and had been looking after herself for the past five years. What gave Demetri the right to tell her what she could and couldn’t do? A marriage certificate, the little voice in her head reasoned. Damn voice. The whole object of the trip was to help Maria, so at least she could do that. And if she should happen to meet Mahmoud in Istanbul and find out how he was getting on in his quest, well, that would be an unavoidable bonus.

“All right, bodyguard and no going to Egypt. I think I can handle that.”

Demetri still didn’t seem pleased but at least his statue face had relaxed a little. “A package came for you. It was delivered to my office. I left it on the coffee table.”

She raced into the house and ripped open the wrapping. She didn’t need to find a return address to know it came from Mahmoud. Carefully, she pulled aside the tissue paper and released a sigh. Mahmoud was very clever. She’d heard a rumor he’d moved from regular army into intelligence gathering. This package proved it true.

“What is it?” Demetri lounged against the doorframe. His pose casual, his eyes anything but.

“A belly dance costume. Isn’t it gorgeous?” She lifted the sheer, aqua blue veil from the package and showed him. There was a coded message in the intricate design embroidered into the delicate fabric.

“You belly dance?”

“Yes. I thought I’d earn the money needed to free my uncle by dancing at some of the local restaurants.”

“You told me you expected it would take a shit-load of money to free your uncle. You plan to earn that much by dancing?” He straightened and walked into the room. Leaning down, he pulled the small, jewel encrusted bikini top from the box. A row of coins jangled as he lifted it up to the light.

“I’m very, very good. I make a lot in tips.” She took the skirt out and held it against her. It was the most scandalous belly dance costume she’d ever seen. Sheer panels on the sides of the skirt from the hip to mid-thigh revealed way too much skin. No way would even she dare wear it in public. Mahmoud must have had a real laugh when he’d selected it. However as the entire purpose of the outfit was to pass a message, it didn’t matter anyway.

“Show me.”

Her lips curved upward in a slow, seductive smile. This would test Demetri’s control. She took the top from his hand and disappeared down the hall to the bedroom. The three rows of fake coins stitched to a see-through panel of material were all that covered her ass and they jangled out her return. Demetri glanced up from the magazine he was reading and his jaw dropped open. He placed the journal beside him and sat up straight. Rania selected an appropriate song on her phone and connected it to the speakers.

The pounding of tribal drums filled the room and her hips moved in rhythm. She lost herself in the music—twitching, swaying, undulating and rolling her hips and torso in time with the beat. When the music became more sensual, she shimmied over to where Demetri sat. His gaze was riveted on her. Just out of his reach she did chest drops as though releasing her breasts from an invisible string. He sucked in a deep breath.

Another song came on, this one a haunting melody of a woman who’d lost her man. Rania let the Arabic words into her heart, and her body writhed with the singer’s longing. At the end of the song, the lover returned and the song changed to one of exultation. As the last note died away, Rania stopped in front of Demetri. Her breathing was rapid and her heartbeat so loud she was sure he could hear it. She’d never danced that way before, with such abandon. Whether it was Demetri’s challenge or her new-found sensuality she wasn’t sure. But she wasn’t about to let him see how much the music had affected her. She’d let him believe it was an everyday performance and not an interpretive dance of her dread of saying goodbye to him.

“See, I can easily make 500 euros a night.”

“I will pay whatever it takes to free your uncle, if you promise to never dance for another man like that. And never wear that costume out of this house.” Demetri’s voice was deep and husky, his eyes blazed with passion.

“As long as we’re married,” she said.

He swallowed again. “No. No other man. Ever. That is for me alone.”

She stared into his eyes. “You have a deal.”

…

Rania dug her nails into her palm so hard it would take days for the imprints to disappear. Natasha, the bodyguard Demetri had insisted go with them to Turkey, put her hand on Rania’s arm to stop her from going over to Maria. They had found Burak, Demetri’s father, but he didn’t appear happy to see the woman he’d impregnated thirty-one years ago.

“You must let them talk in private,” Natasha said.

Rania dragged her eyes from Maria’s devastated face and turned to her protector. Natasha was pretty with short, dark hair and nearly black eyes. The only thing she’d said of her past was that she used to be with Mossad, the Israeli intelligence service. Now she was freelancing. Natasha seemed completely harmless but Rania had an inkling that if called upon she could rip apart a man twice her size with her bare hands.

Rania glanced again at the reunited lovers. Tears streamed down Maria’s face as Burak handed back the photo of Demetri she’d passed to him.

“You expected a fairytale ending, didn’t you?” Natasha said.

“Yes. My husband warned me this would likely happen. I was sure that once he saw her again they would live happily ever after. It was going to be like the film, Letters to Juliette. They’d see each other again and fall instantly back in love. Burak looks as though he’d rather return to the dumpster where he’s lived with the rest of the cockroaches for the past thirty years.”

“Real life is not like the movies. In real life, people use other people until they have what they want and then they leave. My advice is to enjoy the moment then move on with no regrets.”

When Rania and Demetri both had what they wanted, would she be able to move on with no regrets? Even now the thought of leaving him made her stomach clench in knots. Would Rania turn into another Maria, unable to move on with her life, unable to love another? But Rania didn’t love Demetri, did she? There was a fluttery sensation in her chest just thinking about him.

No, this couldn’t be happening. She needed to get her uncle out of prison, secure the property for Demetri, and then get the hell out of town and on to her next adventure. That’s what she needed, another adventure to take her mind off her husband. Her stomach didn’t like that idea any more than the thought of leaving.

Burak pushed back his chair and strode from the small café where they’d arranged to meet him. Rania was about to go over to Maria when Natasha’s hand restrained her again. “Give her a minute alone.”

“You dabble in psychiatry as well as being a mercenary?”

Natasha smiled. “I have seen the hopes and dreams of many, many people crushed to dust and thrown to the wind. Mine included. Give Maria a minute, then we will go back to the hotel and you two can get drunk and engage in some sort of cathartic ritual which will begin the healing process.”

Rania faked a smile. She was supposed to meet Mahmoud tonight and had hoped to slip out while the other two women slept. She could pretend to drink. The key would be to get Natasha to join them. “Sounds as if you know all about heartbreak. Maybe you could lead the party.” And Rania would take careful notes for when her turn came and Demetri showed her the door.

A few minutes later, Maria made her way to their table, a tissue held against her trembling mouth. “Let’s go,” she said in Greek. “There is nothing for me here.”

Rania put her arm around her mother-in-law’s shoulders and led the way back to their hotel. A muezzin began the adan, the Islamic call to prayer, over a loudspeaker from the minaret of a nearby mosque. Having grown up in Cairo, the call was as familiar to Rania as her own heartbeat. Never had it sounded so melancholy before.

Hours later, Rania stood on the balcony of the luxury hotel suite that Demetri had booked for them. Maria had cried herself to sleep, and Natasha was practicing some type of martial arts in the sitting room.

Istanbul was one of Rania’s favorite cities. Without Demetri, she had no desire to roam the streets, try the food, and find a little club to enjoy a drink and the local culture. And she still had to figure out how she could ditch her guard and meet Mahmoud in an hour.

It had taken her almost two days to decipher the message embroidered on the belly dance costume he’d sent. Finally, she’d worked out that the stems of the flowers were actually writing, backward, and in the dialect of her mother’s Bedouin tribe. Then it became an exercise in memory as she tried to remember some of the stories her grandparents had told her and the words they’d used, which were different from the Arabic the rest of the family spoke.

From what she could work out, according to the message, her uncle was about to be moved as there was too much interest in him where he was. They had less than a week before the expected transfer. If they missed that, then they would be right back to the start, not knowing where he was held. She couldn’t wait any longer for Demetri’s method to free Uncle Fouad. She and Mahmoud had to act now.

Rania walked back into the room. A faint crying sound could be heard from Maria’s room so maybe she hadn’t fallen asleep. Rania wracked her brain for an excuse to leave. “Natasha, my, uh, period started and I forgot to pack some necessities. I’m going to the shop across the street and buy some.”

Her bodyguard straightened from the contorted position she’d been in and stood. “I can call the front desk and they will send some up.”

“No, I’m restless. I need the walk, even if it’s just across the street.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“There’s no need. You can see the shop from the balcony. I’ll be back in ten minutes,” Rania said.

“Do you not understand the job description of a bodyguard? Where you go, I go. Where you sleep, I sleep. Yadda, yadda.”

“What about Maria?”

“She’s not a flight risk. You are. Your husband was very clear in my instructions. I was not to let you out of my sight.”

Damn Demetri and his thoroughness. Great trait in a lover, not so convenient in an overprotective spouse. “Okay then. Let’s go before Maria misses us.”

They slipped from the room and out onto the street. Music from a hookah lounge competed with the blaring of horns and the tooting of motorbikes as they negotiated the narrow, winding streets crowded with pedestrians out for an evening stroll. For a brief minute, she was home in Cairo again. She blinked back some silly tears.

Rania entered the tiny shop and pretended to search for the feminine hygiene products. A loud group of young men came into the store a minute later and Rania noticed Natasha became hyper aware. One of the boys said something to Natasha and while her attention was momentarily distracted, Rania pushed through the group and out onto the street. Natasha called after her but she didn’t stop. Instead, she darted down an alley and into a café, plastering herself against the wall as Natasha ran by. Twenty startled eyes stared at her, Turkish men enjoying a last coffee with their friends before they went home to their long-suffering wives.

“Bad boyfriend,” Rania muttered in Turkish before slipping out the door again and back-tracking the way she’d come. She was checking behind to see if Natasha had spotted her when she ran into the solid chest of a very large man.

Shit.

…

Demetri counted to one hundred in every language he knew. It did nothing to soothe his wrath. He was going to handcuff Rania to himself when he found her. He couldn’t take anymore of this. He couldn’t concentrate on business for thinking of her. When they were apart, all he wanted to do was be with her. When they were together, all he wanted was to tell her he loved her and beg her to stay with him forever.

But he couldn’t do that either. How did you keep a butterfly captive and still happy? His life was steady, practical, predictable. Soon she’d bore of his routine and, as she’d said, even the incredible sex wouldn’t be enough to keep them together. Neither, however, could he give up everything he’d worked for and wander the world like a nomad. He wanted stability, roots; he wanted a family—children he could love and tell them every day how glad he was to be their father. And he wanted to build a legacy to pass down to them. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see having anyone other than Rania as the mother.

Therein lay the crux of his problem. Damned if he loved her, damned if he didn’t.

The tinny sound of the public address system finally announcing his flight was a small relief. In two hours he’d be on the ground in Istanbul, and he’d personally search every centimeter of the city until he found his wife.

The flight felt like the longest in his life and when he landed, Natasha was waiting for him in the arrivals lounge.

“No word,” she said without elaboration. He’d berate her later for losing Rania. First, he wanted to find out what she’d done to find his wife.

His first instinct was to pound on the door of the Egyptian embassy and demand to know if she was being held there. Natasha convinced him to let her use her network of associates first. Within minutes reports started to flood in: she wasn’t in the Egyptian embassy or any of its known safe houses; she hadn’t been seen at the airport, bus station, ferry, or any of the long-distance train stations.

Demetri stared out the taxi window at the passing lights as Natasha kept up a steady stream of instructions via her mobile phone in so many languages he lost count.

When they got to the hotel, Demetri was too impatient to wait for the lift and took the stairs to the top floor. Natasha slipped the keycard into the lock and together they entered the darkened room. A door clicked open and they both whirled around. Maria stood in a long, heavy cotton nightgown, her face blotchy with tears.

“Demetri, what are you doing here?” Her voice was raw, and he rushed to her side.

“Of course I’m here. Rania is missing. I wasn’t going to sit at home and wait for her to turn up.” As far as his mother was concerned, his marriage was a love match; surely she would have expected him to come.

“Rania is missing?” The question ended on a sob and floods of tears followed. Clearly his mother hadn’t been aware of Rania’s disappearance. So why was she so upset? Obviously, her quest to find his father hadn’t gone well. “Has she gone to find Burak?” she asked.

It was something that hadn’t crossed his mind but sounded typical of his wife. Maybe Rania had gone to see his father, convince him to get together with his mother? If that were the case, she’d return soon. A flicker of hope warmed his chest. He’d been so sure Rania was trying to get to her uncle he’d never considered that maybe she was after his father.

He turned to Natasha to see if she’d considered the possibility. As she was shaking her head, the lock on the suite door made a whirring noise. Someone outside was using a key card. Natasha drew a weapon and took up a position against the wall and Demetri pulled his mother behind him.

“Rania!” He rushed forward to grab her when he noticed the man behind. Then fury blinded him and his arm fell to his side.

Before he could demand an explanation, Natasha spoke. “Mahmoud Hawash, I should have known you would be involved.”

“Natasha whatever-your-name-of-the-week is, I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on,” Mahmoud replied.

“Get out, both of you,” Demetri said. He strode over to Rania and touched her arm to prove to his unbelieving heart that she was real and safe.

“No,” Mahmoud said.