Sheikh's Rescue

She wasn’t sure what to say. How could they have missed the existence of a brother? The file listed no siblings. In fact, the closest relatives listed were an uncle and two first cousins. Then there were only distant relatives listed in order of succession. It was a major oversight, and it had her immediately concerned. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“I don’t,” he said rather sadly. “Not anymore. He died a few years before my mother.” He cleared his throat. “Accident,” he said with a rasp to his voice. “His death destroyed my parents.”

For the first time, her heart went out to him. It was tragic, and he said it so nonchalantly. The hurt in his eyes told her that wasn’t how he felt about the tragedy.

It was interesting how she’d had to tweak the profile she’d established for him. He was annoying but he wasn’t arrogant; instead he had expectations. He was socially awkward, especially around the opposite sex. She wasn’t sure if that was just her. The most surprising had been his compassion. There was a lot she still didn’t know, as the file hadn’t spoken to personality. But what she did know was that he was basically a good egg.

“Don’t hit it!” he’d yelled when she’d swerved for an elk on the way from the airport.

“Oh my goodness,” he’d said after the animal had dodged into the bush. “I’m so glad you did that. That you were able to swerve like that.” He’d taken a slightly strangled breath as if he’d been holding it. “That he lived.”

In that moment, she could have forgiven most of Stanley’s annoying behaviors, at least the ones she’d recently suffered through, when he displayed that kind of compassion for a wild animal. Add in that he was the client, and they were never wrong, and he was in a pretty good place. For the first time she relaxed and smiled at him.

“I’m sorry,” she said in reference to his brother. According to the file, his mother had died twenty-two years ago. His father had died a few years after that of a heart attack. She wondered what else the file might have missed.

“Don’t be,” he said softly. “He had a good life. Just short.”

She looked at him with a frown. It was an odd thing to say about losing a brother, as far as she knew, his only sibling. Since it was accidental, she imagined it had been tragic—definitely sudden. She had questions, but she asked none of them. None of it was relevant to the case.

Instead she mulled over the strangeness of Stanley’s response. Everyone dealt with grief differently, but she was curious. She started to say something and then stopped.

Before she could consider the matter further, there was a movement to her right. Her attention immediately focused on the cluster of stark, leafless trees on the edge of the parking lot. They were across the road, and her mind quickly calibrated the distance. Approximately one hundred feet to the right—shooting distance. She tensed, but her eyes never left that location.

“Go inside,” she said over her shoulder. She wasn’t taking any chances, code white or not. She could hear him breathing behind her. He wasn’t listening, as usual. It was strange that they had a usual in the short time she’d known him. That was the one intriguing thing about him, despite his oddness—it was easy to develop a rapport with him. She shoved the thoughts back.

She focused on the change across the street, the potential threat. She doubted it was anything. But she wasn’t taking the chance. She needed to focus on one thing, and that was keeping Stanley safe.

Something flashed across the street, like sunlight on metal. She looked up. There was a break in the cloudy sky and a glimmer of sunlight.

With her Colt in her right hand, she moved close to Stanley, pushing him back with her left.

One sparrow, then two flew out of a low-lying bush that edged the parking lot. They flew diagonally down the street, the two joined by two more, as if they’d been disturbed.

“Get inside. Keep down,” she commanded.

He looked at her, puzzled, his mouth working as if he were about to protest. She gave him another little shove when he continued to stand there.

It could be nothing. But she’d rather overreact and have Stanley safe. The other option wasn’t worth considering. For that meant failure, and she’d never failed... The thought trailed off. Now all senses were on alert.

Something was off.

She peered over the balcony. The snow was lessening, but the wind was picking up. A stray fast-food wrapper was tagged by the wind. It seemed to skip across the street. She watched as it tumbled in the direction where, if she were to pinpoint trouble, she’d point there. But there was no evidence of anything. Just the same superficial signs and now nothing. The only noise was that created by the wind. The break in the clouds disappeared, and everything seemed dimmer.

She might have imagined it. The possibility was high. She wasn’t sure if there was trouble or not. What she did know was that her instincts screamed that something wasn’t right. It was hard to pinpoint what had been the defining moment that had triggered her full attention. But now she was on and ready for action.

Seconds ticked by.

“What are you listening for?” There was a demand in his voice; it carried the edge of expectation, like someone who had always gotten his way.

A shot rang out, cutting off anything else he might have wanted to say. The glint of something, a glimpse of blue-black, a gun—or maybe that was just her imagination. The shot had been real. It seemed to come from exactly the spot she’d mentally marked as a potential problem area.

“Get down!” she shouted as Stanley let out a noise that sounded like a cross between a yip and a shriek. She hurled herself down and back so she was within range to take him down by force if necessary.

“What’s going...” he began as she had him by the arm, taking him down, too.

“Shut up! Stay there!”

She got up in a half crouch while giving him a bit of a push on his chest to remind him to stay down. She turned her back to him, moving toward the railing. Cement, she thought with disgust. The railing was a solid block of cement. Great protection and lousy visual. The only way to find the perp was to make herself vulnerable and lift her head over the edge.

Another shot.

Seconds ticked by. A minute, then two.

A rush of movement to her right and a crash directly below her.

She was blinded by the balcony. She looked to her right. The ceramic planter that had sat on the railing had been taken out. It had crashed into the parking lot. Hit by gunfire, she was sure, considering everything that had happened in the last few minutes. But the sound had been muted and the only real alert was what had followed, the noise of pottery shattering. She bet that whoever was shooting at them was now using a silencer. Why hadn’t he used it for the first shot or even the second? That was a mystery she might never have the answer to. Unnecessary question, unnecessary information, she told herself. But the shadow that flitted from one dead tree to the next and where the last shot had come from wasn’t. This might be her only chance. She took aim and fired.

She glanced back. Stanley was on his knees in a position that in yoga was called a prayer position. The only difference was that his hands were covering his head.

She turned back to the balcony. She scanned the street. She doubted she’d hit anything. There’d been no evidence of her taking out anything more than the bark of a tree.

Whoever was out there would not want the attention of the sheriff. She had to assume that they would shoot only when they spotted a target, that they would not fire needlessly and create extra noise and, potentially, undue attention. She moved slowly, trying to find a place to see and not be seen.

Her Colt was clutched in both hands as she considered the next move. Everything had changed. The white-coded, dull little assignment had just been upgraded.

To code red.

Chapter Three (#ua6831476-c5d9-5e6c-b292-b8caaa24cfc6)

“Why are they shooting at us?” Stanley looked at her as if the answer to that question would spin back the clock, as if this had never happened.

There was no time to ask who and why. No time for the volley of questions that answering that one question could turn into.

She looked over her shoulder. Stanley was crawling toward her. His face was white, but he wasn’t stopping.

“Get back,” Jade said, and waved him back toward the safety of the apartment. She should have known that there was a time limit on how long he’d follow instructions. She rose slowly to peer over the concrete railing. There was another movement to her right. A flash, and she dived down, glancing over her shoulder as she did so. Stanley hadn’t moved.

“Stay down,” she commanded in a whisper. “Stay there.”

She shifted her attention away from Stanley. The assailant might be across the street, but she had no idea if he was alone. She rose up on one knee. “This sucker’s not done with us,” she muttered as she peered over the balcony. Everything was quiet except for an odd shuffling sound behind her. She turned and found herself face-to-face with Stanley. “Down,” she repeated, and he nodded, flattening himself to the balcony floor.

She hunched down, her eyes meeting his. Panic was in his eyes and in the tense line of his lips. “There’s nothing you can do. This is why I was hired,” Jade said patiently as if more words would somehow calm him. “You’re unarmed,” she reminded him, betting that he didn’t even realize that important fact. She saw the fear in his eyes as she delivered the clinching words. “I’m not.”

This time he seemed to get it as his frightened eyes met hers.

Jade turned, rising to her knees to peer over the balcony as she scanned the street for further trouble.

Silence.