Sheikh Junayd Saif-Ad-Din descended the steps to the waiting limousine and listened to his aide informing him of this evening’s agenda. It was the usual: a meeting with the head of a hospital, a tour of a new surgical center, a meeting with the Jawahir ambassador…
“…followed by a dinner hosted by Mr. Albert Benning. I believe the next Vice-Presidential candidate will be attending.”
Junayd grimaced. He would be expected to attend the dinner with a guest. A list of names ran through his mind before he settled on one that would be the least intrusive and most entertaining for his brief visit. At last night’s fashion show, Gina Collingsworth, a recently divorced socialite, had made it obvious that she wouldn’t turn down a call from him.
They climbed into the limo, Junayd’s bodyguards closed the doors, and Ashar continued, “Due to this last meeting running over, I’m afraid I will need to reschedule either the meeting with Dr. Housing, the surgical tour, or the meeting with Ambassador Kahin. Which would you prefer?”
“Inform Dr. Housing to meet me at the new surgical unit. We can have our meeting while he gives me the tour. Call Isam and ask him to bring his wife to Benning's dinner. And please call Ms. Gina Collingsworth. Tell her I will have a car pick her up at eight o’clock. She will be my guest for the dinner. If you need her phone number, the event planner from last night should be able to give it to you.”
Ashar gave him a half-smile. “Ms. Collingsworth has called several times today requesting to speak to you. I will use the number she left.”
Junayd laughed under his breath, the sound rueful. “Thank you for not patching her through.”
“You’re welcome, sire.”
Junayd gave the portly older man a brief smile before he leaned his head wearily against the plush head-rest of his seat. The last week had been filled with one meeting or event after another, but as he stared out the window at the cold, grey haze, it was homesickness that made him feel the most weary. He missed the warmth of Jawahir during the day and the cold, starry nights of the desert at night. Here, just like every city around the world that he visited, there was no chance of seeing the stars.
* * *
Three hours later, Junayd was wishing he had come alone to Benning's dinner party. The sickly scent of his date’s perfume was burning his nose and throat. His medical expertise meant he didn’t miss the minuscule scars of Gina’s most recent visit to the plastic surgeon and if she pressed her rock-hard breasts against him one more time, he might actuallytellher that she should have gone with a softer pair instead of choosing perkiness.
With a signal to Isam to distract the clingy socialite, he carefully removed her red talons from his arm and motioned to his aide. Ashar appeared at his side, his expression bland, though Junayd could sense the man’s amusement.
“See that Ms. Collingsworth gets home without me,” he instructed.
Junayd would rather take care of his sexual needs himself than sleep with Frankenstein’s bride. A shudder ran through him. He needed a breath of fresh air.
“Yes, sire,” Ashar replied with a slight bow.
Junayd slipped through the crowd and stepped out onto the second-story balcony. Twin sets of steps curved down from each side of the balcony to the southern gardens of the lush estate. His breath fogged the air as he let the door close behind him. The chill felt good against his overheated flesh.
For a moment, he closed his eyes and imagined that he wasn’t standing on a balcony overlooking a meticulously manicured garden. Instead, his feet were sinking into soft sand. He imagined he could hear the sand shifting in the wind, could see wild dunes stretching to the horizon, and the sky was a vast and welcome friend above, its familiar patterns twinkling clear and bright.
His escape lasted for only a few seconds before Junayd heard a low cry of distress. He moved into the shadows, scanning the grounds below him. In the light streaming from the windows, he noticed a tiny woman being roughly pulled across the lawn by a rotund man. Junayd stiffened when the man struck her. She fell to her knees with another muffled cry. Junayd pressed the radio on his watch.
“I need two guards to the southern gardens near the large tree. There is a woman in trouble,” he ordered.
The man was still hitting her. The closest of Junayd’s guards were out front. It would take them several minutes to arrive.
The abuser dragged the woman toward the large oak tree. Concern burst through Junayd that his guards wouldn’t arrive in time. He rushed toward the left staircase leading down when another cry rang out, this time from the man. Relieved that his guards must have made it to the yard in record time, he paused on the upper steps to watch.
A shadow menacingly circled the man. Junayd’s eyes widened. The man lunged toward the small woman who was frozen with fear on the ground, but fell back when the shadow struck again. The attack was beautiful in its execution. A well-aimed blow to the throat silenced his cries. Another targeted his stomach, then his legs. The sharp crack of a bone in his arm breaking made Junayd wince. The shadow released him and the man rolled back and forth on the ground, releasing a choked, reedy wail of agony.
Junayd tilted his head with curiosity when the shadow slowly crouched near the woman, the dark figure’s body language soothing and compassionate. Within a few moments, the woman stopped sobbing, nodded, and shakily rose to her feet with the dark figure’s assistance.
She was saying something to her rescuer, but the warrior had paused and was looking back toward the house. Junayd shivered as the hero’s sharp-eyed scrutiny found him.
Junayd knew it was impossible. In the darkness, his black silk shirt, black tuxedo, and even his skin color and hair would camouflage him. Yet, he was positive that whoever it was who had cloaked themselves in shadow just effectively as he did saw him as if he were standing under a spotlight.
The moment lasted only a few seconds, then the figure slowly stepped back into the darkest depths of the garden and completely disappeared from sight. Released from the mesmerizing gaze, Junayd continued his descent down the staircase. By the time he arrived, three of his bodyguards, Issa Zayn, Hyder Faiz, and Yahya Walid, were near the tree.
A very young woman, the side of her face swollen, her lip bleeding, and her dress torn at the shoulder stood shaking uncontrollably between Issa and Hyder. Yahya was kneeling next to the sprawled man, quietly requesting an ambulance.
Junayd removed his jacket and stepped closer to the shivering teenager, assessing that while she had been abused and was suffering from shock, she did not appear to have any injuries that would need immediate care.
“Pull this on,” he gently instructed.
“Th-th-thank you,” she stuttered.