As usual when she was alone, Holly’s thoughts returned to her sister. People said the two of them looked alike, but she knew better. Jazz was more dramatic in every way: two inches taller, with brighter red hair, darker brown eyes and a more vivacious manner.
Abruptly, she realized she was being watched. Startled, she stared at the man standing across the alley. Where had he come from? The fact that she hadn’t seen or heard him approach gave her a creepy sensation.
He stood motionless, regarding her the way a cat watches its prey. Tall and dark, with a short beard and mustache, he had a muscular build beneath his sweatshirt and jeans. He wore a California Angels baseball cap, turned backward.
The most striking thing about the man was the intensity of the eyes. They burned at her from his chiseled face, disturbing her with their open expression of dislike.
Annoyed, Holly reached up and lowered her veil. Not a twitch of the stranger’s lips betrayed a reaction.
She hurried inside, but an impression of alert tension stayed with her. And of fierce eyes that seemed oddly familiar.
“YOU ARE certain it is she?” asked Zahad. To Sharif, the turtleneck sweater and cap gave his cousin a collegiate air.
“She covered her face when she saw me, but yes,” the sheikh replied. “I am certain.” The resemblance to the photograph of H. J. Rivers was unmistakable.
The two men sat in the front seat of a rented sedan, next to a small shopping center on the far side of the vacant lot. Through binoculars, they had been watching the churchyard for more than an hour.
Although, following Zahad’s advice, the sheikh was dressed in casual American fashion, something about him had distressed Holly Rivers. He should not have stared so hard, he supposed, but he had wanted to see her face clearly.
How innocent she looked, and how lovely, her youth and vivid coloring flattered by the ivory gown. He knew her true nature, however. She had stolen his money, and now she was trying to steal his child.
“They are all snakes,” he muttered. “Her, and those people at the clinic.”
Beside him, Zahad nodded. “I am sorry I steered you to that place. It received many recommendations on the Internet, so I trusted Mrs. Wheaton, but she has deceived us. I am only glad we had not yet paid her the full amount.”
A month ago, the clinic owner had stopped returning Zahad’s phone calls. When he finally reached her, she had nervously declared that there were some unforeseen complications but that they could be handled. Any precipitous action might create legal problems, she had said.
With his usual thoroughness, the aide had checked recent legal records concerning H. J. Rivers. That was how he’d learned that Holly Jeannette Rivers had taken out a marriage license with Trevor Samuelson, an attorney.
Amy Haroun, who had grown up as more of a sister to Sharif than a cousin, had surmised that Holly Rivers must have decided to keep the baby. A poor manicurist couldn’t afford a legal battle, but marriage to an attorney would guarantee her an inside track. No doubt the older man had been bedazzled by this manipulative young woman.
Zahad had flown to America at once. Sharif, who’d arrived yesterday, didn’t know the full extent of his aide’s preparations, but there was a safe house, and this car had been rented through a business subsidiary. Zahad had also stashed a backup vehicle somewhere.
They had brought no weapons, at the sheikh’s orders. He didn’t want to risk being arrested with a gun.
The plan was to snatch his son and fly him back to Alqedar, using any of several sets of tickets purchased from different airlines. Then let Holly Jeannette Rivers twist and scheme as she might. American custody orders were not recognized in his country.
It had not been easy to catch Ms. Rivers alone with the baby, however. That short woman, who must be her older sister, seemed to be with her whenever the fiancé was absent.
But they had to make their move soon. The Rivers woman had seen him. Even if she didn’t already suspect Sharif’s identity, any further sightings of him would raise the alarm.
Adrenaline surged through him. Despite the gravity of the situation, this was the moment when he felt most alive: on the verge of action.
“Let us take our positions,” said Zahad.
The sheikh nodded. His palms itched and sheer energy pumped through his arteries. To strike at last, after so much delay, would be a pleasure.
INSIDE HER dressing room, Holly found the baby watching wide-eyed as Alice mopped a white milky stain from the shoulder of her blue dress. “The receiving blanket slipped while I was burping him. What a mess!”
“I’ll take him.” After pushing up her veil, Holly reached for the warm bundle. “You go put some soap and water on it.”
“How could I be so clumsy?” fussed her friend as she hurried away.
In Holly’s arms, Ben yawned, ready for a nap. She decided to go in search of Marta Vasquez, the salon’s other manicurist, who had volunteered to hold the baby during the ceremony.
When she stepped through the outer door, a sharp breeze tugged at her veil. With her bouquet tucked in the crook of her arm and Ben in the other, she didn’t have a hand free to steady the veil.
She forgot about the wind, however, when the baby gurgled happily. Holly beamed down at his small pink face.
A scuffing noise, very close, startled her into looking up. It was the dark-haired man. Right there, towering over her, so close she could see the hard purpose in his face.
“Wh-what do you want?” The words came out in a whisper.
She hadn’t realized anyone else was present until, from the other side, a pair of hands seized Ben. The second attacker frightened her even more. His marked face and cold expression were terrifying.
Things were happening too fast. It took forever to reach out for little Ben, and when she did, he had already been snatched out of reach. She tried to scream for help, but her throat clamped down.
Where was everybody? Why didn’t Trevor come? What did these men want with her baby?
They turned to flee. With a sob, Holly leaped after them.
Chapter Two
The sheikh had thought himself prepared for any development. But he had not anticipated that this woman would throw herself into the car through its half-open rear door when it was already beginning to move.
“Push her out!” cried Zahad, who had thrust the baby into a basket on the floor, and was stepping on the gas. “Close the door!”
The veil and attached circlet of flowers fell to the pavement as the woman clutched at Sharif. “Give me my baby! Give him back!”
“We will not harm him!” Didn’t she realize who they must be? “Zahad, stop and let me remove her.”
“No!” The woman held fast to Sharif’s arm. “I won’t leave him!”
“You must close the door!” said his aide. “We are attracting attention, and I cannot drive properly.”
As a veteran of many battles, the sheikh would not hesitate to attack a foe. He saw no justification, however, for shoving Holly Rivers from a moving car.
Instead, he yanked her onto the seat beside him, reached past her and slammed the door. Immediately, his cousin whipped onto a street to their right. He swerved again, setting a complicated course in case of pursuit.
As the woman beside him straightened herself, Sharif got a better look at her face. The amber eyes were wide with alarm, and the dishevelled red hair tumbled around her shoulders as if she had newly arisen from bed.
A stunning woman. In spite of himself, he could not help wishing