Out of Control (13 page)

“He’s very smart, then?”

Faisal laughed, but he didn’t actually sound amused so much as disgusted. “Very smart,
but not about oil. Hakeem is a liar, and he’s always been angry that the wealth of
the royal family doesn’t trickle down in quite the river he’d like. There are thousands
of Saud royal princes and princesses in our country, and each of them receives a stipend,
the amount depending on where they fit in the hierarchy. Because Hakeem doesn’t get
what he considers his fair share, he has his eye on the board position, which is very
lucrative.”

“It should go to Faisal,” Ara said staunchly. “He has worked so hard all these years,
and he has great vision for the future. But because Hakeem is the son of a princess,
and because his father, our uncle, curries favor with the King, the position could
well go to him.” She glanced at Faisal, who looked angry.

“Hakeem isn’t just simplistic when it comes to the business of oil, at times he’s
irrational and has poor judgment,” Faisal said.

I silently agreed. Blowing people up was very bad judgment. It was also against the
law. And evil. Treading carefully, I ventured to say, “It seems unfair.”

Ara’s lips thinned. “It’s grossly unfair, but it’s the way of things here.”

They were clearly upset, and I was sorry I’d brought it up. Except that it did shoot
a few holes in the idea of Hakeem plotting to set off an explosion at Ras Tanura.
If he wanted to be on the Aramco board, would he destroy something so vital to the
company’s profits?

When we arrived back at the house, they apologized that they couldn’t offer a refreshment,
but late afternoon prayers were about to begin. I excused myself and booked it to
my room, way past ready to get naked and cool off.

Robichaud was already there. He’d taken off his
thobe
, and was dressed only in what looked like a pair of white pajama pants, but were
actually what he wore beneath the
thobe
. He sat bare-chested in one of the chairs, watching the news. Yum.

“Honey, I’m home,” I said as I closed the door.

“Hard day at the office, sweetheart?”

“Killer. Where’s my pipe and slippers?”

“Come to daddy and we’ll talk about it.”

I went to my bathroom and lost the scarf, the
abaya
, and all of my clothes and bra, then slid into an oversized t-shirt. “Good Lord,
it’s hot here. I’m never bitching about west Texas again.”

“Tomorrow, ditch the suit and wear your jeans.” He watched me take a seat on the other
chair. “Wonder what we’ll be doing tomorrow?”

“I hope we’re just hanging out here, waiting for Kaliq to make up his mind about the
BP.” I lifted my feet onto the ottoman. “Actually, chances are pretty good, because
I have a sinking feeling we’re chasing shadows. I had an interesting conversation
with Ara and her brother, Faisal.” I told him what they’d said on the way home from
the museum. “If Hakeem wants to be on the board, why would he sabotage the country’s
largest petroleum port?”

“Maybe he thinks it will spur the king to make changes on the board. Out with the
old and in with the new. Or it could be he holds an interest in Arroyo Petroleum and
plans to enrich himself the same way Dylan does. Then again, maybe the guy’s just
completely off his gourd.”

I reached for the glass of lemonade he held in his fingers and took a long drink before
I handed it back. “How’d your day go?”

“Good. I met the king.”

My jaw dropped. “Get out.”

“No, really. Kind of blew my mind, but he remembered me.”

“Because of the security work you did on the ports?”

“Because of Alex.” He met my gaze. “We had coffee after prayers and he told me he
was sorry for my brother’s death, but that a man suffers the consequences of his lack
of wisdom. I said there are some who’d argue the wisdom of trading arms at the Yemen
border, and still others might wonder at the wisdom of letting it continue.”

I felt my eyes go wide. Maybe Robichaud’s testicles really were bigger. “He took it
well, I assume, because you’ve still got your head.”

His lips twitched. “It was tense for a minute, there, then he offered more coffee
and said his granddaughter’s husband was right about me.”

I frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Before King Fahd died, when Abdullah was still crown prince, a man who worked in
the arms camp left the business and married one of Abdullah’s granddaughters. He told
Abdullah about my visit and said I was a very brave man.” His gaze turned inward.
“The king asked me if I’d gone to seek revenge, and I said yes, but that I’d realized
once I got there that the men killed Alex to defend their honor and their livelihood.
To their way of thinking, he deserved death. I didn’t like it, or agree with it, but
I respected it, and concluded that my family and I weren’t entitled to vengeance.”

Yes, he was cocky, and yes, he could corner the market on testosterone, but damned
if Nicholas Robichaud wasn’t an exceptional human being. “How did the king respond?”

Robichaud set his lemonade on the small table between the two chairs. “He said if
he can ever do anything for me, I have only to let him know.”

“Wonder if he’ll still feel that way if we rat on Hakeem?”

“He may want to kill the messenger. But on the other hand, he’d surely be overjoyed
that Ras Tanura wasn’t out of commission.”

“Are you saying, if we still suspect Hakeem after investigating, you plan to tell
the king?”

Nick shrugged, as though it wasn’t such a big deal. “Why not? He’s the guy at the
top, and he’d be the best one to divert a disaster because no one will question him
or his orders.”

True enough.

I leaned my head back and focused on the news playing on the television, although
I had no clue what the reporter was saying since it was in Arabic. The heat and jet
lag and stress all added up to exhaustion, and before I knew it, I dozed off.

When I woke up, the sun had set and the room was in shadow. Robichaud was nudging
me. “If you’re taking a shower before dinner, you’d best get to it. We’re supposed
to be in the salon in thirty minutes.”

…

We were running a bit late, but as it turned out, so was everyone else. When Nick
and I got to the salon, Faisal was the only one there. I introduced him and we chatted
about mundane topics until Ara, Kaliq, and his wife, Mesbah, arrived.

I hid my surprise when we were offered a glass of wine by a Pakistani manservant.
Alcohol is banned in Saudi Arabia. I had a friend who said they confiscated his wife’s
chocolates because an orange liqueur was listed as an ingredient. Glancing around
at the opulence surrounding me, I supposed Saudi Arabia wasn’t so different from most
other places—what’s written as law is for average people, not the wealthy and influential.
Wishing he’d offered an ice cold beer instead, I declined the wine. Nick, I noticed,
also declined.

The conversation centered around Robichaud’s popularity with the king, which he took
in stride, although it did appear to make him somewhat uncomfortable. But Kaliq was
bemused by it, and evidently quite proud of himself for bringing something to the
king which pleased him, so Nick smiled politely and refrained from protesting.

I sat next to him on a low divan and felt like I was dreaming. Maybe because I was
so tired, or perhaps because we’d made the decision to travel to Saudi in such a hurry,
the room and its inhabitants felt surreal to me. Their voices flowed around me, and
when a question was directed at me, I answered intelligently, but made no effort to
steer the conversation or contribute anything of substance.

Then Ara announced, “Blair is an engineer, Father. She works with blowouts, as her
husband does.”

Her mother, Mesbah, who had yet to say anything past a short greeting, dropped her
gaze to her hands. Faisal smiled. Kaliq didn’t exactly frown, but he didn’t look too
happy at the pointed observation. He focused on Nick and asked, “You allow this?”

I could feel the tension emanating from Nick, knew his mind was racing to find a reply
that would appease Kaliq without pissing me off. I cleared my throat and said evenly,
“My husband believes I should honor my contract with Lacrouix and Book until it expires,
which is within the year. At that time, I’ll retire to an office position until we
have a child. Then, of course, I’ll stay at home.”

It was total bullshit, but it was what the older man wanted to hear. Or, at least
it was something he could live with and still hold respect for Robichaud. As soon
as I stopped talking, he focused a gimlet eye on Nick and nodded slowly. “It’s not
every man who can see his wife work as a laborer side by side with other men.”

Robichaud shot back, “But then, I’m not every man, and she’s not just any woman. My
wife is brilliant, and as capable as any person I’ve met. Her honor is above reproach.”

Ara appeared to be enjoying the tension, which struck me as very strange. She’d been
friendly and nice all day. Why now was she deliberately trying to cause Nick and me
discomfort?

I didn’t get a chance to consider her odd behavior. The Pakistani manservant came
to the doorway of the salon and announced the other guests had arrived. Nick, Kaliq,
and Faisal stood as two men were ushered into the room, followed by a woman covered
from head to toe in black. All I could see were her eyes, dark almonds of passivity
that remained focused on the floor.

The first man was dressed in traditional Arab garb, although he had a loose, open
robe atop his
thobe
, one trimmed with gold. He had a mustache and penetrating, dark eyes.

This was Hakeem Naimi. The woman was his wife, Wafa.

The other man was dressed in uninspired western clothes—an ordinary but well-cut suit
and a conservative Hermés tie. His face was arrestingly handsome beneath a shock of
average brown hair.

What the hell…?

It was Cole Fox.

Chapter Nine

It’s hard to say who was more surprised—me, or Cole. His eyes widened and his expression
was one of complete astonishment. Hakeem, on the other hand, appeared cool and calm,
even after the introductions were made. Was his composed demeanor because he was unaware
of our reasons for being there? One could only hope.

Whether Hakeem had a clue or not, Cole definitely knew what was going down. And I
had no doubt he was in on the whole scummy plot. Why else would he be there? Just
why he’d sent me on a wild goose chase to Dallas, I couldn’t be sure. But I was sure
as hell going to find out.

Kaliq practically fawned over Hakeem, which I found rather strange. Faisal evidently
found it disgusting and didn’t bother to hide his dislike of his cousin. He went to
stand next to Ara and his mother, all but ignoring Hakeem and his guest. Ara crossed
the room and escorted Wafa to take a seat beside Mesbah, who appeared pleased to see
her. The three of them began a conversation in Arabic, effectively leaving me out
of the loop. Robichaud nodded and smiled while Kaliq told him all about Hakeem’s career,
his education, his great promise as a future board member at Aramco. I didn’t dare
look at Faisal for fear of being scalded.

Cole was no doubt already well versed on Hakeem’s finer points, so he stood back a
bit and looked anywhere but at me.

With the women ignoring me, Faisal scowling, and Kaliq blowing hot air about Hakeem
to Robichaud, I was presented with a golden opportunity. Not caring if our host thought
me a bold, wanton woman for speaking to a male stranger, I wandered over to Cole.
“Oil futures can be risky,” I murmured evenly.

He’d recovered enough to quietly reply, “They can also be very lucrative.”

“Why did you talk me into going to Dallas?”

He accepted a glass of wine from the manservant and took a sip before he answered.
“We needed to get Dylan and Arroyo out of the way, which you did, quite effectively.
I should thank you for taking care of that little problem.”

“I didn’t do anything to him.”

“You figured out his intention to fix the bids, and called your father like a dutiful
daughter. Plank folded after your father talked to him. When Dylan called to get the
information, he was out of the office. Permanently.”

How could a man with a face like an angel be so slimy? “So with A.J., Dylan, and Tom
Plank out of the picture, I assume you submitted your own bid. But who’s your inside
man?”

He raised one brow and sipped his wine, looking terribly smug. “I was just remarking
to Hakeem how unusual it is that your sisters are all tall, blond, and blue-eyed,
and here you are, petite with dark hair and eyes. Makes me wonder if your mother cheated
with the tennis pro.”

For a horrified moment I froze. Surely to God he hadn’t gotten the bid information
from one of my sisters?

“Courtney is leaving Allen for me,” Cole said with a reptilian smile. “Such an innocent,
your sister. Not like you at all. Probably the best thing that ever happened to you,
getting cut off from that family at such a young age. Toughened you up, and took you
out of the bubble your father created for all of you. Helpless females are like sitting
ducks.” He ignored my silent outrage and went on, “Of course, you still have a tendency
to naiveté. I can see you don’t quite believe your pure, perfect sister could get
involved with another man.”

The fucking bastard. Suddenly, the dossier took on a new angle. He’d used it to figure
out which one of my sisters could be suckered into revealing the bids. But why Courtney?

“Employees in family businesses know everything about their employers,” he said as
though reading my mind. “Tom Plank was a wealth of information. You, of course, didn’t
know your sister was miserable, or that Allen never outgrew his frat days at the University
of Alabama. After he squandered his trust, your daddy hired him as a vice-president,
overlooking men like Plank, who’ve worked hard for years. A loyal, trusted employee
isn’t quite so loyal when he gets screwed out of a well-deserved promotion. But your
father couldn’t have one of his precious daughters struggling to pay the electric
bill, now could he?”

I eyed him with a fresh perspective. “You’re insanely bitter toward people who come
from money. How is it that you’re such a bosom buddy of Hakeem?” I glanced at Hakeem,
noting his arrogant stance, how he appeared to believe everyone in the room was awed
by his mere presence. “Or are you using him, too, just like you’re using my sister?”

His eyes narrowed. “Everything I told you about my brother was true. Dylan and Hakeem
ruined Parnell’s life, and my mother made it worse by ignoring the problem. Neither
his father nor mine was willing to help him, either. I hoped if we had enough money
he’d finally be content, and I’d be able to get him the help he needed. Instead, he’s
dead.”

Cole was a sociopath who blamed everything wrong in his life on others, even his own
sins. He couldn’t see that his illegal scheme—and therefore he—was ultimately responsible
for his brother’s death. “So you let A.J. take the fall for the blowouts, then cut
Dylan out of the deal when he was no longer of any use. I assume you intend to screw
Hakeem as soon as he blows up those loading terminals.”

“Look at him, swelled up like a peacock. He’s a worthless megalomaniac who needs a
harsh dose of reality.”

“Are you sure you’re going to win the bid?”

“No doubt. Your father will call to let me know at three p.m., central time, which
will be eleven o’clock here in Saudi Arabia.” He checked his watch. “Less than three
hours from now.”

“And the terminals will blow just after?”

His eyes gleamed with pleasure. “Within hours the price will increase by seventy-five
dollars a barrel, minimum. The sublease from the Alaskan properties will net another
twenty million at least.”

“And Hakeem will be beheaded for treason.”

“One can only hope.”

“How will he do it? Dhahran is almost four hundred miles from here.”

“You don’t really expect me to tell you, do you?”

“Can’t see why not. You’re spilling the beans about everything else.”

“Whatever. It’ll be your word against mine, and I’ve done nothing to dirty my hands
in any of this.”

“Very clever, Cole. So how did you get Hakeem roped in?”

Cole looked inordinately pleased with himself. “I learned at a very early age that
people will do anything, given the right motivation.”

“You mean greed?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Not necessarily. For instance, you didn’t see any reason to go
to Dallas until I made you believe Dylan really could be guilty, and your ex-husband
innocent. You wanted to prove A.J. wasn’t behind the blowouts so you could save face
with your family.”

Okay. He really was clever.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, but I had to admit he was right. He’d played me like
a drum and I’d marched in quick-time.

Crap.

His gaze moved briefly to Hakeem before returning to me. “He wants money, but more
than that, he wants power. He believes the loss of a crucial petroleum port will shake
things up within the kingdom. A handful of old Sauds rule a country bursting at the
seams with young men. Once it becomes apparent that the old royals can’t protect the
lifeblood of their country, the princes will revolt, and Hakeem will be there to lead
them.”

It was total hogwash, but it was inspired. He’d hand-fed dreams of glory to the gullible
Hakeem, painting a picture of how it would be—if only the port’s loading terminals
were compromised.

“You can’t believe I’ll sit by and let it happen.”

“What can you do to stop it?”

“Tell the king.”

Cole didn’t look the least bit worried. He actually chuckled. “He’d never believe
you, and that’s if you could get close enough to speak to him. You’re a woman. A foreign
woman, at that.”

I chose not to tell him how much the king liked Robichaud. “Why wouldn’t he believe
me?”

“Because he holds Hakeem in such high regard.”

“He’s a murderer. An embarrassment to his country and to Islam.”

“The school bomb was downplayed as a prank gone bad, and my brother took the blame
for it. Hakeem’s other transgressions in the States were explained away as a conspiracy
to discredit him.” Cole looked toward Ara and Faisal. “Hakeem and his cousin’s competition
for a seat on the Aramco board is well known. When Hakeem landed in hot water again,
he claimed Faisal set him up. The king didn’t know who to believe, but he favors Hakeem,
so Faisal is walking a thin line.” His gaze moved toward Kaliq, who was still extolling
Hakeem’s virtues to Nick. “As the father of a possibly traitorous son, Kaliq’s standing
is fragile at best. He has to stay in Hakeem’s family’s good graces or his seat on
the board is history, along with all the money. He sucks up very well, doesn’t he?”

If all Cole was saying was true—and I had my doubts because he was clearly the best
liar in the world—it was a grave injustice to Faisal. No wonder he and Ara were so
pissed off about Hakeem’s imminent appointment to the board.

“So is Faisal going to get nailed for Hakeem’s crime?”

“Absolutely. He and his sister haven’t been quiet about their jealousy of Hakeem,
nor have they tried to hide their dissatisfaction with the status quo. They’d both
like to see this country move into the twenty-first century, stop corruption, and
loosen the stranglehold of the
mutawaeen
, particularly when it comes to women. Faisal will easily be found guilty, because
Hakeem was careful to plan it that way. But whatever. Once the port’s out of commission
and the price goes up, I don’t give a damn who gets blamed.”

“I suppose you’ll hop a plane home and leave it all behind.”

“I’ll disappear, and no one will remember me because I’m invisible.”

Now I knew why he wore ordinary, uninspired clothes. I thought of my sister, Courtney.
Obviously, he’d disappear from her life, too. Would she be heartbroken?

Cole Fox had never spoken of his personal life. I had no idea where he was from, if
he was married, if he had a job other than con man. I knew only what he wanted me
to know, and of that, there was no telling what was truth and what were lies. He balanced
on the fringe, as he was doing at that very moment, remaining polite and courteous
but unobtrusive. Forgettable, in spite of his beautiful face.

Kaliq was finally done stroking Hakeem’s ego and it was time to move to the dining
room. I managed to get close to Robichaud and whisper, “We’re on.”

“Got it.”

We took our places at the table, segregated—not surprisingly—with the women at one
end and the men at the other. I grasped the back of the chair, stumbled backward,
and dropped to the floor, very glad of the thick rug.

I heard Ara cry out in Arabic, followed by a babble of alarmed voices. Then I felt
Nick’s arms sliding beneath me, lifting me from the floor. Concentrating on my part,
I remained as loose as possible, allowing my arm to swing free and my head to loll
against his shoulder.

“She’s very tired, and probably suffering from the heat,” he said. “I’ll take her
to our room.”

Mesbah chose that moment to speak up. “Allow me to follow and attend to her. Perhaps
my husband should call the doctor?”

“It’s not necessary,” Nick said firmly. “Thank you, but she’ll want me there when
she comes around. Please begin dinner without us, and I’ll return as soon as possible.”

He strode out of the room and the sound of chatter slowly faded behind us. I kept
my eyes closed and whispered as he walked, telling him all that Cole had said. Before
I was done, he stopped. “Reach down and open the door.”

I opened my eyes and did as he said, and as soon as we were in the room, he shoved
the door closed with his shoulder, set me on my feet, then turned and locked it. I
finished telling him while we changed clothes and packed essentials in the backpacks
we’d brought along, which didn’t take long because neither of us had brought much.

He grabbed my pack and set it next to his inside his closet. “There’s an excellent
chance that he’s yanking your chain, that he’s got some kind of angle.”

“I don’t think he’s lying about the port. Beyond that, does it matter?”

“No, I don’t suppose it does.” He went to the bed and folded back the coverlet and
sheets. “Ready?”

I nodded and climbed in, fully clothed in jeans, tennis shoes and a camisole. He pulled
the covers up to my neck, went to the bathroom and came back with a wet cloth. He
handed it to me, then slipped his
thobe
over his head, covering his jeans and T-shirt. As soon as he had the
ghutra
and
agal
in place on his head, he picked up the phone and dialed 0. He spoke in Arabic, his
tone indicating fear and stress. When he was done, he hung up and pressed the call
button.

I laid the damp cloth across my forehead, closed my eyes and waited.

Within a minute someone knocked. Robichaud answered, speaking to the manservant in
the same fearful, stressed tone.

The door closed and he came over to the bed. “Shouldn’t be long. Remember, don’t leave
the hospital for any reason until I get back. You’ll be safe there.”

“Suppose some quack wants to take me into surgery?”

“They won’t do anything without my permission, and I won’t be there to give it.”

I opened one eye. “Do you mean they’d let me die because you didn’t say it was okay
to save me?”

“No, but even a quack won’t think you’re at death’s door, because you’re not. Don’t
fret, sugar. Just play sick until I come for you, then we’ll go home.”

“Suppose King Abdullah has you arrested and you never come for me? Shouldn’t we have
an alternate plan?”

“We do have one. Have you forgotten?”

I glared at him. “I never forget anything. If you have an alternate plan, you never
told me. We aren’t even dating yet and you’re already doing the man thing, leaving
me out of the loop. I really hate the man thing.”