ROMANCE: THE SHEIKH'S GAMES: A Sheikh Romance (3 page)

He shifted in the seat some more and stared into her hazel eyes. She looked away when she grew self-conscious about it, and reopened the file. “Like it says, I was accused of murdering someone, but I did not commit the act,” he said sternly while jamming his index finger on the table to emphasize his point.

“Where were you at the time of the murder?” she asked him, looking him in the eyes again. She found it hard not to. It’s like he was pulling her into a black hole by some sort of magnetic force, and she had to brace herself so she wouldn’t get lost in it.

“I was in my office, I suppose,” he said.

“You suppose? Can anyone corroborate that?” she asked him.

“Why am I getting the inquisition?” he asked, seemingly with a growing irritation.

“Because I have to know these things so I can properly represent you. The prosecution will throw these questions at you, and based on what’s in here, we will be meeting with them soon. I’m told the victim’s family has a lawyer, and he is very proficient, I can assure you.”

“And you are not? It is your duty to ensure I don’t go behind bars for something I didn’t do!” he said forcefully.

Jameela sat there looking at him, thinking that her want to make him pay was completely justified. He was smug, and she found herself growing more anxious the longer he sat there. “I am very good at what I do, but I can only do that if I know everything there is to know. I don’t want to show up for an inquisition and have a curve ball thrown at me. I should remind you Sheikh Ramadan, that it is your ass on the line. Not mine! So let me ask again, is there just cause why anyone would think you are capable of killing this man you said you did not?”

Al-Hafeez hesitated, and she saw his lips twitching, and then he pinched his chin. “Alright, there might have been something.” Of course there was a motive, she thought. Why else would he need a lawyer? Jameela clasped her hands on the desk as she waited for him to continue. “I had a gambling debt with him, which is in the file. I have another bookie I normally wage bets with, and in times when I need money I do not wish my family to know about I would call him. I do admit I mentioned I could kill the man after he came to me, but that was only to my good friend Al-Kareem. He called my father after he left my office, during which time I called this other bookie. We were supposed to meet at a spot we often used, but when I got there, he wasn’t. That’s when I got the call, from Manseh’s brother—Manseh is the man I owed—that he was dead, and that I had sent my friend to kill him. Needless to say, my friend was also dead, but he had already called the police, so that by the time I got home, they were right behind me.”

“Hmm,” Jameela responded as she thought about what he had said. “So did he have the money for him? Is that what he was supposed to do? Clear the debt, or transfer it rather?” she queried.

“Yes, that was the idea,” Al-Hafeez replied. “I’m not sure if he did, and if he did, then the others wouldn’t have told me. They just want to send me away because it seems easy I guess.”

“That’s going to be hard to do without a murder weapon—for a long time anyway. We have already established that you do have a motive for the killing, but without proof of the murder, it probably won’t end up going to trial. Where was the body found?” she asked, and then flipped through the fie again; she was sure she had seen it somewhere.

“Near the docks,” he told her.

She rubbed her chin and stood up. She walked to the window and looked across at the massive towers in her line of sight. “And your office is not that far from it then, right?” she asked.

“It is about a ten-minute drive,” he told her. “Why?”

She turned and looked at him, before walking over. She tried not to look into his eyes as much, because its power was commanding her mind against the task at hand. “So,” she began and pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, “you have motive, opportunity and no alibi,” she said. “That is, unless there is someone who can verify you have been in your office at the time the man was murdered. I will have to contact forensics for the exact time of death, and see if that will help.”

“I guess that’s it then,” he told her and got up.

“That’s it?” she asked. “Do you think you just come in and say that, and that’s it?” she asked. “I am going to need a lot more than that to get you off the hook.”

“That is your job. I am paying you well to make sure I do not wind up in that filthy establishment,” he said arrogantly.

Jameela could feel the blood boiling inside her, and her ears getting warm from the effect. “Did it occur to you, that when you were gambling, that you had already made your bed in a ‘filthy establishment’? Didn’t you realize that at some point it would take more than money and a warm smile to get you off the hook? You may be paying me but you better hope and pray I find something that might help you.” She was fuming by then, but Al-Hafeez just stood there, looking at her, like she was the crazy one.

“You did not have to take this case. There are many lawyers here, and it would seem I have offended you in some way, though I fail to see how. In any case, you can ring me if you decide you are capable of turning this around,” he said. And with that he walked out.

Jameela stood there staring at the door after he had gone. It took her a full ten minutes before her breathing returned normalcy and her heart slowed its pace. She had been angry at his family before, but she had personally witnessed how overbearing they could be. Sheikh Al-Hafeez was not someone she was willing to fight for, and she was willing to risk her job in seeing him fall. But would she be able to endure the long hours she would need to work with him? In a fleeting moment she thought against it, just leaving him be, and let some poor sap bend over backwards to help him. The thing was, without a murder weapon, they possibly could not charge or convict him of murder. But she didn’t know what it was or if they had one.

“So?” Selena asked as she wheeled into the office. “Isn’t he adorable? I mean, I’ve heard stories about him but he seems far better,” she said with glee.

“The operative word being seems,” Jameela replied. “He is very arrogant and controlling, and at present I am still not sure I should be working with him. I think he deserves to go to prison.”

“What?” Selena asked and then laughed. “That bad, huh?”

Jameela slapped her hand on her forehead and closed the file. “While there is only a slim chance of losing this case, the man is already proving difficult to work with. Hey, look at me, the Almighty Sheikh Ramadan; I am paying you, so do as I command,” she said in a mock masculine tone, much to Selena’s amusement.

“He said that?” she asked.

“I’ve always disliked their kind,” Jameela replied.

“Well, look at it like this; you will be making a ton of money to just tolerate him. It shouldn’t be long. You are good at what you do Jameela.”

“Yeah, thanks Selena. I really hope this is my shortest case in history. I need to go down to the precinct,” she told the woman.

“Which means you are keeping it,” Selena said and grinned. “I’ll take that diamond bracelet for my birthday when you get paid.”

“Get out Selena,” Jameela said and smiled.

Her ride to the precinct was filled with nothing but inner turmoil and regret. She wanted to know as much as she could about the case, and if she could do nothing, then she wouldn’t show unnecessary interest. But continuing what she was planning sent her beyond her natural morals and professional work ethics, and she wondered if she could go through with it. Was she willing to sacrifice her career so that he could pay?

When she got to the precinct the prosecutor was already there. He escorted her to the room where the accuser waited. He had a stony face, and he stared straight ahead but seeing nothing. She stood there and listened to the man rattle on about how the Sheikh had killed his brother. And just when Jameela thought things could not get any worse, she was led away to the evidence room. Not only did they have a murder weapon, a knife with strange carvings and which seemed to be an antique, but it had Al-Hafeez’s fingerprints all over it. And his was the only one they could find.

When she passed by the investigation room again the man was just walking out. He gave her an odd look, and in that moment she wasn’t sure what was the winning side; seeing Sheikh Al-Hafeez behind bars for his crime against her family and watching a crook slither away untouched, or defending him so that justice was served. The thing was, she was no longer sure for whom she should be seeking justice.

Jameela held the card in her hand—Freya Abdul, reporter— and played with it. She turned it over and over again, even while she held the phone in her hand. She got a rush of adrenaline just then and dialed the numbers printed in bold. It had only just started ringing when she lost her nerve and hung up again. Her palms were sweaty and clammy, and her heart raced as she sat there with her eyes glued to the device. There was a mental struggle going on between being selfish and being right, and she was no longer clear on what she wanted to be the winner.

“Jameela?” she heard a far off voice calling to her. She turned to face the door and saw Selena standing there. “Where were you just now?” she asked and walked into the office.

“I was just thinking about the case,” Jameela said and placed the phone on the desk. She rubbed her hand over her eyes to kill the tiredness that already clung to her eyelids.

“Did you get much sleep last night?” the woman asked her.

“Not much. I was going over the whole thing, and trying to make a case out of it. I need to see him in a few…oh!” she exclaimed when she saw the time. “He should be here any second now,” she said and jerked up in the chair. She shuffled some items around on her desk, raked her hair behind her ears and smacked her lips. Then she noticed the odd look Selena was giving her. “What?” she asked.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you are looking forward to meeting him,” Selena said and folded her arms.

“Don’t be silly,” Jameela retorted. “The man is impossible to be around.” She did not make eye contact with Selena when she responded, and that did not go unnoticed.

“If you say so,” the woman said.

“I do say so,” Jameela said. “Now, if you would excuse me,” she said and walked off. She was just exiting the main office when she ran headlong into Al-Hafeez. He instinctively grabbed her on the arms, even before realizing who it was.

When he did, he quickly let go and cleared his throat. “I was waiting and when you didn’t show…”

“No, that’s okay,” she said as she felt the blush rising in her face. “I lost track of the time. Let’s go,” she told him and quickly walked off.

There was a deafening silence all the way down to the basement. “Oh,” she said and turned to him with a wild look in her eyes as if she had lost something. “I think I would rather use my car, if that’s okay with you.”

“Where is your car?” he asked, and she could tell he was already uncomfortable with the idea.

“It’s over here,” she told him and walked off. She squeezed her alarm button, and her car made a beeping sound just as the lights flashed. He seemed astonished that it was a Volvo, and with less reproach, he followed her inside. She kept her eyes trained on the road as she made her way to the police precinct. From the corner of her eyes she could see Al-Hafeez gazing outside, seemingly unconcerned about his current predicament. As soon as she pulled into the parking lot of the station, he instantly opened the door and got out. He then proceeded to button his black coat before standing aside to wait on her.

“Follow me,” Jameela said and cleared her throat. She was not sure how saving Al-Hafeez from the bowels of prison would count as victory. Her feelings of anger escalated to boiling point each time she was around him, yet she kept being pulled in by his aloofness and odd charm. She suspected there was more to the man than he was showing her, but that was not something she could focus on at the moment.

“Miss Harding,” the prosecutor said as they entered the precinct. He was a tall man, and very well established. She knew little about the man, but not enough apparently; she would have never pegged him as the kind of man who would take on a case of this kind. But then, she had never admired prosecutors, which was ironic at the moment considering she was defending a man she thought should be punished.

“Mr. Malinga,” she replied and nodded. Then she turned to look at Al-Hafeez, but he was just standing there and looking out of place. She walked off and she heard his footsteps close to her. The man led them to the investigation room, where they were offered seats across from the prosecutor.

He sat down and promptly shoved a file before Jameela. She looked at him curiously, and then flipped the cover open. It revealed the image of the knife that was used to kill Manseh. “Do you recognize that instrument?” the man asked Al-Hafeez.

“Is this some sort of joke?” Al-Hafeez asked.

“Just answer the question,” the man replied coldly, and locked his fingers on the hard surface of the desk.

“What is this?” Jameela asked.

“This is the weapon that was found at the scene of the crime,” Mr. Malinga told her. “As we now know it belongs to your client. I was just wondering if he had the balls to admit he recognizes it.”

“This is ridiculous,” Al-Hafeez shouted. “Everyone knows that knife is mine. How many times have my family been seen boasting it in public? It’s one of our most prized possessions.”

“And currently the murder weapon,” the man said dryly.

“Come on!” Al-Hafeez said angrily. “Do you think I would stab someone with that knife?”

“Are you saying you would stab a man with a different knife?” Mr. Malinga persisted.

“No, I didn’t say that. I was simply saying that’s not a knife that should be used for that intent.”

“Did you want Manseh dead?” the prosecutor threw at him.

“If I…” The words ended there as Al-Hafeez slammed his hand down on the desk. Both Jameela and Mr. Malinga jumped when he did. “I did not kill that man!”

“That’s what they all say,” Mr. Malinga told him. “All of you rich men think you can do as you like without consequence. Well this time, I am going to nail you to the wall!”