The Sheikh's Triplet Baby Surprise (The Sheikh's Baby Surprise Book 3) (23 page)

Having blasted music to keep herself awake until she reached Lubbock, Morgan pulled off at a small motel on the outskirts of town. She ordered a room and plopped onto the bed, next to the phone.

Taking a breath, she picked up the receiver and dialed Ahmed’s number.

“Hello?” his voice said on the other line, answering after only two rings.

Damn
, Morgan thought; she’d secretly been hoping it would go to voicemail so she could delay a little longer.

“Ahmed? It’s Morgan,” she said, ignoring the squirming sensation in her stomach. She’d thought about what to say during the car ride, but her speech had suddenly disappeared from her mind.

“Morgan! So good to hear from you. How are things? Did you find our son?”

There was so much hope in his voice. Morgan took a breath and plunged in.

“I did, sir. He is safe and doing well…”

“That’s wonderful! I knew you could do it!” Ahmed interrupted.

Morgan plowed on. Better to rip off the Band-Aid…

“But he has decided to not return.”

Silence. Morgan waited for several seconds, wondering if Ahmed had dropped the phone. Then he spoke.

“Did he tell you why?” Ahmed asked, his voice cold, and Morgan felt a surge of defensiveness for Hassan. What was with these people anyway? Couldn’t they respect their son’s choice?

“He told me he is not ready to return, and is not sure when that time will come. I’m sorry,” she said, but Ahmed cut in again, and this time his voice was laced with anger.

“We pay you a year’s salary to find our son, then somehow you can’t convince him to have the decency to see his parents? But you’re sorry, so I suppose that makes it all right?”

Morgan closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. She told herself that Ahmed was hurt by his son’s decision, and that was why he was acting out. It would do no good to fight him on this.

“I will send the money back to you as soon as I get back to Houston.”

“Don’t bother,” he hissed.

Morgan could hear Almera weeping in the background. She felt absolutely terrible.

“Apparently there is no one strong enough to make Hassan do his job as a son and as future sheikh. There is nothing we can do,” he said, and the phone went dead.

Well that went about as well as could be expected,
Morgan thought, rubbing her eyes, which felt like sandpaper. While she had enjoyed her night in Hassan’s arms, clearly she hadn’t gotten as much sleep as she’d thought.

Rolling over onto the bed, she grasped onto a pillow and held it tight, pretending for just a moment that it was Hassan in her arms. For a moment she questioned whether she could have tried harder, even manipulated him to get him back home. As much as Ahmed’s words had stung, she knew he truly missed and worried for his son. Ahmed and Almera were good people—that were used to getting their own way. In time, she hoped, they would come to understand and maybe even support Hassan’s decision.

Until then, Morgan tried to think toward the future. This case was closed, and there was no point in dwelling on the past.

It was time to move on.

TEN

Two Months later

Morgan was in over her head.

That seemed to be the case more often than not, these days. Leaning against the cold brick of a Chinese restaurant, her gun nestled in a small holster at her side, she took a peek into the window.

Cheap chandeliers hung from the ceiling. A series of tables with white cloths were scattered around the empty dining area, though Morgan could see a girl sat alone, in the center.

The girl she had been sent to find.

A few weeks after she’d returned from New Mexico, Morgan had received a call about a missing girl. Morgan had sat with her weeping mother, not knowing what to do to comfort her.

“Her father died two years ago,” Denise had wept, dabbing her leaking nose with a moist tissue. “It was horrible. He was killed in a car accident, by a drunk driver.”

Morgan’s shoulders tensed. Not another one. Not another young woman left without a father, because of some idiot.

“At least, that’s what we thought at the time,” the woman continued, glancing up at Morgan with watery eyes. “Now I can’t be certain. His brother was mixed up with the mob—a lot of scary people who are good at getting away scot-free even though they’ve done horrible things!”

Morgan knew those people. She’d seen them enter their jail cells with smug grins before being removed after one night; no matter how big the bail was, somehow they always had the money.

“So you believe Bella’s uncle may have something to do with this?”

“Yes,” Denise said, taking a deep breath. “Morgan, you have to help me!” she said, bursting into another fit of tears.

Morgan laid a gentle hand on the woman’s arm. She had learned to be a calm, steady presence in front of her clients. It was the best way to earn their trust, even if she did have misgivings about getting involved with the mob. Still, after the skinheads of New Mexico, what were these bozos?

“Denise,” she said, her voice composed. “I’m going to find your daughter and bring her home. Then we’re going to set you up with witness protection and get the both of you out of here, okay? Everything is going to be fine.”

Denise grasped Morgan’s hand then, her grip like cold iron. Morgan held on just as tightly.

“Thank you,” Denise whispered.

Morgan nodded and left after that, immediately heading toward Chinatown, where she knew a lot of mob members did their business.

It hadn’t taken her long to find the girl, and Morgan had briefly wondered if she was walking into a trap.

Now, with her back against the wall, she decided that having an open-carry weapon probably wasn’t the best idea. She rolled up her left pant leg and strapped her gun into the holster there before rolling the fabric back down. Then she strolled around the building, onto the main road, and entered the restaurant through glass doors. A chime went off as she exchanged hot, humid air for frigid air conditioning. The girl didn’t look up.

Morgan stood at the front, looking around for someone. After a minute, an Asian man in a white, button-down shirt and black slacks approached her with a wary expression.

“Can I help you, miss?” he asked, clearly trying not to sound annoyed.

Funny, Morgan thought. One would think they would want customers.

“Table for one, please,” she said, watching his expression carefully.

His eyes darted around the room like he couldn’t decide where to seat her.

“I prefer to sit in the middle of the room, facing the door,” Morgan said.

The man gave her a strange look, but after a brief hesitation he picked up a plastic menu and escorted her toward the table directly behind Bella’s.

Morgan took a seat, smiling up at her reluctant waiter. “I’ll start off with a glass of Diet Coke, please,” she said, and he nodded as he walked away.

Once the man had reached the kitchens, Morgan leaned in slightly towards the girl.

“Hey,” she whispered.

Bella looked up and gazed at Morgan.

“Is your name Bella?” Morgan asked, and the girl sat back for a moment before slowly nodding her head.

“It’s okay,” Morgan said, her tone as comforting as possible. “Your mom sent me here to come and get you.”

“My mom?” Bella asked, her eyes lighting up.

“Yes. But I’m going to need your help. Can you tell me anything about the people here?”

Bella nodded. “There’s a man who guards the door, and I’m not allowed to leave.”

Morgan could see tears welling up in Bella’s eyes. She glanced down at her menu, the better to keep up her charade.

“It’s going to be all right, Bella. I’m going to get you out of here.”

Just then a burly man strolled into the dining room, clearly Bella’s “bodyguard.”

Morgan glanced up at him before looking at her menu again, seemingly bored.

The man joined Bella at her table. “I’m going to take my break now, Bella. Remember, you need to stay inside. There are some bad men in this neighborhood and it’s important that you stay here, right?”

“I want to go home!” Bella cried, and the man’s expression hardened.

“You need to give that up now, Bella.”

Bastard,
Morgan thought, trying to keep her temper from flaring, just as the waiter returned to her table with a glass of Diet Coke and asked to take her order. She noted the departure of the guard before ordering a plate of sesame chicken to get the waiter out of their hair. Then she glanced back at the girl.

“You’re going to count to ten, Bella. Then you’re going to get up and act like you’re going to the bathroom. There’s a door back there, just behind the kitchens, and I’m going to meet you there. Okay?”

“Okay,” Bella murmured.

“Great,” Megan replied, grateful that the guard clearly believed Bella didn’t have the courage to run. That was going to be his fatal mistake.

Bella rose then, making her way toward the bathroom. After she reached the hallway, Morgan followed, placing a gentle hand on the girl’s arm to guide her towards the kitchens. When the cook walked out of the room to grab some oil, she seized her chance and pulled Bella out the back door and into an alley. The two of them walked quickly and silently through a series of alleyways until Morgan reached the busy street she was looking for.

Morgan’s heart was racing as her eyes darted around her surroundings, taking in faces as they strolled along the bustling sidewalks of one of the major shopping areas in town. She didn’t see anyone suspicious, but it didn’t keep her stomach from churning with anxiety.

Finally, they turned into a kitschy tourist shop, and Morgan waved a hand to Bella’s mother from across several Houston knickknacks.

The woman swallowed a sob as she ran to her daughter and the two collided in a fierce embrace.

“Mom!” Bella cried, and Morgan found she was having a hard time keeping herself from crying as she watched mother and daughter reunite. “Uncle Rick took me to this place in Chinatown; he said he was going to the bathroom but then he didn’t come back. And then they wouldn’t let me leave!”

“That bastard,” Denise spat. “I’ll see that he pays for this,” she said, standing and looking at Morgan. “What do we do now?” she asked, and Morgan pulled out a set of plane tickets.

“Get out of Houston. Find a police unit that isn’t under the thumb of this particular mob, and get yourselves into witness protection. They’ll be able to keep you safe after that,” Morgan said, handing over the tickets.

Denise took the tickets and slid them into her purse before removing a checkbook and writing out a quick check to Morgan. Ripping it out of the booklet, she handed it over.

“I don’t know how to thank you, Morgan. You brought my daughter back to me. I’ll never forget it. Bless you,” she said, grasping Morgan’s hand.

Bella pulled away from her mother and gave Morgan a fierce hug. “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Morgan said. “You’re safe now. Get to the airport and go straight through security—you can buy new clothes and toiletries on the other side,” she said, ushering them back onto the sidewalk.

She saw them into a taxi and watched it drive off in the direction of the airport before taking a look at her check.

Then she ripped the check into tiny pieces.