Ras al Kawi? Where was that?
'I need to talk to you about a khanjar that I believe is in your possession,' he said. 'It is possible that it once belonged to my family.'
'Oh?' Then, realising that he'd come to demand it back, 'It's amazing how fast good news spreads.'
'You have no idea. Perhaps I should wait in my car while you…?'
He made the vaguest of gestures, resolutely looking at her face, avoiding her bare legs, the shabby bathrobe that had a tendency to gape at the neck. It made no difference. Every inch of her skin tingled.
'Dress?' she offered, lippy to the last. Except that the word didn't come out quite as she'd intended, but thick and throaty. More to avoid those eyes than because she was interested in his choice of transport, Violet looked past him.
A black Rolls-Royce was parked at the kerb. The little green and gold flag on the bonnet stirred in the breeze.
She barely stopped herself from letting slip an expression that would have brought her a rebuke from her grandma.
Her breathless, 'Who are you?' wasn't a whole heap better.
'If your story is true, Miss Hamilton, then your great-great-grandmother, Princess Fatima al Sayyid, was once married to my great-great-grandfather.'
At which point she did let slip a word that she used only under the most extreme pressure.
She would have been embarrassed about that, but a scream from rear of the house-Sarah's scream- obliterated the sound.
CHAPTER THREE
Violet didn't stop to consider what might have prompted the scream. All she could think was that Sarah was in trouble. But as she turned to rush to her aid, Fayad al Kuwani caught her arm, held her.
'Who is that?' he demanded. 'I understood you lived alone.'
'My neighbour. She's pregnant…' she said, shaking him off, leaving him with nothing but a handful of bathrobe. For a minute she didn't think he was going to let go, but even when it slid from her shoulder, exposing more of her than any man had ever seen, she didn't stop. She'd have run naked into hell for Sarah, and he must have realised that because before that happened he released her, uttering a muffled oath.
It wasn't in English, and she didn't wait for him to translate, but pulled her robe tightly back in place and raced down the hall.
She burst through the kitchen door to find Sarah, still clutching the newspaper she'd brought for Violet, standing on her doorstep. A man, stocking-masked, had his arm around her throat.
'The knife,' he said. 'I want the knife.'
Violet tried to speak, but her tongue was thick, her mouth dry. And, having come to an abrupt halt, she appeared to be fixed to the spot.
'Give it to me!' he demanded, tightening his grip on Sarah. 'Now!' His voice was shaking as much as his hands. Somehow knowing that he was scared, too, didn't help. Scared men were dangerous…
'It's in the fridge,' she managed, not wanting to make any sudden moves.
'Get it!'
'It's frozen. I'll need something to hack it out with.'
Why had that seemed such a good thing yesterday? Right now she'd have given anything to be able to just hand the wretched thing over if only Sarah was safe.
'Use your hands!'
She flew to the fridge, wondering if there was any chance of Mr Tall, Dark and Dangerous doing anything beyond sitting in the safety of his very expensive car and using an equally expensive cellphone to call the police. Well, you wouldn't want to get a suit like that messed up, would you?
Obviously people who flew flags on their cars got an instant response, but it wouldn't be quick enough to help, and if he took after his great-great-grandfather, she was beginning to understand why Fatima had run…
She opened the fridge door. The light, which had been flickering uncertainly for weeks, didn't come on, and it suddenly occurred to her that everything was deathly quiet.
For a moment it seemed as if the world had stopped spinning, then, as she opened the freezer compartment, icy water hit the floor and splashed up over her bare legs, and she was unable to hold back a shriek of her own. After that everything happened very fast. There was a dull thud, and then she was spun off her feet as someone rushed passed her and out through the front door.
Then, as she lay there, icy water seeping through her bathrobe, she had a grandstand view of Tall, Dark and Dangerous lowering Sarah, very gently, into the nearest chair.
Hero material after all.
'Violet!' Sarah exclaimed. 'Are you all right?'
'Me?' she replied, feeling a touch light-headed. 'I'm just peachy.' Then, as it all came rushing back to her, she scrambled to her feet. 'Forget me. What about you? Are you hurt? Is the baby okay?'
'I'm fine,' Sarah said, rubbing at her throat. 'Really. It all happened so fast…'
Her voice was as shaky as her brave smile, and Violet hugged her.
'I'll call the doctor. Get him to check you over.'
'There's no need. Honestly.
'There's every need,' she said, picking up the telephone, hitting fast dial and asking the receptionist to get the doctor to drop everything and get over here right now.
'You shouldn't have done that, Violet,' Sarah protested. 'She's really busy.'
'I think it would be wise to take precautions,' their hero advised. Neither shaken nor stirred, his designer suit still immaculate, he was as steady as a rock, while Violet's legs went suddenly rubbery as reality hit her. She subsided in the chair beside Sarah.
'I wish I'd never seen that knife.'
Fayad, wishing something very similar, flexed his hand, using the pain to distract himself from the sight of Violet Hamilton's creamy shoulder. 'Maybe you should have the doctor check you over, too. You've had a nasty shock.'
'I'm fine,' she snapped. 'I thought you'd run out on me.' Then, tugging her robe back into place, 'Sorry.'
'Don't apologise. You distracted him while I came around the back. A much better plan.'
'I didn't have a-' She stopped as she realised that, somewhat unexpectedly, he was teasing her. 'You'd better run your hand under cold water before it swells.'
Maybe he looked as if he didn't know how to do that for himself, because she leapt to her feet, turned on the tap, filled a glass with cold water for her friend, then, taking his hand, held it under the running water.
'How does it feel?' she asked.
How did it feel to have this stunning girl leaning against him, holding his hand? Her hair, her temple, inches from his mouth, an unconscious display of the soft curve of her breast as she bent closer to check the damage for herself.
She really didn't want to hear about that kind of emptiness.
When he didn't answer, she looked up at him with those extraordinary sea-coloured eyes. 'Maybe you should go to the hospital?' she suggested. 'In case you've broken something?'
'It's just a graze,' he assured her. 'I've had worse. My only regret is that I didn't hit him harder.'
'It doesn't matter. He's gone.' Then, as if suddenly conscious of their closeness, she stepped back, pulled her robe tighter, refastening the belt. 'Just leave it there for a moment,' she advised. 'To be on the safe side.'
'He's gone for now,' Fayad corrected, testing his hand, turning off the water. 'He'll be back. Or someone very like him.'
'Not if you take it away with you. The khanjar,' She returned to the fridge, fetched a foil-wrapped parcel and laid it on the table, as if she couldn't bear to hold it for longer than necessary. 'I hope it's okay.'
He unwrapped the foil, the bubble wrap, the black silk that was rotting at the folds, to reveal the knife. Deadly, beautiful beyond imagining. And trouble.
For both of them.
'I will, of course, relieve you of this burden,' he said. 'However, I'm afraid simply removing it to a place of safety is not likely to end the matter. You're a descendant of Fatima al Sayyid, a woman who ran from her husband, taking the Blood of Tariq with her.'