Son Of The Sheikh - Ryshia Kennie

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turned the vehicle smoothly into a parking space at the end of the block, leaving room for the emergency vehicles. He grabbed a bag from behind the seat that contained a few items that he’d often found indispensable. He pulled out one item that he hadn’t thought he would need on a day where the upper-most thing on his mind was the joy of a new vehicle. The explosive detection device was more than likely overkill, but one never knew.

      Talib leaped out. A few men in hotel uniforms were directing the crowd, keeping them on the sidewalk, out of the way of the imminent approach of emergency crews. Up ahead he saw one hotel employee moving among the crowd, laying a hand here, offering a word there. Another was passing out water bottles. He looked over and saw an older woman leaning against a vehicle as another staff member held her shoulder, obviously trying to calm her. Ian’s staff were well trained. His friend had followed the advice that Talib had given all those months ago, when Ian had first mentioned that he was planning to get into the hotel business.

      Things were chaotic but seemed under control. No one seemed to be in imminent danger—at least here, outside the hotel. It had taken him seconds to make that assessment as he strode the short distance to the hotel entrance. Now within yards of the front door, he was faced with a milling crowd that was not quite as organized or controlled as those he had just passed. He guessed that they’d just emerged from the building and were still shocked, unsure of what they’d escaped from, or what they had yet to face.

      “Get away from the entrance!” he commanded, pointing to a green space just across the street. Half a dozen people followed his instruction, the rest continued to mill where they were.

      He directed more stragglers across the street. In one case, he took a woman’s elbow and escorted her to the curb, where she finally managed to cross the street under her own steam. He’d had a lot of experience with this as he and his brothers had built Nassar Security into the powerhouse company that it was. He’d learned over the years that people often responded like herded animals in an emergency. They lost their individual ability to think.

      His phone beeped.

      “Yeah,” he answered, knowing it was Ian. They spoke for less than a minute. In that time, Ian told him what he knew, that they believed there’d been an explosion and that it might be linked to a suspicious-looking man seen in the early morning hours by the hotel parking lot. That information had been revealed on the security footage Ian had just remotely accessed.

      “When this is over...”

      “We’ll get you beefed up,” Talib assured him. “I’m going in now.”

      His friend had confirmed that the explosion had been confined to one area of the lobby. Ian had been at an outside meeting, but was now en route. From what Ian had said, he estimated that his own arrival was five minutes after the explosion and now, from the sounds of the rapidly approaching sirens, minutes before emergency crews.

      Talib considered the information he’d just received. Combined with what he knew of the security and the time line, he believed that there was only one perp responsible for planting the device. It wasn’t easy to plant an explosive device undetected in a public area of a hotel. The time that had passed since the explosion backed up his preliminary theory that there was only one explosive device.

      Explosives were used for any number of reasons. This one appeared to be small but he would see for himself in a minute. If that was the case, there was a good chance that this bomb had been set to make a statement, or had been used to create a distraction. Since the damage had been contained and been in an area that saw low traffic, he was led to believe that whoever had done this wasn’t going for a high kill rate. It could be a grudge against the owner. The explosion hadn’t been far-reaching enough to provide much of a killing field. Unless there was another explosive, or this one had been a screwup...

      He strode through the hotel doors, which someone had had the foresight to prop open. Inside, the emergency procedures weren’t quite so efficient, as he had to weave through a lobby still crowded with stragglers.

      Traces of smoke swirled through the lobby, but he was immediately able to see where the explosion had been. Embers still burned in two ruined suitcases. Clothing was scattered everywhere. The metal suitcase trolley lay where it had tipped over. To his left, a woman, wearing only a bathrobe and flip-flops, tripped and stumbled. He was there in a flash. His reflexes were quick. They’d been honed by physical fitness and a regular baseball scrimmage with friends that occurred at least twice monthly. He had her elbow, and powered her toward the door, where he released her ten feet from the exit.

      “Thank you.” Her lips trembled but there was a stoic gleam in her eye. “I’m all right now.”

      He nodded but watched as she hurried past a hotel employee who was directing the remaining guests. He remained standing there, watching until she was safely out of the building.

      He turned and scanned the lobby and saw a woman moving away from the crush and out of sight. She was wearing a maid’s uniform. The dull beige material was designed to fade into the background, to provide service while flitting on the periphery. It was the perfect ensemble for what was intended, but now it seemed that blending in was giving her an advantage. The thought was one he tagged and filed away for later consideration; there were other things to concern himself with now. He was more interested in the explosion site and how someone had slipped in and out and planted the explosive unnoticed, than in the maid’s uniform. He knew, from looking at the hotel plans, that a corridor led from the back of the lobby to conference rooms and a back exit. He was surprised that no one else seemed to be using that exit.

      He activated the portable explosive detection device. As he moved slowly along the perimeter of the lobby with the device, he was cognizant of the rapidly thinning crowd. He was also aware that no one was acting suspiciously, but rather that there was still a great deal of confusion. People were almost spinning in circles as smoke continued to obscure the exit and the remaining staff seemed to have evacuated. So much for security measures, he thought, realizing that not everything he’d advised had been implemented. His attention returned to the device. The lobby wasn’t officially clear of explosives yet, but he was reasonably sure that there wasn’t another planted.

      He moved away from the luggage and farther into the lobby. As he did, he looked down and saw a child’s soother on the floor. That was odd. There weren’t any children in sight. He didn’t expect there to be. Even in chaos it seemed people managed to instinctively grab their children. He wasn’t sure why, but he picked up the soother and put it in his pocket.

      He looked up, thinking of the woman in the maid’s uniform. She was the only one he’d seen using the back exit. His instincts, everything in his being, told him that something was off, that there was something more to this lone woman. Had she placed the explosive and come back to see the results of her work? Even as he considered that option he discounted it. Her mannerisms hadn’t reflected anything nefarious.

      As he made the decision to follow her, a woman’s panic-torn voice sliced through both the chaos and his thoughts. It brought his attention, to the lobby.

      “Everett!”

      The voice sounded familiar, even muted by the chaos of sounds that swirled around him. He didn’t have time to analyze it. Instead, he moved deeper into the lobby, turning left and following the path of the maid he’d seen head in that direction. He turned a corner in the corridor and that’s when he saw her. She was holding a small boy by the wrist, causing him to stand on tiptoes. The child’s cheeks were wet from crying and he had his free thumb in his mouth. She was wearing a cream-colored head scarf and the beige uniform he’d caught a glimpse of earlier. Nothing about her seemed out of the ordinary. It appeared only that she was leading a child to safety.

      But his gut told him that something was very wrong. “What are you doing with him?” he asked in Arabic. He doubted that the child was hers. No worker would have brought their child to work.

      His theory was justified by the look of panic in her eyes and the way she held the boy by the wrist rather than by his hand. Clearly, she was unfamiliar with children that young, the panic obvious in her entire demeanor. He supposed

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