Emma Darcy: Traded To The Sheikh

‘I needed to get to Zanzibar. Jacques said he was sailing for Madagascar and would drop me off here if I helped…’

‘With his drug-running?’

‘No. With sailing the yacht,’ she cried in exasperation. ‘I didn’t know about the drug angle until after I woke up onboard and at sea, having been drugged myself.’

‘So…’He paused, his expression one of weighing up her account of the situation. He lifted a hand to stroke his chin as though in thoughtful consideration. But there was something simmering in his eyes that sent a warning tingle through Emily’s taut nerves as he concluded, ‘…you claim to be an innocent victim.’

‘I am an innocent victim,’ Emily pounced, swiftly asserting, ‘The deal was for me to be company for his wife as well as being another crew-member for the duration of the trip.’

One wickedly derisive eyebrow arched. ‘Where is the wife?’

Emily heaved a fretful sigh. Probably her story did sound unbelievable but it was the truth. She had nothing else to offer. ‘I don’t know. She was gone when I woke up the morning after I’d gone onboard.’

‘Gone,’ he repeated, as though underlining how convenient that was. ‘Without taking her belly-dancing costumes with her?’ he added pointedly.

Emily frantically cast around for a reason that might be credible. ‘Maybe she had to abandon them to get away from Jacques. I left quite a lot of my things behind on the yacht…’

‘In your bid to escape.’

‘Yes.’

‘To escape what, Miss Ross?’ he asked silkily. ‘You must admit Arnault has kept to the bargain you made with him, bringing you to Zanzibar, as agreed.’

‘Not to the public harbour at Stone Town, monsieur.’

‘This private harbour is along the way. He was on course to Stone Town.’

‘I couldn’t trust him to take me there. After doing his business at this location, he might have set sail for Madagascar, keeping me on as his crew.’

‘So you chose to commit yourself to a formidable swim in unknown waters, then brave facing a mangrove swamp in the darkness. This is the act of a desperate person, Miss Ross.’

‘A determined person,’ she corrected, though she was beginning to feel deeply desperate in the face of this prolonged cross-examination.

‘The kind of desperate person who will do anything to avoid facing prison,’ he went on with an air of ruthless logic. ‘A guilty person…’

‘I haven’t done anything wrong!’ she yelled, cracking under the pressure of his disbelief in her testimony. ‘I promised my sister I’d be in Stone Town for her and I wasn’t sure Jacques would take me there.’

‘Your sister. Who is your sister?’

‘Who are you?’ she whipped back, so frustrated by his incessant questioning of her position, the urge to attack his completely dismissed caution. ‘My sister and I have important private business. I’m not going to tell a stranger what it is.’

Her defiant stance earned a glance that told her she was being utterly ridiculous in his opinion, but Emily didn’t care. She wanted some answers, too.

‘You are addressing Sheikh Zageo bin Sultan Al Farrahn,’ he stated loftily.

A sheikh! Or was it a Sultan? He’d spoken both titles and either one made instant sense of this amazing place. But did he have any jurisdiction here?

‘I thought Sultan rule was long gone from Zanzibar and the island is now under the government of Tanzania,’ she threw back at him.

‘While it has become part of Tanzania, Zanzibar maintains its own government,’ he sharply corrected her. ‘And I command considerable respect and influence here. Instead of fighting me, Miss Ross, you would do well in these circumstances to seek my favour.’

‘And what does seeking your favour entail?’

Fiery contempt blazed from her eyes. Her nerves were wound up so tightly, she felt like a compressed spring about to explode from its compression. If he dared suggest a sexual favour…if he dared even lower his gaze to survey her curves again…Emily knew she’d completely lose it and start fighting like a feral cat.

Fortunately she was not dealing with a stupid man. ‘Perhaps you need time to consider your position, Miss Ross,’ he said in a reasoning tone. ‘Time to appreciate the importance of giving appropriate information so you can be helped.’

Emily’s mind slid from attack mode and groped towards wondering if she’d taken a self-defeating angle throughout this interview.

Her questioner lifted his arms into a wide, open-handed gesture. ‘Let us continue this conversation when you are feeling more comfortable. A warm bath, a change of clothes, some refreshment…’

She almost sagged at the heavenly thought.

‘I’ll have my men escort you to the women’s quarters.’

Right at this moment, Emily didn’t care if the women’s quarters was a harem full of wives and concubines. It would be good to be amongst females again, great to sink into a warm bath and get cleaned up, and a huge relief to be dressed in clothes that provided some sense of protection from the far too male gaze of Sheikh Zageo bin Sultan Al Farrahn.

ZAGEO glanced over the contents of the waterproof bag, now emptied onto a side table in his private sitting room and divided into categories for his perusal. He picked up the passport. If it was a genuine document, Emily Ross was an Australian citizen, born in Cairns. Her date of birth placed her as currently twenty-eight years old.

‘You have looked up this place…Cairns?’ he asked his highly reliable aide-de-camp, Abdul Haji.

‘A city on the east coast of far north Queensland, which is the second largest state in Australia,’ Abdul informed, once again proving his efficiency in supplying whatever Zageo did or might require. ‘The paper certifying Miss Ross as a diving instructor,’ he went on, gesturing to a sheaf of documents on the table, ‘is attached to various references by employers who have apparently used her services, catering for tourists at The Great Barrier Reef. They are not immediately checkable because of the different time zone, but in a few hours…’

Zageo picked up the papers. The certificate was dated six years ago so Emily Ross had apparently been plying this profession since she was twenty-two. ‘The resort on the Red Sea where Arnault supposedly picked up this woman…’

‘Is renowned for its diving around magnificent coral reefs,’ Abdul instantly slid in. ‘However, it also employs belly-dancers for nightly entertainment.’

Zageo flashed him a sardonic smile. ‘We will soon see if that picture fits.’ He waved to the meagre bundle of clothes. ‘This appears to be survival kit only.’

‘One can easily replenish lost clothes by purchasing them very cheaply at the markets.’

Zageo picked up a small bundle of American dollars and flicked through them to check their value. ‘There’s not much cash money here.’

‘True. No doubt Miss Ross was counting on using her credit card.’

Which was also laid out on the table—a Visa card, acceptable currency in most hotels. All the same, transactions and movements could be traced from a credit card, which didn’t exactly tally with criminal activities.

‘Surely there should be more ready cash if she is involved in the drug-running,’ Zageo observed.

Abdul shrugged. ‘We have no direct evidence of her complicity. I am inclined to believe she did make a deal with Arnault—free passage to wherever she wanted to go in return for crewing on his yacht…’

‘And sharing his bunk.’

The cyncical deduction evoked a frown that weighed other factors. ‘Curiously the search of Arnault’s yacht indicated separate sleeping quarters.’

‘Perhaps the man snores.’