Page 38 of Saving Salem
“I’ll send you everything we’ve discovered here as soon as I write up a report. Talk to you soon.”
“Okay, people. Show’s over. Go do your jobs.” Samuel stood and held out a hand to Jennifer. “Thank you. I know how hard it was to come forward with the truth about what the Amirs are up to, but you might have just saved Salem and Chloe’s lives. I’d say you’ve come a long way toward redemption.”
Jack watched tears fill Jennifer’s eyes and a sob broke free. The ice princess façade from earlier disappeared as she dug through her purse for a tissue, blotting at her eyes. Salem stood and walked slowly around the table to sit in the chair beside Jennifer.
“What you did today? It took a lot of courage. You’ve more than made up for any wrongdoing in Texas.” She placed her hand atop Jennifer’s and met her tear-filled gaze. “I forgive you.”
“Thank you, Salem. But, please be careful. Sayifa is a viper, filled with venom, and she will not stop until she gets what she wants.”
“She might be a viper, but she’s about to be defanged.”
With that, Salem stood, walked over to Jack, and held out her hand. Without hesitating, Jack slid his into hers. Their enemy was exposed and now they had a fighting chance. Everything was going to be alright.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Rashid sat acrossfrom his mother on their private Gulfstream jet, bound for New Orleans, thinking about the phone call from his half-sister Jennifer. Something had been off in her tone, but he couldn’t quite figure out what set his senses tingling. She’d sounded happy and upbeat, but his gut told him she was up to something. Since when did she look at provincial furniture? Especially French provincial. She’d previously mentioned she hated the style, claimed that it was too frou-frou and gaudy for her clientele, who looked for classical pieces and genuine antiques. It was possible she’d acquired a client with bad taste, but it wasn’t like her to take on somebody looking to decorate with such poor interior design aesthetic. Unless of course they were loaded. If the money flowed freely, Jennifer could bend her standards.
“What has put such a pensive expression on your face, my son? Are we not about to get everything we want?”
“Of course, Mother. Simply thinking about strategy for a prospective business deal I’m working on. A merger that requires more concentration, and I find my focus is preoccupied. I will have to finish the paperwork while we are in America, but it should increase the family’s coffers significantly.”
“Your father would be pleased. He never expected you to have to run the family business, but you are doing him proud. I do not think even Tarik could match your business acumen.”
Shock filled him at her praise. She’d never given any indication she even noticed he was doing anything right. To her, Tarik was the only acceptable person to run the family after their dearly departed father. When Tarik had been murdered, Abdullah had been expected to take the reins. Poor Abdullah. When people missed him, which was less and less with each passing day, they were shocked and dismayed to find out how ill his poor brother was. His health precluded him from working at the moment, and the task of taking care of their mother had fallen onto his shoulders.
If only the fools knew the truth. Abdullah was a drooling vegetable, drugged out of his mind in a private mental hospital, thanks to their mother. The moment he’d disagreed with her about killing Salem, making her pay for her many sins against her most beloved son, she’d made it impossible for Abdullah to thwart her plans for vengeance. The bills to keep him sedated and incommunicado were astronomical, but they both considered the cost well worth the price, since Rashid gained control of the family business and Sayifa would get her sweet revenge.
Their lawyers were already in New Orleans, consulting with a team of experts in Louisiana law for the court date coming up in three days. Little enough time to make sure Salem didn’t find out about Tarik’s will. He’d kill her himself before he let the faithless tart touch anything belonging to the Amirs. She’d had her chance. Tarik had been besotted with the young, idealistic fool, but the shine had soon worn off their relationship.
He remembered the day he’d come in from riding to find Salem cowering on the floor, a bloody mess, Tarik standing over her, a knife in his hand. A thrill of exhilaration coursed through him at the sight. Tarik had a quicksilver temper, and he’d goaded his brother about allowing the American to change him. Letting her influence him into betraying all their family believed in with her body and her evil ways. Encouraged him to teach her that he was the boss, the one who was master of his house, his family, and she came last.
Blood had dripped from the blade, leaving a trail across the polished tile floor. They’d had to call the family physician to come and stitch her pretty face, but she’d still scarred. He wondered why she hadn’t gone to a plastic surgeon and had it repaired. Didn’t matter. She wouldn’t see it in the mirror much longer.
Pulling out his laptop, he listened to his mother natter on about all the things she planned to hurt Salem. It was her favorite topic, and he’d learned to tune her out. His emails were mostly business, a few requests from women he’d slept with or partied with wanting to know when he’d be coming back.Never.He was a one and done kind of guy, enjoying himself until he was forced to settle down with a wife in an arranged marriage. It was the way of his family, and he’d do his duty.
“Are you listening to me?”
“Of course, Mother, just checking to see if there has been any news from New Orleans.” The lie flowed smoothly from his tongue.
“Do not worry, my son. I have made arrangements to have Salem and her new husband,” she practically spat out the word, with a look of disgust on her face, “handled.”
“Handled? What exactly have you done?” He closed the lid of his laptop, his attention riveted to his mother.
“I grow weary of the incompetence of supposed professionals. They have all failed me. Therefore, I sent Hassan to deal with the problem. Come Monday, there will be no one standing in the way of my claiming custody of Tarik’s child.”
“Hassan? You sent the assassin to New Orleans?” Hassan ben Saeed was the best sharp-shooter ever produced in all the emirates, earning him the nicknameThe Eagle. Known for perching up high to surveil his targets, he could make a kill shot from extreme distances and was deadly accurate.
“Can you think of a more fitting end to the infidel? My son was killed with bullets, why should she not pay in kind? I find it a fitting end, and one that cannot be traced back to us. Hassan is a ghost. No one sees him coming, and no one sees him disappear.”
He couldn’t fault her logic, even if her timing left a lot to be desired. The plan had been to keep things clean and legal, resorting to murder as a last resort, after Chloe’s physical custody was assured. Once she was in Dubai, the United States government would find it impossible to legally get her returned. Then, when Salem died in a terrible “accident,” blame could not be affixed to the Amir family. Looked like he’d be cleaning up behind his mother—again.
“I cannot fault your logic, as always, Mother. Sending Hassan bed Saeed could provide the turning point we need. Will he be contacting me to arrange payment?”
“I took care of it. The funds were wired from my personal account.”
What a stupid mistake. The money will easily be traced back to her. Then again, this could tie up several loose ends without me lifting a finger.
“Excellent, Mother. Try to get some rest. It’s a long flight to America.”
