Safe with a Stranger

In a small office right off the lobby of the Abu Fujarah Embassy in Washington, Abdullah Ramzi al-Hamzah questioned the man he had hired to find his son. “So your employees actually had my son within their reach in Houston but let his mother spirit him away? That is not the result I’m paying a small fortune to achieve. How did it go wrong?”

“That we found them at all was no small feat, Excellency. The American woman apparently has confederates here in her homeland that are helping to keep your child hidden. But there is nowhere she can hide the child for long. I have hired new men, men more familiar with the country who are new-technology experts. We are watching anyone who has ever come in contact with her and we will find her. It’s only a question of hours, perhaps a few days at most.”

Ramzi fisted his hands but stuck them in his pockets. He was frustrated beyond belief. His child. His beloved son. Taken from his place of birth and from the bosom of his rightful family.

Clare. Ramzi never imagined such a beautiful and gracious woman would be capable of committing the treachery of stealing his only son. At the end of their marriage, she had ceased to mean anything in his life. A minor annoyance only. He had been prepared never to think of her again once she was banished from his country. Now, he could think of nothing else.

“I will give you another forty-eight hours,” he told his employee. “Though I charge you to remember my instructions. I care nothing for what happens to the woman but my son is not to be put in danger. If baby Prince Bashshar is harmed in any way, I will hold you responsible.

“In the meantime,” Ramzi continued, “our diplomats are in the midst of negotiations with the U.S. State Department. I want no possibility of that woman seeking the help of her government in order to keep my child from his home. The U.S. must learn that harboring her will cause a serious rift in our oil negotiations. Soon she will be a fugitive in her own country. Neither friends nor any allies will give her refuge legally.”

Ramzi willed his temper back in place. He had to keep his mind focused on the goal. The return of his son. There would be time enough afterward to think of consequences.

Josh pulled the truck up in front of his grandfather’s home and was surprised to find a small asphalt parking area had been built beside the house. He’d almost forgotten that Grandpa Will had been running his private investigator’s business out of his home. The memories he’d kept in his heart were of his grandfather being a cop, but that had been long ago. It made Josh suddenly wonder what would happen to the P.I. business now that Grandpa Will was gone.

“This is it? What a cool place.” Clare sat and stared out the window for a few seconds. “You’re sure…”

“Come on. You take care of Jimmy. I’ll tote the stuff.”

The house looked like something out of a book, Josh thought idly as he gathered up their things. But he’d never thought about that while growing up. It had just been the place where his father’s second-generation Irish parents had lived. Now, looking up at the three stories with their gingerbread facade and at the wide porch encircling the entire house, he figured his grandfather’s home could possibly be considered cool, if you looked at it with fresh sight.

It could also be considered slightly run-down, as Josh noticed when he helped Clare and Jimmy up the front porch steps. The peeling paint and the worn boards of the steps spoke of neglect. While his grandmother Fiona had been alive, this place had never looked shabby. But she’d been gone a long time now. She’d passed away right after Maggie had graduated from college, about eight years ago.

Josh was sort of surprised that Maggie hadn’t been helping out with keeping the place up. She’d always been a whiz with tools. Maybe she’d had her hands full lately. If he decided to hang around a while after the funeral—and after he found a way to help Clare—he’d offer to fix a few things up around the old place. It would give him time to think.

He knocked on the door to his grandfather’s house, which was a first. He’d never even thought of knocking when his grandmother and grandfather had been alive. But it had been so long since he’d been home. And they were both gone now. He just didn’t feel comfortable here anymore.

After a moment or two, and there still was no answer, he knocked harder.

“Does your sister have a job?” Clare asked. “Maybe she’s gone shopping or to work or something and isn’t at home. We should’ve called when we stopped for gas.”

“Maggie’s been helping out with the business my grandfather ran from his home. If my sister is working, she’ll be here and should hear the front door. But you’re right, she could be out shopping. Somehow I can’t really imagine Maggie would be working on the day before Granddad’s funeral.” He tried the door and found it open.