The Sheikh's Borrowed Baby Read online

  “At any rate,” he went on, after a few seconds’ pause, “we are talking now. And it is late. Was there something on your mind or—?”

  “Oh, Karim.” She exhaled a heavy sigh. “Yes, there’s something. And I’m so sorry. It’s awful, and I don’t know what to do, but I needed to let you know, because—well, because…”

  Silence, yet again. This conversation was becoming unbearable, and Hallie longed to get it over with, now. But she couldn’t. She was obliged to go on, no matter how painful or discomfiting. Her fingers tightened around the rim of her cellphone, as if that clenching might strengthen her spine, to do what must be done.

  “Did you go to work at the hospital today, Hallie?” he suddenly asked.

  “Yes. Yes, I did.” And, oh, dear God, if only I hadn’t! “Yes, you knew I was scheduled for this afternoon, didn’t you?”

  “You did mention the fact. And you must be very tired, from all you have done. And yet, you are calling me.”

  “Karim…” Agonized, she wrapped one arm around her middle, as if to contain all the misery churning within, and bent forward.

  “This is not the best of situations, is it, Hallie? A telephone may be used to discuss business, but it is far more difficult for a—shall we say, an intimate conversation? It seems we need to sit down together, you and I.”

  Wiping away a few tears that had overflowed, Hallie sniffed and nodded.

  “Yes, I think you’re right. That would be better.” Very much problematic, in most ways, but better somehow to grab her courage with both hands and face the music.

  “Very well. Would ten o’clock tomorrow morning be convenient for you?”

  “I think so, if I knew where—”

  “Café Mud, where we first met.” Again, she felt, though she of course couldn’t see, the smile that flitted across his face. “Can you do that?”

  “Of course. Yes, that will be fine.”

  “Good. Till ten, then.”

  The phone clicked; the call ended. And Hallie was left sitting alone in the dark. This was going to be another long and wakeful night.

  Chapter 18

  In the few hours that remained of Tuesday night, a writhing snake pit of nerves took up residence in the pit of her stomach, keeping Hallie from the sleep she craved. Early next morning, that same snake pit had her moving as clumsily as the proverbial bull in a china shop.

  She slipped and fell, getting out of the shower, only to emerge with a lump on her forehead from its hard hit against the tile wall. Fortunately, her reflection in the bathroom mirror showed no serious damage. Half an hour spent in the soothing company of an ice bag, and two aspirin with her breakfast cup of coffee, kept her going.

  Speaking of breakfast, the snake pit was still at work in the kitchen. The eggs burned, the overlooked slices of bread toasted themselves into inedible black ash, and the plastic butter tub melted from square to nearly round as it was placed too close to the stove burner’s heat.

  Then came clean-up. A glass dropped from fumbling fingers shattered into a few million little shards on the floor. More clean-up. A carton of milk tipped over on the counter. Vacuum, mop and paper towel put into action.

  Chaos continued after she’d finally decided on an outfit and gotten dressed in her favorite turquoise top, floral skirt, and beaded sandals. She managed to drop her bottle of foundation, which catapulted from the sink and somersaulted into the tub, leaving a fine mess in its wake. Her one spritz of hair spray—with a nozzle aimed in the wrong direction—caught her full in both eyes instead of its intended target.

  “What on earth is going on?” she finally wailed.

  The whole pattern of her past life was taking over her present one with a vengeance. All the accidents, the mishaps, the unplanned occurrences; things falling down, things falling off, things falling apart—her evil star was once more wreaking havoc, just when she needed the steadying, calming influence of some guardian angel.

  Just where was that guardian angel, anyway, and how could she get hold of one?

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Good morning, sweetheart. How is everything today?”

  “Well…I’d rather not get into it. What are you up to?”

  “Right now, your father is changing your son’s diaper. Quite a sight, in the middle of my kitchen table. I’ve told him again and again it isn’t sanitary, but he refuses to listen to me.”

  Hallie laughed. The laugh was a bit too loud and prolonged to sound genuine, and her mother heard it right away. Momma hen Joanne had always been extra-perceptive about her only chick.

  “Hallie? I’ll ask the same question. What are you up to?”

  “Uh. Okay, here goes. I called Karim last night, after I talked to you. And I—well, I’m leaving shortly to meet him at a coffeehouse.”

  A gasp. “Oh, honey. Do you think that’s wise?”

  She couldn’t hold back her surprise.

  “But, Mom! After all I told you about what happened, I thought you’d want me to confront this problem head-on, and get everything cleared up. Don’t you?”

  “I do. And I don’t.” Joanne seemed more uncertain than at any time her daughter could remember. “You’ve already been hurt. I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

  Inside her chest, Hallie’s heart twisted on a spasm of half-love, half-pain. This was the woman who, along with her husband, had raised her child as a loyal, compassionate, and generous soul, sending her out into the world to do the best she could with what she had. Where would Hallie be without that foundation?

  “I know, Mom,” she said quietly. “But I’m the one responsible. I’ve gotten myself into this, and I have to get myself out. And see what I can do for Karim, in the meantime. Please give Aaron a hug and kiss for me. I’ll be over to pick him up just as soon as I get off work.”

  “Hallie?”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “Just a minute, honey. Dad wants to say hi.”

  “Hey, there, sweetheart.”

  Her father’s voice—sweet and rich as a cup of hot chocolate—travelled over the miles, blessed by all the security of a happy home. Not financially well-off—Lord knew, money had always been a problem for the Jameson family—but safe and centered in every other way that counted.

  “I hear you’ve got some stuff going on.”

  That was certainly one way to describe it.

  “Yup. But in another couple hours, I plan to have everything cleared up. Then, I’ll scoot on over to Cranston for my shift, and come by to have a late dinner with you guys. Okay by you?”

  “Okay by us. We’ll be here. Oh, and, sweetheart?”

  “Yeah, Dad?”

  “We have faith, your mother and I, that you know what you’re doing. Whatever happens, we’re here, and we love you.”

  Hallie, pinned to her kitchen chair by emotion, felt tears stinging and the old, familiar prickle of a sensitive nose.

  “Thanks, Dad. Love you, too. Gotta run.”

  And run she did, before she melted into a little puddle, right there on the floor.

  Chapter 19

  The snake pit of nerves had increased in size, volume, and activity by the time Hallie emerged from her apartment and shuffled heavily along the sidewalk to reach her car, parked several blocks away. Already, the temperature was climbing and the humidity level increasing. Although the skies remained hazy with summer heat, a few clouds were sailing lazily overhead to lessen some of the sun’s brilliant light.

  Hallie paid no attention. She was focused on the task at hand. In an hour’s time, the confession would be finished, Karim would have heard the terrible news of Chip Griffin’s perfidy, and she could slither away in disgrace. Back to work. Back to routine.

  Sighing, she climbed into her car and started the engine. Its air-conditioning unit desperately needed to be replaced, but she hoped she could coax enough energy out of it to keep her from becoming a sweaty mess until she arrived at Café Mud.

  Which she did, of course, in good time. Traf
fic flow had moved smoothly along—luckily, no accidents, no pile-ups, no delays. Even the synchronization of green lights had cooperated. She was a few minutes early for their ten o’clock appointment when she pulled into a parking space at the lot located nearby.

  She had dressed carefully. She had packed just as carefully, putting what was needed in a sunny summer tote bag.

  “Ah, Hallie, you’re here.”

  Karim was waiting for her at an outside table, in the shade of the restaurant’s canopy. Ever the gentleman, he rose to greet her as she approached.

  “Yes, as you see, I am—” She stopped, blinking, almost blank with astonishment. “Karim, for heaven’s sake, what has happened to you?”

  “Ah. This?” Smiling almost roguishly, he twirled the cane in his hand like an old-fashioned villain about to seduce the village maiden. The cane, she supposed, was in aid of the cast-boot that snugly wrapped his left foot and ankle.

  “Of course, that,” she said impatiently, moving closer. “What have you gone and done?”

  His gaze encompassed her, taking her in and drinking her up as if he were delighted to see her again. As if he were cocooning her in a soft, warm blanket, safe from harm.

  I’ll soon be fixing that, the wayward thought skittered through her brain. Just give me a few minutes to relay the news, and you’ll be off and running as fast as that injured leg can take ya.

  “You recall my telling you that, when you tried reaching me, I was unavailable?”

  “I do. But you didn’t go into detail.”

  He waved his free hand.

  “There was no point, when we were meeting today and I could tell you in person. Well.” His expression, as they stood there chatting in the canopy’s welcome shadows, became slightly sheepish. “I had a minor accident.”

  His own fault, really, he explained perfunctorily. He could not remember ever being such “a klutz, I believe you say?” But his mind was not working properly. Instead of taking care of what his feet were doing, his head was in the clouds, “Having other important things to think about.”

  Having been distracted by his thoughts while at the gym, he had gotten his headphones tangled up in the treadmill and promptly fallen off, spraining his ankle. He had—as it turned out, upon a full examination at a nearby emergency room—twisted his ankle badly enough to have broken several small bones. He had needed a walking cast (hence, the unwieldy boot), and complete rest and recuperation.

  “I was given medication to help me sleep and reduce the pain. Thus, when you called, I was unavailable. The pills were quite strong,” he added thoughtfully.

  Shocked, Hallie instinctively fired off all the medical questions a qualified LPN could think of. Prognosis? Discomfort? Return visit? Prescription for how long? Refills?

  “No, no, no.” He brushed off her concern. “I’m feeling all right, believe me. But I do seem to tire easily. Perhaps a residual effect from whatever I’ve been taking? At any rate, shall we go inside now? To sit on a chair at some corner table would be most welcome.”

  While he hobbled toward the back of the large room, and the aforementioned table, Hallie took care of ordering their two cups of coffee and a plate of small, sugar-dusted cookies. A conversation ensued at the counter between another customer and the barista who explained the special of the week—some sort of latte involving espresso, steamed milk, caramel flavoring, cinnamon, and whipped cream.

  “You wanted just plain coffee, right?” she asked, returning to join Karim in his corner. “No cream, no sugar?”

  “I did, thank you. At the moment, I need nothing more than caffeine. And you have—?” He eyed the cup she was carrying with something close to wariness.

  “Oh, I got the special of the day.” Hallie’s tongue flicked out to lick a dollop of whipped cream from the top of her drink. “Might as well live dangerously, right?”

  Even as she lightly spoke the words, that pit of snakes inside her reared up to hiss and writhe. Live dangerously, all right. How soon could she get up the courage to confess that, thanks to her inopportune appearance (albeit in a place she was expected to be), Karim’s dreams had just died an untimely death?

  “You seem troubled, Hallie,” he observed, then, after a couple sips of his brew. “Is all not well?”

  All right. Take the bull by the horns. Blow the whistle. Whatever other happy proverbs might be floating about.

  Inhaling a deep breath, she dragged the tote bag closer to delve into its contents.

  “I did a terrible thing, Karim,” she finally admitted. From across the small, round table, her steady green gaze met his and tried not to flinch. “It wasn’t on purpose. Dear Lord, never in a thousand years would it have been on purpose. But—it happened. I was there. I couldn’t help it. And things just went…haywire.”

  Kind. He had always been kind to her. Settling his warm hand atop her restless fingers, he leaned forward a few inches.

  “It cannot be as bad as all that, Hallie. Please tell me what you’re talking about. If something is wrong, we shall fix it, you and I.”

  “Oh, no,” she protested miserably. “It can’t be fixed. I’ve wrecked it. The old Evil Star of Fate has followed me and sought me out, and now it’s caught you up in its evilness, too.”

  “Hallie, I am at a loss. Pause, if you will, and order your thoughts.”

  She swallowed. “Yes. All right. Fine.”

  After a moment, during which she considered how and at what point to start, a few words of the monologue trickled out on their own, and then more, tumbling along almost in a frenzy to be freed. Her extra hours put into the late shift at Cranston; the chaos following admission of the bus accident victims; the discovery that her next patient, suffering from a possible heart attack, had turned out to be no one other than Chip Griffin.

  “He came right after me, Karim. As sick and suffering as he was, Mr. Griffin went a little berserk. Of course, he recognized me instantly, and realized that I had—that we had—well, that we’d put something over on him. And he was furious.”

  Which had led to his denunciation of both Hallie Jameson and Karim Al Ahsan, she explained, along with his refusal to honor the contract of sale of Griffin Oceanic, which he had already signed.

  “He had the right of rescission, he told me,” said Hallie, feeling weepy and looking about ready to dissolve in tears. “He was calling everything off, and he wouldn’t calm down so I could even talk to him. I just—well, I had to get out of the room, immediately. I was afraid he might really have a heart attack, from all the stress. And that’s where it was left.”

  Karim’s intent gaze was focused on the coffee stirrer he was turning over and over in his fingers. The secrets of the universe might be held in that unsuspecting strip of plastic with the way he was pondering it.

  “Oh, Karim, say something. Say anything. Make me out to be an idiot, or a bumbling fool, or whatever you want. But, please, please, don’t just sit there.”

  He looked up, then, without any expression at all on his face, and spoke without any expression at all in his voice. Blank. Empty.

  “And was he?”

  “Was he what?”

  “Was Mr. Griffin having a heart attack? Was this a serious episode that has jeopardized his health?”

  “Oh. No. I found out later that it was a combination of indigestion and stress, just as we thought it might be. No, he’s fine now; he’s been released to the care of his own doctor, and is home recovering.”

  Still that deathly quiet, as if they both had been caught up under the dome of a giant bell jar, separate and secluded from all the normal chatter and fuss of a busy coffee shop.

  “Was Annemarie with him?”

  Distress now battled with impatience. What did any of that matter now? She wanted him to blow up, berate her, and let her finish this once and for all so she could escape.

  Biting her lip, she took a few long, slow breaths to calm the erratic beating of her heart.

  “I didn’t see her at all. But I was t
old that she was on her way.”

  “Pity.” His neutral gaze had shifted to the glass windows, shaded on the eastern side from the hot morning sun. “His wife seems to have a tranquilizing effect upon him. She might have prevented him from such rash behavior.”

  “Rash behavior?” She could only stare at him in disbelief. “Karim, are you listening to me? Do you understand what I am saying? I screwed up your deal. It’s gone, all gone. It’s over.”

  “Yes. I am listening. And I believe I understand what you are saying.”

  Her lips tightened; her eyes blazed a froth of green fire. She wanted to grab hold of those nicely muscled shoulders and give the man a good hard shake. Come back to reality!

  Overcome, she pulled forth from her tote bag the small package she had put together earlier.

  “Here,” she said roughly, shoving it across the table to him. “Take it. I’ve failed. It’s rightfully yours, and I’m returning it to you.”

  His brows arched as he pulled open the flap. Out tumbled the small velvet box which contained the diamond pendant and earrings he had gifted her, on a much happier occasion. Beneath that lay the check with which he had paid for her services: unendorsed, uncashed. Merely a white rectangle of paper, with no meaning attached until approved and endowed by a bank.

  “I see. You had no intention of ever cashing this, did you?” he asked gravely.

  Distracted, she had let her gaze wander past his solemn face to the wall opposite, where framed prints of an earlier Philadelphia were hung.

  “What? Oh.” One shoulder lifted in resignation. “Sure, I toyed with the idea. That money would have meant a lot to me. And to my parents. But—well, I found out I couldn’t. See, I guess I have some scruples, after all. It just wasn’t mine to accept.”

  Without a word in dispute, he pulled forth a personal checkbook and a pen from inside his jacket’s breast pocket, opened and clicked, and began to write.