Maybe she should write him, just as she had advised Laila to do with her friend. Don’t apologize. Explain. Tell him the truth. The truth about Malik, at least. But, of course, that would raise more questions—and more, leading finally to questions she’d have to refuse to answer. Or to answer with lies. God, she was tired of lies.

It was quiet with Malik gone, Laila upstairs. The house staff wasn’t in evidence. Some of the bodyguards would have gone with Malik and Farid, of course. Still, that left half a dozen others, and even though they weren’t obtrusive men, she normally would have spotted one or more of them checking on her by now.

Ah, there was one of them now, at the sliding door. Squinting in the brilliant sun, she couldn’t see just who it was. Coming towards her. A message? A call from Brad? Or Karim? Malik must pay his men very well—look at that suit. A new man? She still didn’t recognize him. Smaller than the others. Older, too, gray at the temples. Oh, no. It couldn’t be. Please, God, no.

“Hello, Amira. Don’t freeze like a rabbit before a snake. Say something.’’ “What do you want, Ali? You don’t belong here. When Malik comes back—” “I won’t be here that long, my dove, my heart. And no one else will interrupt our little chat, either—I’ve seen to that. But don’t look so frightened. I’m not going to hurt you. Not today, not here. But someday, Amira—bitch—maybe when you’re just walking down the street. Think about it. Think about it often. Will you be able to run and hide again?’’

“Just go away. Please.’’

“Ah, beg. I like that. And my son, he’ll go with me.” “Don’t you dare touch him!”

“I won’t have to. Do you think he’ll stay with you, whore, after he finds out how you’ve lied to him?”

“Yes.” It was all she could say.

“Do you know how I found out about you? Your picture in that trash paper. You look different here. But brown hair is black in a black-and-white photo. And … green … eyes are just dark eyes. And, of course, you were with that thieving brother of yours. It all became clear to me in a flash.”

Suddenly, Malik’s voice came from the house, calling to someone: “No, the horse had an inflammation of some kind. Had to scratch him. They got me on the car phone.” In a moment, he was outside. “Who’s this, Little Sister? You!” He strode straight to Ali and slapped him backhanded. “How dare you enter my house! Out!”