She was so distracted by his statement that she didn’t even realise she was walking through the security gate until a guard, acting on instinct, grabbed her by the shoulders and forcefully threw her back into the cell. She cried out in surprise and pain as an old tennis injury in her shoulder was aggravated by his violent touch.
Radiz eyed the man with cold fury and pushed past him, moving back into the cell. He stood in front of Miranda, his expression dispassionate at first. But as he saw the way she was biting down on her lower lip in an attempt not to cry, he felt a pang of something unfamiliar to him. A sort of sympathy that he hadn’t known was in his spectrum of emotions.
“You are hurt.”
She shook her head. “No.” Her tremulous voice was brave.
“Yes.” He denied firmly as he lifted a hand. “May I?”
She nodded, her throat constricted. He pushed his fingers gently against her dress, lowering the shoulder so that he could see her skin. It was bruised where the guard had grabbed her.
“It’s fine,” she assured him. “I injured it a few years ago, that’s all. It’s a little sensitive.”
He raised himself to his full height.
“You will come with me now.”
His eyes glared at the guard as he swept past, one arm around Miranda’s waist. It all happened so fast. One minute she was in a dark, grimy cell, and the next she was in the blindingly bright sunshine, being led to a glistening grey helicopter. Later, she wondered why she hadn’t objected. Demanded to be taken to her embassy. But at the time, she was so confused and overwhelmed that she simply fell into step beside the powerful ruler and followed him to the chopper.
She did ask one question, though. “Why… are you doing this?”
His eyes seemed to glow with emotion. “I believe a ruler is defined by his country. And a country is defined by the treatment of its prisoners.” He reached over and clipped her seatbelt into place, waving away one of his security guards who would otherwise have undertaken the task. “Tell me, Miranda Jones, how would you characterise your treatment so far?”
She focussed her gaze on the barren desert outside the window of the chopper. Concrete seemed to sprawl for hundreds of meters, and then it gave way to sand and little clumps of faded green grass. “I would characterise it as no different to what – probably – thousands of other people are currently enduring,” she pointed out with a critical lift of her brow.
She continued to stare out of the window as the chopper lifted into the sky, and so she didn’t see the way his expression shifted into one of grudging amusement. He was not used to being addressed so frankly.
“So why me?” She wondered aloud, once they were high in the air and heading away from the city.
“Why my sister’s residence? My sister’s jewels?” He leaned forward, his expression concealing so very much. His voice though was sharp and thick. His suspicions were acute and, as it happened, correct. “You are the same age as Mastepha. You herald from London, where she is currently studying. And you broke into her apartment without setting off an alarm. Which leads me to believe she aided you in some way. And for some reason. Knowing my sister, she has twisted your arm to partake in some kind of scheme on her behalf.”
Miranda’s face showed her surprise at his accuracy, though she quickly regained control of her expression. “You’re mistaken. I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
His smile was without mirth. “Perhaps this is the truth. Though I do not believe so. However, for the sake of argument, let us say that I am wrong. That you do not know Mastepha. That your age, location and the target of your crime are all random coincidences. There is yet another reason I am bringing you to my palace, Miranda.”
“What is it?”
He leaned back in his seat, looking completely at ease. The whir of the rota blades was loud, but she would never forget his next words. “Because you fascinate me. A woman who quotes from the parable of Priya… who speaks of the morality of theft from a darkened prison cell, who argues with a ruler who has the power to sentence her to a life of imprisonment… these qualities are rare and intriguing. I wish to understand you better. Infact,” he lowered his gaze to her pouting lips, and her heart began to race, “I wish to understandeverythingabout you.”
CHAPTER ONE
A month earlier.
“You can’t do it, Mirry. It’s too much. I’ll work out another way.”
Miranda moved slowly down the ladder, taking it one step at a time. She still had a clutch of nails in her mouth and she spat them into her palm now. “What other way?” She placed the nails on one of the ladder’s steps so that her hands were free to touch her friend’s beautiful, rounded stomach. “You have no money. You can hardly go and get a normal job. At least, not without arousing suspicion. Tom has nothing.”
“He hassomemoney.”
Miranda rolled her eyes. “He works in a pub. He can just barely make ends meet for himself, let alone you and a baby.”
“I know. It’s absurd. When I think about what I have back in Fasiya…”
“Exactly. And it’s simply a matter of popping home and getting it.”
“You say that, but you don’t know what my country is like.”
Miranda frowned. “You’re so proud of your home, though.”
