Hostage of the Hawk (2 page)

Nothing was ever that simple, Joanna knew, not in business, not in life, and surely not in this place where custom vied with progress for dominance. But this was no time to show any hesitation.

‘I think so, yes.'

She waited, barely breathing, while Sam glowered at her, and then he nodded towards the phone.

‘OK.'

‘OK, what?' Joanna said, very calmly, as if her pulse weren't racing hard enough so she could feel the pound of it in her throat.

‘Call the Prince's hotel. If you can get past that watchdog of an aide, if Khalil will talk to you and agree to meet with you in my place, you've got a deal.'

Joanna smiled. ‘First let's agree on the terms.'

‘I'm your father. Don't you trust me?'

‘You're my father and you raised me never to sign anything without reading it twice.' She saw a glimmer of a smile in Sam's eyes as she held up her fisted hand. ‘Number one,' she said, raising her index finger, ‘I get a vice-presidency at Bennettco. Number two, it's a real job with real responsibilities. Number three—'

Sam threw up his hands. ‘I know when I'm licked. Go on, call the man. Let's see if you're as good as you think you are.'

Joanna's smile blazed. ‘Just watch me.'

Her father reached out, took a notepad from the nightstand, and held it out to her. ‘Here's the phone number. It's direct to Khalil's suite.'

Joanna nodded and reached slowly for the phone. She would have preferred to make this call from the other room instead of here, with her father watching her every move, but Sam would be quick to pounce on that as a sign of weakness.

‘Good evening,' she said to the operator, then read off the number on the notepad. Her stomach was knotting but Sam's gaze was unwavering and she forced a cool smile to her face as she sank into the bedside chair, leaned back, and crossed her legs. The phone rang and rang. Maybe nobody was there, she thought—and at that moment, the ringing stopped and a deep voice said something in a language she couldn't understand, except for the single word ‘Hassan'.

Joanna clasped the phone more tightly. ‘Good evening, Mr Hassan,' she said. ‘This is Joanna Bennett. Sam Bennett's daughter.'

If Hassan was surprised, he covered it well. ‘Ah, Miss Bennett,' he said in impeccable English, ‘I am honoured. What may I do for you?'

‘Well?' Sam said impatiently. ‘What's he saying?'

Joanna frowned at him. ‘How are you enjoying your stay in Casablanca?' she said into the phone.

‘The city is delightful, Miss Bennett, as I'm sure you agree.'

Joanna touched the tip of her tongue to her lips. ‘And the Prince? Is he enjoying his stay, as well?'

‘Dammit,' Sam hissed, ‘get to the point! Is Khalil there, or isn't he?'

‘Indeed,' Hassan said pleasantly, ‘my Lord Khalil has always had a preference for this city.'

Joanna took a deep breath. Enough pleasantries. It was time to get down to business.

‘Mr Hassan,' she said, ‘I should like to speak with the Prince.'

Hassan's tone hardened. ‘I'm afraid that is out of the question, Miss Bennett. If you have a message for him, I shall be happy to deliver it.'

Joanna's hand began to sweat on the phone. Her father was still giving her that same steadfast look and a self-satisfied smile was beginning to form on his lips.

‘Give it up, baby,' he said quietly. ‘I told you you couldn't pull it off.'

‘Mr Hassan,' Joanna said evenly, ‘I'm afraid you don't understand. I want to assure the Prince that the only reason for the change in plans is because my father is ill. As for Mr Ellington—I'm afraid he misunderstood my father's instructions. The Prince will be dining with my father's representative, whom he trusts completely and holds in the highest esteem.' Joanna looked at Sam. ‘Vice-president Jo Bennett.'

‘One moment, please, Miss Bennett,' Hassan said.

Joanna felt a rush of hope. She smiled sweetly at Sam. ‘He's going to put the Prince on,' she said, and hoped that her father couldn't see her crossed fingers.

* * *

Across town, in the elegant royal suite of the Hotel Casablanca, Prince Khalil glared at his prime minister.

‘What sort of man is this Sam Bennett,' he growled, ‘that he asks his daughter to telephone me and beg on his behalf?' He folded his arms across his chest, his dark blue eyes glinting like sapphires in his tanned, handsome face. ‘Bennett is worried,' he said with satisfaction as he leaned his hard, six-foot frame against the wall.

‘Precisely, my lord. He must be ready to bend to your will or he would not have ordered a woman to act as his agent.'

‘Only a fool would bring his daughter on such a trip,' Khalil said with disdain. ‘The woman must have thought Casablanca would be an exotic playground in which to amuse herself.'

Hassan's grizzled brows lifted. ‘Of course, my lord. She is, after all, of the West.'

Khalil grunted in assent. ‘What does she want?'

‘To speak with you.' Khalil laughed and Hassan permitted himself a smile. ‘I told her, of course, that was not possible, and then she said Sam Bennett wishes tonight's dinner meeting to take place.'

‘Ah.' Khalil's hard mouth curled with the shadowy beginnings of an answering smile. ‘Bennett has decided he wants to keep our appointment now?'

‘He is ill, sire, or so the woman claims, and wishes to send an emissary. I suspect it is an excuse he uses to save face.'

Khalil strode forward. ‘I do not meet with emissaries, Hassan.'

Hassan dipped his head in respect. ‘Of course, my lord. But her offer is interesting. The emissary is Joe Bennett, a vice-president of the company.'

Khalil's eyes narrowed. ‘Who? I have never heard of such a person.'

Frowning, Hassan took his hand from the telephone and spoke into it. ‘We have no knowledge of this person who would meet with Prince Khalil, Miss Bennett. Is he related to your father?'

‘Mr Hassan, if I could just speak with the Prince—'

‘The Prince does not speak with underlings, and he surely does not meet with them,' Hassan said coldly. ‘If you wish to answer my questions, I will transmit the information to my lord. Otherwise, our conversation is at an end.'

‘Jo,' Sam said, ‘give it up. You're not gonna get to first base with this guy.'

Joanna swung away from her father. ‘Jo Bennett is hardly an underling, Mr Hassan.'

‘Jo,' Sam said, his voice gaining authority, ‘did you hear me? Give it up. You took a shot and you lost.'

‘Miss Bennett,' the voice in her ear said sharply, ‘I asked you a question. Who is Joseph Bennett? Is he Sam Bennett's son?'

Joanna swallowed, shut her eyes, then opened them. ‘Yes,' she said into the telephone, praying that the Prince would forgive the deception after she convinced him that there'd be enough money in this deal to make him happy, ‘yes, that's right, sir. He is.'

‘A moment, please.' Hassan put his hand over the mouthpiece again and looked at the Prince. ‘The man you would dine with is the son of Sam Bennett.'

Khalil glared at his minister. ‘A son,' he snarled, ‘a young jackal instead of the old.' He stalked across the elegant room, turned, and looked at Hassan. ‘Tell the woman you will accept a meeting with her brother. Perhaps my judgement is wrong. Perhaps the son has some influence on the father. At any rate, you can convey my message clearly: that I will not be ignored in this matter!'

Hassan smiled. ‘Excellent, my lord.' His smile fell away as he tilted the phone to his lips. ‘Miss Bennett.'

Joanna blinked. ‘Yes?'

‘I, Adym Hassan, Special Minister to His Highness Prince Khalil, will meet with your brother tonight.'

Joanna clutched the cord tighter. ‘But—'

‘Eight o'clock, as planned, at the Oasis Restaurant. As they say in your world, take it or leave it, Miss Bennett.'

‘Jo?' Sam's voice rose. ‘Dammit, Jo, what's he saying? He's turning you down flat, isn't he?'

Joanna hunched over the phone. ‘Of course,' she said, ‘eight o'clock. That will be fine. Thank you, sir.' She hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and turned to her father. ‘You see?' she said briskly. ‘That wasn't so hard after all.'

‘He's meeting with you?' Sam said doubtfully.

Joanna nodded. ‘Sure. I told you he would.'

Sam blew out his breath. ‘OK,' he said, ‘OK. Now, let's figure out how to get the most mileage we can out of tonight.' He looked at his daughter and a grin spread over his face. ‘Not bad, kid,' he said, ‘not bad at all.'

‘It's not “kid”,' Joanna said with an answering smile. ‘It's Vice-President Jo Bennett, if you don't mind.'

Vice-President Joseph Bennett, she thought, and gave a little shudder. Things were going to get interesting when Special Minister Adym Hassan found out he'd been lied to.

* * *

Halfway across the city, Special Minister Hassan was already thinking the same thing.

‘I am suspicious of Bennett's motives, my lord,' he said to Prince Khalil as he hung up the phone. ‘But we shall see what happens. The woman's brother will meet with me tonight.'

Khalil nodded. ‘Good.' He turned, walked slowly across the room, and stood gazing out the window as if he could see beyond the city to the hills that marked the boundary of his kingdom. Sam Bennett was a sly, tough opponent; it was more than likely his son would be the same. Too sly and too tough for Hassan, who was loyal and wise and obedient but no longer young. How could he let the old man meet with Bennett? If he'd learned one thing these past weeks, it was that dealing with anybody named Bennett was like putting a ferret in charge of the hen house.

Khalil spun away from the window. ‘Hassan!'

‘Yes, my lord?'

‘I have changed my mind. I will meet with Sam Bennett's son myself.'

Hassan looked startled. ‘You, sir? But—'

‘There are no “buts”, Hassan,' Khalil said sharply. ‘Call down for some coffee and lay out my clothing.' He smiled tightly, the sort of smile that chilled those who knew him well. ‘I promise you this, old man. One way or another, tonight will change everything.'

* * *

It was Joanna's thought, too, as she sat beside her father, only half listening as he droned on about tonight's agenda.

One way or another, she knew in her bones that her life would not be the same after this night ended.

Afterwards, she would remember how right she'd been.

W
HAT
did you wear to a dinner meeting with a Hawk of the North?

Not that she'd be dining with the great man himself, Joanna thought wryly as she peered into the wardrobe in her bedroom. Her appointment was with Hassan, Special Minister to Prince Khalil, although what a bandit needed with a minister was beyond her to understand. Their conversation had been brief but it had been enough to give her a good idea of what he'd be like.

He'd be tall and angular and as old as the hills that lay beyond the city. The skin would be drawn across his cheekbones like ivory papyrus. His eyes, pale and rheumy with age, would glitter with distaste when he saw her and realised that she was Joanna Bennett, for he lived in a world in which female equality was unheard of.

Joanna smiled tightly as she riffled through the clothing hanging inside the wardrobe.

How would she convince him to continue the meeting, once her deceit was obvious?

‘Surely, the great Khalil wishes prosperity for his people,' she'd begin, ‘and would not wish you to refuse to meet with someone who can provide it.' Then, as distasteful as the prospect was, she'd dig into her purse, take out the envelope with the numbered Swiss bank account her father had established, and slide it gently across the table.

After that, Hassan wouldn't care if she were a man, a woman or a camel.

* * *

Joanna glanced at her watch as she stepped from her taxi. Eight o'clock. Her timing was perfect. She put her hands to her hair, checking to see if the pair of glittery combs were still holding the burnished auburn mass back from her face, then smoothed down the skirt of her short emerald silk dress. She'd hesitated, torn between a Chanel suit and this, the one cocktail dress she'd brought with her, deciding on the dress because she thought the suit might make her look too severe, that it would be enough of a shock for the minister to find himself dealing with a woman without her looking like
that
kind of woman.

The doorman was watching her enquiringly and she took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and walked briskly towards him. She was nervous but who wouldn't be? Everything she wanted—her father's approval, the vice-presidency at Bennettco—hung on the next couple of hours.

‘
Masa el-kheyr
, madam.'

Joanna nodded. ‘Good evening,' she said, and stepped through the door.

Soft, sybaritic darkness engulfed her, broken only by the palest glow of carefully recessed overhead lighting and flickering candlelight. Music played faintly in the background, something involving flutes and chimes that sounded more like the sigh of wind through the trees than anything recognisable to her Western ear.

‘
Masa el-kheyr
, madam. Are you joining someone?'

The head waiter's smile was gracious but she wondered if he would continue smiling if she were to say no, she wasn't joining anyone, she wanted a table to herself.

‘Madam?'

Joanna gave herself a little shake. The last thing she needed was to get herself into an antagonistic mood.

‘Yes,' she said pleasantly. ‘My name is Bennett. I believe there's a reservation in my name.'

Was it her imagination, or did the man's eyebrows lift? But he smiled again, inclined his head, and motioned her to follow him. There was an arched doorway ahead, separated from the main room by a gently swaying beaded curtain. When they reached it, he drew the curtain aside and made a little bow.

‘The reservation request was for as private a table as possible,' he said.

Joanna nodded as she stepped past him. A private alcove. That would be better. At least, she and Hassan wouldn't have to deal with—

A man was rising to his feet from the banquette. Joanna's eyes widened. He was thirty, perhaps, or thirty-five, tall, with a lithe body and broad shoulders contained within a finely tailored English suit. Her gaze flew to his face. His eyes were shockingly blue against his tanned skin. His nose was straight, his mouth full and sensuous. And he was smiling.

Joanna's heart gave an unaccustomed thump. Lord, he was gorgeous!

She smiled back, flustered, then turned quickly to the head waiter.

‘I'm terribly sorry, but there must be an error.'

‘Yes.' The man had spoken, and she looked back at him. His smile had grown, tilting a little with intimacy and promise. ‘I'm afraid the lady is right.' His voice was soft, smoky, and lightly tinged with an indefinable accent. ‘If I were not expecting a gentleman to join me—'

The head waiter cleared his throat. ‘Excuse me, sir. I believe you said you were waiting for a Mr Joseph Bennett.'

‘Yes, that's right. I am.'

‘Then there's been no error, sir. This is the gentleman—uh, the lady—you were waiting for.'

Joanna's eyes flew to the man's face. They stared at each other in silence. This was Hassan, Minister to Prince Khalil? Oh God, she thought, as she saw his expression go rapidly from surprise to disbelief to fury, and she stepped quickly forward and shot out her hand.

‘Mr Hassan,' she said with a big, determinedly cheerful smile, ‘what a pleasure to meet you. I'm Jo Bennett.'

He looked at her hand as if it were contaminated, then at her.

‘If this is an example of Western humour,' he said coldly, ‘I should warn you that I am not amused.'

Joanna swallowed, dropped her hand to her side, and fought against the desire to wipe the suddenly damp palm against her skirt.

‘It's not a joke, no, sir.'

Sir?
Sir
? What was going on here? Was she really going to permit this—this arrogant minister to a greedy despot to reduce her to a deferential schoolgirl? It was one thing to be nervous, but it was quite another to let the balance of power be stripped from her without so much as a whisper. Whether Mr Hassan liked it or not, they were here on equal footing. The sooner she reminded him of that, the better.

Joanna lifted her chin and forced a cool smile to her lips.

‘I am Joanna Bennett,' she said calmly. ‘And I can understand that you might be a bit surprised, but—'

‘Where is Sam Bennett's son?'

‘I'm his son.' Joanna shook her head. ‘I mean, he has no son, Mr Hassan. I am—'

‘You are his daughter?'

‘Yes.'

‘You are Joe Bennett?'

‘Joanna Bennett. That's right. And—'

He swung towards the head waiter. ‘Bring me the bill,' he snapped. ‘For my apéritif, and for whatever the restaurant will lose on this table for the evening.' He snatched a liqueur glass from the table, drained its contents, slammed it down, and made a mocking bow to Joanna. ‘Goodnight, Miss Bennett.'

Open-mouthed, she stared after him as he strode towards the beaded curtain, still swaying delicately from the waiter's exit, and then, at the last second, she stepped out and blocked his path.

‘Just a minute, Mr Hassan!'

‘Step aside, please.'

It was the ‘please' that was the final straw. The word was not offered politely, but was, instead, tossed negligently at the floor, as one might toss a bone to a dog. Joanna drew herself up.

‘And what will you tell Prince Khalil, Mr Hassan?' Joanna slapped her hands on her hips. ‘That because you were narrow-minded, old-fashioned, petty and stupid—'

The dark blue eyes narrowed. ‘I advise you to watch your tongue.'

‘And I advise you to use your head,' Joanna said sharply. ‘Prince Khalil sent you here to meet with me.'

‘I came here to meet with Sam Bennett's son.'

‘You came to meet with his emissary, and that is precisely what I am!'

A muscle knotted in his cheek. ‘Whose idea was this subterfuge? Ellington's? Or was it your father's?'

‘There was no subterfuge meant, Mr Hassan.'

His smile was swift and chill. ‘What term would you prefer? Deception? Trickery? Perhaps “fraud” has a finer ring.'

‘At the worst, it's just a misunderstanding.'

He rocked back on his heels and folded his arms over his chest. ‘Please, Miss Bennett, don't insult me with games of semantics.'

‘I'm simply trying to explain why—'

‘What sort of misunderstanding could possibly have led to your thinking I would even consider discussing your father's greedy plans for my country with you?'

His disdain, his contemptuous words, were like a bucket of iced water. Joanna met his harsh gaze with unflinching directness.

‘Wrong on all counts, Mr Hassan. For starters, I did not wish to discuss anything with you. It was Prince Khalil I wished to meet this evening, remember? As for greed—it is not my father who's standing in the way of progress and betterment for the people of Jandara, it's your high and mighty ruler.'

Hassan's brows lifted. ‘An interesting description of the Prince, Miss Bennett. Clearly, your father didn't send you on this errand because of your subtlety.'

Joanna knew he was right. Her words had been thoughtlessly spoken but to back down now would be a mistake.

‘He sent me because I have his trust and confidence,' she said. ‘And if my honesty offends you, I can only tell you that I see little value in not being as direct as possible.'

An unpleasant smile curled across his mouth. ‘How readily you use the word “honesty”—and yet here you stand, having lied your way into my presence.'

‘I did no such thing! I am who I said I was, Jo Bennett, the vice-president at Bennettco.'

‘And we both know that if you had identified yourself properly, this meeting would not have taken place.'

‘Exactly.' Joanna smiled thinly. ‘I'm glad you admit it so readily. You and the Prince would have turned your noses up at the very idea of discussing business with a woman.'

‘Typical Western nonsense,' he sneered. ‘A woman, taking a man's name, trying to pretend she can do a man's job.'

‘I haven't taken anything,' Joanna said coldly. ‘”Jo” is short for Joanna. As for a woman trying to pretend she can do a man's job—I don't know how to break this to you, but women don't have to “pretend” such things any more, Mr Hassan. In my country—'

‘Your country is not mine,' he said, his tone rife with contempt.

‘It certainly isn't. In
my
country—'

‘In Jandara, those who lie do not break bread with each other.'

Joanna glared at him. ‘It isn't my fault you assumed Jo Bennett was a man.'

‘I don't recall you attempting to correct that assumption, Miss Bennett.'

Anger overcame her. ‘If I didn't,' she said, stepping forward until they were only inches apart, ‘it was because I knew your boss would react exactly the way you are at the prospect of a woman representing Bennettco. No wonder my father's gotten nowhere all these weeks! Trying to deal with a—tyrant is like—like...'

The rush of words stopped, but it was too late. He smiled slyly as she fell silent.

‘Please, Miss Bennett, don't stop now. You've called Prince Khalil a tyrant, a chauvinist—I can hardly wait to hear what else you think of him.'

What was she doing? She'd come here to further her cause, to succeed in a tricky endeavour and convince Sam that she was capable of carrying her weight at Bennettco, and instead she was alienating the Hawk of the North's right-hand man with terrifying rapidity. She took a deep breath, let it out, and pasted a smile to her lips.

‘Perhaps—perhaps I got carried away.'

The Prince's emissary smiled tightly. ‘You may not be given to subtlety but you surely are given to understatement. Referring to m—to the Prince as a dictator is hardly—'

‘I never called him that!'

His brows lifted. ‘But you think it.'

‘Certainly not,' she said, lying through her teeth. Of course she thought it. If this—this overbearing, arrogant, insolent pig of a man was the Prince's minister, she could only imagine what the Prince himself must be like. ‘Besides, my opinion of your Prince is no more important than your opinion of me. You and I have lost sight of the facts, Mr Hassan. We are representatives, I of my father, you of Khalil. I doubt if either of them would be pleased if we reported back that we'd cancelled this meeting because we'd gotten off to a bad start.'

Her smile did nothing to erase the scowl from his face. ‘Perhaps we'll simply tell them the truth, that we cancelled it because I resent having been made a fool of.'

He had a point. Much as she hated to admit it, she had twisted the facts to suit her own needs. She'd lied to him, lied to her father. And if Sam found out...

‘Well?' She blinked. He was staring at her, his expression as unyielding as stone, his eyes cold. ‘What do you say to that, Miss Bennett?'

‘I say... I say...' Joanna swallowed hard. Go for broke, she thought, took a deep breath, and did. ‘I say,' she said, her eyes meeting his, ‘that you have every right to be annoyed.'

His scowl deepened. ‘The start of another bit of trickery?'

Colour flared in Joanna's face but she pressed on. ‘I admit I may have stretched the facts, but I haven't lied. I do represent my father. I have his every confidence and I'm fully authorised to act on his behalf. I know you have a problem dealing with me, but—'

But, he thought impatiently, his eyes on her face, but! She was good at suggesting alternatives, this Joanna Bennett. She had insulted him, apologised to him, and now she was doing her best to convince him her father had Jandara's best interests at heart—but for what reason? Why had Sam Bennett sent her? She kept insisting she was Bennettco's representative, but what man would be fool enough to believe that?

His gaze moved over her slowly, with an insolence born of command. She kept talking, although her skin took on a rosy flush, and that amused him. Why would a woman like this colour under his gaze? Surely she was not innocent? She was a beauty, though, perhaps more beautiful than any woman he'd ever seen. What she couldn't know was that her beauty meant nothing to him. Despite what Joanna Bennett thought she knew of him—or of the man she believed him to be—he had long ago wearied of beautiful faces and bodies that hid empty souls. He preferred his women with strength and character, individuals in their own right, not the pampered lapdogs Western women so often were.