The Sheikh's First Christmas - A Warm and Cozy Christmas Romance (11 page)

FOURTEEN

I'd learned everything I knew about the legal system from television. After I asked for a lawyer on the day I was arrested, I’d expected to be given one right away. Throughout the lonely hours I'd spent in city holding, I'd kept one eye on the door, anticipating that some public defender in a suit would appear, briefcase in hand. I'd imagined sitting across a table from them, telling them my story, making a plan. We'd go into my preliminary hearing together, and we'd go prepared. I thought we'd know each other a little by then, my lawyer and me. He'd squeeze my hand while I waited nervously to stand before the judge. He'd give me a heartening smile, maybe a thumbs-up.

I didn't meet her while I was in holding, nor on any of the days leading up to my hearing. My calls to the number on the yellow carbon sheet printed with the date and time of the hearing yielded no results. Each time I called, the annoyed voice on the other end of the line told me that I would be contacted by my attorney when one was appointed for me; that the public defender's office had a backlog of cases, and I should be patient. But no one called me, and each passing day caused my panic to grow.

I considered calling Sadiq, telling him about my problem, and asking for his help in hiring a lawyer. He'd do it for me in a moment, I was sure. But I hadn't seen him since the day he'd bought me the suit. My strange behavior after our kiss on the sidewalk had confused him, I was sure. He hadn't called me, nor had he come by. I worried about what he might be thinking, and if my abrupt withdrawal had hurt him. I wanted to explain everything to him, to tell him that I couldn't give my heart away only to sit in a cell for years. I'd never ask him to wait for me, and I'd drive myself insane imagining him moving on, going on with his life while mine stood still.

I started to think that maybe this way was better. Sadiq would think I was just another flakey girl, intrigued by a mysterious and wealthy man, but quick to move on to other things. Wouldn't believing that be less painful than being separated from me by prison bars? Wouldn't this other version of why we parted ways make it easier for him to find happiness somewhere else, with someone else?

Whether my motivation was kindness or cowardice, I wasn't sure, but I stayed away. I met the New Year alone in my living room, drinking cheap bourbon and thinking of how it had felt to doze in his arms as he told me stories by the light of the dying fire.

I woke early on the morning of the hearing. My piece of paper told me to arrive at the courthouse no later than nine in the morning, and that I could be called at any point during the day. As I showered and brushed out my hair, I hoped desperately that my case would be called quickly. I intended to explain to the judge that I hadn't gotten a public defender. My plan stopped short of optimism, though. At this point, I felt that anything could happen when it came to the court of criminal justice. Nothing about the system was as I’d thought it would be.

As I looked into the foggy bathroom mirror, I held my hair up in my hands and tried to decide what to do with it. I settled on a simple but elegant bun at the nape of my neck. It was too easy a style for me to mess up with my nervous fingers, and it would make me look serious and penitent. Or, at least, I hoped it would. I put on more makeup than I usually wore, but kept it as conservative as possible. In my mind, I imagined Marilyn the saleswoman's face and tried to reproduce some version of it on myself. When I was finished, I wasn't sure if I'd succeeded or not, but it would have to do.

Back in my bedroom, I opened my closet and took out the garment bag that held the navy suit Sadiq had bought for me. I sighed as I unzipped the bag and took out the pieces. They fit even better now than they had in the store, no doubt thanks to the work of the disapproving seamstress. I put on my last pair of pantyhose without runs in them, and finished the look with a pair of simple black flats. I suspected that Marilyn would disapprove of this choice, but I didn't have any pumps that even came close to matching. I didn't have any navy-colored shoes, either. These would have to do.

Anyway, no one's going to see my feet if I'm on the witness stand.

The thought should have made me feel better, but it didn't. I stood in front of my full-length bedroom mirror and stared at the terrified stranger reflected there. I forced myself to stand up straight, to square my shoulders. I forced the fear from my face.

This is as good as it's gonna get. Let's do this.

I grabbed my purse and coat and headed to my front door. I opened it, and stopped short when I saw the black Jaguar in my driveway. Sadiq stood beside the car, facing away from my house. He wore a heavy black overcoat over his suit and was smoking a cigarette.

Relief blossomed inside me, and I wanted to run to him. Instead, I locked my front door behind me and walked carefully down the ice-slick step of my front stoop. He turned toward me, looking much like he did the day I met him; handsome, tired and sad.

Today, though, he smiled for me.

"You look beautiful, Annabelle," he said, putting out his cigarette.

I shook my head, embarrassed, and fussed with the buttons on my old wool coat.

"I look like I'm going to go prepare taxes or something."

He kept his hands in the pockets of his coat and strode toward me. He stopped a few feet away, and waited until I met his eyes.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. "Really?"

My nervous smile faded. I shrugged.

"I don't know. Scared, I guess. Really scared." I wrapped my arms around myself. "I thought I'd get, I don't know, a rush of adrenaline, or enlightenment... Something that would make me feel like I was strong enough to do this. But I don't feel strong enough." I wanted to say more, but I also didn’t want to start crying and ruin my makeup. I knew that if I gave words to the terrible dread that rose up when I imagined the cell that waited for me, I'd come apart.

Sadiq came closer and put his arms around me. He pulled me close and just held me there, tight against his chest, as long minutes passed. Rather than passion, his embrace communicated only comfort and protection. I breathed in the scent of him—male skin, winter air, and a trace of smoke. My body relaxed, and I felt some of my fear leave me. Not much, but maybe enough.

"Ready?" he asked, when I pulled back.

"Yeah."

FIFTEEN

It was eight thirty when we arrived at the courthouse. Getting through the metal detectors and finding the room where my case would be heard took another fifteen minutes. We were some of the first people to arrive in the room, but it began to fill up quickly. People came into the courtroom in ones and twos, some dressed formally, others wearing loose jeans and untucked shirts. But all of them, all of
us
, had the same intractable anxiety in our eyes. I squeezed Sadiq's hand and watched the clock tick.

It was almost exactly nine when I was startled by the sound of my name being called. The judge hadn't taken the bench yet, and I looked around to see who'd called me. It was a woman standing at the front of the courtroom, off to one side. She wore a brown suit over a cream-colored silk blouse that tied at her neck. She carried a briefcase in one hand and a handful of folders and loose papers in the other. Her shoulders slumped and the corners of her mouth turned down in what I guessed was a permanent frown. She scanned the courtroom with tired eyes.

"Annabelle Christensen?"

I stood up and raised my hand.

"Yes, that's me."

She looked at the paper at the top of the stack in her hand, and then back to me. She made a motion with her head, indicating I should come with her. I started toward her, then stopped, and glanced back at Sadiq.

"Go on," he said. "I'll wait for you."

I forced a smile and continued toward the waiting woman. When I was still a few yards away from her, she turned and began walking toward a side door leading out of the courtroom. I hurried to follow her. She led me from the room into the crowded hallway. I dodged around people standing, in groups and alone, as they waited for their turn to stand before a judge. I craned my neck to keep sight of the woman as she moved through the crowd with practiced ease.

As we got further away from the courtroom, the crowd thinned. Soon we stood alone in front of a huge window that looked out over the city street. The woman didn't address me, or even look at me right away. She bent over, put her briefcase down on the floor and started shuffling through her stack of papers. I struggled for patience as I waited for her to speak. Finally, she seemed to find what she'd been looking for.

"Aha, yes." She looked from the paper to me. "I'm Meghan Brogden, your public defender. And, if I'm correct, you’ve been charged with eleven counts of burglary, one count of possession of stolen goods, one count of evading arrest..." My stomach turned as she read down the list of my transgressions.

"Yes, that's correct," I said, though it was the first time I'd heard the full list. "Should we discuss my defense? I was thinking I would plead guilty. They know it was me, anyway, and I was hoping—"

"You'll do no such thing," she said. "If these charges were going forward, we could almost certainly get them reduced, but—"

"If they were going forward?" I repeated, confused.

"Yes, the charges were dropped." She shoved the paper into a folder and snapped it closed. "Every one of the plaintiffs has withdrawn their statement. They're even saying that the property that was seized from your home isn't actually theirs." She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her paper bundle.

I shook my head, blinking. "I have no idea why they would do that."

When I didn't say anything further, she shrugged.

"Well, I guess it's a mystery." Her voice dripped sarcasm. "Anyway, in the absence of burglary charges, the charge of resisting arrest was summarily dismissed. Basically, they don't want to bother with you."

My legs felt weak beneath me. I stood in the square of sunlight the window cast onto the tiled floor.

"So, I'm not—"

"As there are no charges, there's no case to be heard. You're a free woman, Miss Christensen." She gave me a wry smile. "You're lucky, damn lucky. Now I strongly suggest that you go away and sin no more."

She turned and strode away, her high heels clicking echoes down the hall as I stared after her in disbelief.

SIXTEEN

I was expecting Sadiq to sound more surprised when I told him the news the public defender had given me.

"See now?" he said. "Everything worked out." He rose from the bench and held my coat out for me. I slipped my arms into the sleeves, eyeing him suspiciously.

On the car ride away from the courthouse, I considered how to ask him directly if he'd done something to make the charges against me disappear. Before I could, though, I noticed that he didn't take the turn-off toward my place, but continued along the highway that led toward his neighborhood.

"If you're up to it, I thought we could have a drink together to celebrate your freedom," he said, a knowing smile playing at his lips. "And perhaps later, you'll allow me to take you to dinner."

"Sadiq—"

"I understand that you aren't looking for more than friendship, Annabelle. As I said before, I enjoy your company, regardless of what form that takes. I'll not press you for something you do not want." The speech sounded practiced, and I felt a pang of guilt.

"It's not what you think," I replied. I wanted to say more, but wasn’t sure that I could give voice to my what I was feeling. I hadn't considered what a future with Sadiq would look like. I hadn't considered that I had a future at all.

"I don't think anything," he said. "I care for you. I enjoy spending time with you. I don't need that to mean anything you don't wish or aren't ready for." He spoke the words plainly, his eyes on the road ahead of him.

I wanted to say something that would make the sadness leave his eyes, something that would take the resignation out of his voice. But I didn't have those words, not yet. Still, my heart ached for the pain I sensed in him, both old and new. I wondered for the hundredth time what had caused the hurt that had made him so comfortable with loneliness and loss.

We were closer to Sadiq's home now, passing through the exclusive neighborhood where I'd broken into and stolen from a half dozen or more homes. I spotted one of the houses I'd burgled, a stately mansion with Grecian pillars decorating the facade. A uniformed chauffeur stood in the driveway polishing the hood of a car that struck me as familiar. It was an emerald-green sports car. The model had a distinctive flare to the part of the front hood that passed over the headlights. I twisted in my seat, keeping the car in sight for as long as I could as I tried to remember where I'd seen a car like that recently. Then I remembered.

"You have a car just like that!" I said, pointing. "Aren't those rare?"

He shrugged and said nothing.

A few minutes later, we approached yet another property I'd stolen from. I watched from my window, telling myself that I was being silly, that he couldn't have…

"That's one of yours, too!" I cried, pointing to a classic Ford, red and glossy, parked in the driveway in front of the house. I shifted in my seat to look at him. "Why do these people have your cars, Sadiq?"

He shrugged again.

"As I said, I tire of my cars sometimes. If I'm not enjoying one anymore, someone else might as well do so."

"Are you saying you gave everyone cars in exchange for dropping the charges against me?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he said. After a pause, he added, "some people prefer boats."

My mouth hung open as I stared at him in disbelief.

"Or stocks," he continued. "You chose some very practical victims, little thief. They didn't acquire their wealth by being poor negotiators."

"Is that even legal?" I asked.

"Of course. I didn't hurt anyone. I didn't threaten them. There's no law against showing gratitude to a considerate neighbor."

"I... Sadiq! How much did this cost you?"

Another shrug.

"No more than was necessary. Certainly not more than I could afford."

We'd arrived at his mansion. He got out of the car, then opened my door for me. I followed him toward the house, waiting for him to say more, but he said nothing.

Just as we reached the front door, I grabbed at his arm.

"I know I've said this before, but, boy, do I mean it now. This is too much! You can't just spend hundreds of thousands or mi—" I struggled to get the word out. "Millions of dollars on me! What happened to me, I did to myself. I can't handle knowing that you went so far just to save me!"

He wheeled around, and I shrank back from the anger I saw in his face. He gripped my upper arms, hard but not so firmly as to hurt me, and pulled me closer.

"Do you truly think I did this for
you
?" he asked. "Annabelle, it was an act born more of selfishness than kindness. I couldn’t have gone on living, knowing that you were suffering, imprisoned and alone. This thing I did, throwing around some toys, some money—can't you see that it was nothing to me? But it gave you your freedom! And that is wonderful to me, far more wonderful than those forgotten objects could ever be. And you forget that you did the same for me, Annabelle. The hours you've passed with me, the joy you carry with you..." His voice softened. "To you, it’s nothing. You don't see that you've freed me. That room, that bottle..." He shook his head. "Even without bars and locks, it was no less my prison."

I trembled in his grasp. Something in his face changed, and his grip on me relaxed.

"Forgive me," he said, stepping back.

"I'm fine," I said, resisting the impulse to rub the spots on my arms where he'd held me.

"If you want to leave now, I can take you home, or summon my driver, if you prefer." He stood up stiffly, not meeting my eyes. His voice was all careful courtesy.

I tilted my head and sighed.

"I thought you promised me a drink."

His face showed brief surprise before he broke into a smile.

"That, I can do for you," he said, and opened the front door.