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“I think you have it mistaken with another plane.”
“I saw a hundred-million-dollar high-tech customized Boeing 737 in an aviation exhibition in Shanghai, China, unveiled three months ago that looked a lot like it. They said they made a replica for an undisclosed businessman.”
Numair gave a slight nod. “I’ve heard about it, but this jet is two years old, and is a Black Castle Enterprises production.”
“You mean your business makes planes, too?” Fayza’s eyes widened. “But how does that fit with being one of the world’s most important contractors in military intelligence and counterterrorism?”
Numair’s gaze sought Jen’s, communicating so much in the brief visual embrace. It assured her he was “thinking happy thoughts,” as she’d recommended. It also expressed approval of Fay’s curiosity and intelligence, but above all appreciation of Jen’s efforts in raising her sisters.
Turning his gaze back to Fayza, he said, “You’ve done your homework, I see.”
Fayza looked at Zeena, and the two grinned conspiringly at each other.
It was Zeena who said, “We’ve been doing Google searches on you since Jen told us you’d be taking us all back to Zafrana on your jet.”
“Very efficient of you.”
After that kudos, Numair’s expression turned enigmatic. Jen couldn’t help thinking it made him even more menacing than usual. This man did have something inside him that wasn’t a soul. Some spirit of vengeance, maybe.
“But now you know what I am,” he drawled. “Weren’t you worried about coming to the panther’s lair alone?”
“We’re not alone,” Zee blurted out. “Jen is here.”
“You think Jenan can protect you?”
Zee nodded vigorously. “She always has. She’d never let anything bad happen to us.”
“Even if you turn out to be some nut,” Fayza said. “Jen can take on anyone. She’s a black belt in kickboxing.”
“Is she, now?” He turned to Jen, his gaze cascading down the body he had an inch-by-inch knowledge of, inspecting the memory of every muscle, sending her hairs standing on end so hard they almost shot out of their roots.
“No, she isn’t anymore,” Jen groaned. “My competing days are long gone. I now kickbox to stave off the march of pounds.”
“You’re still the best!” Zeena protested.
“She is!” Fayza chorused, looking as if she’d die of chagrin now that Jen had shot down her bragging.
“I’m sure she is,” Numair placated them smoothly, before turning back to her again. “I would pay anything for a demonstration of your skills.”
Fayza quirked her lips smugly. “You can get one for free. Just make an inappropriate move.”
“That’s a pity, as I don’t make those. My moves are all preemptive.”
Zeena giggled. “Those would probably also qualify you for a demonstration.”
He turned his burning gaze to Jen. “Would they?”
She pulled a mock challenging face. “Why don’t you try one on me and see?”
He shook his head. “I bet you reserve your demonstrations for defending others. A satisfactory one would only be on the girls’ behalf, I suspect.” He turned his gaze to them, and they visibly shrank back and huddled together like two cornered cats. Suddenly, he laughed. “Relax, Fay, Zee. I promised your big sister I won’t eat you.”
As the girls’ faces brightened at his amusement, she rushed to alleviate the rest of their alarm. “Don’t listen to him
, girls. He won’t abstain from eating you because he promised, but because you’re not his staple diet.”
Numair’s nod was seriousness itself. “It’s true. To my species little girls are grass, while we’re meat eaters, blood drinkers and bone crushers.”
For a moment or two the girls appeared unsure whether he was serious, then they must have decided he was really funny because they burst out laughing.
