Hostage of the Hawk by Sandra Marton

visitor.’
    â€˜Fine! Then put me on your plane and send me back!’
    â€˜I shall, the instant your father agrees to my conditions.’
    â€˜Well, then,’ she said, tossing her head, ‘tell your pilot to rev up those engines. Your money should be on its way.’
    A furrow appeared between his dark eyebrows. ‘Your father has yet to answer me, Joanna.’
    She stared at him. ‘I don’t understand.’
    â€˜It is quite simple. He knows what I want for your return, but he has not offered a reply.’
    Joanna’s eyes searched his face. ‘You mean, your messenger didn’t wait for one.’
    Khalil shook his head. ‘I mean what I said.’ His words were clipped and cold. ‘Your father has not responded.’
    â€˜Well, how could he? If you asked some unholy sum of money, a million billion dollars or whatever, he’d have to find a way to—’
    He gave her a thin smile. ‘Is that what you think you’re worth?’
    â€˜The question isn’t what I think I’m worth,’ she said coldly. ‘It’s what you think you can get for me.’
    â€˜I have asked a great deal,’ he said, his eyes on her face.
    Why did his answer make her heartbeat quicken? The words were simple, yet they seemed to hold a complexity of meaning. Joanna gave him what she hoped was an easygoing smile.
    â€˜Really.’
    â€˜A great, great deal,’ he said softly.
    â€˜All right, tell me. How many dollars am I worth?’
    â€˜I didn’t ask for dollars.’
    â€˜Swiss francs, then. Or Deutschmarks. Or—’
    â€˜I told you before, I want no money for you.’
    Joanna’s attempted nonchalance vanished. ‘For God’s sake,’ she snapped, ‘what did you ask from my father, then? Diamonds? Gold?’
    Khalil’s eyes met hers. ‘I have demanded that your father withdraw from the contract with Abu Al Zouad.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜I said—’
    â€˜I heard you—but I don’t believe you. All this talk about how you love your people and how they love you, and now you’re trying to blackmail Bennettco into pulling out of a million-dollar deal that would pump money and jobs into your country?’
    Khalil’s eyes darkened. ‘He is to withdraw from it and restructure it, so that the people benefit, not Abu.’
    â€˜Oh. Oh, of course. You want him to rewrite the contract—’
    â€˜Exactly.’
    â€˜â€”to rewrite it according to your dictates.’
    â€˜Yes.’
    Joanna laughed. ‘You’re good at this, you know that? I mean, if I didn’t know better, I’d almost believe you! Come on, Khalil. The only benefit you have in mind is for yourself.’
    His expression hardened. ‘Think what you will, Joanna. I have sent your father the terms of your release. Now, it is up to him to reply.’
    â€˜He will. He definitely will. And when he does—’
    But Sam should have replied already, she thought with a start. He should have said, OK, I’ll do whatever you want, just set my daughter free.
    No. No, he couldn’t do that. She wasn’t looking at things clearly. Sam wasn’t about to cave in, not without being certain Khalil would live up to his end of the deal. Kidnappers were not known for honouring their agreements; her father would want to do everything in his power to satisfy himself that he could trust Khalil to let her go before he said yes, otherwise he might put her in even greater jeopardy.
    She looked up. Khalil was watching her closely. His expression was unreadable, but the little smile of triumph that had been on his lips moments ago was gone. In its place was a look that might almost have been sympathy.
    â€˜I cannot imagine your father will have trouble deciding which he prefers,’ he said softly, ‘his daughter or his contract with the sultan.’
    Joanna flushed. The bastard