The Sheikh's Secret Son (Sharjah Sheikhs 3)

She didn’t even hesitate before flashing him that wide, gorgeous smile of hers.

“I’ll do it,” Rebecca said, holding out a small hand for him to shake.

He took her hand and fought the urge to pull her to him and forget all that they’d just talked about. He wanted to get lost in her red hair and her blue eyes. He wanted to tour her body instead of the poor sections of Sharjah, but he’d already agreed.

9

They returned to the cafeteria at the conference center. As lunch drew to a close, Zaid stood up in front of the group.

“Thank you again for joining us here today at the Sharjah Sports Complex and Conference Center. I hope this illustrates for you the types of things we’re trying to do for our community and for the companies who wish to do business here. Now, Alacabak is going to accompany you to the newest holiday resort in Sharjah. The only reason you aren’t staying there is that it was booked solid for the first three years before it opened.”

Dark-haired Candace, the lead representative, who apparently th

ought she had a chance with Zaid, raised her hand to speak. “Where will you be, Sheikh Zaid?”

“Palace business. I will see all of you later.” That response seemed to satisfy the group, but Rebecca knew there was more to it. She fervently hoped that by touring Rajak and Timina, he would finally see that there was much to do there.

As the group left with Alacabak for the resort, Zaid motioned for Rebecca to remain.

“What? I don’t get to see the resort too?” she teased.

“And have you start questioning the workers to find out their migrant status? No. We have our own tour to conduct. Come.”

Standing, Rebecca walked with him back to the front of the complex where she found three black SUVs waiting with their engines running. Guiding her to the middle vehicle, a security guard stepped out of the passenger side to hold the door open for them.

Rebecca sat silently next to Zaid as they drove out to Timina. She watched as the nice, modern architecture of Sharjah turned ugly. She could tell as soon as they were in Timina. It was as if they’d crossed a line. On one side, everything was clean, new, and expensive. On the other side, the old buildings and the people lingering on the streets in front of them looked worn down and crumbling.

Rebecca had known what they might see, but Zaid had acted like he didn’t believe this kind of poverty existed in Sharjah. He lived in a palace. He worked with businessmen and within the confines of the government. He probably believed they were doing great things through the labor board and through investments into the community. But while the laws they wrote worked wonders for many citizens in the Emirate, there were people still beyond their reach. Rebecca wanted him to see those people and to wake up to the all-too-real problems facing many workers in Sharjah.

Zaid’s reaction to the striking picture of poverty before them was even more dramatic than she had expected. Not long after they entered Timina, he turned to her with tears in his eyes. “Where do they all come from?” he asked her, his voice barely above a whisper. People wandered the streets aimlessly while others sat in doorways. Women were cooking outside over fires. And the children. Even Rebecca caught her breath at seeing so many children and none of them were playing. It was as though they’d forgotten how, or never learned.

“Stop the car,” he ordered the driver. “Stop and let us out.”

The driver pulled into the parking lot of a small, closed restaurant and let them out. They were flanked by two armed security guards while others seemed to disappear into the crowds of unwashed. “Just in case we run into anymore guys like we saw in Rajak,” he told her. “But we’re going to take the streets. I want to see what’s going on here. I don’t want to look at it from the safety of the SUV. Let’s go.”

The people they passed ignored them as if they weren’t even there, which gave Zaid the opportunity to stare at them. Rebecca watched as he moved slowly down the street. They passed a young mother, walking with her two small children. They were carrying bags from the Souq but it was evident from their malnourished condition that there wasn’t enough in the bags to feed them for more than a meal although Rebecca suspected that the mother would strive to make what meager food they had last to the end of the week.

“I don’t understand how it could be this bad,” Zaid said in protest. “We’ve pumped so much money into Timina over the years. It doesn’t make sense. Funds have been put aside for revitalization projects. We’ve tried to foster business growth, but looking around; I don’t see any of that.”

“Where does the money go, exactly?” Rebecca asked. “Is there a person or committee that handles the money for projects in Timina?”

“Alacabak,” Zaid said. “In fact, he is in charge of both Rajak and Timina.”

“Well, it’s hardly my place, Zaid, but it looks like you need to start checking where that money is going if it’s not making it where it’s supposed to be,” Rebecca told him.

“I’m starting to think you’re right,” he agreed.

“I’ve known it for some time that I was right. That was one of the reasons I agreed to take the assignment when they offered it to me. My goal was to get whoever was heading the tour to listen to me on this and start making some real changes.”

They came up to a girl sitting on the side of the street crying over a spot on her knee.

“Hold on,” Rebecca said, pulling a couple of bandages out of her bag and kneeling down next to the little girl.

“What are you doing?” Zaid asked her. “She might need medical attention,” he told her. “We can get someone here to take care of her.”

“It’s okay,” she told the girl while Zaid tried to talk her out of helping. “I’m here to help. You don’t listen to him, okay. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with you,” she told the little girl in Arabic.

She looked back up at Zaid. “It’s just a scrape. If we clean it off really well and put a bandage on it, she’ll be fine.”