Everything inside him roiled until he reached Numair’s penthouse.
The door opened before he rang the bell and, without a glance, Numair turned and left Richard to follow him inside.
A melodious voice heralded the approach of what he’d once thought an impossibility. Numair’s bride.
Before she noticed his presence, Jenan clung to her husband’s neck and they shared a kiss like the one he’d seen them exchange at their wedding. A confession of ever-present hunger, a pledge of ever-growing adoration.
The sight of his former friend so deliriously in love with his princess bride had been a source of contentment before. Now it tore the chasm of desolation inside him wider.
He longed to have anything even approaching this bond with Isabella. But there was no chance for that. He’d done her so many wrongs, he couldn’t dare hope she’d ever forgive him, let alone love him as he loved her.
Yes, he’d long admitted the overpowering emotions he felt for her were love. Far more. Worship and dependence that staggered him with their power. He believed he’d always felt all that for her, with the events of the past weeks turning their intensity up to a maximum. He’d only spent years telling himself she was nothing to him so he could live on without her. But while he’d destroyed Burton, he’d also damaged something infinitely more vital. Isabella’s budding love. Which had only been possible when she’d been oblivious of his true nature. He’d made reclaiming it far more impossible since he’d barged into her life...
“Richard, what a great surprise!”
He blinked out of his oppressive musings as Jenan strode toward him, still spry in her third trimester of pregnancy. Her hand embraced her husband’s, as if they couldn’t bear not connecting. She glowed with Numair’s love, her body ripe with its evidence. It was literally painful to look at her.
He’d missed it all with Isabella. He hadn’t been there to cherish and protect her while she’d carried their child. Instead, his actions had put her in distress and danger. If not for her strength and resourcefulness, the outcome could have been catastrophic. As it was, he’d caused her years of strife and misery, had caused Rico’s premature birth. He could have caused his death, and Isabella’s.
“If my presence is a surprise—” he growled his pain “—then your beloved husband neglected to tell you that he made me drop a crucial matter to answer his clearly fraudulent red alert.”
Jenan pulled a leave-me-out-of-it face. “And that’s my cue to leave you colossal predators to your favorite pastime of snapping and swiping at each other.” Planting a hot kiss on her husband’s neck, she murmured, “No claws or fangs, hear?”
Numair’s love-filled gaze turned lethal the instant he directed it at Richard. “No promises, ya habibati.”
Chuckling, supremely confident in her husband’s ultimate benevolence, Jenan passed Richard, dragging him down for an affectionate peck before striding out of the penthouse.
The moment she closed the door, Numair growled, “What the hell is the matter with you?”
“With me?” Richard’s incredulity immediately turned to anger. “Numair, you’ve never caught me at a worse time—”
“Tell me about it,” Numair interrupted.
“And it’s not in your best interest to provoke me after—”
Numair talked over him again. “After I almost took a bullet for you.”
Everything went still inside Richard. “What?”
“I trust you remember Milton Brockovich?”
Richard frowned, unable to even guess at the relevance of Numair’s question. He had no idea how he knew of Brockovich.
Four years ago Brockovich’s older brother had raped and almost killed a client’s daughter. Richard had saved the girl, would have preferred to take the scum in, but he’d pulled a gun on him. So Richard had put a bullet between his eyes. He’d seen the younger unstable Brockovich in the precinct, and he’d ranted that he’d get even with him.
Richard had considered liquidating him as a preemptive measure, before dismissing him. He’d decided the airtight security measures he constantly varied would take care of Brockovich if he ever developed into an actual threat.
“And do you remember forcing me to pledge to fulfill any one demand in return for information leading to Jenan’s whereabouts when she disappeared?”
“You mean when she discovered you were using her?”
Numair sneered. “I hated being indebted to you. So when Rafael told me of your domestic adventures with those suburban doctors, I knew something was wrong. I watched you, looking for an opening to do something big enough, preemptively, to fulfill my obligation to you. And I discovered you’ve converged massive security on those people, for no apparent reason...and neglected your own.”
Richard frowned. Numair was right. His personal team did nothing without constantly updated orders. The ones he’d forgotten to give them...for weeks now. Not that this should matter. His personal security was a matter of paranoia on his side, not an actual necessity.
Numair went on. “I know you’re probably one of the most unassailable men on earth, but I had a bad feeling about this. Knowing you’re at your headquarters early on Saturdays, I decided to confront you. I caught up with you as you left the building—just in time to see Brockovich pull a gun on you. The Cobra I know would have sensed him a mile away. Wouldn’t have let him breach that mile in the first place. You didn’t even notice him as he passed you. He turned to shoot you and I was on top of him, diverting the bullet and knocking him out. You were gone by then without noticing a thing. I put him someplace where he won
’t cause anyone trouble again, but I got this—” he held up a bandaged forearm “—from a ricocheting piece of pavement. And I had to lie to Jenan about it.”