Midnight shadows, p.1
Midnight Shadows, page 1
Midnight Shadows
S.E. Smith
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank my husband, Steve, for believing in me and being proud enough of me to give me the courage to follow my dream. I would also like to give a special thank you to my sister and best friend, Linda, who not only encouraged me to write, but who also read the manuscript. Also, to my other friends who believe in me: Julie, Jackie, Christel, Sally, Jolanda, Lisa, Laurelle, Debbie, and Narelle. The girls that keep me going!
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And a special thanks to Paul Heitsch, David Brenin, Samantha Cook, Suzanne Elise Freeman, PJ Ochlan, Vincent Fallow, L. Sophie Helbig, and Hope Newhouse—the outstanding voices behind my audiobooks!
– S. E. Smith
Contemporary Romance
Midnight Shadows
Girls from the Street Book 3
Copyright © 2022 by S.E. Smith
First E-Book Published November 2022
Cover Design by Melody Simmons
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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission from the author.
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All characters, places, and events in this book are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations are strictly coincidental.
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Summary: A Royal Sheikh falls for a mysterious woman who lives in the shadows of the night.
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ISBN: 9781956052855 (Paperback)
ISBN: 9781956052848 (eBook)
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Romance (love, explicit sexual content) | Contemporary | Action/Adventure
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Published by Montana Publishing, LLC
& SE Smith of Florida Inc. www.sesmithfl.com
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Additional Books
About the Author
Synopsis
She was born on the streets; he was born to rule…
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Sheikh Junayd Saif-Ad-Din wears the royal, sophisticated persona of wealth and power. He became a doctor to help his people, but his bloodline comes from the desert and a long line of warriors. His sophisticated veneer dissolves when he witnesses an assault while at a society function—and meets a mysterious woman who emerges from the darkness.
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Despite living in a time when staying under the radar is a monumental task, Midnight Rain moves through society as an apparition. Her life was forged by the fires of the streets and she makes her living protecting others. She lives by just two rules: she only works at night and she tries to stay alive.
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Junayd is determined to find the enigmatic woman who appeared from out of the night. Positive that she is his Chosen, the woman he is destined to love, Junayd will use every resource available to find her.
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From the dark streets of New York City to the beautiful desert kingdom of Jawahir, danger stalks Midnight and Junayd. Can two modern-day warriors, one who lives in the shadows and one who thrives in the bright light of the desert, defeat a deranged man intent on killing them?
One
New York City:
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A weak cold front had passed through the city the previous night, and now as the last rays of the sun disappeared from the horizon, the air was still cool. Midnight Rain sat on a beam under the Brooklyn Bridge and cut a piece of apple with her long sharp blade. She slowly chewed as she watched the last ferry of the day travel its final loop around Manhattan and the East River.
Sunset was a special treat. It was the only daylight she experienced. When most people were settling down for an evening dinner with their family, she was waking up. The night was her time. The shadows were her friends. Those that preyed on the weak were her sustenance.
That almost makes me sound like a vampire, she thought with wry amusement.
As she smiled, she felt the stiffness of the scar that made a ragged line from the corner of her lip to her eye. It was an old injury, barely worth noticing now. Still, whenever she went out, she always kept her face covered to conceal it.
She was finishing the last piece of her breakfast when her phone vibrated. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the apple core spiraling through the air. The seagull that had been patiently waiting a few feet away on another beam executed a graceful dive and caught the treat before it hit the water.
Midnight pulled her phone out of her pocket and stretched her legs out. Two photos appeared in her messages. The first was a teenage girl around fifteen years old. The girl was smiling at the camera and giving the peace sign. The second image was a screenshot of a missing person’s poster.
Five thousand dollars was being offered for information on the whereabouts or the return of Mandie Martin. The familiar image of a bug crawling across her screen appeared alongside a message: You interested?
Midnight raised her eyebrows and smiled. Oc, she texted. Of course.
Cams picked up this earlier this afternoon.
Mandie was in the grainy traffic video and again inside a Fifth Avenue boutique. The teen was with a woman Midnight recognized—Hilde Karr, rich socialite and Madame to the wealthy and perverted. The woman preyed on frightened young girls and set them up with men old enough to be their fathers or sometimes even their grandfathers.
Mandie didn’t look like she wanted to be there. The boutique camera caught Hilde slapping the girl in response to her obvious reluctance—on her back, where the marks wouldn’t be seen.
While Midnight knew what Hilde did, proving it in a court of law was nearly impossible. Hilde catered to the rich and powerful, the sort of people who made annoying things like evidence and witnesses disappear. Threats, blackmail, intimidation, and bribes kept the trafficked girls and boys silent.
Midnight was hoping the situation was about to change. A young victim who refused to testify had recently confided in her that Hilde was old-fashioned, preferring to write things down offline. If the ledger of Hilde’s clients could be found, Midnight could finally stop this woman and thwart the perverts who preyed on the innocent. All she had to do was get it to the right person—and she knew a few who still believed in doing the right thing. Excitement built inside her at the thought.
Is there a name on the receipt? she typed.
Yeah. Shell company owned by Oliver Quest.
Midnight whistled under her breath. Oliver Quest was one of the biggest and most powerful fishes in the country at the moment. Buying gifts for a young, unrelated teen and working with Hilde did not bode well for his future.
Thanks. You know what to do next, Midnight texted.
WP.
Midnight chuckled. She would be watching what happened next ‘with pleasure’, too. She tapped her phone against her knee, debating whether to call Mandie’s parents and give them the information she had so far. She decided against it. She didn’t want to get their hopes up. If everything went well, Mandie would be home safe and sound later tonight.
Now the only thing left to do was rescue the girl. Midnight nimbly stood up from her perch and climbed, transferring from beam to beam with the agility of an acrobat until she came to the service access.
Minutes later, she was walking along the sidewalk with busy New York traffic thundering by. She knew where Oliver was going to be tonight. A rich philanthropist was hosting a huge dinner party for the rising New York State Senator. Quest was hoping to become the next Vice President.
Sheikh Junayd Saif-Ad-Din descended the steps to the waiting limousine and listened to his aide informing him of this evening’s agenda. It was the usual: a meeting with the head of a hospital, a tour of a new surgical center, a meeting with the Jawahir ambassador…
“…followed by a dinner hosted by Mr. Albert Benning. I believe the next Vice-Presidential candidate will be attending.”
Junayd grimaced. He would be expected to attend the dinner with a guest. A list of names ran through his mind before he settled on one that would be the least intrusive and most entertaining for his brief visit. At last night’s fashion show, Gina Collingsworth, a recently divorced socialite, had made it obvious that she wouldn’t turn down a call from him.
They climbed into the limo, Junayd’s bodyguards closed the doors, and Ashar continued, “Due to this last meeting running over, I’m afraid I will need to reschedule either the meeting with Dr. Housing, the surgical tour, or the meeting with Ambassador Kahin. Which would you prefer?”
“Inform Dr. Housing to meet me at the new surgical unit. We can have our meeting while he gives me the tour. Call Isam and ask him to bring his wife to Benning's dinner. And please call Ms. Gina Collingsworth. Tell her I will have a car pick her up at eight o’clock. She will be my guest for the dinner. If you need her phone number, the event planner from last night should be able to give it to you.”
Ashar gave him a half-smile. “Ms. Collingsworth has called several times today requesting to speak to you. I will use the number she left.”
Junayd laughed under his breath, the sound rueful. “Thank you for not patching her through.”
“You’re welcome, sire.”
Junayd gave the portly older man a brief smile before he leaned his head wearily against the plush head-rest of his seat. The last week had been filled with one meeting or event after another, but as he stared out the window at the cold, grey haze, it was homesickness that made him feel the most weary. He missed the warmth of Jawahir during the day and the cold, starry nights of the desert at night. Here, just like every city around the world that he visited, there was no chance of seeing the stars.
Three hours later, Junayd was wishing he had come alone to Benning's dinner party. The sickly scent of his date’s perfume was burning his nose and throat. His medical expertise meant he didn’t miss the minuscule scars of Gina’s most recent visit to the plastic surgeon and if she pressed her rock-hard breasts against him one more time, he might actually tell her that she should have gone with a softer pair instead of choosing perkiness.
With a signal to Isam to distract the clingy socialite, he carefully removed her red talons from his arm and motioned to his aide. Ashar appeared at his side, his expression bland, though Junayd could sense the man’s amusement.
“See that Ms. Collingsworth gets home without me,” he instructed.
Junayd would rather take care of his sexual needs himself than sleep with Frankenstein’s bride. A shudder ran through him. He needed a breath of fresh air.
“Yes, sire,” Ashar replied with a slight bow.
Junayd slipped through the crowd and stepped out onto the second-story balcony. Twin sets of steps curved down from each side of the balcony to the southern gardens of the lush estate. His breath fogged the air as he let the door close behind him. The chill felt good against his overheated flesh.
For a moment, he closed his eyes and imagined that he wasn’t standing on a balcony overlooking a meticulously manicured garden. Instead, his feet were sinking into soft sand. He imagined he could hear the sand shifting in the wind, could see wild dunes stretching to the horizon, and the sky was a vast and welcome friend above, its familiar patterns twinkling clear and bright.
His escape lasted for only a few seconds before Junayd heard a low cry of distress. He moved into the shadows, scanning the grounds below him. In the light streaming from the windows, he noticed a tiny woman being roughly pulled across the lawn by a rotund man. Junayd stiffened when the man struck her. She fell to her knees with another muffled cry. Junayd pressed the radio on his watch.
“I need two guards to the southern gardens near the large tree. There is a woman in trouble,” he ordered.
The man was still hitting her. The closest of Junayd’s guards were out front. It would take them several minutes to arrive.
The abuser dragged the woman toward the large oak tree. Concern burst through Junayd that his guards wouldn’t arrive in time. He rushed toward the left staircase leading down when another cry rang out, this time from the man. Relieved that his guards must have made it to the yard in record time, he paused on the upper steps to watch.
A shadow menacingly circled the man. Junayd’s eyes widened. The man lunged toward the small woman who was frozen with fear on the ground, but fell back when the shadow struck again. The attack was beautiful in its execution. A well-aimed blow to the throat silenced his cries. Another targeted his stomach, then his legs. The sharp crack of a bone in his arm breaking made Junayd wince. The shadow released him and the man rolled back and forth on the ground, releasing a choked, reedy wail of agony.
Junayd tilted his head with curiosity when the shadow slowly crouched near the woman, the dark figure’s body language soothing and compassionate. Within a few moments, the woman stopped sobbing, nodded, and shakily rose to her feet with the dark figure’s assistance.
She was saying something to her rescuer, but the warrior had paused and was looking back toward the house. Junayd shivered as the hero’s sharp-eyed scrutiny found him.
Junayd knew it was impossible. In the darkness, his black silk shirt, black tuxedo, and even his skin color and hair would camouflage him. Yet, he was positive that whoever it was who had cloaked themselves in shadow just effectively as he did saw him as if he were standing under a spotlight.
The moment lasted only a few seconds, then the figure slowly stepped back into the darkest depths of the garden and completely disappeared from sight. Released from the mesmerizing gaze, Junayd continued his descent down the staircase. By the time he arrived, three of his bodyguards, Issa Zayn, Hyder Faiz, and Yahya Walid, were near the tree.
A very young woman, the side of her face swollen, her lip bleeding, and her dress torn at the shoulder stood shaking uncontrollably between Issa and Hyder. Yahya was kneeling next to the sprawled man, quietly requesting an ambulance.
Junayd removed his jacket and stepped closer to the shivering teenager, assessing that while she had been abused and was suffering from shock, she did not appear to have any injuries that would need immediate care.
“Pull this on,” he gently instructed.
“Th-th-thank you,” she stuttered.
“How old are you?” he asked in a calm, soothing voice.
She looked up at him with dazed eyes shimmering with tears. “Fifteen,” she said.
Junayd stiffened and looked down at the man moaning on the ground. From the scent in the air, he knew Oliver Quest had pissed his pants. His jaw tightened with disdain.
“See that the girl is protected. Make sure she is transported to the hospital and evaluated. Notify her family and stay with her at all times until they arrive,” he ordered Issa and Hyder.
“Yes, sire. What about this one?” Yahya inquired, still kneeling next to Oliver.
“Leave him. The paramedics and the police can deal with him.”
He led the girl to a nearby bench, encouraging her to sit. Within a few minutes, the call to her family was completed and the sound of sirens was quite loud. Curious guests began to trickle out along with Quest’s personal security. It wasn't long before all his guards were assembled in a protective semi-circle.
Ashar handed Junayd his cashmere overcoat and they sat on the garden’s cold, wrought iron benches. Oliver Quest stayed on the ground, his pained expression both calculating and affronted under the hostile stares of the men surrounding him. The teenage girl was very still, breathing shakily and clutching Junayd’s tuxedo jacket tightly around her delicate form.
When the police and medical personnel arrived, Junayd rose from his seat and gave his statement to the police, describing in detail what he had witnessed, though of course he could not be anything but vague about the mysterious person who had come to the girl’s aid.
The curious crowd slowly trickled away, seeking the warmth of the house. As they left, their gossiping whispers and murmurs blended into background noise. Junayd remained standing where he was because he could sense that the girl’s rescuer was still here, watching the events unfold.
Ashar hesitated, frowning when Junayd didn’t move. “Sire?” he asked.
“Wait for me out front. Take the guards with you. I will be there shortly,” he ordered.
