Morgan gazed back into those brown depths, looking at a man that she both knew and didn’t know all at once. Life was so crazy, and it made almost no sense, but facing death had a way of clearing up many things. Life was short, and could be taken in an instant.

  “I love you, too,” she said, resting her forehead against his.

  They enjoyed each other’s company for the rest of the afternoon, Hassan leaving only briefly to grab dinner for them both. They watched movies and laughed together between doctor check-ins, knowing they’d be cleared to depart the next day, headed for the rest of their lives.

  Or so they thought.

  FIFTEEN

  Later the next morning, Morgan was finishing her packing, her bag full of little toiletries she had stolen from the bathroom. Next to the bag was a little ultrasound picture of her little peanut. Morgan wondered if her dream had any merit, and if she would be having a daughter. She had had many friends give birth before, and all of them had had gender dreams, so she told herself that they would know eventually and let it drop.

  Placing the photo in her bag, she turned when she heard footsteps entering the room, and froze.

  Ahmed and Almera stood there in their colorful Middle-Eastern clothing, staring at her.

  She stared back at them, not at all sure what to say, when Almera walked over and threw her arms around Morgan, crying into her shoulder.

  “It’s all right,” Morgan said, patting Almera’s back. What were Hassan’s parents doing here? How had they even known where to go?

  “We saw what happened in the newspaper!” Almera sobbed, stepping back and wiping her heavily-lined eyes.

  “What?” Morgan asked.

  Ahmed pulled a sheet of newspaper from a pocket somewhere and handed it to Morgan. Taking it with unsteady fingers, she read the short article from the Lubbock Evening News.

  Wanted criminal Daryl Trent was apprehended yesterday evening after a heated scuffle with a man known only as ‘the Sheikh’. The man reportedly knew of Trent’s crimes and sought to bring him to justice with the help of Houston detective Morgan Springfield. Sources say that Springfield was shot during the exchange, and is currently hospitalized. There is no word yet on her condition. Trent is being held on $100,000 bail at the Lubbock County Jail, charged with multiple counts of assault, larceny, and bribing a police officer.

  Morgan stared at the short article. It sounded so cold to hear about her injury this way, like she was just something to report.

  Gazing back up at Hassan’s parents, she found herself at a loss for words. Fortunately, that was when Hassan entered the room, and froze in the doorway.

  “Mom? Dad?” he asked, glancing from one parent to the other in disbelief. “How did you find me?”

  Morgan cleared her throat meaningfully and held out the newspaper to him, which he took and read quickly. He looked back at his parents, who were frowning.

  “’The Sheikh’, Hassan? Really? That’s what you chose as your gang name?” Ahmed’s voice was furious, and Hassan’s shoulders tensed.

  “I’m not in a gang, Dad! It says right here that I was trying to stop the man, doesn’t it? Why are you assuming the worst?”

  “Look at you! You’re wearing peasant clothing!” Ahmed said, glancing up and down condescendingly at Hassan’s simple outfit of jeans and a grey T-shirt.

  “We’re in America. There’s no such thing as a peasant class—everyone is equal here,” Hassan retorted.

  “Posh! There is a class system here just like there is anywhere else, and it’s time you learned your place in it!”

  Morgan watched them argue back and forth for a few minutes, her head darting from one Al-Khali to the next. Finally, Almera spoke up.

  “Would you both just stop?!” she cried, standing between them. “I am sick and tired of this same old fight. I am tired of anger ruling our family instead of love.”

  Almera looked at Ahmed, her eyes pleading. “Ahmed, we have found our son. He is safe, and he is happy. Look at him—really look!”

  Ahmed reluctantly met his son’s angry eyes, and Morgan took a look at him too. In spite of the anger rolling off of him, he looked healthy and strong.

  Ahmed’s shoulders began to lower, and he took a step back. Hassan did the same, responding to his father’s gesture.

  Ahmed sighed. “You are a man now, and have been for some time. I didn’t want to see it. I wanted to keep you safe, to ensure your security through our wealth. If you return, my son, you will have endless riches and a safe place to call home. You will be able to determine the fate of our nation as a sheikh, as you were meant to do.”

  “But don’t you see that I’m not cut out for that life? That’s not what I want,” Hassan said, his tone earnest.

  “Who doesn’t want endless riches? A lifetime of security and power?”

  “I don’t. I want to make my own way, here. I want to be known for the life I made for myself, not the life that was handed to me. I am not the sheikh you want me to be, Father.”

  “But who will take on the estate when I am gone? Who will take care of your mother?”

  Hassan sighed. “You’ll figure it out. I can’t take the position out of guilt. That’s no way to live.”

  The two men stared at one another for some time, then, quite suddenly, Ahmed pulled his son into a fierce hug, and they stood like that for even longer.

  Afterwards Hassan went and hugged his mother, who cradled him in her arms, tenderly playing with the strands of hair at the nape of his neck. While Hassan was speaking with his mother, Ahmed approached Morgan and handed her a bulky envelope.

  “Thank you for protecting my son, and for finding him, Morgan. Please, accept the rest of the payment.”

  Morgan began to protest, but Ahmed held up a hand. “Consider it a going-away present from a grateful father—no strings attached.”

  Morgan glanced over at Hassan, still catching up with his mother, who was dusting off invisible dirt from his shoulder. Morgan wondered what kind of mother she would make—would she be able to love her child enough to set them free?

  Grabbing the envelope, she handed it back to Ahmed, grasping his hand as she did. “We’re going to be all right, Ahmed. We’re capable people with a lot of skills between us. It’s possible for us to make a life here.”

  Ahmed stared at her, then, clearly struggling with whether or not to keep trying to push the money on her. Finally, he sighed. “You young people these days are very stubborn, you know that?” he said, but there was no venom in his words.

  Morgan grinned. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “Where is she? Where is my daughter?”

  Morgan’s eyes widened as her own mother entered the room, looking tired and frantic.

  Ahmed bowed away and turned back to Hassan, the three of them staring at the wild-eyed woman who stormed across the room and pulled Morgan into a firm hug.

  From behind her mother’s shoulder Morgan watched Hassan give a gentle wave before ushering his parents out, clearly having reconciled. She turned her attention back to her mom.

  “Mom, it’s okay! I’m all right!”

  But her mother refused to let her go, and Morgan hugged her just as tight. She would know what it meant to be a mother soon, and she could imagine the fear her mom must have felt finding that article.

  “I google your name every day to see if you’re in the news. And every day I don’t see it there is the best day of my life…until it wasn’t. Oh, Morgan, you promised me you’d take care of yourself!”

  Morgan fought off the twist of anger at those words; her mom was worried, that was all. She took a steadying breath.

  “I’m fine, Mom. We’re all fine.”

  “Who was that family in here? I didn’t know you had any Middle-Eastern friends,” her mom said, pulling back from her hug and playing absently with Morgan’s hair, tidying it.

  Morgan hesitated. “It’s kind of a long story,” she said, not wanting to give away any of the details. Subconsciously she placed a hand on her belly, and instantly regretted it.

  Her mom’s gaze followed her hand, and she gasped. “You’re pregnant?! And still putting yourself in harm’s way?”

  “Mom, when are you going to trust that I can take care of myself?”

  “The day you stop getting shot and I have to read about it in the paper!”

  Morgan’s nostrils flared as she fought to control her temper. She had a life growing inside her now, and she needed to be calm.

  “Mom. I am going to do what I need to do to be happy. If that means putting bad guys in jail, so be it. If that means going into scary parts of town to save a girl who’s been kidnapped, so be it. I will not stand by and look out only for myself because it suits you. That’s not how it works.”

  Morgan’s mother stared at her with tears in her eyes, while Morgan gazed back wistfully at the hospital room door, wishing that somehow she could have had Hassan’s experience instead of this one.

  “Come home with me, Morgan. We can raise the baby together, in Florida. Just you and me.”

  “No.” Morgan said, shuddering at the thought. “I love him, Mom.”

  “Really, Morgan. How long have you known that man? You’ve never once brought him up to me.”

  “I’ve known him long enough to know that he loves me and this baby, and I know that we’re going to have an amazing life together.”

  “Well, you do that,” her mom sniffed, rolling her shoulders back.

  Morgan watched as her mother turned on a heel and stormed out of the room, leaving the door open in her wake. She felt hollow inside, seeing her mom’s back like that, but the woman refused to let Morgan be the owner of her own life. Who would she become if she was forced to live with her mom in Florida? Who would her child become?

  Hassan entered the room again then, his expression concerned. “Are you okay? Your mom just stormed out of here, didn’t say anything to us on her way out.”

  Morgan’s eyes filled with tears, and she buried herself in Hassan’s arms. He let her cry, pulling back to cradle her face in his hands and wipe away her tears with his thumbs.

  “Not all of us get a happy ending with our parents,” she said with a sad smile.

  Hassan continued to hold her close until her breathing calmed. “Maybe not,” he said calmly. “But you get a new beginning as a parent yourself, a chance to be the mom you always wanted. Let’s focus on that for now, okay?”

  Morgan nodded, zipping up her bag.

  Hassan took it from her, strapping it across his shoulder, and the two of them exited to the lobby of the hospital. His parents were waiting for them by the sliding doors.

  “Where will you go?” Almera asked, hugging Hassan one more time.

  Hassan and Morgan glanced at one another.

  “We’re not sure, yet,” Hassan said. “But we’ll let you know in case you’d ever like to come and visit.”

  “Oh, we will,” Ahmed assured them, hugging them both.

  Morgan felt a little better as she slid into the passenger seat, pulling out the ultrasound image of her baby again.

  “Do you think I’ll make a good mother, Hassan?”

  “I think you will make the best mother,” he said without hesitation, starting the car and pulling out of the lot.

  When they got to the main road, he glanced over at her. “East or West?”

  “West,” Morgan said. “I’ve always wanted to see what life is like on the West Coast.”

  Hassan turned the car toward the highway, guiding them in that direction.

  “Then let’s just see where life takes us, shall we?”

  SIXTEEN

  Five Months Later

  “Oof!”

  Morgan felt a strong kick, her hands darting to her belly as the baby danced and tumbled around inside her. It was a feeling she could never describe, like muscle spasms come to life—if said spasms just so happened to be shaped like a tiny little foot.

  It had been five months since they’d reached the California coast. The road trip there had been the best of Morgan’s life. They’d driven straight through Arizona, taking one detour to see the towering cliffs of the Grand Canyon. As Morgan stood above acres and acres of rustic mountainscape, she’d known in her heart that she had made the right decision. After a week on the road they had finally settled outside San Diego, where they had found a two-bedroom beachfront property to rent.

  Hassan knew a few friends in town from his college days, and he had worked those connections to set up his own motorcycle repair shop. Morgan had felt guilty that he’d sold the bike before they embarked on their journey. It had paid for the gas and food they’d needed on the way, but she could tell that being cooped inside a car just wasn’t for him. Hassan was an outdoorsman, and she was so grateful when he landed his shop, where he got to spend every day by the ocean, working with bikes.

  Word had spread quickly that Hassan was reliable, and soon the entire local motorcycle community was utilizing his services. He’d already made a lot of firm friends, and Morgan was happy to see him smiling more often than not.

  As the baby settled back down, she pulled out a form from the coffee table drawer and began to fill it out. It was an official document for her personal detective business, which she now had to register in the state of California. Morgan was excited to get back to being busy, but if she was being honest, taking it easy for a few months had been really nice—especially with a beach in her backyard.

  She was interrupted when the doorbell rang. Lifting herself up from the sofa, she waddled her way over to the front door and opened it to find two boxes of her things from Houston.

  “Thanks, Mom,” she whispered, bringing the boxes inside.

  After she’d been in California for a few weeks, with plenty of time to think, Morgan had called her mother to reconcile. The conversation had gone better than she’d expected.

  “Just know you have a child to think about now. It’s not just about you anymore, Morgan,” her mother had said, and Morgan had reminded her just whose life she needed to be living.

  “Okay, okay, message received. Is there anything you need, for the baby or for you?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Morgan had said with a grin.

  Over the past few weeks, Morgan’s mother had packed up and mailed over a series of boxes of her things, including this latest, final delivery.

  Moving heavily, Morgan scooted the boxes over to the couch before finding a pair of scissors and cutting them open.

  Inside was a series of pictures from her walls, among other keepsakes and jewelry. A small pile of clothes sat inside the second box, and on top of them was the picture of Hassan which Morgan had been given all those months ago. She stared at it, gazing at his unhappy eyes and stiff posture. The man in this picture knew nothing of the man she loved, and part of her wanted to comfort him—to tell him everything would turn out better than he could ever have imagined.

  She smiled as she realized she could do that in a few hours when he got home from work.

  Morgan spent the rest of the afternoon going through her things and organizing them into their little house. The money Hassan had made at the shop had paid for a little nursery for the baby, and Morgan stopped in there daily to sit in the rocking chair and look around at the beautiful little room they had created.

  They had decided not to find out the gender of the baby—though Morgan had continued her dreams of a baby girl—and had decorated the room to be gender neutral—full of bright animals and greens and yellows. It was Morgan’s favorite place in the whole house, when she wasn’t comfortably nestled in Hassan’s arms at night.

  The sun was still high in the sky when she heard Hassan’s motorcycle pull up into their small driveway. When he opened the door, she gave him a big smile.

  “Hello, my love,” she said, and he rushed to her, taking her gently in his arms and cradling her belly with his hands.

  “And how are my two favorite people today?” he asked, kissing her warmly.

  Morgan returned his kiss with ardor, reaching for him even as her belly served as a barrier between them. When she pulled back, she grinned.

  “Kicking like a soccer player,” she said, patting her belly.

  In response, the baby began swirling around, the movement visible even under Morgan’s shirt.

  “This kid is definitely going to be keeping us on our toes,” Hassan laughed, kneeling down and kissing the belly, which wriggled around even more.