No Safe Zone Read online

  For Ma whose fading eyesight has not dimmed

  her passion for reading.

  For my lovely friends and beta-readers, Payal Kumar,

  Rubina Ramesh and Maria Perry Mohan

  The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.

  –Mary Angelou

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Epilogue

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Author’s Note

  There is something about a good, action plot that has always appealed to me. The kind that has a compelling hook, draws you into the story and doesn’t let go. Before long, you are on a roller-coaster ride along with the protagonist, dodging bullets, biting your nails, second guessing the villain’s next moves. And bam! You’re hit by a mind-blowing reveal. The ever-present danger. The tension between hope and fear, leading up to a high-octane finale. Adding romance to this mix and bringing in chemistry and sensual tension to all the goings-on takes the genre of thrillers to another level.

  I have always wanted to explore this genre of romance writing but was daunted at the prospect. I wondered if I would be able to tweak the elements of the genre -- create a fast-paced action plot as well as write compelling characters. But as they say: nothing ventured, nothing gained.

  In Kabir, I have tried to create a smoking hot hero who is on top of his game as an intelligence officer. However, he is also flawed and needs to come to terms with a difficult past. With Qiara, my attempt has been to create a woman protagonist who is strong and vulnerable at the same time; who will jump into the most dangerous situations if she believes it’s the right thing to do. And yet, she finds it difficult to forget and forgive.

  The plot is the third and a multi-layered ‘character’ with its own nuances. It is not only the engine that drives the story but also embedded in it are keys to the two lead characters: what makes them the kind of people they are.

  Writing the book was a little tough for me as well as I had to grapple with all these elements without losing the plot!

  I hope you enjoy the story and find it an entertaining, yet meaningful, read.

  Happy Reading!

  Adite

  One

  Hammersmith, West London

  Nothing could dampen Qiara’s mood, not even the grey skies that leaked water in a steady trickle. She pulled the hood lower on her forehead, tucked her chin into the upturned collar of her waterproof jacket and hurried down the rain-slicked pavement towards Lyric Square where the Girls Rock! office was located. Bracing herself against the cold wind, she figured she would end up shaving a few minutes off her routine fifteen-minute walk from her tiny one-room apartment to her work place. The chill was seeping into her bones despite the layers of warm clothing and it was, in a sense, invigorating. Most commuters, unlike her, chose to drive down and she had the pavement all to herself. Hands tucked deep into her pockets, her mind raced ahead, ticking off the things she needed to do at work.

  The aroma of fresh coffee wafted enticingly from a café that was opening up for business. For a moment she toyed with the idea of dashing in and ordering a takeaway latté and a freshly baked croissant but decided against it. With the tenth anniversary celebrations of Girls Rock! coming up, there wasn’t a moment to spare. Besides, knowing just how much her colleague, Sarah, loved baking, she was sure to find some yummy muffins and her special hot cocoa-laced coffee waiting for her. Relishing the thought, she increased her pace till she reached the twelve-storeyed steel and chrome building that was even more imposing on this grey day.

  Stepping out of the elevator on the seventh floor, she was greeted by an unfamiliar sight. The tiny little lobby of their compact office, which rarely saw a visitor, was swarming with men in dark suits.

  The box of campaign posters for their tenth anniversary event, which had only arrived from the printers a couple of days ago, lay torn open with its contents spilling out on the floor. One of the men was rummaging through file cabinets. Sarah rushed about like a busy squirrel trying to reason with the men who treated her with total disdain. As one of them settled down in front of Sarah’s most precious possession – her laptop – and started tapping the keys, her high-pitched voice reverberated through the room.

  ‘Get away from my lappy. Those files are highly confidential. And they are password-protected.’

  Sarah’s angry words propelled Qiara forward.

  The stocky, balding man remained totally unperturbed. His reaction to Sarah’s outburst was quick and caustic.

  ‘Not any more.’

  Reaching the embattled Sarah, she put a calming hand on her wrist and addressed the suit.

  ‘Who the hell are you and what are you doing in our office?’

  Sarah gave an audible gasp of relief.

  ‘Thank heavens you’re here, Qiara.’

  He gave the five-foot-nothing woman, who stared down belligerently at him, a once over. Thick-lashed brown eyes, smooth chocolate-toned skin, a pert nose, luscious pink lips, and dark brown hair with red-tipped highlights in a choppy pixie cut, completed the alluring picture. She may have looked like a cute college graduate who had little on her mind except parties and boyfriends, but he was struck by the determined set to her chin. She wouldn’t hesitate to take on a snarling pitbull if she was riled enough, never mind her pint-sized stature.

  He flashed the plastic card that hung from a black cord around his neck.

  ‘Heard of the NCA? We are part of the ECC.’

  Ignoring her confused look, he scanned the file on the computer screen.

  She stretched out her hand and yanked at the cord hard.

  ‘Ouch!’ His head snapped up.

  She peered into the card.

  ‘Oops, sorry! Did that hurt…uh…Mr John Murray, Economic Crime Command, National Crime Agency?’

  She now had his undivided attention.

  ‘So, Mr Murray, what the hell is this all about?’

  The door at the end of the corridor leading to one of the offices opened. Qiara’s tall, statuesque mentor, Sameera Khan, approached them.

  ‘Mr Murray and his team are here to investigate our links with Ranveer Khanna,’ said Sameera.

  Her smooth, clipped voice was perhaps a wee bit wobbly, not that anyone apart from Qiara would have noticed.

  Qiara’s kohl-lined eyes widened as she turned towards Sameera who continued, ‘Apparently, he is being investigated for a series of economic crimes and as Girls Rock! has received sums of money from his company towards donations for our South Asian Girls Education Programme, they are here to…’

  ‘Chasing the paper trail, so to speak,’ Murray cut in, impatiently.

  The outdoors’ chill had sneaked into their cosy office interiors. A shiver of apprehension touched her spine as she noticed the dark shadows under her mentor’s eyes. The always cool and collected Sam was frazzled. There was more to this than a routine investigation. Qiara’s heart went out to her but she needed some answers first.

  Drawing a deep breath she focused her attention on Murray.

  ‘Ours is a voluntary organization which depends on its multiple sponsors for funding. Every penny is meticulously accounted for. Ranveer Khanna is just one of our many patrons. Do you expect us to verify every sponsor’s financial credentials?’

  Murray let out a loud sigh and Sameera cut in, ‘I just spoke
to the NCA deputy director. It seems like we are under investigation as well.’

  Shock trammelled through Qiara.

  ‘For what?’

  Qiara’s head buzzed with a dozen questions but she kept her lips zipped and followed Sam into her office. Her heart ached for the woman who had taken her in when she was straight out of college. A degree in law and a burning desire to change the world – particularly the lot of victimized women, many of whom she had come across during her girlhood years in the back alleys of East End – were all she had to offer.

  It was Sam who had taken her in, trained her in the business of fund-raising and the running of a non-governmental organization. Sam had taught her that being an activist was not just about socializing with rich and famous donors, but also about getting down and dirty in the trenches. She had sent her into poverty-stricken communities in remote locations to test her zeal. And every time, Qiara had come back, even more determined to make a difference, no matter how insignificant, in the lives of the underprivileged women.

  In the five years she had worked at Girls Rock!, this was the first time she’d seen Sam defeated. Tears of anger pricked her eyelids at the unfairness of it all. Investigation? For what? This had to be a mistake. Someone at the NCP, at the NCA, or whatever the hell they were, had goofed up.

  A sob escaped Sam’s lips as she struggled to keep her emotions under control. Qiara reached for a tissue from the box on the desk and handed it silently to her.

  Dabbing her eyes, Sam said, ‘All our hard work over the last ten years is unravelling, Qiara. The minute the news of this investigation leaks out…it’ll be all over.’

  ‘Don’t!’

  Qiara shook her head vehemently, causing the silky locks of her hair to bounce around on her forehead making her seem younger than her twenty-seven years.

  ‘Don’t jump the gun. Let’s get the facts first. What does Murray want from us? Why doesn’t the NCP – NCA – raid Khanna’s London and Lisbon offices?’

  ‘Both offices are now shut. Khanna’s creditors are baying for his blood and apparently he owes billions to people all over Europe. It was at their instigation that the NCA started probing into Khanna’s affairs.’

  ‘So, why are we under the scanner?’

  Sam had clearly reached the end of her tether. ‘Don’t grill me, Qiara. I’m as clueless as you are.’

  Qiara paced the tiny office.

  ‘What about Khanna’s exports business? Remember, our accountants had gone through his group’s balance sheets with a fine-tooth comb and given the green signal. Besides, he’s been funding our South Asian programme for almost a year now and he hasn’t defaulted on payments.’

  ‘Not correct. He hasn’t paid up the last two instalments.’

  Alarm bells rang insistently in Qiara’s head.

  ‘What about the anniversary campaign? Isn’t he the bankrolling the event and Reshma’s London trip?’

  ‘He confirmed about three months ago. When I didn’t hear from him, I thought I’d give him some more time.’

  ‘But the event is next month, Sam. How were you planning to…’

  ‘I really didn’t think it would be a problem. He’s a busy guy and anything could have happened. An accountant may have forgotten to wire the money. Or some silly glitch somewhere.’

  Sam fiddled with the pen on her desk.

  ‘I sent several emails to him, called him a dozen times. Nada. His cell phone is switched off and I keep getting the standard evasive replies from his office in New Delhi.’

  ‘Holy crap!’

  Qiara’s muttered oath gave voice to their unspoken fears.

  The soft knock on the door shattered the moment’s silence between them. Sarah peeked in.

  ‘Sameera, those men want to speak with you now.’

  Taking a deep breath, Sam nodded. ‘Send them in please. Sarah, would you be a darling and make us all some coffee? I could do with a gallon of it!’

  Sarah masked her worries with a sunny smile. ‘Of course, right away.’

  Qiara squeezed Sam’s shoulder.

  ‘Sam, let’s get this done. I’m sure it’s not as bad as it appears. Once we send Murray and his boys packing, we simply need to round up a few more funders for the upcoming event.’

  Sam gave her a weak smile. Qiara hoped her positivity could turn things around, save the day that had begun so horribly. Murray and his men walked into the tiny office – the day only promised to get worse.

  Intelligence Bureau HQ, New Delhi

  Kabir Shorey took a deep, calming breath as he entered the tastefully appointed office of the IB Director. To be called in for a closed-door meeting with top cop, Aman Saxena, was a privilege not often accorded to junior level IB operatives like him. Though not one to be fazed easily, Kabir couldn’t help but feel a little on edge. Sunil Sharma, Enforcement Directorate head honcho, was also in attendance. A conference with two top-level bureaucrats was a rare privilege and excitement bubbled inside him at the prospect of a meaty assignment.

  Walking up smartly to his seniors he shook hands with them as Saxena made the introductions.

  Kabir quickly appraised Zayed Malik, analyst with the ED, of whom he had heard from his colleagues. His presence at the meeting implied he was about to be teamed up with him. Zayed had a reputation of being a difficult co-worker. He gave a mental shrug; such were the hazards of professional life. Thirty years old, with five-and-a-half years in service, Kabir felt a warm glow of achievement. He was confident enough to know his work had drawn the attention of his seniors and peers alike and he was ready for any challenge that lay ahead, including cocky co-workers.

  This was the first time he had set foot in Aman Sir’s office. Of course, he’d had the honour and privilege of being mentored by Aman Sir – but that was the best kept secret in the world. Secrecy was at the core of their professional lives – and it was only fitting that no one else should figure out just how indebted he was to Aman Sir for the way his life had turned around.

  The meeting kicked off with Saxena getting straight to the heart of the matter.

  ‘Gentlemen, there has been an urgent and significant development. The NCA has requested for intel on Ranveer Khanna,’ said Saxena. ‘Khanna is a businessman, horse breeder and, most importantly, close pal of the Prime Minister’s eldest son, Suhas Narvekar.’

  At a glance from Sharma, Zayed pulled out some large colour prints from a yellow envelope and passed it across to Kabir. The first was a close-up of a man in his late forties, with thick salt-and-pepper hair and beard in polo togs and Aviator sunglasses.

  ‘Ranveer Khanna is big time in the polo circuit,’ Kabir remarked.

  ‘A bit of a smooth operator,’ added Sharma. ‘He has a finger in several business pies. Buys and sells start-ups as if he were changing shirts. Apart from the usual malpractices such as evading sales tax and customs duties there’s not much intel on him. His export business, however, is in doldrums. Over the last year or so, he has closed down several of his export offices across Europe. Apparently, he owes a lot of people a ton of money and some of his staffers have been unceremoniously fired without being paid their dues.’

  He tapped the laptop screen in front of him. ‘The NCA suspects Khanna could be the key contact to a ring of women traffickers in Europe.’

  Kabir was beginning to get the hang of the assignment.

  ‘So, the idea is not just to track him down and bring him in for questioning but dig deeper, get hold of something solid that can help NCA bust the ring.’

  Aman Saxena’s lips twitched in a brief smile. He leaned back in his chair and glanced at the handsome youth sitting across the table. His rugged good looks and supreme confidence made him stand out like a haughty prince among nondescript subjects. It was Kabir’s sharp intellect that made him a keenly watched, and envied, figure in the organization. He could get to the guts of the matter in the blink of an eyelid and his skills at getting a job done never failed to impress.

  He marvelled at th
e enormous change in Kabir’s personality in the span of a decade. When he had first met the youth, he had been like a bomb set to explode. The teen had a raw, nervous energy about him. Any excuse was good enough for a brawl. It was as if he held a grudge against the world and was ready to take it on single-handedly. The only person for whom he had tremendous patience was his frail, frayed-at-the-edges mother who ran a small catering business from their modest one-room apartment.

  Saxena had never seen his wife, Anjana, take to anyone as quickly as she did to Kabir’s mother who came from a well-to-do family but had fallen on bad times. To make ends meet and support her teenaged son, she would go from house to house catering for small functions like birthday and kitty parties and the occasional weddings.

  Frankly, Kabir had been more than a handful for his quiet mother. At Anjana’s constant haranguing, Saxena had reluctantly taken the boy under his wing. Taming the angsty teenager had proved to be a challenge, but patience had done the trick. Saxena had been pleasantly surprised by Kabir’s street-smart ways and sharp intelligence. With a bit of effort he’d channelled his raw energy in the right direction. In fact, even though he considered him his protégé he’d never used his position to get him a job. Kabir had been recruited after he got through the entrance exams with flying colours.

  ‘Right on!’ asserted Sharma. ‘The elections are coming up. Even a whiff of scandal about the Prime Minister’s son’s best buddy being involved in nefarious activities would be enough to set off a media circus with every party vying for political brownie points.’

  Saxena put his bifocal specs down on the gleaming glass-topped desk and leaned in to stress the point.

  ‘We can’t afford to make one false move. You two are our core and backup teams all rolled into one. Zayed, your input as an expert on financial crimes will be invaluable, and Kabir, your job is to track Khanna down and get to the bottom of all this ASAP.’

  Every nerve in Kabir’s body came alive at the prospect of being tasked with a significant assignment.

  Saxena summed up. ‘We have a highly sensitive case here. Khanna’s financial fraud at the international level, suspicions of him being a part of a cross-border women’s trafficking ring and the possible involvement of a high-profile politician’s son…things could get a little hairy. Your brief is to investigate every aspect of Khanna’s background. Who are his contacts, what are his business dealings and with whom? Examine any and every lead that suggests he could have some connection with the women trafficking clique. I repeat, the stress is on discretion. Any questions?’