Книга - The Black Sheep Sheik

The Black Sheep Sheik
Dana Marton


Waking up from a coma in a remote Wyoming cabin, Sheik Amir Khalid thought he was dreaming when he laid eyes on the woman he'd spent one steamy weekend with.Dr. Isabelle Andrews was every bit as gorgeous as he remembered–and nine months pregnant. But when shots rang out and it was clear their hideaway had been discovered, Amir's questions had to wait. Desperate to keep Isabelle and his unborn baby safe, Amir vowed to personally guard them 24/7. And as the independent beauty fought him at every turn, he knew it wasn't just royal protocol that made him want to keep her by his side. He'd give up everything that was expected of him if it meant protecting the family he'd only just met. Including his life.









“You’re beautiful.”


She raised an eyebrow. “I’m still not entering into some arranged marriage.”

“Nobody arranged anything for us. We should both choose this marriage because it’s the right thing to do. It is the only honorable course of action. My country and my people expect no less from me.”

“Marrying for protocol’s sake? Living some happy royal farce for the media?”

Her face had been on his mind every day since she’d left him. Her body—sans clothes—had been a major player in his dreams.

“If I married for protocol, according to the wishes of the Council, I would marry for alliance. I would marry a princess for her father’s wealth and influence,” he informed her.

“Sounds good to me. You should try and keep this

Council happy. They sound important.”

“They’ll be happy that I finally secured an heir. This might not be the marriage they had in mind, but they won’t protest it.”

“I protest it. I’m not entering into a fake marriage so you can parade my son around as your heir.”

“Nothing about our marriage would be fake, I promise you that, Isabelle,” he told her before he kissed her.




The Black Sheep Sheikh

Dana Marton







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Dana Marton is the author of more than a dozen fast-paced, action-adventure romantic suspense novels and a winner of the Daphne du Maurier Award of Excellence. She loves writing books of international intrigue, filled with dangerous plots that try her tough-as-nails heroes and the special women they fall in love with. Her books have been published in seven languages in eleven countries around the world. When not writing or reading, she loves to browse antiques shops and enjoys working in her sizable flower garden, where she searches for “bad” bugs with the skills of a superspy and vanquishes them with the agility of a commando soldier. Every day in her garden is a thriller. To find more information on her books, please visit www.danamarton.com. She loves to hear from her readers and can be reached via email at DanaMarton@DanaMarton.com.




CAST OF CHARACTERS


Amir Khalid —The black sheep sheik of Jamala has just taken on the burden of ruling his country and isn’t looking for additional commitments. But when he finds out that the American woman he could never forget is carrying his child, he needs every weapon at his disposal to convince her to commit to him.

Isabelle Andrews —The stubborn sheik of Jamala who won’t take no for an answer becomes the least of the beautiful doctor’s problems when she’s kidnapped just as she’s about to go into labor.

Darek, Prince of Saruk —His father had been an enemy to Amir, but Darek wants friendship. Or does he?

Jake Wolfe —Sheriff of Wind River County. Although the previous administration had been corrupt, Jake Wolfe seems firmly on the royals’ side. At least Amir hopes he is, since Jake is set on marrying his sister.

Sheik Efraim —Amir’s best friend. He’s frantic with worry when Amir goes missing, then rushes to the rescue when he’s needed.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen




Chapter One


He looked up at the wood beams of the rustic cabin’s ceiling and, for one bewildering moment, couldn’t remember anything. He didn’t know how he’d come to be there, in the out-of-place hospital bed, hooked up to machines. He didn’t even know his own name.

All he knew was that he was in danger. And choking.

He yanked out the tubes that obstructed his airway and drew a ragged breath. As he breathed, in great heaving gulps, everything rushed back in a dizzying flood of information. A car explosion. Fire. Somebody trying to kill him.

Then a name: Amir Khalid.

He was Sheik Amir of Jamala, ruler of a small Mediterranean island nation. But this wasn’t home, far from it. He was in Wyoming for a business summit and to find the American doctor who, for months now, had haunted his dreams.

He squinted against the late-afternoon sun that streamed in through the windows, still plenty hot in the middle of summer. Nothing but open land out there and a stand of trees in the distance. If he’d been rescued from the explosion, he would be in a hospital. That he was in the middle of nowhere could mean only one thing.

Kidnapped.

A car door slammed outside.

He tugged off the medical attachments from his chest and arm, then sat up, a wave of dizziness hitting him. He held on to the edge of the bed. Anger swept through him, his hands fisting at the thought of being incapacitated and at the mercy of his enemies.

Get going. Get out.

He put his feet to the floor and pushed to standing, but his legs couldn’t remember how to walk. His knees buckled.

Move. Escape.

He swallowed the bitterness bubbling up his throat. Not that long ago, his first thought wouldn’t have been running. It would have been confronting his enemies, defeating them or going out in a blaze of glory. Now his first priority had to be his safety. The fate of a whole country depended on him; the lives of millions were in his hands. He had to let his security force handle the bastards who had put him in this shape, no matter how much beating a retreat went against his grain.

He needed to switch his hospital gown for real clothes, find a cell phone and a weapon—not necessarily in that order. The one-bedroom cabin held a sofa bed and his hospital bed in the living area, kitchen cabinets lining the far wall, the pots and pans on the shelf interspersed with old golf trophies. Nothing beyond the basic necessities, not even a TV. He noted the two doors, one to the outside, closed, one to a small bathroom, open.

Keep moving.

He dragged himself over to the kitchen counter, leaning against the wall the whole way. His joints had rusted up; his muscles felt as if they’d gone on vacation. His mind was foggy; his thoughts disjointed. Maybe the explosion had given him a concussion. Frustration filled him to the brim, but was pierced by a ray of hope when he spotted the knife in the sink.

He grabbed the meager weapon, then stumbled toward the pegs on the wall by the front door, aiming for the worn rain slicker to cover the hospital gown he was wearing. He had almost reached it when the door opened—the blinding sunlight outlining a dark shape.

Head down, he put whatever strength he had into slamming the bastard into the wall and braced for pain. But instead of an eruption of violence, he nearly folded to the floor. Slim arms reached out to hold him up.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

He looked up into blue eyes that were filled with concern and some other, harder emotion, a familiar face framed with long black hair. A new wave of confusion washed over him. “Isabelle?”

Maybe his concussion was more severe than he’d thought. Maybe he was hallucinating. But no, the woman in front of him was all too real. She took the knife from him as easily as if from a child, tossed it onto the counter and tried to help him back to the hospital bed.

His masculine pride insisted on the sofa, and so did he.

“Okay. For a little while,” said that sensuous voice he hadn’t been able to forget. “How do you feel?”

The same way he’d felt when he’d been thrown by the lead camel at a race a couple of years ago and stomped on by the rest. He wasn’t about to tell her that, not until he got his bearings and figured out what was going on. His voice was rough and rusty as he asked the most basic question, “Where are we?”

“At my father’s hunting cabin. He used to call it his escape pod. I don’t think he actually ever hunted. He came here to avoid my mother.” She talked to him slowly, in a reassuring tone, a doctor who knew she had a disoriented patient on her hands.

Yet there was some tightness around her eyes—anger?—that put him on guard. Just because he remembered her most fondly, it didn’t mean she felt the same, although he couldn’t think of why she would be mad at him.

Yet her posture was rigid. “How is your throat?”

He swallowed painfully. “Raw.”

A slight breeze blew in through the open door. He turned his face into it for a second and figured out at last why the air smelled all wrong in this place. He couldn’t smell the ocean.

He wanted to ask why they were here, but he registered her full body at last, his mind beginning to function a little better, the mental haze thinning. He blinked hard. “You’re pregnant.” His voice sounded even hoarser than before.

“Why, thank you for noticing,” she said with a dose of sarcasm as she stepped away from him, moving briskly to the hospital bed to shut off the machines, then to the door to close it.

“Are we safe?”

“Nobody knows you’re here.”

He didn’t feel safe. His instincts still signaled danger.

Everything around him was small, the cabin all wood and unfamiliar. His country being an island nation, they didn’t have an overabundance of trees. Buildings were made of stone or brick, which kept their interior cool during the hot Mediterranean summers. He felt out of place here.

“I need my phone.”

“Absolutely not.” She had her strict doctor face on as she came back to him. “Whatever business you have can wait. First things first.”

She reached for the old-fashioned blood-pressure cuff on the coffee table and wrapped it around his arm and started to pump it. Her long, slim fingers woke up nerve endings wherever she touched him.

“You shouldn’t even be out of bed. Stay off your feet. Your blood pressure could drop without notice. You don’t want to fall and bang yourself up all over again.”

He needed to talk to her about the danger they were in, but his gaze kept slipping to her round belly. Disappointment and some other stronger emotion, one he didn’t care to examine, filled up his chest. “You are married?”

“In this day and age, a woman doesn’t need a husband to have a baby.” She had a scowl on her face as she lifted a finger so he’d stay quiet while she counted. “Blood pressure’s a little low, but not bad, all things considered.” She put the cuff away, then left him again to go to the kitchen.

He wished she would stay put by his side for a while to give him a chance to drink in the sight of her, a chance to sort his thoughts into some order. Against her medical advice, he tried to rise, but his legs wouldn’t support him, so he slumped back onto the sofa with ill grace.

“Who?” He wanted to know who had seduced her, then abandoned her, so he could have some words with the blackguard as soon as he felt better. The thought of anyone hurting Isabelle was intolerable. “What’s his name?”

She was searching for something in the refrigerator, ignoring him. She was just as beautiful as he remembered, her movements graceful despite her swollen belly, her eyes intelligent and inquisitive. Despite the months that had passed since their first and only meeting, his attraction hadn’t lessened any.

“Want to tell me who wants you dead?” She put a pot of something on the electric stove, studiously keeping her eyes on the task, almost as if wanting to avoid his gaze.

“The million-dollar question.” He sounded every bit as morose as he felt. His memory had big, gaping holes in it. “What happened last night? I don’t remember everything.”

He didn’t remember when she’d come into the picture, or how he’d gotten here. He clamped his teeth, hating to admit weakness, hating to be sitting there, disoriented, clad only in a hospital gown—not exactly the image he’d planned to project when he’d decided to find the American doctor he’d had a two-day affair with, then couldn’t forget.

“Let’s see.” She looked at him as she stirred the pot, and watched him carefully. “Last night I tried to catch up on my medical journals. You were in a coma. Same old, same old.”

His mind, barely settled since he’d woken, went into another spin. “A coma? For more than a day?” Had the summit started without him? He was one of five royals, all leading small Mediterranean island nations, who’d come to the United States for trade negotiations and agreements about undersea oil fields. The economic recovery of other countries depended on this summit, not just his.

Pity suffused her delicate face. “A month. Take it easy, all right? You’ll be fine. You made it. Don’t stress yourself out. You need to keep calm and you need to be resting.”

The cabin closed in around him, all that dark wood making him feel like he was trapped in a cave. He wanted the spacious rooms of his palace with their whitewashed walls and tall ceilings, with all those open views of the Mediterranean Sea surrounding his island. He wanted normal and familiar, a point of reference. His ears were buzzing.

“How?” The one-word question tore from his throat.

“Your limousine blew up on the road I usually take to work. I was driving to the hospital in Dumont for my shift, and there you were, trying to climb from the wreckage. I recognized you. You asked for my help. You demanded that I not call the authorities.”

He recalled the phone threat Prince Stefan had received the day they had arrived in the United States, the threatening letters he himself had received in the leading up to their trip. He also remembered now that minute or two after the explosion, mangled thoughts mixed in with the pain.

He had thought he would just need a minute to recover. Then he could go back to the resort, and between him and his friends they would figure out what was going on, figure out the publicity angle. He had wanted his security to check the scene before the police cordoned off the area as their crime scene.

His next thought made his stomach clench with dread. “The driver?”

Her lips flattened into a grim line. “Dead on impact. You had minor burns and some serious lacerations. Hit your head pretty hard. All in all, you were very lucky.”

He hung his head, not feeling lucky in the least. He would have Bahur’s family found and would make sure they were taken care of. The least he could do was to make sure that they had everything they needed. Guilt ate at him as he thought of the years the man had spent in his service, the future Bahur had been robbed of.

Because of him.

Those threatening notes hadn’t been bluffing. They weren’t some discontent coward’s way of trying to spread fear, as he had first hoped. His enemies were prepared to kill.

And here he was, in the middle of nowhere, unarmed and without any security. With Isabelle. Which made a bad situation intolerable. “My presence here puts you in danger.”

“Nobody knows.”

Except, an enemy who was resourceful enough to gain details of his top-secret trip to the United States, and could get close enough to put a bomb in his limousine, obviously had considerable resources and investigative skills. “We will leave this place. Thank you for bringing me here and hiding me,” he added, wanting to make sure that she knew her help was appreciated.

For a moment she looked unsettled, as if not quite sure what to do with him. “You were in and out of it at first, pretty adamant that I shouldn’t call anyone. Then you lost it completely, and I was dialing 9-1-1 when this shady-looking guy came to the door, pretending to be an investigator, asking if I saw the explosion, if I saw anyone driving by or walking away from the wreckage. He had an accent.”

“What kind?”

“A hard accent. Not French, for sure. Russian, maybe.” She paused for a second. “His hand kept straying to his back. I was pretty sure he had a gun ready. He gave me the creeps. I hung up the phone. Later that night I brought you out here. I was going to call an ambulance if your condition took a turn for the worse, if your vitals became unstable. They never did.” Her voice was soft, but that tightness still lingered around her eyes.

Her attitude toward him seemed to be a mixture of concern and resentment. Yet, somehow he got the feeling that the resentment wasn’t about the imposition of her having to take care of him.

“You saved my life.” No question about that. The kingdom of Jamala and he, personally, owed her a great debt. She and her child would be taken care of and would never have to feel the sting of the father’s abandonment. “I owe you my gratitude.”

She shrugged that off. “You had the good sense to be in a light coma. Any worse and I wouldn’t have had a choice but to take you in for intensive care. And you get points for getting blown up with a doctor in hailing distance.”

He’d been in high spirits that night, just back from an evening in town with his friends. Their first day in the United States. And he couldn’t let it end without seeing Isabelle. “I was coming back to you. I should have come sooner.”

She busied herself with stirring the soup. “It doesn’t matter.”

But it did. Because if he had come back months ago, hadn’t let her slip away after their amazing weekend, then she wouldn’t have met another man, wouldn’t be carrying another man’s child now. Had he expected that after all this time she would wait for him? A part of him, deep down, obviously had.

Something sharp stabbed him in the middle of his chest.

He had meant to come back, had made plans. But matters of the state had interfered. He was a sheik; his time was not his own. Not even now.

“Have you heard anything about the royals at the Wind River Ranch and Resort?” He needed to call Stefan, Efraim and the others. They were probably searching for him. His disappearance must have messed up the negotiations between the United States and their Coalition of Island Nations, COIN.

She put the soup on the table, looking at home in the small kitchen. “All over the news, according to the nurses. They can’t even stop talking about it when I call into the hospital to check in on the patients I had to hand off because of the maternity leave. It’s been like the Wild West returned over at the resort with all those princes. Never a dull moment, apparently.”

His muscles clenched. “Has anyone been harmed?” Those four men were like brothers to him, even closer to his heart than his recently found half brother, Wade, who was yet another reason for his being in Wyoming. A quest that would now have to wait.

“Someone was shot, but not one of the royals.”

A confused second passed before he remembered that she didn’t know his true identity. Their two passionate days together had been pure fantasy, strangers acting out a scene from the tales of the Thousand and One Nights. And now…with danger all around and him as weak as he was…probably not the best time to tell her. He needed to regain his strength and orient himself much better before he trusted anyone.

“We eat, and then we leave,” was all he told her. He needed to know for certain who his friends were and who his enemies were.

The phone threat texted to Stefan and the letters to him had to be connected. He’d received those letters back in Jamala. And Stefan received the text message before they even landed here. His instincts said whomever was behind the threats was from the islands and was not an American.

The miserable old king of Saruk came to mind, head of a larger neighboring country that wanted all the undersea oil rights, among other things. Five years ago he would have been the first person Amir would have looked at. But Prince Darek was taking over more and more of his father’s duties, making most, if not all, of the important decisions, and Darek was a good man, a friend. Amir trusted him.

So where did the threat originate? He had opponents back at home, of course. The summit had opponents, too. He cracked his knuckles. Either way, his enemy was either here now or used American accomplices. Someone had put a bomb on that limousine.

“Food is ready.” Isabelle was putting plates on the table, a picture of domestic femininity even with that tension he didn’t understand still in her shoulders. “You stay put. I’ll bring you a tray.”

He pushed to his feet, succeeding this time. “I’ll never regain my strength if all I do is sit around.”

And he needed his strength back desperately. Whoever had sent those threatening notes had taken things to the next level with the bomb in the car. He’d made his first kill, even if the driver had been an unintended victim. But the attacker was clearly committed to his goal, set on his course. He wasn’t going to give up until he accomplished whatever he was after.

His friends and he were in danger. And Isabelle was in danger by simply being with him. That last bit bothered him the most. She had nothing to do with politics. Her only crime was saving him.

But he would protect her with his life, if needed. “We should hurry.”

He pushed forward, his progress embarrassingly slow, a contrast to his words. When he made it to the table, he sank onto the chair with relief. He watched with appreciation as she ladled rich vegetable soup onto his plate. The aroma filled the one-room cabin, instantly making the strange place seem more welcoming.

He had pictured their reunion a dozen times in the past few months, but never under these circumstances. She sat across the table from him, unable to pull up her chair all the way due to her swollen belly. Her skin glowed; her black hair was lustrous and shiny. Pregnancy became her. He couldn’t say he had contemplated pregnant women all that much in the past, but she was both desirable and fascinating.

“Since you’ve been here, taking care of me all this time, I’m guessing the father of the baby is no longer in the picture.”

He had mixed feelings about that. Outrage that the bastard had abandoned her, and relief that he didn’t have to see her with another man, the thought of which was enough to make him clench his teeth and fist his hands on the table. There was a part of him that had thought of her all these months as his.

Sheer idiocy. Of course others wanted her, courted her. The thought was like a thousand daggers cutting his skin.

She opened a bag of bread, pulled the butter away from him. Avoided his gaze. “You should eat light for the next couple of days. Your stomach hasn’t seen solid food in a while.”

“Do you not want to talk to me about the father? The shame is his for abandoning his responsibilities, not yours.” He shook his head. “American men these days, they grow up on television and video games, having too much, without a real man’s sense of what duty is.”

But he was here now. As soon as their stomachs were filled, he was going to take her to safety. He was going to protect her and her unborn baby.

“American men are fine.” She drew a slow breath, no longer bothering to disguise the anger and resentment in her tone. “You’re the father, okay?”




Chapter Two


Somewhere in the city of Dumont, Wyoming, a telephone rang in a dark, abandoned warehouse, the sound bouncing off the empty walls and filling the space. Long seconds ticked by before anyone responded.

“I think we know where he is,” the caller said when the line was finally picked up.

“Do we have confirmation?”

“Not yet.”

“How soon?”

“Within the hour.”

“Get the men ready.”

“Yes, sir.”

“No more mistakes.”

“No, sir. Should we bring him to you when we have him?”

“Yes, but not here. I’ll be changing locations. I’ll call you from the new place and give directions when I get there.”

“Yes, sir. And if he has anyone with him?”

A moment of silence, then, “You know who I want. Everyone else is expendable.”

The line went dead as the call ended.



ISABELLE WATCHED AMIR from under hooded eyelids. Yep, she should have definitely waited with her big surprise.

He’d just come out of a coma. He should still be in bed. Not that she would ever be able to get him back in there now. He had stubborn written all over him. He had walked to the table, for heaven’s sake. He seemed determined to pretend that there was nothing wrong with him. Men and their foolish pride. Someone needed to invent a pill for that. If only.

“You need rest. We can talk about this later.” Or not at all. “You need to get back to your family and a physical therapist who can help you regain your strength. I have to get back home and get ready for the baby’s birth.”

She had a week left, at most. If he hadn’t awakened in a day or two, she would have had to make the difficult decision of what to do with him. She could no longer stay with him at the cabin, and she couldn’t have left him here alone, either, not without medical assistance.

Yes, she was mad at him for manipulating her the night they first met, but she was a doctor. She would never be mad enough at anyone to provide less than the best medical assistance she was capable of. Not even if the lying weasel bastard had tricked her into his bed and left her pregnant.

The worst part was that after all that, she was still attracted to him. She had to be stupider than shipping peanuts. Seriously. Any other woman would have strangled the man by now. Not her, she’d carefully taken care of him.

His tumultuous dark gaze was fixed on her belly, his gaze like a physical touch on her skin. “Are you certain about paternity?”

Oh, that was rich. He was questioning her word? She bit her lower lip, then let it go, pulled her aching spine straight. “I am. And I’m not going to be offended by the question, because you don’t really know me, but this is the only pass you’re going to get on the subject.”

He raised his gaze to her, sharp now like a hawk’s. His shoulders tensed. His voice was cold as he asked, “What do you want from me?”

She shouldn’t have been disappointed. This was exactly what she’d expected in the unlikely case that the prince of Persia ever returned.

“How about your name, for starters?” After evading the truth so skillfully when they’d first met, now that the question was put to him straight, would he lie about his identity?

Nine months ago they’d met at the hospital’s annual charity ball, a masquerade. She’d been Isabelle the Harem Flower. All six of the women from general surgery were decked out to the nines in belly-dancing outfits—Janie’s idea since she’d been taking lessons to revive her marriage.

He’d worn the costume of a Persian prince to the charity ball, a flowing, colorful robe. His midnight eyes called her from across the room. He’d walked straight to her without noticing any of the women who gaped at him. They’d discussed health care, of all things, which still needed improvement in his home country, Jamala, he’d told her in the most charming accent. His intelligence had seduced her as much as his rich voice and the way his dark gaze drank her in.

She had no idea how she’d ended up in his suite at the Wind River Ranch and Resort, but she knew with absolute certainty that it wouldn’t have happened if she’d known that he was a sheik! Yep, he’d skipped that little detail.

She’d stayed with him for two whole days, doing little more than making love and ordering room service. She’d left without waking him, nearly late for her emergency O.R. shift, at 2:00 a.m. on the third day, still thinking him some foreign hospital administrator here to do benchmarking or whatever.

“So no name, huh?” Resentment welled inside her for having been duped so thoroughly. “It would be nice to know what to say once the kid starts asking.”

She’d been too embarrassed to go back to him once she’d gotten off work. She’d never lost control like that before. She barely even dated, let alone had passionate affairs with strangers. Med school, residency, then her insane surgery schedule left her neither time nor energy for men. Having a serious relationship was on her to-do list, just scheduled for a much later date. After she’d made chief of surgery, maybe.

By the time she’d figured out that she was pregnant, he had checked out, and the resort, of course, would divulge no information on the mysterious guest in the Emerald Suite.

But here he was now, even if with his amazing lips pressed in a thin line, he didn’t look like he was keen on her giving any more information than he’d given her before, which was pretty much nothing.

She tilted her head, incredulity creeping into her voice as she asked, “I can’t know your name?” Her fingers itched to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Not that she would ever do that to a patient.

A tense couple of seconds passed. His gaze slipped to her belly, then slowly returned to her face.

“Amir Khalid.” He stood and gave a small but formal bow, watching her as if he could see right inside of her, to her deepest, darkest secrets.

“Isabelle Andrews.” Of course, he probably knew that if he knew where she lived. He’d said he was coming to see her the night he’d gotten injured. So he’d investigated her. She wasn’t sure how that made her feel.

“Sheik Amir Khalid,” he said, adding his title, then waited a beat. “You don’t seem surprised. You knew my name already.”

She held his gaze without blinking. “Your friends at the resort made a rather passionate plea on television for information on your whereabouts. Your picture was all over the news.”

His face turned grim. “I regret that I involved you in this. I’m afraid that by coming to you, I might have put you in jeopardy.”

“Nobody knows. Relax. I didn’t even call your friends. There were some news reports on a possible conspiracy or whatever that went as far as the local cops. I didn’t know who to trust.”

“My friends you can trust.”

“How about you? Can I trust you?”

He looked taken aback. “We should leave here as soon as we can. Of course you can trust me.”

Not a chance. “But you never trusted me.” She pointed out. “If you trusted me, you wouldn’t have lied about who you were.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“You didn’t tell me you were a sheik. The Black Sheep Sheik of Jamala. That’s what they called you on the news, you know that? Imagine how stupid I felt when I heard it and recognized your picture. What exactly did you do to get that nickname, anyway?”

His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t plan for things to happen this way.”

Oh, she believed that. “You just planned to make some poor, ordinary woman your entertainment for the weekend. Rich royal sweeps in, seduces clueless chick, goes home and forgets her. Did I hit all the major bullet points?”

“I never forgot.” His voice was low; his gaze piercing; his color rising.

Dammit. She drew a slow breath, catching herself too late. She wasn’t supposed to get him upset and get his blood pressure up. She was a doctor, for heaven’s sake. She’d promised herself that she wasn’t going to attack him at first chance.

“How fast can you be ready to move?” he asked.

Again with his insistence that they weren’t safe. Thing was, she felt safer here than at just about anyplace else. The cabin had served them well for the last month. She had some medical equipment and meds here, if he relapsed and needed anything. If he really was in as much trouble as he thought he was, then going to ground made more sense than running around out there. At least until he made a full recovery.

“We’ll talk about leaving after you finish your food and put your feet up for a few minutes. How about that? You’re no good to anyone if you push yourself too hard and relapse.”

He went back to his food, his dark brows furrowed. “Do you still work at the hospital?”

“I took the last month of pregnancy as maternity leave. Can’t do those triple shifts. Can’t really stand hours on end in the O.R., either.” There, that almost came out normal, as if she wasn’t spitting mad at him.

“Is everything well with you? With the pregnancy?” His tone was detached.

She made hers match it as she said, “Yes.”

Silence stretched between them. She closed her eyes for a second, consoling herself with the fact that the situation couldn’t possibly get any worse. Then it did.

“I used protection. I always do.” That same emotionless tone again. He was questioning her word.

She hated that. She was a respected surgeon. People normally didn’t accuse her of lying, not even in a roundabout way.

“I said one pass.” Each word was frostier than the one before. “We slept together nine months ago. I’m nine-months pregnant. Do the math. I haven’t been with anybody else since.” Or before, really, not for a long time.

Something flashed across his dark gaze but was gone too quickly for her to identify it. He read her much better, apparently, and could see that she was telling the truth, because he magnanimously said, “I believe you.” Then ruined the whole effect by adding, “Of course, there’ll be a test of paternity.”

“I don’t want anything from you. I can support this child. He’ll be well loved and well taken care of. You can go back home as soon as you recover.”

She’d been preparing herself for a future just like that. She didn’t need a man in her life. She didn’t want a man in her life. Another woman might have built up a number of crazy fantasies over the past weeks about him recovering and the two of them riding off into the sunset. She had no illusions. She’d known from early childhood that the whole happy-American-family thing was a sham, a marketing message companies used to sell things.

His spoon had stopped halfway to his mouth. “A son?”

“According to the last ultrasound.” Despite the strained circumstances of the moment, a thrill ran through her. She couldn’t wait to meet her son. She hadn’t planned on having a baby just now, all alone, but the thought of that baby made her feel happier than she’d ever been. The two of them were going to make an amazing family.

“A boy for certain?”

She focused back on Amir. “This is not something you have to worry about. My son and I will be fine. I have a whole support system ready. I have great friends. And if you don’t believe me about him being yours, that’s okay, too. I’m all right with this. I had time to figure it all out. You obviously have your own very serious issues to deal with.”

Like the fact that somebody wanted him dead. Her heart twisted at the thought of anyone harming him. They shared a child. Whether they ever saw each other again after this or not, there was a connection between them that would never go away. She couldn’t say that the concept didn’t make her feel uneasy.

“Tests will be necessary,” he continued thoughtfully, “so my son’s legitimacy cannot be challenged when the time comes for him to take the throne. He’ll be the crown prince. My heir.”

“No.” Denial flew from her lips as she gripped the edge of the table, pushing her chair back. “Are you kidding me?”

She’d been thinking of her son as hers, singularly hers. She didn’t want anyone to have any claim on him, let alone someone as powerful as a sheik. Her son would have a future as a normal little boy, not crippled by expectations and responsibility in some strange, distant country. “That’s not necessary. As soon as you’re well, you can go back home. You don’t need to be involved in this.”

“As soon as I’m well, we’re getting married.” The somber look on his face said he wasn’t kidding. Nor was he happy.

Welcome to the club. Maybe they could have T-shirts made and have membership cards printed.

She’d spent the last nine months planning on how she was going to be the best single mom ever. Her plans did not, whatsoever, include being married to a sheik.

The sounds of a chopper came through the open windows, coming from the east.

Amir immediately tensed and set his spoon down. “We’ll pack and leave now. No hideout is secure if used too long. My enemies had a whole month to track me here.”

“This is Wyoming, not the Middle East.” Honestly, they were at her father’s cabin, in the middle of nowhere. Even some of the locals couldn’t find their way out here.

They had the Wind River Mountains to the west and nothing but the Rattlesnake Badlands on the other side as far as the eye could see. Beyond a couple of farmers way down the road, few people lived out this way.

She went to the window to look up at the sky. Amir limped over to pull her back, but she resisted until she got a good look. Did the chopper slow as it flew over them? She couldn’t tell for sure, but soon it moved on toward the badlands. “Probably one of the charter tours. They take tourists to see the antelope and the wild mustangs.”

He didn’t look convinced, didn’t relax until he tugged her back to the table. “It might be too late to leave. I shall summon my security here. When they arrive—”

“You’re welcome to go with them.”

“When you’re my wife—”

“Let’s make one thing clear,” she said as unequivocally as she could. “I’m not marrying you. And I’m not in any kind of danger. You can’t use that as an excuse to wrap me in cotton and lock me away. I’m not going to be any man’s emotional slave. And I’m not going to be any powerful guy’s power play. I’m not going to be your prisoner, with you holding this baby over me.”

She clamped her mouth shut, regretting most of that monologue as soon as the last word was out. A simple no would have sufficed. She was projecting and she knew it. But at least she didn’t leave any doubt about how she felt. Considering how used to getting his way he must be, that couldn’t be a bad thing.

His face hardened on cue, his eyes filling with determination as he took her hands and kept them. “My purpose is not capturing you for selfish reasons. I want only what is best for you and my son. I would give my life to keep you from danger.”

The I-control-you-for-your-own-good song and dance. She knew that one by heart, had watched her mother live it with various men after she’d abandoned the family.

“I’m not marrying you, and you can’t make me,” she told the sheik and she meant it.

He glared regally.

He was the only man she knew who could look magnificent in a hospital gown and make her head swim. Figured. Somehow he managed to radiate strength—along with massive disapproval—even in his current, weakened state.

She hadn’t forgotten him in the past nine months, and she was pretty sure she wouldn’t have forgotten him—even if he hadn’t returned—for as long as she lived. But he did return. She’d been moonstruck enough so that if he’d suggested a loose liaison after the baby was born, she might have gone for it. He was the perfect man to have an affair with.

But what he wanted was to control her completely.

“You carry my son,” he said with the arrogance of a man who knew he held the trump card.

“And this is not the Middle Ages,” she told him with the certainty of a woman who believed she had sanity and progress on her side. She pulled her hands out of his, at last, away from his tingling heat.

His voice dropped an octave as he said, “Do you hate me that much for not coming back sooner? I did not abandon you. You were gone when I woke. Matters of the state… I had to return home to take care of things.”

“I hate you?” She threw her hands up, her frustration escaping at last. She didn’t have as good a grip on her emotions these days as she would have liked. A flood of hormones ruled her mind and body.

“Right. I hate you. That’s why I put my entire career and everything I worked so hard for at risk by hiding a patient. If anyone found you, I could have lost my medical license. I could have gone to jail.”

She’d had plenty of time to worry about that while he’d been out cold. Giving birth in jail wasn’t on the list of things she wanted to try. She had risked everything, because she couldn’t do otherwise. Because she’d believed him when he’d said he was in danger.

His eyes never left her face. “I do thank you for keeping me here all this time. Ask for any reward and I will see that you shall receive it. But the matter of my heir is nonnegotiable.”

Of all the magnanimous… She walked away before she could have said something she would regret. “I think I preferred you in a coma. You’re much nicer when you’re not talking, you know that?”

The prince of Persia she remembered was passionate and…well, very passionate and intelligent and had a sense of humor. Also, um, passionate. She swallowed. Sheik Amir Khalid was arranging her life without any regard to her wishes. Nobody was the boss of her. She’d worked hard to make sure that her choices would be her own, that she wouldn’t owe anyone anything, that she wouldn’t depend on anyone for anything. Ever. She would never be like her mother.

She needed to get out of the cabin and away from him for a while. She had the perfect excuse. “Why don’t you lie down and get some rest, give your mind a little time to settle? I need to leave for an hour or two. I have a doctor’s appointment today.”

“Is something wrong?”

“A regular, scheduled checkup.”

Relief crossed his face as he returned to his food. She could see that swallowing was difficult for him, but he was determined to finish. He understood that eating was necessary to regain his strength. Good. At least they wouldn’t have to fight about that, because she was about out of the patience she kept in reserve for stubborn sheiks.

“You will not go,” he decreed between two spoonfuls. “I will have the royal physician flown in by tomorrow. He shall take over your care.”

She could feel her blood pressure inch up. “I will go to the doctor of my choice. Because I’m a free woman in a free country, and not one of your subjects.” She folded her arms over her chest, working hard not to say anything she might regret later. He was the father of her child, and he would be that forever. She needed to keep that in mind. Establishing an acrimonious relationship wouldn’t serve anyone’s interest.

“I am your future husband. You should not think angry thoughts about me,” he said with disapproval.

He didn’t know half of her angry thoughts. She was happy to fill him in. “I’m thinking whether I’d lose my medical license if I strangled you with the IV line, Your Highness.”

She expected him to issue some further royal command, or even a threat, and was ready with a retort. She wasn’t scared of him—he’d be lucky if he made it back to the sofa on his own. But instead of berating her for her latest insolence, he laughed. The same laugh that she remembered, the one that had a way of sneaking inside her chest. It completely disarmed her.

The warm, rich sound brought back memories of a luxurious suite with an equally luxurious bed, a thorough seduction, the most amazing two days of her life. The images flitting through her head stole her breath. She turned and busied herself with tidying up his hospital bed while she regained her equilibrium, resenting that he could make her lose it so easily.

He finished his meal and did stagger back to the sofa unaided, abandoning his empty bowl on the table. Of course, His Highness would. She shot him a glare and went to take care of that. She always did all the dishes immediately and kept all food sealed away. Otherwise, she’d have a battle with ants on her hands. Not something on the sheik of Jamala’s radar, obviously. He had a palace full of staff to worry about that sort of thing.

“I do need my cell phone now.” Sitting with his back supported, he lifted his left leg and tried to hold it steady before lowering it again, then did the same with the right leg.

“You don’t have a cell phone. You didn’t have much on you when you climbed from the wreckage.”

His face turned somber at the mention of the explosion. “Then I’ll need yours, if I may.”

She pulled it from her pocket and tossed it to him. He caught it. At least his reflexes were okay. He was doing amazingly well, considering that he’d been in a coma for nearly four weeks. His bearing was still regal, his head held high and proud. He could be just as well sitting on a throne than on her worn-out couch. Okay, minus the leg lifts.

“If you don’t know who blew up that limo… How do you know whom to trust?” She’d kept him alive this long, and he’d made it. Calling the wrong person could end all that. Just because she didn’t want to marry him didn’t mean she wanted to see him hurt.

He kept up with the leg exercise. “I must call the palace.”

The palace. Right.

Because he was a sheik. And she was a Wyoming doctor who was still paying off her student loans. A giant gap stretched between them, a gorge that could not be bridged: different countries, different cultures, different social status.

And all that distance didn’t have to be bridged, really. Because they were not going to be part of each other’s lives in any meaningful way. There was no way in hell that she was marrying him. No way was she going to be Mrs. Sheik.

He could make his calls, have his people come and pick him up, the sooner the better. Then she was out of here. She had a baby to bring into this world, and a carefully planned life to live.

She hesitated for a moment, a small part of her wishing for the impossible.

Then he said, “I’ll assign you a secretary who will tie up all loose ends for you here. You won’t be coming back to the U.S. for a while. I’ll hire a manager to take care of this cabin and any other property you own if you wish to keep them.”

On second thought, the smartest thing might be to leave before his people got here. She didn’t think he would take her against her will, but then again, she wouldn’t stake her life on it.

“How nice of you,” she said, while at the same time she thought, Time to ditch the sheik.



THE MAN GIVING the orders rattled off a residential address for one of the quiet suburbs of Dumont, the perfect hiding place to move his plans to the next stage. “Use GPS. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding it. Make sure you’re not followed.”

“Yes, sir.” The man taking the orders hesitated. “At the pickup site… It looks like we’re going to have some collateral damage.”

“Potential for witnesses?”

“Slim to none. We’re talking about a pretty remote area here.”

“Good. I’ll send a cleanup crew. You keep your focus on the sheik. Bring him to me. Alive if you can.” He hesitated. Yes, Amir Khalid would make the perfect bait for his royal friends, but if the men were too careful around him and let him slip through their fingers once again… “Of course, if he dies, he dies. As long as he doesn’t escape again, I’ll be pleased.”

“Yes, sir. There’ll be no mistakes.”

“There better not be.” This was just the beginning.

“We’re heading out right now, sir.”

“I expect a call within the hour about whether you made a capture or made a kill.”



AMIR DIALED HIS secretary at the palace, lifting his right leg and rolling his ankle at the same time. He didn’t want to limp in front of his security. Or in front of Isabelle. Her resistance baffled him. In his experience, people challenged authority when they perceived it as weak. The sooner he regained his full strength, the better.

He knew what was best and he was going to take care of her and his son. As soon as she was over her feminine hysteria, she would come to see that his was the best way, the only way, really. Protocol and tradition demanded they be together. And so did he.

“I’ll be outside, watering.” She headed for the door.

“If you see that chopper again, come back in.”

The line was picked up at the other end. “Sahed Habib, royal secretariat. How can I be of service?”

“It’s Amir.”

Stunned silence came first, then the sound of rapid breathing. “Are you all right, Sheik?” The always stoic voice thrilled for the first time that Amir could remember. “What happened? Everybody is looking for you.”

He explained as much as he knew, then had the man fill him in on all that he’d missed. Fahad had betrayed the alliance and was dead. Amir sat stunned, the news hitting him hard. Fahad had been his best friend’s cousin and head of security.

He and Efraim were going to have a long talk about this, which he didn’t look forward to. But first, he had other matters to arrange.

“I need the royal physician here at the Wind River Ranch and Resort. Put him on the next plane,” he ordered, without going into detail about Isabelle.

He was careful about what he said over the phone, careful not to mention his location. If Fahad had been involved, then so could others from the palace. He sent short messages of reassurance to his sister and key people in the government about being in touch very soon, then ended that call and dialed Efraim.

“Where have you been? Do you have any idea… Never mind. Don’t go anywhere. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t even call the police. There’s danger—” The line went dead. No battery power left on the phone. He grunted with frustration as he slapped the phone onto the counter and headed for the door. He needed the charger from Isabelle.

He caught a glimpse of her through the window. She was walking from the back of her SUV to the front and…getting in? The nervous glance she cast toward the cabin confirmed his sudden suspicions. She was sneaking out on him once again.

“Isabelle!” He lunged for the door, a feat his legs weren’t quite ready for, tripped and grabbed on to the shelf by the coat hanger, pulled the stack of blankets off it by accident. The hunting rifle that had been hidden under them crashed to the floor with a clatter.

So it was nothing but sheer luck that when the beaten-up black van tore up the road, leaving a dust cloud in its wake, he had a gun in hand. An exceedingly good thing, since the second the van stopped, the men jumping from it opened fire.

They weren’t playing around. Judging from their weapons, they were stone-cold professionals, here to do business.

Isabelle dove inside the SUV as best as she could, considering her round belly. He provided her with cover and prayed that she got out of there before she got hurt. Instead, she drove to pick him up, tires squealing.

“Go! I’ll hold them off.” He took aim and squeezed off another shot.

“I swear if you don’t get in…” She looked scared to death but determined, steel glinting in her blue eyes.

And he didn’t have any choice but to jump into the car. Hesitating would have put their lives in even more danger.

Then Isabelle was peeling out of there, driving like mad down some trail that went behind the cabin.

“Duck!” he yelled just in time, as a hail of bullets hit the back window and it exploded.




Chapter Three


“Are you hit?” Isabelle swerved to avoid a pothole the size of a meteor crater, her voice an octave higher than usual. She was used to hospital emergencies, but a shoot-out at her father’s old cabin was a whole different category. Normally, she had to deal only with the aftermath of violence, sewing up cuts after a fight or removing bullets. Being in the middle of a battle was a whole other kettle of fish.

“No. You?” Amir pulled himself back into the car at last. He’d been hanging half out the window, firing at the men behind them like some Old West gunslinger, keeping them pinned to their positions, doing interesting things to the hospital gown he was wearing.

Good thing she wasn’t watching.

He was not a sheltered palace royal, obviously. “I’m fine. Where did you learn to shoot like that?”

He gave her a hard look. “You know, all Arabs are not terrorists. My father was an excellent hunter. He used to take me with him.”

She glanced into the rearview mirror. “I wasn’t implying anything.”

The van gave pursuit, but they didn’t know every dip in the old country road as she did, and the “dirt-bike obstacle course” nature of it slowed them down. “I’m guessing those are the men who want you dead,” she said as calmly as she was capable. “Who are they?”

“I don’t recognize a single face.” He scowled. “Are you sure you are all right? You didn’t hit your belly?”

“I’m a doctor. I can monitor my own condition.” She didn’t need him to take care of her. She needed to be far away from him.

She glanced in the rearview mirror again. “They’re getting closer.” As they neared the main highway, the old road got better and better, proving less of an impediment.

He rifled through the glove compartment. “I’m out of bullets. Do you have any more?”

“Sure, and check for that grenade launcher under your seat.” She rolled her eyes. Just because she lived in the country, it didn’t mean she was some militia chick. Although, at the moment, maybe just one extra cartridge would have been nice.

He actually checked under the seat.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. You know, all Americans are not gun crazy.”

“You had a gun.”

“My father had a gun. And I don’t think he ever shot anything.”

She reached the main road at last and pulled onto it, seeing only one other car way far ahead, and one way far behind them. “Hang on.”

She floored the gas and the SUV shot forward at an even greater speed. She didn’t much care about the speed limit. The cops pulling her over would be a good thing right now. Of course, the cops were never around when you needed them.

“Do you have the phone?”

“I left it at the cabin. Dead battery.” He shoved his long fingers through his jet-black hair.

She really needed a new battery for that phone. This one was getting worse and worse at holding a charge. Of course, she might not live long enough to have to worry about that again. She gripped the wheel tight and passed a beaten-up pickup that was towing a horse trailer.

“I should be driving.” Frustration and disapproval sat clear on Amir’s face. “We should switch.”

“Because I look ready to perform acrobatics in tight places?”

“You don’t like doing what I tell you,” he observed with obvious displeasure. “Tough chickpeas.”

“What’s that?”

“Something my father used to say. Sit back and hang on until we lose these idiots. I’m going to have to handle this, because there’s no other way.” He really had been a lot more agreeable when he’d been in a coma. They’d had a couple of really good talks. She’d talked. He listened very sweetly, even when she’d berated him for having concealed his true identity. She’d also run some ideas by him about the future and her plans to raise her son. His silent support had been much appreciated.

At the moment, he was eyeing the steering wheel as if he were considering grabbing it.

“Don’t make me go for the eject button,” she warned.

He folded his arms in front of him, the tight look on his face betraying just how little he appreciated her sense of humor. Odd how for the last nine months, she’d been thinking about him as a dashing foreigner who’d been all fun and games. Better put that down to hormonal brain damage.

“If you want to do something, put some clothes on. I have a bag of my father’s old things in the back.” She’d planned to drop it off at the Salvation Army on her way to her doctor’s appointment today.

He reached back and pulled the bag forward, selected a dark shirt and a pair of jeans, then shoved the rest back.

“The jeans will probably be too big in the waist. There are a couple of belts in the bottom of the bag.” She kept her gaze straight ahead as he dressed—jeans on bare bottom. Completely straight ahead. As if her life depended on it. Which it did.

The temperature in the car rose a few degrees. She cursed her peripheral vision. She so didn’t need any more tantalizing images of Amir in her brain. At the speed she was driving, it simply wasn’t safe.

He turned fully toward her when he was done, bracing himself on the dashboard with his right hand. “I’m going to ask you some questions. Do not be offended.”

She let out a slow breath. “That’s not a good start, is it?”

He scowled some more. Where did he get that? She didn’t remember him scowling once during the two days they’d spent together in the Emerald Suite. He’d been fun-loving, curious and imaginative. Very imaginative.

“Did you have anything to do with that limousine exploding?”

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. “No.”

“Did you know who I was back when we first met?”

“No. And I wish I still didn’t know.” His royal background only complicated things.

He paused before his next question. “Do you want me dead?”

Oh, for heaven’s sake. “I spent the last month of my life taking care of you.” She glared at him for a second. She couldn’t afford to take her eyes off the road longer than that. “Do I want you back in Jamala? Oh, yes. Dead? No. And that’s an insult, by the way.” She glanced into the rearview mirror. Their pursuers were even closer now than the last time she’d checked.

“I need to know without a doubt—”

“Could you not accuse me of attempted murder in the middle of a high-speed, armed chase? It’s the first time I’m doing something like this.”

He muttered something under his breath. Sounded like he was once again lamenting the fact that he wasn’t sitting behind the wheel.

And she didn’t say anything back. She was a doctor. She was used to dealing with the U.S. health-care system. She was used to disrespect. She was used to frustration. She was just going to treat him as a difficult patient or a snotty health-insurance representative. She was going to take the high road if it killed her.

She kept her focus on the road as miles whizzed by. Her game was to put as many cars between her SUV and the black van as possible. All the hand-eye coordination and quick reflexes she’d gained practicing general surgery now came in pretty handy.

“I’m going to trust you,” he said out of the blue, just as she passed a tractor-trailer.

“Whoopee.”

“Do you mock me?” He sounded startled.

She wanted to beat her head against the steering wheel. “I wouldn’t dare.” First he asked her to marry him; then he decided to trust her? She almost pointed out the insanity of that, before she realized that he hadn’t actually asked her to marry him. He’d told her.

She gritted her teeth, while he seemed to have fallen into regal, disdainful silence. The black van was still following them, but at least their pursuers were no longer shooting. A definite improvement.

“Why did they find me now?” he asked after a while. “Why not before? They had four weeks to track me down.”

She hadn’t had time to think about that yet. She considered his question as she took the next exit, heading for Dumont, hoping to lose her pursuers in a maze of narrow streets and alleys.

“I made some calls yesterday,” she confessed. It was the only possible link she could come up with. “This baby could come any minute. You couldn’t be left alone at the cabin while I went into the hospital to give birth. You needed someone to run the medical equipment.”

He thought that over. “How did you get all that equipment together with short notice?”

“My father recently passed away from cancer. He wanted to die at the cabin, so I had everything set up for him.” Including two generators, plus the sun panels on the roof. “He had a twenty-four-hour nurse, and I went out there every day after my shift ended.” Her father had desperately tried to hang on long enough to meet his grandson.

Moisture gathered in her eyes. She blinked it away. “With the funeral and all, I hadn’t had a chance to call for pickup yet when you showed up.” It hadn’t been an easy summer.

“I’m sorry about your father.” His tone was subdued.

She nodded, driving as fast as she could while still keeping control of the vehicle.

“You made sure your father was taken care of. Then you cared for me. You are an extraordinary woman.”

Probably trying to butter her up for something. But when she glanced over, she saw only surprise on his face. Which irked her. “Did you think I would abandon my father at the end of his life? Or that I would leave the father of my child bleeding on the road?”

“I was giving you a compliment. We didn’t have sufficient time to fully discover each other before. Many things about you are new to me. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.” He looked surprised at that, too, as if the words coming out of his mouth were a revelation to him.

They were finally in Dumont and she took the first bigger road to the left, heading for a more densely populated area where enough smaller streets crisscrossed each other for a car to disappear.

“You can be part of your son’s life without us having anything to do with each other.” She didn’t like the idea of sharing her baby—it hadn’t been the way she’d planned things—but, fine, he had the right, and her child would want to know his father. She could be flexible. To a point. “Once he’s old enough to be in school, he could go to Jamala for a week each summer.”

“My son will not grow up in a broken home,” he said in a tone he must have used for royal decrees, authoritative and final.

How did they get back to the subject of marriage again? “Let’s talk about something else before my blood pressure sends us hurtling into a phone pole, okay?”

“Do you have problems with your blood pressure? You said the pregnancy was going well,” he accused her.

“No problems whatsoever before you woke up.” She gritted her teeth. He got to her like no other, pushing all the wrong buttons.

Funny how nine months ago he’d been pushing all the right ones. And then some. She bit her lip. She so needed to stop thinking about those insane two days.

She glanced at the rearview mirror. No black van in sight. She careened into a back alley and slowed, surveyed the row of back doors, which she knew led to kitchens and laundry rooms, swerved to avoid the garbage cans lined up by the road. Not a person in sight, only a cat sauntering in front of her.

She brought the SUV to a complete stop. “Do we try to find a phone and call the police?”

He shook his head.

“Who then? FBI? CIA? Department of Defense?”

“No.”

“Of course not.” Because that would have been easy. “Then what?”

He looked darkly ahead.

“Did you talk to anyone on the phone before the battery went dead?”

He nodded.

“Bad news?”

He nodded again.

“Can I just remind you that you recently decided to trust me? Some information would be nice. We’re in this together.”

His face darkened further. “I apologize for that.”

She didn’t want apologies. She wanted a plan. “Why can’t we call the police?”

“Efraim said… The phone gave out before he could explain. No police.”

“Fine. Then we find a phone and you can call this Efraim again.”

“Yes. That would be best. My friends will send a team for us. We’ll be safe at the resort. Once the royal physician arrives, he’ll take you to Jamala under guard. I might have to stay here for a day or two. There are international relations to consider. I might have duties left still with things we came here to accomplish.”

She wasn’t thrilled at the idea of his security staff arriving and taking control of her. “Or, how about this? Why wait for anyone? With armed madmen looking for us out there, I’m thinking time is of the essence. I can take you to Wind River and your friends. Then we part ways. I’ll drop you off at the gate.”

“We must not fight about this. Stress is not good for you or my son. You should be reasonable.” He had the gall to reproach her.

Enough steam gathered in her head to fill the steam bath at the resort’s fancy spa. She gave Amir her sweetest smile. “If you don’t like my plan, you can always get out of the car right here.”

He didn’t have the chance to respond. The black van appeared at the other end of the alley, flying toward them, motor roaring.

No room to turn the SUV around.

No time to inch out of the narrow alley backward, slowly.

They were trapped.



BEFORE ANY BULLETS could fly, Amir bolted from the car, Isabella right next to him. He hated, absolutely hated, that he’d brought danger to her. He couldn’t believe she had the wherewithal to grab her purse first, but she had it with her as they busted in through the back door of the nearest house. They ran through a small, empty kitchen, then a living room, a half-dozen cats scattering from their path and giving them dirty looks.

“Is that you, Brian?” a woman called from upstairs, hardwood floor creaking as she moved around. “Where have you been?”

They burst through the front door without answering, then scrambled across the road, into a crowded bar that smelled like smoke and beer, the Jukebox blaring a country song he wasn’t familiar with. They slowed to make their way to the back without drawing too much attention. In seconds they were in another alley. His muscles were shaking; his breathing was heavy. He cursed his weak legs, which slowed them both.

“You made it this far. You can do it.” Isabelle took him by the hand to pull him after her.

Male pride said he should pull away and make his way unaided. But her small hands felt incredible around his fingers, the feel of her warm skin giving him a jolt, bringing back memories. He left his hand in hers and ignored his screaming muscles.

The faces of their pursuers danced in his mind. This time, he’d made a point of taking a good look. He didn’t recognize any of them. They didn’t look Jamalan. They looked American.





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