I Married a Sheik (11 page)

Sobbing now, Emily looked around. She could hardly see through her tears. Other than the moonlight, it was pitch black. The only sound was the whispering of the wind echoing eerily in the darkness.

Shivering violently, from fear, from the chilly night, Emily swiped a hand across her eyes to clear her vision, trying to think.

She was alone.

With a madman.

She scrambled to her feet, pressing a hand to her pounding heart, ordering herself to move.

When she glanced back and saw him silhouetted now in the doorway, she nearly screamed. But screaming would do no good. No one would hear her. The ranch hands that worked on the estate were housed almost a mile away. Screaming would do little but alert the madman to her whereabouts.

Gasping, Emily raced around the north side of the house, past the sprawling kitchen, and the elegant dining room where they'd once shared so many wonderful holiday meals.

She had to hide.

She couldn't let him find her.

Her mind seemed immobilized; she kept moving, forcing herself to think. She tore around the back corner of the house, quickly glancing at the steps leading from the back of the house to the beach.

There was nowhere to hide.

She was out in the open, clearly visible, trapped between the ocean and the house.

And then it hit her.

The alcove.

About a hundred yards from the beach steps, the little alcove had been her and Liza's secret hiding place when they were children.

Their very own version of a playhouse, hidden from view and from the family. She and Liza had spent hours and hours in there, giggling, laughing, playing.

With another frantic glance behind her, Emily darted across the sand, her tennis shoes digging into the shifting granules, slowing her down, as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, searching out the small, almost hidden entrance.

Another noise behind her had her breath pumping out of her like a missing steam engine.

He was coming for her.

Her side ached from running, her knees were skinned from her fall, but she knew she couldn't stop.

She couldn't stop, couldn't let him find her.

"Dear God, help me," she sobbed. "Please, help me!"

She stumbled across the sand, found the darkened alcove entrance, realizing someone would miss it unless they knew it was there, knew where to look. Holding her breath, she slipped inside.

Pressing a hand to her heart, Emily crouched low to the sandy ground, pressing herself flat against the wall to conceal even her shadow.

With a deep, shaky breath, Emily covered her mouth with her hand and softly sobbed out a prayer. "Oh, Mom, help me. Where are you?"

* * *

Jackson, Mississippi

The nightmare woke her up.

She'd heard the child calling for her, calling for help. Heard the child, now a young woman, screaming in fear, terror.

"Mom, help me. Where are you?"

Gasping for air, Louise Smith bolted upright in bed, trying to claw her way out of the fog of terror swirling around her.

Her heart was pounding so loudly she could hear it thundering in her ears.

Her child was in danger.

In the darkness, the entire world seemed to be closing in on her, making her feel as if she were suffocating.

Ripping at the collar of her cotton nightgown, she tore it as she tried to drag air into her starving lungs.

Sweat pooled on her forehead, above her lip, between her breasts. She could hear the harsh, jerky sound of her own breathing as she fought for air.

The pain in her head, the blinding headache that always followed these nightmares, crept into her consciousness. The incessant pounding had her moaning softly.

Dear God, it was happening again. The dream. The little girl—
her
little girl, now a grown woman—was in danger, calling for her, begging her to help her, reaching out for her, needing her.

And she was powerless to do anything but watch in agony as her daughter helplessly fought off the evil surrounding her.

Louise shuddered in the darkness. The dream was so vivid, so real it replayed over and over in her mind like a broken record, torturing her.

She shook her head. She'd been having the same dream, seeing the same child for years, years that she'd been tormented by loneliness, by a loss so profound it was as if she had suffered a death.

Louise closed her eyes for a brief moment, and she could actually see the girl as clearly as if she'd been standing in front of her.

She was a small, frail child with a mop of curly red hair and an infectious smile. There was love and adoration radiating from the girl, and something else, a bond. The bond that only grew between mother and child.

The feeling was so strong, the vision so real, Louise shuddered in the darkness again, pressing a hand to her pounding forehead, then to her eyes to try to block out the vision.

The girl was now grown, a young woman, and she was in some kind of danger.

Louise knew it as sure as she knew that she was lying in her own bedroom, in her own tidy little house.

Shuddering in the darkness, Louise blindly reached for the bottle of prescription medicine her therapist had prescribed to help ease the awful headaches, headaches that only came when she had these recurring nightmares.

Fumbling, she tried to snap off the bottle cap. It took all her energy to concentrate on the bottle, and not on the terror that gripped and controlled her body.

Her child was in danger.

No matter what anyone said, no matter what her therapist said, she knew she wasn't crazy. These dreams were too vivid, too real, the memories too strong.

"Mom, help me. Where are you?"

The cap to the bottle popped off, rolling to the floor. With shaking hands, Louise poured out a handful of little white pills, gulping one down dry. The rest she simply let slide out of her hand.

Closing her eyes, she held her trembling hands to her face, trying to regulate her breathing the way she'd been instructed. It took an intense amount of energy to ignore the incessant clamoring of her heart, the panicked, irrational fear.

Each moment seemed like an eternity as she tried to will the terror of her dream away.

Evil.

So much evil surrounding her child.

And she was powerless to help. She was impotent in the face of all that evil and terror.

Carefully, Louise concentrated on drawing air into her aching lungs, slowly, deeply, fighting back the lightheadedness the headache and nightmares left behind, waiting for the panic and terror to slowly subside.

Drenched with sweat, she battled the nausea that always followed the most severe nightmares.

"Mommy. Help me."

Louise blinked, trying to clear her clouded vision and focus on something—anything—other than herself and the feelings of helplessness, of fear that gripped her.

Bile rose in her throat. She swallowed convulsively several times. A sense of dread coupled with distaste settled in the pit of her stomach. Whatever was in her stomach didn't plan on being there much longer.

Pushing back the tumbled covers, she stumbled from the bed, praying her legs would hold her up.

Barefoot, she crept into the bathroom, clutching one hand to her mouth, one to her roiling stomach as she leaned over the bowl, unable to stop her body's violent physical protests.

By the time her stomach was emptied, the terror had nearly passed and her heartbeat and breathing were almost back to normal.

Still shaking, she turned on the cold water, cupped a handful to rinse her sour mouth, then grabbed a washcloth to bathe her face.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and almost didn't recognize the reflection staring back at her. Her nightgown was ripped; her short cap of golden brown hair now streaked with gray, was disheveled and her once sparkling brown eyes were ringed by shadows and looked dull and lifeless.

She stared at her reflection, wondering.

Who was she?

Louise Smith was a name she had taken after she'd been released from the institution. When she'd left, she had no memory of her past, no memory of who she had been or what she had done. It was only through the doctors that she'd learned of her painful past.

Shaking her head, Louise rubbed her hands over her face again. She couldn't bear the thought of what the doctors had told her she had done, been. So she'd taken a new name, started a new life.

But for years she had a feeling, a strong feeling that she'd had a child—children—a husband, someone who had been her other half.

But it wasn't who the doctors told her she was.

Why couldn't she remember?

Why couldn't she forget?

She may not have had any memories to recall, but she had something far stronger and more important: a feeling in her heart.

The bond she felt, the sense of deep loss she felt for her child—the little freckle-faced child with the mop of red hair had never dimmed—never went away. It was as if they were somehow still connected by love.

Louise turned away from her reflection, wiping down her face and neck with the cool rag.

She longed for a shower. Something to wash away the memories of the terror, the feelings of evil so she'd feel clean once again, but she didn't have enough energy left to even lift her arm to turn on the water. It would have to wait.

Stumbling back to her room, she began to shiver uncontrollably. Grabbing the comforter from the bottom of the bed, she wrapped it tightly around her panic-racked body, then climbed back into bed.

Her hands were still trembling as she reached up to turn on the bedside lamp. Soft light flooded the small, cozy room and she took a slow, deep breath, looking at the spilled bottle of pills on the floor, wondering for a moment how they had gotten there.

She tugged the comforter up higher, then glanced toward her bedroom window that overlooked her beautiful garden.

There would be no more sleep for her tonight. She couldn't risk it, for she knew the moment she closed her eyes, she'd see the child again, her daughter, and the terror, the fear, the panic of helplessness would return.

So she'd simply wait for dawn to creep over the horizon. Wait and worry and pray that one day she'd remember who she really was, where her daughter was.

Pray that somehow, some way her child, her daughter, would be safe.

At least for this night.

Five

San Diego

F
aith had been avoiding him for days.

Ali stood in the doorway of the sprawling room that held the entire systems operations for El-Etra Investments, quietly watching Faith, whose back was to him.

He glanced around the unfamiliar room, at a loss to understand what all the humming machines were. He shifted his attention back to Faith, absently loosening his tie against the warmth in the room.

Down here, in the bowels of the basement, even in the coolness of the late afternoon, it was warmer than the rest of the building. He'd talk to his building manager about it; there was no need for anyone to be uncomfortable while they worked.

"Faith?" He stepped into the room, amazed at her concentration. If she realized he was there, she gave no sign of it. Her eyes were focused on the computer screen in front of her, while her fingers flew over the keyboard.

Her shoulders were hunched forward, and he could see the line of tension in her back.

Quietly, he watched her for a moment, stunned anew at the impact she'd had on him. In spite of his hectic schedule, and the fact that he had not seen her in days, he found himself thinking of her several times during the day, or even in the darkness of the night.

Or he'd remember something she'd said, and find himself laughing out loud at the oddest moments. It happened just this morning during a meeting, causing him not just a little embarrassment, but some very strange looks indeed.

She was a most unusual woman, he decided, not his normal type, but a fascinating woman no less.

But judging from their last rather contentious encounter, her declaration that he would never have her, and the fact that he hadn't laid eyes on her in several days, apparently she had other ideas.

He walked farther into the room, stopping nearly beside her, but still she didn't even glance at him.

"Faith?" Smiling, he reached out and skimmed a finger down one errant curl, startling her.

She jumped in her chair, her eyes narrowing, then finally focusing on him.

"Ali." Faith shook her head, startled at his closeness, and the fact that he'd touched her.

She should have known he was in the room. Something in the air had changed, shifted with his presence. She'd felt it but had chosen to ignore it to concentrate on her work.

"You have been avoiding me," he accused with a smile, hitching one hip to the corner of the desk.

"No," she lied, turning back to the computer. "I've been doing what you're paying me to do. Working."

"Ah yes, working. I believe I've heard of that word." She glanced up just in time to see the amusement in his eyes, and realized he was teasing her.

She ordered her shoulders and hands to relax. They'd tightened up the moment she realized he was near.

He reached over and picked up her soft drink, taking a sip. Instantly, he made a face. "This is disgustingly warm."

"True, but I don't have time to go running around to get another."

All she had to do was complete the hook-up to the new server, and then she'd be halfway home, at least for this job. The balance of the job would take a few days, and she planned to let one of her other consultants handle it. She had no wish or desire to be this close to Ali on a day-to-day basis.

She couldn't trust him.

More importantly, she couldn't trust
herself.
Not after the other night at the black-tie gala. She knew it, and she intended to do something about it, which was why she'd been working at such a feverish pace, so she could let someone else complete the job. She had to avoid Ali at all costs.