The Sheik's Safety (3 page)

“Thank you,” she said. “I'd like that.”

The child ran off, and Dara stepped to one of the tent poles, felt around inside the woven bags that hung from it. Clothes, yarn, some funky tools she couldn't recognize—maybe for cooking or weaving—none of them suitable as a weapon. Damn it. She needed to be ready in case she couldn't bring Saeed around to take her to Tihrin right away. She needed food and water, transportation, and weapons for self-defense.

She stepped away from the bags a split second before two young women came in, one around twenty, the other a year or two younger, introducing themselves as Fatima and Lamis. They wore beautiful dresses, one purple, one dark green with gold thread designs. They brought food and water, and set it in front of her.

“How are you?” Fatima, the older one, asked with a pronounced accent. She was stunning. Her ebony hair reached to the middle of her back, visible through the sheer black scarf that covered it. “Please let me know if you don't like this.” She pointed to the tray of food. “I can bring something else.”

Dara sat by the plate when the women did, and gave herself points for not tackling them and diving for the food as soon as they'd come through the flap. “Thank you.” She reached for a piece of fruit first, a thick slice of melon, wanting to ease her stomach into eating, trying to avoid being sick.

The melon juice tasted like honey, its aromatic flavor flooding her taste buds. Tears sprung to her eyes at the relief of having food again. Until this moment, no matter how much she had refused to let herself think of it, she hadn't been sure she would survive. And still, it was a long way to the city yet. She reached for a boiled egg. Protein. She needed that to regain her strength.

When she finished eating, Fatima rummaged through one of the woven bags and brought over a black scarf and handed it to her.

“Thank you.” Dara ran her fingers through her hair, surprised to find it washed and combed. “When did I come here?”

Fatima looked at her with surprise on her face. “Yesterday. Our brother found you in the desert.”

Our brother.
They were Saeed's sisters. She wondered where the little boy's mother was. She fumbled with the scarf. A mirror would have helped.

Lamis came over, took the sheer material from her and secured it with ease. “It is our custom to cover our hair.”

“But not your face?” Dara thought of the images she'd seen on TV.

“Not our tribe. It is different in every region. When we're in the desert we follow the tribal customs, when we're in the city, we follow the customs of the city. There we cover everything. Wahhabism.” She made a face as she said the word, then leaned back to survey her handiwork. “Very pretty.” She smiled.

“Thank you.”

The little boy ran in, stared at Dara for a moment, said something in Arabic, then ran out.

Fatima rose. “Our brother is ready to see you.” She stepped to the divider, parted it and stepped through first, holding it for Dara.

She followed, ready to make her case, to bargain or manipulate, whatever would be needed. Then she saw Saeed. He sat cross-legged in front of the glowing embers of a fire.

His headdress rested in a relaxed loop around his neck now, his face uncovered.
Kaboom.
His cobalt-blue eyes shone from his tanned face, above the straight nose and masculine lips. Strength and power
radiated from him like heat and light from the fire. He had a paralyzing effect on her. She could hear blood rush in her ears, loudly like a waterfall. She was
not
going to faint. She pressed her short nails into her palm. God, this was ridiculous. Her reaction to the man was absurd.

Fatima and Lamis sat, and she sank onto the carpet next to them, the air leaving her lungs with a whoosh as a strange sensation sucked in like quicksand every coherent thought in her mind. The rest of the tent dimmed then began to spin slowly. The food, she thought. She had eaten too much too fast. She held fast to his piercing gaze, clear and steady.

“I'm glad to see you're feeling better.” His deep voice filled the tent as well as her chest cavity.

She nodded, unable to form words. If only he knew.

“Exposure can tax the body,” he said.

Of course. That was why she was feeling so discombobulated. She needed to drink more, eat enough to regain her strength.

“Have you remembered anything?” His gaze was mesmerizing.

“No,” she croaked out her first word at last, and hoped to hell it sounded convincing.

He nodded. “You will stay here until you do.”

“No.” The protest flew from her lips. “Thank you for your hospitality.” She tried to temper it, to give him a good, logical reason. “I need to contact the em
bassy as soon as possible. There might be people worried about me.”

He gave her a long, hard look.

She pushed on. “How far are we from Tihrin, the town you mentioned?”

“About three hundred kilometers. What is your name?”

“I don't remember.” He'd asked her that before. Was he trying to trip her up?

“I can help you hide from those who seek to harm you.”

His words sounded sincere. Too bad she had no idea what he was getting at. Did he know about the plane crashing? Was whoever shot it down hunting her? All the more reason to get to Tihrin fast. “Thank you,” she said.
I think.

“There are those who seek to harm me. A friend who might lead me to my enemies would prove a good friend indeed and would be well rewarded,” he went on.

Huh? The oasis. Did he think she knew the men who had attacked him? “I would help you if I could.”

This much was true. She did not wish to see him dead.

Voices rose outside the tent, men yelling.

“When your memory returns, I want to be told at once.” He sat without moving, his gaze not leaving her for a second. Indeed, it had not left her since she had come in.

A woman called out and Dara glanced in the direction of the voice, realizing for the first time that the entrance flap of the tent was open to the outside. Saeed responded in Arabic and the woman stepped in, carrying a pail.

“This is Shadia. She took care of you when you arrived,” Saeed said. “She wishes to take care of your eye infection.”

Dara rubbed her eye. Eye infection. Great. Damn this stupid sand that got in everywhere and irritated everything.

The woman, her clothes worn but clean, settled down next to her, dipped a scrap of wool into the dark yellow liquid in the pail.

And then Dara got a whiff of it. “What's that?”

The intensity on Saeed's face relaxed into watchfulness, with some humor glinting around his eyes. “Camel urine. It's a very strong disinfectant.”

Okay then.
She came to her feet startling the woman. “No, thank you.”

“She already treated you with it several times when you were unconscious.”

Dara made a note not to pass out ever again as long as she lived. People did weird stuff to you, abusing your weakness.

“Thank you.” She bowed to the woman. “I'm much better now.”

Shadia looked confused, then shook her head with
disapproval when Saeed translated, but picked up her bucket and left the tent.

Dara sat back down.
Close call with camel urine averted.
What else had they done to her while she was out? She had a feeling she didn't want to know.

“Shadia is a very competent servant,” Saeed said. “You can trust yourself to her. If the eye gets worse, you
will
have to do something to treat it.”

“I'll make sure to see a doctor in Tihrin.” She stared at the hint of a grin that hovered over his masculine lips. The man had a mouth to die for.

He looked toward the tent's opening and she followed his gaze, watching a man approach. His brother, she knew without being told. Saeed looked like some ancient Bedouin warlord, terror of the caravans. The younger man who entered the tent looked smoother, boyishly handsome instead of ruggedly so, like an actor Hollywood would choose to play Saeed's role in the movie made about him.

He greeted Saeed without taking his eyes off her. That was different, too—his irises were golden brown instead of blue. They shone with intensity as he took her in.

Saeed said something to him. He didn't respond.

“My brother, Nasir,” he said then.

Nasir nodded to her, said something to Saeed that made him stand.

“I must leave. Welcome to our tent. If you need
anything, you need only to ask one of my sisters.” He stepped through the flap and after a few moments called back for Nasir.

And then, the younger man finally dropped his gaze from her face and reluctantly left.

Phew. Double whammy. Dara took a giant breath and felt the air flood her lungs. She had barely breathed while the men were in there. Fatima and Lamis stood, so she did, too, registering for the first time this side of the tent. The divider looked stunning from here. It wasn't badly woven as she'd first thought, but had the good side toward the men's section.

Carpets covered most of the sand, except for around the fire. An ancient curved sword hung from one of the poles. She made a mental note of that. Better than nothing.

A strange contraption sat in the corner. A camel saddle, she realized after a moment. She spotted two ammunition belts as she turned, but no guns. Then she didn't have the chance to gawk any longer as both Fatima and Lamis were already on the other side of the divider, expecting her to follow them.

She went straight to the carpet and blankets she'd woken up on, sat and ate the remainder of her food, drank some water and lay down. She had to regain her full strength then get to town. If an opportunity didn't present itself, she'd create one.

She kept her eyes closed, pretending to sleep, not
wanting to be bothered, and especially not wanting to be asked any questions she was not at liberty to answer.

The women chatted on in the corner, paying little mind to her. Good. She needed time to think up a plan.

 

D
ARA OPENED HER EYES
and peered around in the dark tent, listening to the sound of gentle snoring somewhere nearby. A moment later when her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see the lone sleeping figure by the outer wall of the tent. Shadia, the servant woman.

She better not have
—Dara rubbed her eyes with her fingers, sniffed them. No suspicious odor. Good. Shadia hadn't done anything disgusting to her while she'd slept. Which was fortunate for everyone around. Because although she'd shown amazing restraint and politeness this afternoon, not wanting to offend her host, if somebody came near her with a bucket of camel urine again, she was ready to defend herself.

She sat up, careful not to make a sound. Now that her body was rehydrated and she had food in her stomach, she was close to being back to her full strength. The rest helped, too. She was ready—if not for leaving, at least for a small reconnaissance mission. Although, if she came across a vehicle she could grab, she was out of here.

She rose little by little, arranged the blankets to show a lump in case Shadia woke and looked her way. Barefoot, she crept toward the spot where the wall carpets overlapped, separated them silently and peeked through to Saeed's side. The flap was closed, this section of the tent as dark as the other.

The sword was gone from the pole.

Saeed didn't trust her. She couldn't blame him.

Her eyes settled on a briefcase by the tent's outer wall. It hadn't been there before. She moved forward silently, stopped and listened before squatting down. She pressed her palm against the lock to muffle the sound as she pushed the button. The metal clasp sprang open against her skin with a barely audible click. She let it up slowly.

The briefcase's lid opened without a sound, and she rummaged through the contents, identifying them as much by feel as sight in the dimness of the tent. Files, a couple of letters—their envelopes previously opened—a satellite phone. Her fingers closed around the latter. She stopped to listen for anyone approaching from outside. Nothing.

She flipped the phone open and turned it on, dialed the Colonel's number, held her breath at the series of beeps, but the servant woman's snoring remained steady. The phone rang on the other side. What time was it there? Midafternoon, she guessed. Then finally the Colonel came on the line.

Cupping her left hand around the phone and her mouth, she whispered her identifying number for this mission.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The others? We've had no contact.”

“No, sir.” She swallowed, and told him about the crash.

“What is your location?”

“I'm not sure, sir. I'm at some kind of a Bedouin camp, three hundred kilometers from Tihrin. The clan leader is someone by the name of Saeed.”

“Sheik Saeed ibn Ahmad?”

Sheik? She swallowed again, pulled an envelope from the briefcase and held it up to the meager light the phone's LCD provided. The addresses were in Arabic. She picked up another, the same. The third had come from England, bearing careful lettering she finally recognized.
Sheik Saeed ibn Ahmad ibn Salim ben Zayed.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “He's the one.”

And the name clicked at once: the man the U.S. sought to support to take over the throne, the man who refused all outside assistance.

“How did you find him? He disappeared three days ago.”

“He found me in the desert, sir. He was under some kind of attack.”

A moment of silence on the other side. “You must
stay with him. It is imperative for the region's stability that he remains alive. As of now, your number-one objective is to ensure that. Your mission just changed, soldier. You're now assigned to his personal protection.”

The camel dung would hit the fan when Saeed found out about this.

“Yes, sir,” Dara said, no matter how much she hated the idea. She had the feeling Saeed would have a few words to say about her being his bodyguard. She was a woman, her new role hardly acceptable in his culture. Plus she was an outsider, and he was famous for resisting all cooperation with foreigners.

“I will try to get in touch as soon as I have anything else to report.” She clicked off, put the letters and the phone back and closed the briefcase, then turned to sneak back to her bed. Before she made it two steps, she was enfolded in a viselike grip, one arm around her waist holding her hard, a hand over her mouth.

She jammed her elbows back into her attacker, threw her full weight to the floor, hoping to slip from his grip, trying to get him off her back with
out killing him. Couldn't chance that, considering that most likely “he” was Saeed, not recognizing her in the dark and taking her for some kind of an intruder.

Damn. If he let go of her mouth, she could explain. No such luck. And he was strong. Fighting him off without harming him appeared increasingly difficult.

They tumbled to the carpet together. She could not shake him. His elbow came into hard contact with her ribs, sending a bolt of pain up her side. Fine. The gloves were coming off. She kicked, missing him narrowly, her feet getting caught in the tent flap. It opened a few inches, letting in some moonlight.

They rolled. She kicked again, hit flesh this time. The narrow shaft of light fell on the man's head. His face was wrapped in a black headdress that showed small, vicious brown eyes glinting with predatory hunger.

She stared into the stranger's gaze, surprised for a split second, then she began to fight in earnest. He was thin but strong. She twisted, kicked with both feet. He rolled back. She jumped up, ready to push her advantage, wishing she was running on full steam. He lurched at her before she could reach him, and sent them both sprawling again.

Damn. This time she landed on her bad shoulder, with his added weight on top of her. Hot pain shot down her arm, and she sucked in her breath, blinked
to clear the stars from her eyes. The next second, she felt the blade at her throat.

Then the tent flap flew open and a vision stood outlined in the opening: Saeed, his long white shirt cascading from wide shoulders, the moonlight glinting off the curved dagger in his hand.

The attacker jumped up and charged at him, the two men coming together with a battle cry.

She sprang to her feet. Why was she the only one without a weapon? How the hell was she supposed to protect him?

The men fought, then separated to circle each other, then lunged into a clash again. She watched them, waiting for an opportunity. The attacker staggered back, blood gushing from his arm. He extended his hand as if to drop his knife in capitulation, but in the last split second he threw it instead—with force.

She didn't have time to think. Instinct pushed her forward. She caught a glimpse of surprise on Saeed's face before he propelled himself at her to knock her out of the way, taking her to the ground. He had already thrown his own dagger.

It hit its mark.

She stared at the attacker's limp body not ten feet from them, then noticed that Saeed, on top of her, wasn't moving either.

Was he hit? She turned her head to look at him.

His blue eyes stared at her with such intensity she
couldn't breathe. His muscular body pressed into hers. The adrenaline of the fight still pumped through her veins, every nerve ending alive. Having the prince of the desert lying on her did nothing to settle her down. “I—”

Voices filtered in from outside. A dozen or so men poured into the tent with guns drawn. The first few pulled up short, looking from them to the dead man.

After Saeed came to his feet, she sat up, grateful for the air that was slowly returning to her lungs. Any minute now and her brain would start working, too. She hoped.

One of the men said something she didn't understand. Must have been a joke, because the rest of them laughed.

Saeed talked to them in Arabic, and they quieted. One of them responded before they backed out, taking the body with them.

“We will talk. Now.” He closed the flap before he stepped to her and extended a hand to help her up.

She ignored it and stood on her own.

He lit a lamp.

Oops. She stepped forward. She'd been lying in his bed.
They'd
been lying in his bed.

He flooded her senses. And he wasn't doing anything, just standing there, looking at her. She had to get a grip. He wasn't the first handsome man she'd come across. In the SDDU, men outnumbered
women twenty to one, all of them well-built, powerful, in their prime. But none of them had ever unnerved her the way this one did.

And she couldn't put it down to adrenaline. Not all of it.

She had experienced attraction at first sight before, but never this strong, and her rational mind had usually talked her out of it. At the moment, her rational mind wasn't functioning.

He was a hairbreadth from her. She didn't recall either of them moving.

He touched his lips to hers and she fell into his kiss. Plummeted.

And it was like silk, and honey, and going home. Familiar, as if she'd known him before and they had kissed like this, perhaps in a dream that she had long forgotten.

The tent disappeared from around them, and the desert, and their countries. They had no separate identities, but a man and a woman joined together as one, floating under the stars.

And after an eternity, she felt a nudge of conscience and drew away.

“Don't do that again,” she said, realizing her protest was too weak and too late. She hadn't exactly kicked and screamed when the prince of the desert had had her in a lip lock.

It helped that he looked as stunned as she felt.
Took a little off the edge of her anger, though not enough to let it go.

“Just because you saved my life, it doesn't mean that you can take liberties with my body.” Better make that clear now if they were to work together.

He inclined his head. “I apologize.”

“I do, too.” The bluster went out of her all of a sudden. She was here to do a job. What she had just done fell miles outside the borders of professional conduct.

Better focus on the task ahead. She drew her spine straight and tall.

“I haven't been completely honest before. My name is Dara Alexander. I work for the United States government. My orders are to protect you.”

His face hardened as he stepped back. “Absolutely not.”

 

S
AEED SWALLOWED HIS ANGER
, damning his rising lust that proved to be harder to control. So she was military. He wasn't surprised. Her camouflage uniform; her skill with the knife; the efficient, in control way she moved supported her claim. “You don't have a dog tag.”

“I'm in a special unit.”

“And what unit would that be? The kind that engages in unauthorized missions in foreign countries?”

She remained silent, but from the carefully blank look on her face he knew he had hit close. “You must leave.”

The woman folded her arms. “I have my orders.” Her body language made it clear she had no intention of going anywhere.

As skeptical as he had been about her amnesia, he believed her now. The picture slowly forming in his head fit her.

“You have to leave us,” he said again, trying to be patient. “After you recover, of course.” She was a guest in his tent and, in the desert, hospitality to strangers was the law of the land. Three days was customary. Required. Even if the man who walked into your camp was your worst enemy. A Bedu breaking the custom would have brought shame to his family for generations. A sheik who did not offer hospitality brought shame to his whole tribe.

“You're welcome in my tent until we leave for Tihrin. Then I'll take you to your people.”

She nodded, but he didn't think she was really agreeing. Stubbornness was written all over her beautiful face, apparent in the stiff set of her shoulders. She was buying time.

“In the meanwhile, I'm going to need some weapons,” she said with an easy smile, confirming his suspicions.

“You are not my bodyguard. You are my guest.” The sooner she accepted that the better.

“No offense, but it looks to me like you aren't exactly Mr. Popularity these days.” She gave him a
pointed look. “Even if I didn't guard you, I would still need something to protect myself. We've been attacked twice in two days. Sharing your company could be hazardous for my health.”

She had a point there. She
had
come into danger because of him. He watched her face for a few moments. “You were attacked in my home. I apologize. It is my duty to protect my guests.”

“You'll give me a gun then?”

She was tenacious—a most unbecoming trait in a woman. “No.”

“You know, you're a real piece of work. Can I at least have my knives back?”

He watched her eyes, trying to read her true intent. Could she be trusted?

“If any of my people come to harm at your hand, you will answer to me.” He reached under one of the pillows and pulled the knives out, handed them to her. “It will matter not that you are a woman.”

She nodded.

He hoped she was smart enough to heed his words. “Tell me what you are doing in my country.”

“Fighting terrorism.”

“And your presence here is authorized by our government?” He waited to see if she would lie. King Majid had turned his back on his foreign allies as soon as they first began to criticize his methods of ruling.

“I'm a soldier. I'm not privy to government negotiations. I get an order, I follow it.”

“You think I have ties to terrorists?”

She shook her head. “But I think the people who are trying to kill you might.”

He had considered that. And as much as he wanted to deny it, he couldn't. Majid was determined to keep power. He would support anyone who supported him, never realizing what harm he might do in the long term.

“So you were dropped in the middle of the desert without food and water to find and protect me?”

“I was on another mission at the time.”

“But you got reassigned?”

She nodded.

“How fortunate for me.”

“I'm here to help you.” She stood, obsidian eyes flashing. “You should be happy.”

“I did not ask for help.”

“Look, I'm here anyway. Maybe I can help, maybe I can't. What is it going to hurt to let me hang around?”

Plenty, he thought. It would hurt plenty. He could not afford to be distracted now. And he didn't need another person to feel responsible for. He didn't need to be thinking about kissing her again, wanting it so much he had a hard time focusing on anything else, like explaining to her how impossible her long-term presence would be here.

“I'm going to check the perimeter of the camp.” She moved toward the tent flap. “I have to start thinking about how to make it more secure, ASAP. Your guys are going to be okay with me walking around, right?”

She was going to secure his camp. The thought was as laughable as exasperating. An affront, really, but he decided not to take offense. He nodded and followed her out, instead of forbidding her to leave. Because he couldn't be sure if they stayed inside he wouldn't again taste her lips. And he wasn't sure if he could stop there.

He shook off the weakness. He could not afford to let her foreign beauty get to him. Not now. Not ever. Not this woman.

She had no place in his life, not on the professional level and certainly not on the personal. She was of a different people. There could never be any understanding between them. He had too many principles to take her as his mistress and to consider her as more was unthinkable. The only choice open to him was to ignore whatever insane attraction existed between them.

 

D
ARA STEPPED OUT
into the starry night and took a deep breath. The camp looked deceptively peaceful, about fifty tents scattered across the sand, surrounded by a makeshift barbed-wire fence.

“This is your security?” She turned to him. He had to be kidding.

“It keeps the camels from wandering into camp and chewing up everything.” He took her by the shoulders and turned her, pointing into the darkness.

He was too close, his touch on her body too distracting. It took a while before she made out the nearly invisible figure of a man among the shadows. She turned her head then to look for more and found them, sitting at irregular intervals, blending into the night.

“That is our security,” he said, and withdrew his hand.

“But the attacker slipped through.”

“No he didn't. He was one of ours. A servant Nasir hired a few months ago.”

“Someone got to him?”

He nodded, his expression grave. “He had a large family to support back home.”

She processed that information as she moved forward. “Is there anyone else in camp you don't trust one hundred percent?”

He stepped in front of her and stopped, his gaze searching her face. “You,” he said.

“Why?”

“What brings you here?”

“Orders from my superior officer.”

“Why would he issue such orders?”

“My government wishes to see your country stable.”

“Why?”

“Instability in this region is not a good thing.” Truth be told, instability anywhere was bad. The world was getting increasingly smaller; the fate of one nation affected that of many others.

“You are here to ensure I live, so I can take the throne and will be grateful enough to your government to sign an economic treaty.”

And she couldn't say anything to that, because it was probably true. She wasn't so naive as to think money didn't come into play when it came to politics.

They walked on in silence for a while. She looked at the camels outside the barbed wire, a herd of penned-in goats, and blinked when she spotted a very modern water truck. The camp was a study in contrast, old and new mixed together. And she couldn't help thinking of the reservation, her grandfather's double-wide trailer with the traditional Lenape tent pitched in the front yard for decoration.