The Black Sheep Sheik

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.