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The Sheikh's Lost Princess
Linda Conrad


The Sheikh’s
Lost Princess
Linda Conrad










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

Table of Contents
Cover (#uee814559-3024-58c1-9925-7db1ec2e9c89)
Title Page (#ud0b3b7a4-2ecc-518f-b95a-8ee1a680ecb3)
About the Author (#ufe149a0e-6312-5057-ad45-ade288eca420)
Dedication (#u5a07172f-20bc-53c7-992e-48648b075aca)
Chapter One (#u27648ef5-1e2f-5d97-a559-bc9caaaf3f23)
Chapter Two (#ufecc8e27-5005-55e3-9adf-e8dca0d85214)
Chapter Three (#uf54e6aa6-c6f6-53e0-aabb-ba577a31cafb)
Chapter Four (#ub0e37e3d-ee02-5fac-8d2d-4f9d1b3d7d34)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author
When asked about her favorite things, LINDA CONRAD lists a longtime love affair with her husband, her sweetheart of a dog named KiKi and a sunny afternoon with nothing to do but read a good book. Inspired by generations of storytellers in her family and pleased to have many happy readers’ comments, Linda continues creating her own sensuous and suspenseful stories about compelling characters finding love.
A bestselling author of more than twenty-five books, Linda has received numerous industry awards, among them the National Reader’s Choice Award, the Maggie, the Write Touch Readers’ Award and the RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award. To contact Linda, read more about her books or to sign up for her newsletter and/or contests, go to her website at www.LindaConrad.com.
To a great group of bloggers: Jan Vautard, JanieC,
Ellen, Kelley Hartsell, Jessiecue, Elaine,
and Tammy Y at the eharlequin.com blog.
Thanks for the help. You guys rock!

Chapter 1
Shakir Kadir was living in a romance novel.
But no author would write such a fanciful plot. A beautiful princess kidnapped by an evil sultan and held captive in a harem? A daring rescue attempt by an ex-lover, parachuting in on a moonless night? Not many novels could be this outrageous. Yet here he was, stuck inside an unbelievable reality.
Would he end up the hero or the fool in this melodrama? It didn’t much matter. Shakir could do no less for the woman he’d once loved—despite both his brothers’ concerns to the contrary.
As he grimly waited for the chopper pilot to arrive at the jump zone coordinates, Shakir watched the desert floor below. Flying at low altitude through eerie darkness, the quiet drone of the Merlin Mk3’s engine made talking difficult. But infrared night vision goggles allowed him to pick out objects despite the lack of light. He hadn’t traveled to this desolate wasteland since he’d been a teen. But the backward country of Zabbarán had not changed all that much in the intervening years.
Without the aid of running lights, their chopper blew like smoke through starlit skies. Shakir recognized rock outcroppings and herds of sheep below them. He remembered that late at night the desert could be as lonely and as silent as death.
Attempting to focus his attention away from the coming mission, he thought of how he had come this far. His extended family had opted to form a new intelligence unit under his younger brother, Tarik’s, control. Tarik, a genius in covert strategy, resigned his commission in the United States Special Forces in order to organize an undercover operation for the Kadirs. It was Tarik’s embedded undercover operatives that had provided them with current maps and architectural drawings for a hostage rescue mission.
Shakir’s new position was as head of black ops for the family. It still amazed him that the Kadirs had suddenly needed to organize and operate like an army during a time of war. The answer to why was complicated.
The Kadirs had been forced into engaging in a cold war of sorts with an old enemy, the Taj Zabbar clan. The Taj had initiated this conflict unilaterally a few months back, supposedly in revenge for centuries-old perceived grievances.
To Shakir’s mind, that was just so much rhetoric and showed insane thinking.
The Kadir family were Bedouin peoples. Nomads. They did not claim any country as their own and had never occupied any territory with borders to defend. In the modern era, the Kadir family no longer belonged strictly to the desert. The family ran international shipping operations and traded legitimate goods between various countries of the world. So why should a nonviolent family of traders and shippers like the Kadirs be forced to engage in a fight with an ancient tribe of thieves and murderers? It didn’t make sense.
The Taj Zabbar clan had recently won their independence from Kasht, a neighboring country. With their independence, the Taj gained control of the territory of Zabbarán, a vast desert with millions of barrels of oil lying directly beneath the surface of the land.
The Taj Zabbar’s sudden great wealth seemed to have opened up painful memories and long-ago hurts for them, and now, apparently, they intended to get even for ancient grievances by destroying the Kadirs. It was not the peoples of Kasht, who had been their true oppressors, that the Taj wanted to hurt. No. The country of Kasht had licked its wounds and made trading pacts with the Taj. Then the imprudent Taj turned all their hatred to the task of injuring and destroying the Kadir family.
Shakir wasn’t particularly politically-minded, but he would be willing to wager that money and power lay at the bottom of the Taj’s cold war. Someday, he was sure the answers would come out. In the meantime, the Kadirs were fighting back and trying to reveal the truth of the Taj’s intentions to the world.
“Brother.” Tarik’s whispered voice broke through the silence of his earpiece. “One last chance to back off this fool’s errand.”
“The hostage extraction is on,” Shakir muttered through his lip microphone.
Tarik was convinced this journey would lead them into a trap. But then, Tarik’s job entailed questioning everything, every fact and every rumor, until all answers became clear. Shakir’s job, on the other hand, was black ops. See a problem. Fix the problem. By stealth or by force, whichever worked best.
The hostage rescue mission clearly seemed to require both. A group of western women were being held inside one of the Taj Zabbar’s desert fortresses. The females had been either kidnapped or lured there to be auctioned off to the highest bidders. Great fortunes could be had by selling to the international pornography, sex and slavery trades.
The Taj Zabbar were well known as middlemen in every sort of illegal trade. It mattered little to them why their clients wanted the women. Only that they would pay dearly for them.
Shakir would never forget the exact moment he’d spotted the name Nicole Olivier on the list of abducted women that a Kadir undercover operative provided. Shakir had carried a mental picture of her around in his head for the past six years. But when he’d first read the name, he couldn’t bring her face to mind. Years of trying to block her memory, and the hurt that went along with it, had temporarily wiped his mind clean.
But it didn’t take long for everything to come back in a painful rush.
It was about that same time when his brothers had cautioned about any rescue attempt becoming a trap. Darin and Tarik both believed it was possible that the Taj Zabbar could’ve somehow learned of Shakir’s old relationship to Nicole, the Princess of Olianberg. If that were true, his brothers worried that the enemy would be trying to lure the Kadir’s middle son, Shakir, to Zabbarán for blackmail, or possible execution.
Shakir didn’t buy it for a moment. Princess Nicole’s family had been out of the news for several years. Ever since they were forced to abdicate their claims to the throne of their tiny European principality. After their failed coup attempt, the family had quietly dropped out of sight. Even Shakir could find no word of them.
When he’d first fallen for Nicole at university, the Olianberg royal family had insisted on keeping their only daughter’s relationship to a Bedouin from leaking to the press. Shakir hadn’t even realized it was a problem at the time because when they’d first met, Nicole had kept her royal heritage hidden from him, as well as from the rest of the world.
Coming back to the present, Shakir had no idea how the Taj had managed to capture Nicole. But he knew why. She was beautiful. Stunning. He was convinced the Kadir name had not come up in connection to hers. After their youthful affair had ended, the royal family seemed intent on burying the relationship, hopeful that no one would ever find out.
Giving his pack, chute and assault weapon one last check, Shakir turned the thumbs-up sign to his baby brother and the six other men on his team. Their plan was simple. They would drop into the country covertly, sneak into the fortress and rescue the women without drawing the attention of the main unit of fortress guards.
The operation had to be timed to the minute. Two hours and thirty-six minutes to be exact. Then they must return to the pickup point to meet the extraction choppers. In and out. Simple. He’d bloody well been through tougher assignments and hostage rescues during his years in a Royal Parachute Regiment in Afghanistan.
This one was a piece of cake.

Not long after they’d dropped into the desert, Shakir and Tarik stood in shadows at the base of a wall, waiting for the signal. Tall stone walls surrounded the enormous Taj fortress, but Kadir operatives had uncovered a secret passage to the inside.
The midnight chill crept into Shakir’s bones as he waited and concentrated on executing his job. He shook it off, reminding himself not to let his mind slip. If he was to remain focused, he couldn’t think about the possibilities—what he might find were the physical conditions of the women being held inside these walls.
The Taj Zabbar weren’t noted for their humane treatment of prisoners. That these prisoners were also female did not bode well for their safety. So far the Kadirs hadn’t found any tangible proof that the Taj Zabbar clan posed a threat to the whole world. But the Taj record on torture and abuse of their own citizens and neighbors, including women and children, was legendary.
Two clicks sounded in his earpiece.
“There’s the signal,” Tarik whispered. His brother disappeared into a nearly invisible slit in the wall and three of the men fell in behind.
Shakir hefted his Israeli-made Micro Tavor assault rifle, adjusted his NVGs and moved out, protecting their six. By using a grappling hook, the Kadir rescue unit hoisted each other over the outer perimeter walls and down onto the first in a series of multi-level lawns, porches and terraces.
Instead of making their way straight to the main house, the little troop of rescuers turned south and crouch-walked along the inner wall, heading toward a smaller building with Moorish influences. The small house, originally used as a Kasht palace, was now used as the harem for the new Taj fortress that had been built around it.
The main quarters of the new fortress, recently constructed by a Taj Zabbar elder, were reputed to be a showplace. With ornate tiled halls, splashy and expensive artwork and lavish furnishings, the palace was ripe with ostentatious wealth and fit for the elder Umar. He had spared no expense to make it a true paradise on earth.
Shakir didn’t need to see the new palace to dislike everything about it. His mission was clear. Following the others, he made his way down the wall to the small ancient building situated to the east of the main palace.
When the Kadir troop quietly entered the former concubines’ quarters, Shakir noticed immediately that the Taj elder had done nothing to modernize these original buildings. Faded oriental carpets covered the floors, exactly as they had done for a hundred years. Cracked and stained rock walls and winding, narrow hallways led them through a maze of tiny, dark rooms.
It was a good thing he was wearing NVGs. But it was by using only his more feral abilities, the ones honed and trained by his warrior grandfather, that Shakir recognized the distant scent of precious water. Intel claimed the women were being held in a private chamber beside the ancient harem baths. He caught the slight whiff of mold, heard the low drip of water and led the way.
As the unit of Kadir men silently crept forward toward the baths, Shakir’s mind went back to the first time he had ever seen Nicole. It seemed like a lifetime ago. He’d been a lonely outcast, barely surviving his first year at a British university. She was the shy but beautiful student from some unheard-of European country who had offered to tutor him in English.
They’d struck up the friendship of two misfits. Then slowly the friendship developed into a romance. He’d fallen hard. But when she’d finally confessed the truth of her royal background and told him she was promised to a man that she’d never met, he walked away without a fuss.
Only to die a thousand solitary deaths in the six years since.
Scrubbing the back of his hand across his eyes to wipe away the sweat, Shakir checked those memories. No point in a rehash. The past was in the past. Today, the mission was rescue—not reopening a festering sore that would never heal.
Another click sounded in his earpiece, and he halted mid-stride. They’d come to the door leading to the women’s damp prison. Tarik and one other man peeled off from the group to dispatch the two guards—unseen, but nevertheless standing between their position and the chamber.
Counting down, Shakir gave his brother thirty seconds and then led the way into the harem with his weapon at the ready. It was a huge open room, with gigantic columns rising thirty feet or more and then disappearing into the darkness of a vast ceiling. Low torch lights reflected off the rippling waters of the bath.
He pushed the NVGs up his forehead and searched the shadowed chaise longues and steps beside the pool, looking for Nicole. Two of the women he’d also expected to find slept fitfully on top of ratty-looking beds. Two others reclined on the steps, staring bug-eyed off into a nonexistent distance. The whole atmosphere reminded him of an opium den he’d once visited in his rougher days.
“They’ve been drugged.” Tarik came up behind him, whispering low. “We expected something like this. But it will make it tough leading them to freedom in their condition.”
Tarik spun in a circle and counted heads. “Have you spotted her yet?”
“She isn’t here.” Shakir didn’t know whether to be relieved or panicked.
He went with standby mode. “Take these four and move out. I’ll keep looking.”
Tarik nodded and silently crept away toward the closest woman. Shakir was grateful that his brother had not mentioned the obvious. Time would not allow an extensive search. If he didn’t locate Nicole soon, the extraction choppers would leave without them.
As he flipped the NVGs back over his eyes and moved into darkness, Shakir’s lifetime of training overruled his all-too-human mind. Long ago he had developed the instincts of a predator. A hunter. He would use those instincts now to locate his former lover.
And he would not allow himself to dwell on the other possibilities. He would not consider the chance that Nicole may have already been sold into slavery. Or that the Taj elder might have picked her out for his own household. Or that she had already been accidently given a lethal overdose of the drugs.
Shutting out any of those potential pitfalls, he moved swiftly. Those thoughts were inconceivable and therefore they did not exist.
Not for the hunter.
“Your plan is too dangerous, miss. Please reconsider.” The old handmaiden’s shoulders were rounded and bent and her ancient eyes watery. But her sharp gaze seemed bright with intelligence, good sense and a healthy dose of fear.
Nikki Olivier went against her better judgment and hugged the woman. “I must go tonight, Lalla. I cannot manage another day of pretending to take the drugs. The guards will soon uncover my stash of unused pills and you and I will both suffer the consequences.”
“But if given another day or two …” The old woman continued with her pleading. “The moonlight will guide your way to the coastal village of Sadutan. The Zabbarán desert is full of dangers on moonless nights, but you dare not travel during the day.”
The old woman named Lalla had done so much for her. Grateful, Nikki wanted to ask about her nationality in order to carry a message back to her family. Nikki had grown curious about where the old woman had originally come from before she’d been bound into slavery. Her accent sounded eastern European, but Lalla spoke both French and English fairly well, along with a generous knowledge of the language of her captors. How long had this poor soul been a household slave for the Taj elder?
Nikki decided to keep her questions to herself. She did not wish to share her own secrets and asking curious questions could only bring trouble.
“I have a broad knowledge of astronomy, Lalla. I shall have little difficulty navigating by the stars.”
Lalla opened her mouth, then shut it again without any more words of caution. “Here is the boot polish, miss. Your nose requires another coat.”
Nikki rubbed the foul stuff over the bridge of her nose. The boot polish mixed with soot that she’d used as a disguise had turned her skin a warm brown. She wiped her hands, pulled her precious map from the folds of her robes and moved closer to the nearest light source, wanting to study her route.
Going to Sadutan was not her plan. But she didn’t want anyone, not even Lalla, to know her true destination. If, after she was gone, the Taj elder tortured Lalla for information, the old woman would be unable to tell him anything useful.
What a dismal thought. Nikki couldn’t help feeling guilty and tried once again to plead her case. “Please come with me, Lalla. I beg you. Do not stay behind.”
Lalla dropped her gaze to the floor in an imitation of the way Taj women behaved. “It is too late for me. Too many years have passed. If God wishes to bring me home, I am ready to go.”
The old woman was talking about dying. Suicide by torture. Nikki felt fresh tears threatening to ruin her makeup job but she held them back. She had to stay strong.
“You are young and you have a mission yet to accomplish,” Lalla added more forcefully than Nikki would’ve thought possible. “A mission best undertaken alone. Someone waits for you to change destiny. You must succeed in those efforts.”
Now how could she know that? How could this old woman possibly know that Nikki had voluntarily come to Zabbarán to search for her son? She had told no one.
Thinking back on the whole sordid story of arriving in Zabbarán expecting to find a new job waiting for her as promised, only to be thrust into a dank cave-like prison with five other women, was not something Nikki did often. She didn’t know what the Taj elder had in mind for her future now but knew it wouldn’t include a legitimate job.
She’d come to Zabbarán with high hopes of locating her baby, and she would find him, or die in the attempt.
Truthfully, Nikki’s first unforgiveable mistake had been in trusting her Parisian neighbor to watch her little boy while she went to work. That mistake had been the start of this journey through hell.
But, in her own defense, she’d been desperately poor at the time and her child had needed food and a place to live. After her father died, Nikki was left with no choice but to go to work. And there had been no friends or family to babysit her son while she worked.
Still, in retrospect, that seemed like a lame excuse. But at the time she was trying to be a good parent. The neighbor woman had actually seemed rather sweet and was good with children. She was kind. And, she already watched over other children from their building.
Nikki had checked around for another job, desperate to find a different solution. Eventually, she’d given in and handed over her five-year-old boy for eight hours a day to a woman she barely knew.
Then the day arrived when Nikki came home to find her son, the neighbor and all the neighbor’s possessions gone. It was her worst day—in a lifetime filled with bad days.
Nikki flew straight to the Paris police who looked at her as if she had sprouted wings. “Sorry, madame. We will take the report. But many children disappear each year in Paris. Not many are ever found. We will do our best.”
Fighting hysteria and with no one to help her, Nikki beat on every door in her apartment building, searching for anyone with information. Her tears did not open any mouths, but eventually she sank to threatening people with bodily harm. That bought her a little information.
She was told the neighbor who’d disappeared with her baby had bragged about selling two of her charges to a desperate middle-eastern couple. The couple supposedly had wanted sons and were willing to pay a fortune to obtain them. Greed. Her son was taken from her because of greed. The more she thought of it, the more it made her sick to her stomach.
Nikki also learned that the middle-eastern couple claimed to be from a small town in the newly freed country of Zabbarán. She rushed back to the police with the news. They took the information and shrugged. Then they suggested she hire a private detective.
Too low on funds to consider such a solution and now frantic with worry, Nikki badgered everyone she met for ideas on how to get her son back. Eventually she was introduced to a man, who knew of a man, who was recruiting westerners for jobs in the new country of Zabbarán. She’d jumped at the prospect.
The next thing she knew, she’d landed in this horrible place. If it hadn’t been for Lalla …
“You must adjust the moustache, miss.”
Nikki refolded her map and put it away before pressing down against the smattering of dark hair she’d glued to her upper lip. “How is the disguise?”
“You will not fool anyone for long. Your feminine figure stands out even under the manly robes. Try to avoid encounters. And …” Lalla reached under her own robes and withdrew a dagger. “If you are attacked, use this wisely.”
Staring down at a wide blade attached to a short leather hilt, Nikki tried to imagine using such a blade on a human. It was unthinkable—until she considered her son. For his sake, she would use any weapon at her disposal.
Reaching out to take the knife, Nikki froze with her arms stretched wide. One second ago she and the handmaiden had been alone in the harem’s kitchen. The next instant she’d felt another presence behind her back, joining them in the room. Her instincts went on alert.
But before that fact had time to sink in, Nikki was attacked and roughly thrown to the floor. The dagger flew from her hands and clattered against the stone as the fall took her breath. Sucking in air, she fought to move. But as she tried to squirm out of the way, she was pinned underneath the hard planes of a man’s body.
A big man.

Chapter 2
Shakir silently pointed the older woman into a corner, jammed the barrel of his weapon to the base of the young Taj soldier’s skull and ordered the kid to be silent. The soldier kept squirming and moaning. Pressing his advantage with a knee to the kid’s kidney, Shakir tried to quiet the tango. He growled orders in both the Taj Zabbar language and in the few words of Kasht that he could remember.
“You are making a mistake,” the old woman said in French.
He glared at her, flipped the tango to his back and began a rough pat-down. Sweeping his hands across the kid’s shoulders and down his sides and legs, Shakir checked for more weapons. The sight of that ancient dagger had put him on alert. This young Taj soldier could be as deadly to the mission as a scorpion’s sting.
Temporarily stashing his compact MTAR 21 in the pack on his back, Shakir used both hands to search. With his right, he checked between the kid’s legs. While with his left hand, he rolled down under the soldier’s armpits and around the rib cage.
“Bloody hell.” Shocked, Shakir stepped back and stared down into surprised hazel eyes. “Blast it, who the devil are you?”
“I … I …” The female under his hands was at a loss for words. So was he.
Then it hit him—a few minutes too late. “Nicole?” He reached out to take her by the arm and pulled her to her feet.
“Shakir? Shakir Kadir? Oh, my God, what are you doing here? You scared me to death.”
He took a step back and studied the form of the young man standing in front of him. Only now that he knew the truth, the form no longer even vaguely resembled a young man. He should’ve known.
But Nicole’s honey-blond hair had been entirely tucked up under a purple-checked kuffiyah. Her skin beneath the Taj soldier’s garments looked the color of splotchy brown dates. Her tiny feet—the feet should’ve been a dead giveaway—were encased in the smooth leather sandals prevalent in these desert regions.
“What is that ridiculous-looking thing you’ve stuck to your lip?”
She reached up, smoothing her finger along what looked like a line of dirt. “Just a bit of Lalla’s hair. Doesn’t it look like a moustache?”
“Not even a little.”
She grimaced, but immediately recovered her composure. “I don’t understand. This is crazy. Like a bad dream. What are you doing here, Shakir?”
His initial flood of relief at finding her alive gave way to irritation and he, too, grimaced. “We’ve come to bring you home.” She didn’t look injured, but what had they done to her mind?
Where was her gratitude? Where were the tears of joy he had expected to see?
Antsy and ready to move out, Shakir fought his annoyance and reached for her arm. “Let’s go.”
Nicole jerked back. “Where?” She fisted her hands on her hips and glared at him. “How did you find me? Why are you really here?”
Stunned, Shakir saw the mistrust in her eyes and it wounded his pride. Never in their entire relationship had he given her reason not to trust him.
And he didn’t have time to deal with it here. “We’ll hash this out later. The choppers won’t wait.”
She stood her ground. Something odd was going on behind those eyes. Something very odd.
“Now, Nicole.” He started toward her again.
“I was about to leave on my own.” She backed up a step. “What about the other women?”
“I brought in a team. They’re rescuing the other women at this moment. Everyone will leave the country in choppers as a group. Everyone.” His whole body hummed with impatience. “Do I have to carry you?”
“What about Lalla? We can’t leave her behind.”
For the first time, Shakir turned his head to study the old woman in the corner. Speaking to her in French, he asked, “Are you willing to leave?”
“I cannot. I have family who … I cannot, sir.”
The old woman was not Taj. That much was clear. But how long had she been living with them? Long enough to bear Taj children?
Suddenly, the old woman was too much of a liability to leave behind—but killing her was out of the question. “Sorry. You go with us.”
Moving with the speed of lightning, Shakir grabbed the old woman up with one arm, then swung around and picked up Nicole with the other. Neither of the women was a burden. Both weighed less than his backpack. The old woman went limp against his side, but Nicole was another matter.
She didn’t shriek or call out but beat at him with her fists. “Put me down. I can walk.”
He hesitated. “Will you behave? If I set you down, you must keep up. And you must do exactly as I say. Everything. Understood?”
Nicole nodded but kept her mouth closed. Good girl.
He lowered her to her feet. “We don’t have a lot of time left.”
Taking her elbow, he guided her out into the narrow hallway. Once again in darkness, he flipped the NVGs over his eyes. But he didn’t really need infrareds to see. He had memorized every inch of the maze inside this building and they weren’t that far from an exit. He could make it blindfolded.
Moving like a cat, Shakir let his instincts take control. He wanted to blank his mind, to act as he had been trained—without thought. But that look in Nicole’s eyes still bothered him.
He tried to reconcile the tough woman in a makeshift disguise with the sophisticated royal he had once both loved and then hated, but couldn’t make the connection. In a way, he should be impressed with her. Impressed that she would’ve taken the initiative to disguise herself and try to escape on her own. The Nicole he remembered was a follower, not a leader.
Slanting her a glance in the dark, he wondered what kind of person this new Nicole had become. And if he would care for her as much as the Nicole he’d fallen in love with long ago. So far, that seemed highly unlikely.

Nikki let Shakir lead them out of the harem and into the fresh air. She still couldn’t believe it was really him. When he’d first said her name, shock waves of memory blasted right through her system like an earthquake.
Of all the people in the world. Why now?
There’d been a time when she would have given ten years of her life just to see him again. To hear him say her name. To have him tell her what to do.
But that was long ago. A different lifetime.
In this lifetime, he presented a threat. Oh, not that she thought he might hurt her. She knew without question that he would never do such a thing.
No, the biggest threat Shakir posed today was that he had a different agenda from hers. Nikki wasn’t sure exactly what his agenda entailed. But she knew he must have some reason for showing up here in Zabbarán all of a sudden. Since he couldn’t possibly know what she needed most, what she longed to get back, he could not be trusted.
It didn’t take much for her mind to travel from that thought to the next—she might not trust him, but she could use him. She’d seen the light in his eyes when he’d first realized it was her under the makeup. She’d also caught his slight distraction whenever they touched. He’d felt that instant charge the same way as she had. He still had feelings for her.
But Nikki could not let her own distraction deter her from her goal. She would use the charge between them, that sexual awareness, to her best advantage.
With Lalla thrown over his shoulder, Shakir led Nikki through the gardens toward the outer perimeter wall. He was heading toward the hidden gate. She’d been told by Lalla that no one else knew about the almost invisible exit in the wall.
Squaring her shoulders, Nikki prepared for a surprise confrontation at the gate. If he knew about it, others might know and be waiting. This could be some kind of trap. Nikki only wished she still had the dagger that Shakir forced her to leave behind.
When they reached the farthest wall, Shakir leaned down and whispered, “We’re late. Make no noise.”
Noise was the last thing she had on her mind when freedom was this close. She froze, silent and panting, as he released her to lean against the wall.
The gate was nearby. Only a few yards away, but Shakir didn’t move in that direction. Instead, he ignored the gate and withdrew a long doubled up rope with a hook arrangement on the end and began twisting it in his hands. In a few seconds, he pitched the hook end up and over the ten-foot wall. A distant clank told her the hook had hit something solid on the other side.
After another few rope maneuvers, Shakir turned to her. “You first. Put your foot in the loop. I’ll hoist you to the top of the wall. Wait for us there.”
One second’s hesitation was all she allowed herself. She slid her sandal into the loop, locked her knee and hung on to the rope with both hands. The ride to the top went quickly and she crawled up on the wide ledge. Taking a breath, she dropped the rope loop back over the same way she’d come up.
Nikki couldn’t imagine how Shakir would be able to climb up on his own, especially since he had to carry Lalla. But moments later he was standing beside her.
“Down is trickier,” he whispered. “Got the nerve to try it? Or shall I make two trips—one for you and one for the old woman?”
“Tell me what to do.”
Shakir gave her a quick lesson in rappelling. If Nikki hadn’t been so scared, she might have hesitated to go backward over the edge. But she was determined not to draw any attention or cause any trouble.
Not until the last second when she could make a break for it. Shakir and the others might be leaving by helicopter, but she wasn’t leaving Zabbarán. Not without her son.
She still had her map, her compass and the ability to navigate by the stars. And she could rely on her wits. The only difference now was that with all the others leaving by helicopter, her captors would assume she had left the country as well. They would not be quite as quick to give chase.
Her goal remained the same. She had come to this country to rescue her son.

Dragging Nicole by her arm and carrying the old woman, Shakir traipsed across the sands to a stand of date palms not twenty yards away from the wall. He used a simulated high-pitched falcon whistle to warn the others of their approach.
Out of the darkness, Tarik appeared like a ghostly spirit and handed him a canteen. “The others have already headed for the coordinates. The women hostages are so drugged, they’ve been no trouble. There’s not much time left and ten miles to travel.”
Shakir took the first sip then put the canteen to the old woman’s lips and waited for her to drink. She was not cooperative but he forced her to swallow a couple of priceless drops. Afterward, he handed the canteen over to Nicole.
“I’ll take the old woman,” Tarik told him. “You take Nicole. We can make better time if we carry the women rather than try to walk them that far.”
Shakir nodded at his brother and turned to Nicole. “This may not be comfortable, but it’s for the best.”
“Stop …”
Not waiting for her to complain uselessly and waste any of their precious time, he hoisted Nicole over his shoulders and moved out behind Tarik. It was a difficult ten miles over rough terrain to the extraction point and he knew she would never make it under her own power. This was the only way for them to arrive in time.
At any point along the way, if either of these two women cried out for some reason, all of them would be at the mercy of the Taj Zabbar soldiers. Sounds traveled far in the night desert air. Explaining that to Nicole now, however, was impossible. He had to hope against hope that she was smart enough to keep silent.
In his opinion, the going was easy but too slow. He tried to follow an old camel trail, but sand had blown over it in spots and drifts were several feet deep in many places.
Carrying Nicole wrapped around his neck and draped on his shoulders was the easiest part. She was as light as a bird. He didn’t remember her body being this lean in the past. Perhaps the Taj had starved her while she was their prisoner. That notion made him grit his teeth.
After they were flown to freedom and had a moment to reflect and talk, he wanted to ask her how she had come to be captured by the Taj. Had they taken her by force? Shakir didn’t like the idea of that any better than the idea of her starving at their hands.
After her initial surprise at being carried, Nicole’s body relaxed and she was completely silent during their march across the sand. Grateful for the favor, Shakir only wished he could’ve had a moment to still her fears and calm her down before they began the trip. Grabbing her up like a bag of sheep feed and slinging her over his shoulder seemed barbaric. Like something he may have seen done to women back when he’d learned to live as a desert warrior at his grandfather’s knee.
The more he thought about it, the more horrified he was by his own savage reaction. Despite having done it for her best interests, he knew she would never forget. He could only hope she would be able to forgive him someday, though he doubted if he could forgive himself.
They ended up covering the ten miles of desert in good time. In a little over two hours, he looked ahead and spotted the chopper hovering over a wide flat surface. The other members of the team were boarding with their human cargo.
Worried that they were too exposed in the open desert, Shakir halted about fifty yards shy of the pickup zone and lowered Nicole to the ground beside a creosote bush. “Sit and stretch your legs out in front of you for a moment. I’m going in closer to help load the other women. For safety’s sake, I’ll board you at the last possible second. I don’t want to take any chances on surprise sniper fire. Think you can walk?”
Rubbing at her feet to get the circulation back, Nicole looked up at him with that strange expression in her eyes again. “I can walk. May I have the canteen?”
His heart went out to her. Handing the water over, he thought back to the sophisticated but fragile princess who had once captured his heart. She was holding up quite well under the strain.
But they had no time to reminisce. Perhaps later. After he’d rescued her and explained how he’d known of her plight. It was a long story and their minutes left in Zabbarán were coming to an abrupt end.
“I’ll signal when it’s your turn to board. If you can’t walk, I’ll come back for you.”
“I said I can walk.”
She was trying hard to be strong. It made him yearn to take her in his arms and hold her close to his chest, encasing her in a protective embrace. Instead, he nodded sharply, turned and made a dash for the chopper.
Within a few minutes, Tarik loaded the old woman, the last of the hostages to board except for Nicole. Through his earpiece, Shakir heard one of the Kadir surveillance teams warning that a Taj Soviet-made Ilyushin IL-28 was scrambling from the country’s main landing strip a couple of hundred miles away. The old-model jet was known to be a dilapidated bucket of bolts. But still, it would be here within minutes.
“Now or never, brother.” Tarik turned and held out his hand.
Shakir swivelled, signalling to Nicole. The chopper’s rotors blew sand in wide circles around the landing zone. He was suddenly worried that she would not be able to see his signal and started running toward her position.
Calling her name, he closed the distance between the chopper and where he’d left her waiting. No answer.
“Sixty seconds,” Tarik shouted through his earpiece.
Shakir arrived at the creosote bush, but the space was empty. No Nicole. He made a cursory inspection of the surroundings. No Nicole.
“Thirty seconds.”
Bugger it. Bugger her.
“Go!” he shouted to his brother.
“Not without you.” Tarik’s voice was too sharp. His brother was worried about him.
“I’ll be okay.” Shakir worked to sound calm, confident. “I’m not leaving without her, Tarik. I’ll contact you as soon as I can. Now, go!”

Nikki never imagined it would be this difficult to find her way across the desert by using the stars. Lalla had marked the coordinates of every water hole, oasis and town within a hundred-mile radius on her map. But now that Nikki was out here, it all looked the same in the pitch-black night.
Luckily, the house where her son was supposedly living was only about fifty miles from the fortress she’d left behind. She could certainly make a fifty-mile walk in a couple of long nights’ worth of travel. It was true, though, that she would need fresh water and places to rest during daylight hours. In addition to being impossible to travel during the heat of the day, she needed to keep the Taj Zabbar soldiers from spotting her in the desert.
Stopping for a moment, she breathed deep and used one of her precious matches to check her map. That water hole should be right here. She needed to find it before daybreak.
Surely she wouldn’t have the bad luck to get lost on her first night. Yes, she’d gotten a bit turned around while being carried on Shakir’s shoulders. But she had been sure that she’d reoriented herself properly within the first few moments on her feet.
Still a bit curious about how he had known to come for her in the first place, Nikki felt guilty about her disappearing act. But Shakir hadn’t allowed her any time to speak. And hers was a story that needed more than a cursory explanation.
After she found her son and rescued him, maybe then she would try again to locate Shakir. To talk. Of course, the last time she’d tried to find him things hadn’t worked out well.
Thoughts of that dark time, those long months, surrounded her in a swirl of sadness. It had been the beginning of a whole new life. And she had drastically changed from those difficult days to today.
Nikki often wondered how different her life might have been had she found Shakir back then. But what-ifs and maybes were a part of her past now. She could no longer afford to dwell on how things might have been.
Turning in a complete circle, Nikki looked up at the stars once more. That watering hole had to be close.
“You’re almost there.” The male voice, coming out of the darkness, nearly caused her to turn tail and run.
“Shakir?” It had to be him. She had heard that voice often enough in her dreams. “How in the world did you find me here?”
He was beside her in an instant. “We’ll talk about it later. For now, we need to take shelter and stop standing out in the open.”
Grabbing her elbow, he whirled her around. He didn’t take more than fifteen steps before a rock outcropping appeared silhouetted in the darkness.
“Why didn’t you fly off with the others?” She was confused and felt a growing annoyance at his showing up when she least expected it.
“I should also ask why you didn’t get on the chopper.” His pointed reply was not an answer. “But both our questions will have to wait. Trouble is coming. We need to hunker down.”
“The Taj Zabbar soldiers? They found me?”
“No.” Marching them straight past a stand of scrawny trees, Shakir leaned in close. “Hell is on the way.”
“Hell?”
“Scourge of the desert, Nicole. Sandstorm.”

Chapter 3
Sandstorm?
Nikki had heard of them, of course. But she never dreamed they could be a problem for her in Zabbarán.
“Could the storm kill us?”
“No.” Shakir put his arm around her shoulders, guiding them closer to the boulders. “But we must take precautions.”
Why hadn’t she noticed anything wrong before he showed up? Was he lying to her about a sandstorm coming? For what reason?
She’d learned the hard way not to trust anyone. Never again would she allow herself to be taken in by a sincere-looking face and a kind manner.
As she let Shakir lead her toward a two-story mound of shale and rocks, Nikki paid closer attention to her surroundings. Yes, she could feel a slight increase in the wind’s velocity, but at this point she was only aware of a nice quiet breeze on her face. Looking around, she also noticed the pale beginnings of lavender light and knew that in the desert that meant daybreak would soon appear in all its magnificence.
Things were never as scary in the light of day as they seemed in the dark.
After climbing up a medium grade to the base of giant rock boulders, Shakir pealed off his backpack. He crouched beside her on the stony ground and opened his pack.
While searching through the pockets, he made a demand. “Give me the canteen.”
Feeling at a loss, she was in no position to argue. At least temporarily she had no choice but to let him make his demands. She gave him the canteen and he used the water to dampen a tan-colored cloth. Then he handed the cloth to her.
“What is this? Your wet T-shirt? What do I do with this?”
The predawn glow gave her enough light to see his eyes. Warm, liquid brown and fringed by long, ebony lashes, those fascinating eyes were a reminder of a time past. Whenever she’d gazed into them in her youth, she’d ended up swamped in a pool of longing and need. There was a time when she had trusted him implicitly to do the right thing. Not anymore.
“After we take cover,” he shouted, “hold the shirt over your eyes, nose and mouth. Breathe through it and don’t stop until I give the okay.”
“Cover?” Turning in a circle, she looked around and saw nothing but rocks and sand dunes. “Where?”
Shakir didn’t answer but stood and hurried over to a nearby rock-covered stand. Even through the low light, she realized this must be the water well she had been expecting to find. While lifting the large flat rock from its base, his muscles rippled and bunched under his shirt. The sight gave her an unwelcome tingle, forcing her to dig her fingernails into her palms to stay quiet.
Once Shakir had the heavy-looking rock in his arms, he used it to cover the well. Every one of his movements was economical, as though he’d been taught exactly what to do.
After returning to her side, he said, “Let’s go.”
Huh? “I don’t think …”
“Look.” He pointed off in the opposite direction of the rising sun.
She turned her head and got one of the biggest shocks of her life. The entire horizon, from desert floor to electric-blue sky, was blurred by a clay-colored cloud. A towering line of menacing dust blocked out both sky and land as it rolled over the dunes. The storm appeared to be headed right for them.
Maybe some things could be scarier in the daylight.
Shakir scooped her up next to his side and ran toward a cleft in the rocks. As they came closer, she managed a better look at the indentation in the rocks. The space seemed tiny. But never hesitating for a second, he pushed her into the small crevice.
“Cover!” He jammed in close behind her, blocking her body with his own.
Nikki had enough room and time left to raise her hands and cover her face with the wet cloth. In the next instant, a deafening roar overtook them.
The sounds of angry sands, fiercely pounding against solid stone, assaulted her eardrums. Winds roared in her ears even under the protective head scarf she still wore. Biting the inside of her cheek, she waited.
Those initial dire seconds of the storm soon turned to long desperate minutes of panic, and finally dragged on interminably for what seemed like hours. Between bouts of panic, boredom and spurts of claustrophobia, she had time to think. Time enough for the stillness of a memory.
A memory from long ago. One sunny summer day when the sky over the English countryside was not blurred with sand, but was so clear and blue it could bring one to tears. That afternoon had been meant for young lovers. It was one of those days meant to fool them into believing that true love would last forever.
But even then, as lost as she’d been in her dreams of lust and in an intense pair of chocolate eyes, in the back of her mind she must have known that love was not the road to happiness. Not for her.
Still, for those few precious months with Shakir, she had let herself believe in the dream.
She’d wanted desperately for Shakir to make things different for them. In her naïveté, he had been everything she’d thought she needed. Everything she had ever wanted. Tall, broad and so good-looking that other girls swooned over him, he was a dashing prince of the desert. An intelligent, modern-day sheik who would carry her off to a fantasy life in some faraway romantic land.
Unfortunately, it hadn’t taken long for her to awaken from the dream. Her eyes had been opened when her parents began demanding that she come home and take up her royal life. The life she had been raised to obediently follow.
Nikki did her duty, stepped up and complied with her parents’ bidding. She sent Shakir away. But secretly, as she had spoken those hateful words of goodbye, she’d hoped against hope that he would not leave willingly. She wanted him to take a stand and make his own demands.
Wishing for him to love her enough to fight for her, Nikki had held her breath. She waited for Shakir to plead his case and offer to steal off with her and hide from her responsibilities.
But he never did. Shakir never demanded anything. He simply hadn’t loved her enough to fight. He’d heard her out, then turned silently and walked out of her life for good.
What had become of him since? she wondered. It was a question that had haunted her for many years. Perhaps once the storm was over, she would finally get the answers to her burning questions. But she would have to be smart when she asked those questions. Smarter than she had ever been in her past.
With disappointment after disappointment, she’d grown much wiser over the years. And she knew how to be careful. Particularly careful with what she said.

Shakir felt Nicole’s legs giving way just as the last of the sandstorm’s winds rolled off into the distance like the waning echo of a ringing bell. His own limbs were stiff from standing, but he eased back and let her limp body slide into his arms.
“We were lucky,” he said as he lifted her and carried her out of their narrow rock shelter. “The storm was a small one.”
Still holding the by-now dry T-shirt, her hands dropped to her chest and she blinked her eyes against the bright sun. “You call that small?” Choking on her words, she tried to swallow past the build up of dust in her throat. “How long were we standing there?”
“A few hours.” He understood how she felt. His throat was parched and gritty, too, and tiny grains of sand layered every bodily crevice.
He helped Nicole ease herself onto a nearby flat-surfaced rock. Then he pulled off his goggles and earpieces and looked around the small area surrounding the water hole.
Checking his watch, he discovered the sand had blasted the clear face and he could no longer make out the time. “Sandstorms can sometimes last for days.”
“Days? I wouldn’t have been able to stand for that long.”
He would’ve seen to it that Nicole stood for however long the storm took. Even if the winds carried on for a week. He had sworn to let nothing happen to her. Nothing.
The sun shone from directly overhead, making Shakir give thanks to the desert mother that it was spring season and not the dead of summer. Still, during the hottest part of the day, extreme heat could rise to uncomfortable levels even in the spring months.
Within a minute or two of scouting the area, he found what he’d been seeking. A makeshift shelter from the sun formed underneath a natural rock ledge. As was the case at many desert water holes, long ago desert travelers had constructed a shelter to provide shade for daylight resting periods. Generations of travelers had used the shelter ever since.
Shakir hadn’t bothered to look for the shelf to use as their shelter from the sandstorm. More of a cave-like structure, the shelter was too low to the ground to provide enough protection from blowing sands. He had learned in his boyhood that standing on higher ground made far more sense as defense against the winds. But used as a cool place to rest until dusk, this shallow cave would do fine.
Hanging tenuously on to the rough surfaces of the rock she’d been using, Nicole rose to her feet. Her knees wobbled for a moment, but eventually she managed to stand.
Once she was on her feet, deep ragged coughs began racking her body. He scolded himself for neglecting to see to her needs. What kind of a proficient desert rescuer was he? He handed over the canteen and helped her take a few swallows.
“Keep the canteen with you and take small swallows periodically over the next few hours while we are at rest. Don’t gulp the water. Your body cannot absorb it yet.”
She nodded that she understood. Shakir noticed then that his dehydrated body had also begun rebelling against the growing heat of midday. Shoving aside the piles of new sand, he removed the rock covering from the water well. After reopening the well, he moved as quickly as possible, refilling a collapsible bladder from his pack with the precious liquid.
Now they needed shelter. “Come on. It’s time.” He reached out, ready to take her by the hand.
Staring up at him, her eyes took on that distrustful expression once again. “Time for what? How did you find me in the dark anyway?”
Shakir grew irritated with her questions. He was the one who knew how to survive the desert. Knew it far too well, in fact. But as long as they were to remain in Zabbarán, for her own safety, she needed to defer to his judgment and experience.
After taking a deep, calming breath, he finally remembered that Nicole was a fragile creature. High-strung and spoiled. The princess was probably experiencing a form of PTSD due to her capture and imprisonment. He’d learned all about the psychology of victims during his training in modern warfare for the British. It would serve him well to keep that training in mind and try to put aside his ancient warrior training at the hands of his mother’s father.
Nicole was a woman with no experience at hard living. As a princess royal she was more accustomed to servants and satin sheets, and he needed to cut her some slack.
“I found you by using the infrared goggles,” he explained. “Spotted your footsteps in the sand as you walked away from the chopper. You made no attempt to hide your trail. Within a half mile I knew where you must be heading. Water is too precious in this country. You would surely stop at the closest well.”
He wanted to ask why she hadn’t jumped at the chance to leave with the other women. But he had a gut feeling that she wasn’t yet ready to talk.
“It’s time to take shelter from the sun, Nicole. Over there.” He pointed out the low, dark cave at the base of the rocks.
“Oh. But … What if there are snakes in that cave? And other poisonous creatures might be hiding inside there as well.”
Shakir took her by the hand. He made a pass and grabbed his pack off the ground, then dragged both pack and woman across the sand.
“If we encounter snakes,” he ground out, swallowing his annoyance at being questioned, “we will eat them. Other poisonous creatures will simply have to make room for us.”
He felt a shudder ripple through her body and took small pleasure at giving her something else to think about. But as they crawled into the cool, shaded cave, he felt chagrined by his bad behaviour.
Years ago, as her lover and friend, he had never let his uncivilized side show. It had been easy to hide his true nature when he was around her during those halcyon days. She was soft and sweet and kind to a fault. Sophisticated and quiet, she’d been the antithesis of the life he had led up to that time.
Even as an inexperienced youth, he’d known their relationship was only a dream. That it could never last. And though he’d been shocked to learn she was a princess, he had not been surprised in the least when she told him goodbye. He’d expected that end to their affair from the beginning.
In a way, he’d even felt grateful to her for the reprieve. He had grown weary of trying to be someone he was not. His life with her had been in a kind of limbo up until then, living with the knowledge that at any moment a small slip in his behaviour would’ve shocked her into running away. He’d known it was only a matter of time.
Yes, he’d wanted her. But he had known from the start that an intelligent woman like Nicole would not stand for living with a man who couldn’t control his baser instincts. At some point his true nature would’ve shown through. He couldn’t have helped himself. It was a big part of who he was. A side of him built into his genetic structure.
For the entire time they’d been together, Shakir had lived on a razor’s edge of self-control.
“It’s cool in here,” Nicole murmured after he found her a sandy spot to sit. She sounded surprised.
He wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her—yell at her. As long as they were in the desert, she must learn that he knew best.
Instead, he merely nodded and asked, “Do you think you can eat something?”
“Not snake?”
He couldn’t hold back the chuckle. “No, not snake. But you might like snake meat a lot better than you will one of these American-made MREs.”
“MREs?”
“Armed services food. Meal, Ready-to-Eat. This one is meant to give you quick strength and stamina.”
He handed the MRE over and showed her how to open the package. “This isn’t much. But I didn’t imagine we’d be trying to survive in the desert for this long.”

Nikki would’ve liked to strangle Shakir with her bare hands for both teasing her about the snakes and for his wisecracks about surviving in the desert. But since he had knowledge of survival tactics that she didn’t possess, she settled for strangling down the MRE.
“You appear extraordinarily hungry,” he remarked as she concentrated on swallowing past her dry throat. “Most people in the desert lose their hunger to the heat. How long has it been since you’ve eaten anything?”
After struggling with the last bite of the MRE, she said, “I haven’t eaten since I came to Zabbarán. Maybe it’s been a few days. I’m not sure.”
“The Taj didn’t feed you?”
She took a few more sips from the canteen. “The food they gave us was drugged. I did not dare to touch a bite.”
“How’d you learn about the food being drugged?”
Nikki leaned back and closed her eyes, but her voice was rough. “Lalla took pity on me. We struck up a kind of friendship when I first arrived. She warned me not to eat, and she sneaked clean water in for me to drink.”
“Don’t think about it now. Rest.”
With her eyes closed, Nikki’s mind blocked out all the images of the past few days and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. When she awoke, she couldn’t tell how much time had passed. But Shakir was still sitting in the same place and his eyes were still trained on her. Watching her closely.
“Feeling better? Sleeping should’ve helped.”
She nodded and took a sip from the canteen.
“Nicole … What else did the Taj do to you while you were a captive?”
“Nothing much.” She stretched and wiggled her toes. “They made all the women bathe and forced us to wear special robes. But Lalla told me the elder wanted to keep us pure for the auction. He wouldn’t allow any of the guards to touch us.”
Shakir grimaced and lowered his voice to a near whisper. “The Taj elder planned to auction off the women prisoners.” He sounded angry. “Do you know to whom?”
She shrugged, but then she wasn’t sure he was really seeing her movements in the shade of their cave. He seemed lost in his own world.
“I think it was better that I didn’t know. I’ve been having a hard enough time sleeping as it is.”
Now why had she admitted that? It was a slip of the tongue she should not have made. And she had promised herself to be careful with her words.
Thankfully Shakir did not appear to catch her slip. She wasn’t sure what she would’ve done had he asked her to explain her restlessness. Nikki would never rest again until her son was back in her arms.
Still staring out into dead space, Shakir nodded absently.
Finally he spoke. “How did the Taj capture you? Was it through violence? Were you injured?”
Uh-oh. This explanation could be a minefield if she wasn’t extremely careful.
“No. I came here willingly. I thought I was coming to Zabbarán for a legitimate job. It wasn’t until I arrived at their port city that I realized I was really a prisoner.”
“A job?” Shakir sounded incredulous. “But why would someone like you, a royal princess, need to work?”
Damn it. She wasn’t ready for this explanation yet. How could she be sure that he would not use her story against her somehow?
Who was he—really? He didn’t seem like the same person she remembered loving in her college days. Who had he become over the years?
“Uh … Before I tell you my story, I need to hear yours. What are you doing here? What does your family, your wife, think of this? And tell me how you knew I was in Zabbarán and in need of help. You were looking for me when you came, weren’t you?”
He took a couple of swigs from his water skin and then stared out at a spot over her shoulder. “That’s a lot of questions.” Then he pinned her with a sincere look. “I have no wife. No one who is waiting for my return. And as for why I was looking for you, my older brother, Darin, obtained a listing of foreign women being held prisoner in the Taj elder’s fortress. I spotted your name on the list and knew I had no choice but to come for you.”
“How did your brother get the list? Why would he even have access to such a thing?”
Sudden horrible ideas popped into her head and made Nikki tremble with nerves. Was Shakir’s older brother supposed to have been one of the bidders? Had the Kadirs stolen the women out of the Taj prison so they wouldn’t have to pay for them? Just who was she dealing with here?
She backed up as far into the cave as she could go.
“This may be hard for you to believe,” Shakir began. “But the Taj Zabbar have declared a kind of cold war against the Kadir family.”
“Why would they do that? And if they have, why hasn’t it been on the news?”
His lips spread in a wry smile. “There was a time when you trusted everything I said.” Sighing, he gave his head a slight shake. “I only wish I knew why they hate us today. Our old family legends say the two tribes have been enemies for over five hundred years. And supposedly about fifty years ago, my family took sides against the Taj Zabbar and sided with the country of Kasht, their neighbors.
“The Kasht government offered the Kadirs control of Zabbarán’s only seaport. I guess my grandfather’s generation decided that a deep water port was a good enough prize to trade arms to the Kasht. Unfortunately, those weapons allowed the Kasht to kill and imprison a hell of a lot of the Taj people—women and children included—before they could win their freedom a few years back.”
“I can see why the Taj might hate you. But …” He barked out a sharp laugh. “Yeah, I know. It was a long time ago, and revenge is an odd reason for war. Nevertheless, the Taj have already blown up one of our port facilities in America, killing a dozen people including my uncle. And we’ve tracked the Taj elders’ movements as they’ve made several attempts to kill my brothers and me.”
Shakir’s unusual story rambled around in her head, while she tried to make sense of it. “I can’t say I have any great love for the Taj Zabbar,” she admitted.
But were the Kadirs any better? “I know firsthand that the Taj run their country like a medieval fiefdom. And they apparently have no trouble at all dealing with drug lords and mobsters from around the world. Still, if things are as bad as you say, I don’t see why your family hasn’t gone to the United Nations and the world community seeking help.”
“How do you know we haven’t?”
“I would’ve learned about it from the news.” He opened his hands, palms up, as if trying to find something he could say to make her understand. “The civilized world won’t listen to us without proof. The Taj pretend to be weak and innocent. We’ve been forced to start up a covert defensive army of sorts, designed to gather as much information about the Taj and their activities as possible.”
“So that’s how you learned about the women prisoners being held for auction?” His explanation sounded logical enough.
She had no reason to doubt. She’d already found out just how sneaky and terrifying the Taj Zabbar could be.
“I didn’t think the Kadir family had a home country.” Could the Kadirs fight such a powerful enemy? “I mean, aren’t you Bedouin? How can you possibly manage to protect yourselves without borders to defend?”
“It’s not easy, Nicole. The Kadirs will have to become tougher than the Taj. Fortunately, some of us already are.”

Chapter 4
“I see.” The horrified expression on Nicole’s face was no surprise, and Shakir didn’t blame her in the least.
He’d deliberately neglected to tell her one thing. This Kadir son was already a tough, ruthless youth when they’d been involved in their college fling. He’d hid his true nature from her, from everyone, all along.
Perhaps it was best if she never learned the uncomfortable truth. Too much information could destroy lives as well as memories. And all he had to do to keep his secret was lead her out of Zabbarán to freedom tonight. Then they would never have to see each other again.
But, hell, he’d been trying to lead her out earlier, and they were within seconds of attaining that goal. She’d casually sneaked away from the chopper instead. Now he would have to find another way of taking her to safety. But somehow his brain wasn’t processing those facts in the right way. Why hadn’t she jumped at the chance to leave?
“All right, Nicole,” he began, using his sternest tone. “I told you how I knew you were a prisoner in Zabbarán. It’s your turn. I want to know why you didn’t board the chopper for safety when rescue was offered.”
“I didn’t want to leave the country yet, obviously.” She sniffed, looking down her nose at him. “And stop calling me Nicole. That’s not my name anymore.”
He was positive she had not married and ascended to the throne of her tiny country the way her parents had wanted. If she had, he would’ve heard the news long ago.
Her current snippy attitude put him at a loss. “Shall I address you as Your Majesty?”
She wrinkled up her nose and frowned.
“How about if I call you Princess? Would that suit you better?”
“I answer to the name Nikki now. Or sometimes to Ms. Olivier. The person you knew as Nicole has been gone a long time.”
That reply brought up more questions than it answered. She hadn’t said why and that made him curious. But Shakir decided against asking anything else. There was probably a long story behind both the name change and why she’d been seeking a job when she came here. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear any of it.
Their very survival meant he needed to extend his full focus toward getting them out of the country. Becoming caught up in her troubles was the last thing he could handle in the meantime.
He stole a glance at the lengthening shadows beyond their cave’s entrance. Daylight hours were growing short.
“Let’s take this conversation outside while we test our leg muscles. Rest period is over.”
Going up on all fours, he crawled out into the dry, fresh air. He wasn’t sure what he would’ve done had she refused to follow. But fortunately, when he rose to his feet and turned around, she was right behind him. He took a sip of water and encouraged her to do the same.
Then he said, “Okay, I will ask once more and this time you’d better give me a straight answer. Why did you sneak away from the chopper? Why didn’t you want to leave Zabbarán?”
Tracing a finger across her dry lips, she silently stared at him as if lost in thought.
“If you don’t tell me, Nikki, I’ll simply drag you across the desert tonight to the Zabbarán port city of Sadutan. You know I can do it, too. The Kadir family has contacts there. If all else fails, I can either sail us out or fly us over the border in a stolen plane.”
She made no reply.
“And I will do that with or without your consent if you don’t start giving me answers.” He narrowed his eyes and silently dared her to go against him.
“You can sail and fly both? I didn’t know you were such a superhero.”
He didn’t crack a smile. “This isn’t a joke. You have two seconds to explain yourself.”
She looked away, while rubbing circles on her stiffened knee and elbow joints. “To start with, I didn’t come to this horrible country for a job. That was only the excuse I used to earn the airfare. I came for …”
Her hesitation irked him. “Don’t stop now. I need the truth.”
She flicked him a glance full of fear. But he had not a clue what she might be afraid to say.
“Um … Look,” she began hesitantly. “The truth is, a child was stolen from his mother in Paris. I came to Zabbarán to find him and take him home.”
“What?” Her words made no sense. Shakir shook his head and put a hand on her shoulder. “I said the truth. Start again.”
Ripping her shoulder from his light grip, she glared at him. “It’s the absolute truth. A little boy …” Her breath hitched and she had to stop and breathe deeply for a moment. “Just a baby—really. Anyway, he was kidnapped and brought to Zabbarán. The Parisian police refused to do anything about it so I volunteered to bring him back.”
“You?” The idea was almost laughable, but no one was smiling. Shakir put a hand to his aching temple.
“What would possess you to believe you have the knowledge or the strength to attempt such a daring feat?”
She fisted her hands onto her hips. “I made it this far, didn’t I?”
Throwing his own hands in the air in frustration, Shakir turned in a wide circle, counting to ten under his breath.
Finally, he said, “This is crazy talk. No one in their right mind would trust you to carry out a rescue mission for their child. Why didn’t the mother hire a professional to help if the police refused?”
“She didn’t have any money and …” When he started to interrupt, Nikki waved him off. “And no friends or family, either. She had only me. I couldn’t very well say no.”
Her whole story was way beyond nuts. Shakir paced around the water well a few times, trying to process what she’d told him.
“All right, where is this supposed child being held?”
“This quite real little boy was brought to Zabbarán by a middle-aged couple who said they wanted the son they could never have. I was told … that is … the mother was told the couple lives in the small town of Kuh Friez.”
“Kuh Friez? But that’s nearly fifty miles away. It’s high on the mountain slopes.”
“Oh, well, I didn’t know about the mountains. But fifty miles isn’t so much.”
Needing another moment, Shakir took a sip from his water skin and then proceeded to refill it at the well. When that chore was complete, he was somewhat calmer.
“Let’s discuss this.” He stretched out his hand to offer her a seat on the one flat-surfaced rock. She refused and folded her arms over her chest, glaring at him.
“All right then, I’ll discuss it. In the first place, fifty miles in the desert while climbing rock-strewn mountain slopes could take you about ten nights’ travel time. Even if you can find enough water during the trip, what do you propose to eat?”
She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes but didn’t open her mouth.
“In addition to that,” he went on, “how do you plan on convincing the couple to give up the boy if you do finally arrive at Kuh Friez? If they’re kidnappers, they could be dangerous. And thinking beyond that potential problem, how did you intend to get the child out of the country?”
Her shoulders slumped and she looked like he’d punched her in the gut. “I hadn’t planned ahead that far. I didn’t know Zabbarán and the Taj Zabbar were so … so …”
“Backward and dangerous?”
She nodded and covered her face with her hands. “I thought there would be police. Someone of authority who would help me.”
He couldn’t stand seeing her defeated. He hadn’t realized how much he had begun to respect her unfamiliar and yet much stronger attitude. The new version of Nikki fascinated him.
“How about if we make a deal?”
She looked over at him with cautious hope in her eyes.
“You give me all the information about the child,” he began in his most convincing tone. “And then let me take you across the border tonight. I promise that my brothers and I will come back for the boy after we’ve had a chance to make a decent rescue plan.”
Hanging her head, she sat on the rock. “No.” Her whispered answer was almost too quiet to hear. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but I won’t leave Zabbarán without him.”

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