Dana Marton - The Black Sheep Sheik

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.

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

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

Good thing she wasn’t watching.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He actually checked under the seat.

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

“You had a gun.”

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

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

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

“Do you have the phone?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?”

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

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

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

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