Desert Orchid: The Desert Princes: Book 1 (34 page)

Yasmin's chin rose and he saw a rage enter her eyes that matched his own as well as a determination for justice.

"Of course I'll stay. And, Khalid, I don't want her anywhere near that monster."

He nodded, bent his head to kiss a cheek as fragile as tissue paper.

"If she wakes, tell her I'm helping co-ordinate the search. And don't let her leave the apartment."

"Something's off," Bruce Monroe muttered as they walked at a fast clip through the palace. "He came along with us like a lamb. He's under armed guard and by his behaviour, you'd think he was out for a little stroll in the country."

Eyes narrowed, Khalid nodded.

As much as he wanted to tear the man limb from limb, he was in no rush to meet Pascal Chanteluelle. Let him sweat. And Khalid decided he'd take his own sweet time in coming up with a plan.

When they reached Khalid's study he gave them an edited version of how much Charisse had suffered at the hands of her own father.

And then he laid out his plan.

Bruce folded his muscled arms.

His hard eyes were a cold blue and utterly ruthless.

"When she is up to it I will need to talk to Her Royal Highness about who took her, and where she was taken. I'll need the timeline, the journey that brought her here. In all truth, King Amir should have brought in the relevant authorities to deal with these men."

"King Amir took detailed notes after Charisse arrived," Arabella said. "But you must remember, Bruce, that for months she was very sick, too emotionally fragile to handle an enquiry. The King's focus was on getting her well."

"She is one special lady," Bruce admitted.

Khalid nodded. "She is. And she's been through enough. That's why I do not want her to suffer more heartache at the hands of this man. I want her kept out of this."

By Arabella's expression, she wasn't too happy about that part of their agenda.

However, she nodded her agreement.

One hour later.

"If we do this we're breaking international law. There is no going back, Khalid. It's a man's life we're talking about here," Bruce stated, stressing the point.

"Once I'm finished with him, he's all yours," Khalid growled. "Make the most of it. You'll get names, dates, and the timeline of what happened to Charisse and Chanteluelle's involvement. Sheik Abbas will be more than happy to assist us. The video recording of Chanteluelle's confession will be sent to the right people. We'll let them deal with him. His blood will not be on our hands."

Bruce nodded once, his eyes flat and cold as ice. "I'm in. Just remember that no plan is ever foolproof. Shit happens."

Khalid smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Then it will be up to me to deal with it."

Deep in the bowels of the white palace, Prince Sarif El Haribe stood outside heavy double doors and watched his brother stride down the corridor with Bruce Monroe and Arabella at his side. The walls were thick, muffling the sound of their footsteps. Khalid wore a thwab under a flowing full-length besht of black edged with gold. On his head was a white ghutra held in place by a gold igaal which denoted his royal status.

But it was his brother's grey eyes that held his attention.

They were filled with an icy purpose and a single minded determination that had pride fill Sarif's heart.

At last, Khalid was channelling his inner Sheik. And by the look on his face, his baby brother was in a kick-ass mood.

Then Sarif studied Arabella.

His fiancée was wearing her usual military uniform of combat boots, khakis and a muscle shirt - all in black - with a weapon harness holding her machine pistol. She held a small metal box the size of a paperback book. With a reluctance that made his eyes narrow, she met his gaze before her eyes slid from his.

A hot flush rose up her neck and into her cheeks.

That was a guilty look if ever he'd saw one.

Hmm.

The time was coming, very soon, when they'd need to sit down and have a long talk about where their relationship was going. He might be attracted to the woman - a woman who at the moment was driving him crazy. For hours she'd managed to avoid being alone with him. She was beautiful, brave and loyal. Everything he'd need in a wife. And she
would
be his wife. His honour demanded it. Making love to her had been unlike anything in his experience. And by her shocked gasps and cries of pleasure when they'd had sex, unlike anything in her experience, too. He was over his surprise of finding her untouched. She was a strange mix of sexual awareness and a carnal innocence that was incredibly arousing. However, something was a little
off
with her. She was a woman of mystery. And there was nothing that Sarif loved more than solving a mystery.

Arabella understood protocol, understood the politically sensitive pressures and issues of the region. She might not have royal blood flowing through her veins, but she did come from an old and illustrious military family. She'd make the perfect consort. He wasn't in love with her, he assured himself. The ache in his groin was simply sexual attraction, nothing more. But his gut was telling him that she'd run from him earlier today and Sarif always listened to his gut. However, today's events had overtaken their own personal issues - there was nothing he could do about them now.

Khalid was in charge of whatever was about to happen to Chanteluelle.

Sarif needed to keep his focus on supporting his brother.

And as for Arabella?

Well, he'd deal with her later.

Now he turned to Khalid. "Are you heading up the interrogation?"

His brother's eyes were laser sharp, his voice cold. "Not quite. I'm heading up the meet and greet. I want you to bear witness."

Bruce and Arabella opened the doors and stepped into the room first, dismissing the four armed guards.

Sarif followed Khalid as he strode into the room, his younger brother projected a man already in charge, one who wore his authority well, as King of Onuur.

And Sarif realised his brother was no longer a lost cause. He'd put Charisse and Onuur before all, and in the process, he'd found himself. No matter what the outcome of this meeting, Sarif couldn't be more proud.

Khalid settled himself in a high backed chair behind a large desk of carved oak.

Then he took his time to study the man who lounged in the wooden chair in front of the desk. Pascal Chanteluelle was a young looking fifty-eight. A man still in his prime of life, lean and tall and dressed as if he was about to play a game of golf. Legs crossed, arms folded, he wore slim chinos, a short-sleeved polo shirt, and cashmere vest all in the colour of unrelieved pewter. The designer logo on the collar of his shirt and vest wasn't in-your-face. But from the cut of his silver hair to the leather soles of his black loafers the man oozed money and breeding from every pore.

He had the face of a fox, Khalid decided. The grey brows were too close together. The cheekbones high. He had a narrow jaw, and a very weak mouth. But it was in the eyes, those cold, cold, eyes, that Khalid caught a glimpse of the monster.

Their eyes locked.

And without blinking Khalid waited.

After thirty seconds had ticked by the Frenchman's brow rose and he gave a Gallic shrug of his right shoulder.

"I am here to visit with my daughter," Chanteluelle said. His voice was soft as silk. The French accent was faint, but the sound reminded Khalid quite forcibly of a snake. The man paused, waiting for a response that never came. He heaved a sigh before continuing, "To help her in her hour of need, in her distress at losing her husband."

"Her husband," Khalid's voice held a warning. "Is speaking to you now. And he's wondering why you have bypassed passport control and used a helicopter to illegally enter his country. Surely, if you truly desired to help your daughter in her hour of need, all you had to do was lift up a telephone and arrange a visit?"

Chanteluelle's eyes appeared to twinkle merrily as his thin lips curved.

"My daughter was very young when she ran away. A small family misunderstanding," he spoke as if he and Khalid were all men together and good buddies. A tone that tested Khalid's ability to remain unmoved. And that twinkle was still in his eyes. "Women, I find, tend to have a flair for the dramatic gesture. Perhaps she was mentally unsound with the hormones of youth? Unhinged by the death of her sister and mother?" Again the shrug as if to say,
'Who knows?'
Then Chanteluelle's blue eyes went wide. "You must understand there is a well-documented history of psychological instability in the family. A genetic disorder that can be passed from mother to daughter." He paused and those blue eyes went wide with a false empathy. "I trust my daughter is carefully watched?" All this was delivered in a tone dripping with parental anxiety.

Out of the corner of his eye, Khalid spotted Arabella's hand fist.

And he knew the feeling. The man was giving an Oscar winning performance of the misunderstood father.

"You are one piece of work," Khalid said in a silky voice.

Then he nodded to Bruce and Arabella.

They stepped forward.

Bruce held four thick leather straps.

"Sit nice and still," he ordered the Frenchman.

He bent down and began to bind the Frenchman's left ankle to the chair, while Arabella went to work on the right.

For the first time Chanteluelle's bravado slipped.

His eyes went too wide.

Then he reached into his trouser pocked, took out a USB thumb drive and placed it on the desk.

Khalid handed the device to Sarif who slid it into the USB port on a desktop PC.

Once he'd opened the file, Sarif turned the monitor to the room.

The picture of two young women filled the screen. Sisters. And for the first time Khalid felt his heart drop. Their resemblance to Charisse could not be coincidental. Their hair colour was not silver, but pale blonde, and their eyes were not blue but green. A hauntingly vivid green.

"If I do not make contact in..." Chanteluelle checked the time on his platinum Rolex. "Three hours. Then they will be lost to their half-sister forever." The light chuckle and the
'I win, and what are you going to do about it?'
tone told Khalid the real man was now revealed. Chanteluelle flinched as Bruce made sure the leather was tight at the ankle before he and Arabella moved to the man's wrists. Now the monster flickered again as his eyes went sly and calculating. "Don't you think you have caused my daughter enough heartbreak? How will you explain to her that you have not only taken one sister from her, but three?"

Khalid's smile didn't reach his eyes.

"
If
it is true that Charisse does have two half-sisters, then you are going to tell me where they are." Khalid checked his own watch. "We have plenty of time."

The scent of antiseptic filled the room as Bruce swiped a wet cotton swab across the bulging vein on Chanteluelle's arm.

For the first time the Frenchman's bravado slipped and his eyes slitted.

With efficiency and precision, Arabella inserted the needle into his vein, and the man's face went too pale.

Khalid stood, moved around to stand in front of the man tied to the chair.

He rested his hip on the desk.

Folding his arms, he watched as the drug began to take effect.

"You are not going to use the horror of her past against my wife. I will never permit you to rub salt into that wound. Neither will I tolerate you playing mind games with Charisse, using those girls to hurt her as you did with Mia. You are in my playground now, Chanteluelle. And I make the rules."

Khalid turned to Arabella and Bruce as he rose.

"Get me answers."

Bruce's grin reminded Khalid forcibly of a great white shark.

"It will be my pleasure."

Forty-eight hours later, Charisse received news that left her numb.

Wearing a long sleeveless tunic and fitted pants of lilac silk, she stood absolutely still on the balcony of her apartments.

And she didn't feel grief or sadness or anger or relief.

She felt... nothing.

Her eyes were fixed, unseeing, over the mountains and the vast desert that spread to the ocean of Onuur.

"After everything my father did, he died in a car accident?"

Khalid came to stand behind her.

Even though he didn't touch her, she still felt the heat, the connection.

"His car took a bend too fast and he crashed through the safety barrier. The vehicle fell two hundred feet down the mountainside and burst into flames. He's gone, Charisse. You're free of his influence, free of him."

Was she?

She turned to the man she loved more than life and took a long, hard look at him.