Lord of the Desert (22 page)

“Yes.” He kissed her forehead warmly. “I am a fortunate man.”

 

They flew to Qawi later that day, put on the plane by the Secret Service and cocooned by Philippe's bodyguard in the private jet, along with Bojo, whom Gretchen remembered from Tangier, and three older men that she'd never seen before. Marc was apparently on friendly terms with the mercs, and they spoke quietly during the flight, careful to keep their conversation confidential. Gretchen did learn that Cord Romero had not regained his sight, and that her friend Maggie was still with him, trying to help him pick up the pieces of his life. But more than that, no one said. There was a lot of talk about Kurt Brauer, however.

Gretchen was nervous of the state wedding Philippe had said must take place. But he calmed her fears and promised that things would go very smoothly. She must leave the worrying to him and his bodyguards. All would be well, and Brauer would be dealt with.

She knew that she was as safe as possible, but she worried about Philippe. Brauer was half crazy with thoughts of revenge. The wedding would be televised. It would be the perfect opportunity for a terrorist attack.

G
retchen thought she'd never seen so many camera crews, satellite trucks, and newspeople in one place in her life. Although she knew the wedding was to be televised, she'd never envisioned anything approximating this scale.

Philippe's unbridled joy in her pregnancy had communicated itself to everyone in the palace, especially to his father, who filled Gretchen's rooms with orchids as a coming-home present. The servants did everything possible to enhance her comfort, and every night she slept in her husband's arms.

The only dark cloud was that Kurt Brauer had become an irritating intrusion on their happiness, and Gretchen hated the very mention of his name.

Philippe's uncle, who'd been helping Brauer spy on him, was conspicuous by his absence. He had gone, along with the former chief of security, to seek asylum in a neighboring country. The man's other allies had gone into hiding, although Philippe was taking no chances. Bojo was noticeable in the palace, along with the mercenaries who arrived on the plane with them from Texas.

The oldest was a sitting judge in Chicago named J.D. Brettman. He was accompanied by a handsome blond rancher from Montana whom the others called “Dutch.” The third member of their group was very Latin, with a mustache and a charming manner. He was called Laremos, and he and his family lived near Cancún, in Mexico. Gretchen learned from her husband that the three had literally come out of retirement to oversee security for the wedding—as a favor to Philippe. They also knew some younger members of a group from Jacobsville, Texas, who were involved in fighting a powerful drug lord with his own Mexican cartel. It was a little surprising to be told that reclusive rancher Eb Scott was a member of that ex-mercenary bunch, along with Cy Parks and Micah Steele.

Meanwhile, security at the
Palais Tatluk
was formidable. Hassan went literally everywhere with Gretchen, and Leila was never out of her sight except during the night. The old sheikh, Philippe's father, had the same sort of protection. The mercenaries seemed to be having the time of their lives. For men in their forties, Gretchen thought, they were uncannily fit and expert in their security arrangements. She'd never seen such a conglomeration of electronic gadgets in her life.

She remarked on one, a device that could pick up the sound of an ant walking outside on the concrete beside the fountains and videotape its every move. Even Marc didn't have anything quite so sophisticated.

“Oh, we're thorough,” the blond man, “Dutch,” told her with a grin. “That's how we've lived so long.'

“You all have families, don't you?” she asked him.

He nodded. “My wife and I have two sons and a daughter. Laremos and his wife have a son and daughter, and Brettman and Gaby have a daughter. Our former boss, Apollo, and his wife Joyce are expecting their second child this coming spring.” He chuckled. “None of us ever expected to marry at all.”

“Neither did I, really,” she mused, her eyes going to her tall husband who was speaking with his press secretary and two members of the media.

“I suppose you know that your husband has been the subject of some interesting gossip over the years,” he murmured dryly.

She grinned. “He'll be the subject of a lot more when I start wearing my maternity clothes,” she told him.

He pursed his lips. “Well!”

She laid a protective hand over her still-flat belly, and smiled.

He finished a connection and glanced toward Philippe. “I thought Laremos was lying when he said your husband could back down terrorists. Amazing, how cosmopolitan he looks until you see him over the barrel of a gun.”

She eyed him curiously. “How do you know how he looks over the barrel of a gun?”

“Didn't anyone mention that we were part of the team that came in to liberate Qawi from Brauer in the first place?” he asked. “We were in the first assault, right alongside Philippe and his personal guard.” He whistled. “He walked right into the damned bullets,” he said, shaking his head. “I've never seen anything like it. He went for the commander of the group, the one he later said had killed his house servant Miriam on the government's island of Jameel. I won't tell you what happened, but even some of the career soldiers backed away from him afterward. He's a man you don't want to ever see in a temper.”

Gretchen pursed her lips and flushed. “Well, I have seen him in a temper,” she remarked, and wasn't quite brazen enough to add that her husband had ravished her twice, ripping her clothes off in the best tradition of bodice-ripping heroes from the silent films. Of course, temper notwithstanding, he'd been tender and exquisitely loving with her.

Dutch was reading between the lines. He chuckled. “No wonder he takes strips off guards who look lax around you. One of them, I understand, is on extended sick leave. It seems he was injured…”

“Oh, my gosh!” she groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “I didn't think I kicked him that hard!”

“It wasn't exactly a kick that injured him, I hear,” he murmured dryly while he fiddled with minute adjustments on his equipment. “It was a very hard fist in his jaw. Several teeth were loosened and he was reduced in rank and reassigned to guard the single elderly camel your husband keeps in his stables. It belonged to his father and was used in the coup that drove out the Europeans and put the Tatluk family back in power in Qawi.”

“Philippe hit him?”

“Several times, I believe,” he chuckled. “That's one soldier who will
never
question your married status again, much less be insolent to you.”

“The things we learn about people we think we know,” she murmured absently, and grinned.

He glanced at her amusedly. “Yes, we've learned a few things about you, too. Especially about you riding to the rescue with your trusty Colt .45,” he said. “I wish you could meet my wife. Dani helped me foil an air-jacking some years back. And J.D.'s wife, Gabby, actually shot a man who was trying to kill him in a Guatemalan jungle.”

She was impressed. “They aren't from Texas, those women?” she teased.

He smiled and she moved on, feeling safe and protected.

 

The prewedding traditions were fascinating to Gretchen, who threw herself into them with pure delight. Leila and the other women in the palace helped henna her hands and feet and conduct her to the endless parties and conversational feasts that were a prelude to the elegant, ancient ceremony that would see her traditionally married to her handsome husband.

The guest list, like the preparations, was formidable. Gretchen almost shuddered when she read some of the names on it. She wasn't too happy to discover Brianne and Pierce Hutton at the top of it, but she was learning that Philippe really did love her. When he spoke of Brianne now, it was respectfully, but not with any lingering desire.

Along with the Huttons, Tate Winthrop and his wife Cecily had been invited, and his parents, Matt and Leta Holden. Matt was a senator from South Dakota and Leta was his wife. There was quite a story there, which Philippe had told her at length and with some amusement. It seemed that the new Mrs. Tate Winthrop had actually baptized her then-guardian Tate with a tureen of crab bisque at a widely televised live fund-raiser. Gretchen couldn't wait to meet her.

As the wedding day dawned, preparations for security became tighter and more efficient. Metal detectors were set up unobtrusively. Listening devices and cameras were put in place. Philippe's bodyguard was abundantly in evidence, along with quite a number of American men in suits—among them, Russell.

Gretchen, in her wedding finery, caught a glimpse of him darting around a corner to avoid an encounter with her handsome brother. She tried not to grin at the consternation on the agent's face. Her brother had a reputation, much-deserved, for making life difficult for people he didn't like.

The morning seemed to crawl by as limousines ferried guests from the airport. Then, suddenly, cameras were set up and rolling. The ceremonial band was playing. Dignitaries were gathered in the grand cathedral that had been built by the Spaniards four centuries ago. A robed pontiff waited at the altar as Marc escorted elegant Gretchen down the red-carpeted aisle to the altar where Philippe, in his ceremonial robes of office, waited for her.

Incredibly, Gretchen had forgotten all about the threat of Kurt Brauer. The security was so tight that a fly couldn't have managed to get through it. She was certain that everything would go perfectly. She stood by Philippe and spoke her vows in a strong, clear voice and smiled dreamily as he repeated his own with equal fervor. It was much like the ceremony in the desert, because he took his scimitar once more and cut a small loaf of bread in half and handed part to Gretchen. They were pronounced man and wife, but he didn't kiss her at the altar. He smiled at her and turned her to the audience to be presented as his queen.

The sound of the bomb exploding behind them was like something out of time and place. Gretchen heard it and didn't even realize what it was until Philippe pushed her to the floor and spread his powerful body over her.

She felt the carpet rough under her cheek and she coughed as tiny particles of debris crept over the church like a gray cloud. There was gunfire and the sound of hysteria. People ran, being pushed and shoved out of the building as Philippe's personal bodyguard, armed to the teeth and bristling with protective instincts, swarmed around him and Gretchen.

Philippe cursed roundly as he helped Gretchen to her feet and turned to see about the priest, who was just managing to sit up.

Gretchen moved forward to help him. “Oh, dear, are you all right, Father?” she asked, concerned.

“Yes, my child. And are you?” he asked at once.

“I'm fine.” She looked at her husband, recognizing the cold fury in him that sent chills down her spine as he tossed orders to his personal bodyguard.

Dutch van Meer vaulted over a wrecked pew and halted beside them, a small automatic weapon in one hand. He looked nothing like the kind, friendly man she'd come to know. He looked as dangerous as her husband, and eyes like cold steel met her husband's.

“Brauer sent one of his spies in with a C-4 charge,” Dutch told Philippe, grim-faced. “He concealed it in the baptismal font, of all places, and it was the one thing we didn't check. I'm sorry. I must be getting older than I realized.”

“None of my bodyguards thought of it, either, including Bojo,” Philippe told him.

“We caught the man who planted the charge and interrogated him,” Dutch continued. “He says that Brauer and about thirty men are on their way here in two high-tech military helicopters. They're going to sneak in under radar and land on the helipad, with the intention of kidnapping you in front of the international press.”

“A bold plan,” Philippe said coldly. “And I need no magic ball to know where he got the funds. My uncle will wish he had never heard of Qawi! As will Brauer, when I finish with him.” He shot an order at Hassan, who was always nearby, and went to see about his father, who was waving his hands and shouting.

“Watch yourself,” Dutch told her before Philippe and his father joined them. “You can't underestimate this man Brauer. I think you're in more danger than Philippe is.”

“Why?” she asked, shocked.

“Because Philippe would do anything to save you, and Brauer knows it. The wedding is proof of his intentions, and his preference for you over Mrs. Hutton.”

Gretchen bit down on a curse. “I'll be careful.”

Marc came up beside them with a gun in his hand and fury in his eyes. “You okay?” he asked his baby sister with sharp concern.

“I'm fine. Are you?”

He nodded. He hugged her quickly, while Dutch excused himself and went to speak to Philippe. Marc reached into a holster under the leg of his slacks and pulled out a snub-nosed .38 Smith & Wesson handgun. He slipped it to Gretchen.

“You know how to use that,” he said.

She nodded grimly. “If he gets into the palace, he'll be sorry. How dare he mess up my wedding!”

Marc smiled gently. “Don't get yourself shot.”

“The same goes for you,” she instructed. She studied his drawn face and reached up to smooth his cheek gently. “My poor brother,” she said tenderly. “I'm so sorry about the way things worked out for you.”

The strain was showing on his face. He averted his eyes. “Life is hard.”

“
She
didn't blame you,” his sister said.

He glanced toward Philippe. “I blame myself. And now this isn't doing a lot for my self-esteem. I should have checked the baptismal font.”

“I'm sure every other federal agent in the place is thinking the same thing. You'll notice that the chief of Philippe's personal guard is trying to look invisible. It won't help.”

“Your new husband is a character,” he told her with a smile. “I like him.”

“You like him because Russell's afraid of him,” she accused.

He chuckled and hugged her again. “Here comes the media wading back into the rubble,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Hide that pistol and get out of here. You don't need to be in the spotlight right now.”