Sheik Protector (6 page)

With effort, he turned his gaze from her and realized that they were on Aziz’s street. He reached for the remote in his glove compartment, feeling darkness closing in. “Aziz,” he said one more time, then sunk into oblivion.

“K
ARIM
,
WAKE UP
! Wake up, dammit.”

Julia took her right hand off the steering wheel, a move she could hardly afford, and shook him.

Nothing.

She grabbed the remote from his hand. What was this for? She pushed the top button. Down the road lined by modern palaces, a wrought-iron gate opened. She hoped there was a correlation between that and the remote. In any case, she had to get off the road. She had to hide.

Of course, the second she tried to shift down, she stalled the car.
Damn. Okay. Let’s start over.

First gear. Good. It got her through the gate.

She pushed buttons randomly until the gate closed and the door to a garage bay opened. Then she pulled in, gawking at the selection of sport and luxury vehicles. She closed the garage door. The lights came on automatically.

She sat motionless and listened, but could hear no car stopping in front of the house, no bullets hitting the garage door behind them. A reprieve. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, wanting to stay that way forever.

But she had to get out of here, away from Karim before he came to. A glance at him confirmed that he wasn’t even close to that yet.

She stepped out of the car, shaking from the chase and maybe a little with hunger. Something red caught her eye in the side mirror and she realized her clothes were bloody. From Karim. She had to find something to wear before she went out onto the street. A disguise wouldn’t have been a bad idea, in any case. Just so the assassins wouldn’t recognize her if they ran into each other. She needed one of those
burqas
local women wore, the black dress that made them virtually indistinguishable from each other.

A week ago she would have sworn that nothing and nobody could make her wear one of those things. Two days in this country and she was already begging to put on the veil.

Could be there was something like that in Aziz’s palace. Not a
burqa,
specifically—he’d told her he wasn’t married and none of his sisters lived with him—but even a black sheet would do. Karim had black sheets—the brief flashback to when she’d been in his bedroom raised her core temperature a few degrees so she pushed that particular memory away.

So she was a little attracted to him. So what? He was an attractive man. Tall and wide-shouldered. That scar of his only made him look fiercer. But he wasn’t for her. For one, he was Aziz’s brother. That made it all strange somehow. Plus, by tomorrow this time, she’d be home.

The only contact she planned to have with Karim was when she helped her child write letters to his uncle in a couple of years. Family was important. She was going to allow contact, she’d decided at one point. Making her daughter or son wait eighteen years for the truth didn’t seem right. But she was going to take precautions. She didn’t see going on vacations together in their future.

She cast a glance at him. He was sleeping, the dashboard propping up his head, in what looked like an extremely uncomfortable position. He seemed a little less intimidating in this pose. She pulled the key from the ignition and looked at the key ring. If Karim had the remote to Aziz’s gate, it stood to reason that he would also have the key to Aziz’s house.

She could help him in and make him comfortable. Could look at his wound and, if needed, even call for help if she found a phone book and the number for the ambulance. If she could figure out the listing in Arabic. Hopefully there was a symbol of a red cross or something along those lines next to it. In a country where illiteracy was a major problem, surely they would think of something like that.

She would find herself something to cover up with, call an ambulance and book it out of here before anyone arrived. Seemed like the perfect plan.

She walked around, dragged him out of the car and stood him upright. He wasn’t completely unconscious, not so much that he was dead weight. But his movements needed firm direction and a lot of encouragement. She nudged him to the stairs, propping him against the wall while she tried the keys one by one. She hit the jackpot on the sixth try, went into some sort of an entrance room, swore at the blinking red light on the state-of-the-art security system—a flat-screen monitor built into the wall.

Of course, a palace would be secured. She was lucky she wasn’t sitting neck deep in Rottweilers and security guards.

“Wake up. We need the code.” She shook Karim, inhaling the pleasant, citrus smell of the palace, noting the white marble tiles under her feet. “Karim. You need to wake up. Hello.”

Nothing.

The security system beeped once.

She took that as a warning and tentatively touched her hand to the screen. A window appeared with a fingerprint drawing on it. She reached for his hand and pressed his thumb against the spot. He didn’t resist. Another window appeared with a blinking cursor. Probably waiting for a password.

“Wake up!” She pried his good eye open with her fingertips. Only the vacant look spoiled the gorgeous sable color. “What’s the code?”

He shook his head and tried to focus on her without success. She was beginning to feel real guilty for doing this to him. Then hardened her heart. If he had listened to reason, she wouldn’t have had to take things so far.

“The code.” She turned him toward the screen. Him being bossy was annoying, but having him completely helpless wasn’t all that fun, either.

He gathered himself and lifted his hand, punched in a series of numbers she didn’t quite see as she had to hold him up. But she did see when the light switched to green.

“Thank you.” She leaned him against the wall and let him go, closing the door behind them. Mission accomplished. She was practically on her way to freedom.

A small beep sounded again. By the time she turned around, he was sitting on the floor with his back resting against the wall and his eyes closed. The security light was red once more. He had rearmed the system.

And just like that, she was trapped again.

“F
AILURE WILL
not be accepted. This is a holy mission. Do not come back,” Mustafa yelled into the phone before remembering that his men needed encouragement as well as discipline. He switched to a more fatherly tone. “You will find them. Your path will be guided by righteousness.”

So there had been setbacks. He knew he was merely being tested. He was prepared to show the strength of his faith by never giving up, never letting an unexpected problem get the better of him.

He’d lost a man. A noble sacrifice.

Every cause had martyrs. The loss would only strengthen him and his small group of true believers. They were all prepared to die for what was true and right.

You fought against the devil, you had to expect that there would be casualties. He had expected that a few men would have to be sacrificed. He was willing to give that to the cause. In truth, he was willing to give so much more.

His calling was to rid the world of evil, and he was prepared to do that, whatever the cost. But some of his followers were untrained yet, their minds not as strong as they should be. They didn’t see losing one of their own as glorious as he did. They would learn. Teaching them was part of his responsibilities, a sacred duty entrusted to him.

But his enemies were multiplying, it seemed. Who was the woman? A whore no doubt. No woman of honor would spend the night at a strange man’s house, nor would she take him back to her hotel room with her. If he had any doubts about whether Karim stood on the side of righteousness or darkness, that alone would have revealed the truth. Karim had been infected by evil, his actions turning immoral already. Who knew what he would do if Mustafa didn’t stop him?

He felt the full weight of that responsibility. He would not lay down his burden until his task was done, his mission completed.

“Check our primary points. I will also send out the others,” he told the man on the other end of the line.

His team had been following Karim around for weeks now. They knew all the places he regularly visited. He was wounded; he would want someplace familiar to hide, someplace he felt safe.

Little did he know that for a man who sided with evil, there was no safe place among righteous believers.

If she left now, the alarm would go off. Julia could see it all: a foreign woman running into the street with blood on her clothes and a palace security siren blaring behind her. If they caught her, if they found Karim, a bleeding, semiconscious sheik…She would be tossed in jail quicker than she could say, “I want to call the American embassy.”

She didn’t want to stay here with Karim, but she didn’t cherish the thought of a Middle Eastern women’s prison, either, or the chance of running into the assassin or assassins on the street. She would see to Karim’s injuries then think of something, she decided, and headed off to find some water and some strips of clean linen. She called a “Stay where you are” over her shoulder, knowing it to be unnecessary.

The first thing she registered when she opened the door that lead to the rest of the palace was that the place was a complete mess. Drawers overturned, furniture pulled away from the walls, books and clothes scattered all over the place.

But even through the mess, the splendor of the palace was obvious. It had been built in a more modern style than Karim’s, with a lot of straight, clean lines and a certain amount of masculine severity. Everything was the best money could buy: the marble, the crystals, the furniture and the electronics equipment that was the latest on the luxury market.

She found a bathroom, used it then washed her hands thoroughly with soap, looked for something to collect water in, but couldn’t find anything. She moved on, hoping to find a first-aid kit. Then realized that the place was too enormous to search from top to bottom just now and settled for a clean white towel.

On the way back, she picked up a priceless-looking modern art vase and filled that with water in the bathroom.

Karim was still completely out, coming to only when she began removing his clothes. His jacket was bloody all over. Guilt pricked her again over drugging him.

“Sorry. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Then again, if he hadn’t tried to stop her from going home, she wouldn’t have had to resort to such desperate measures. She focused on the task ahead.

“I’m going to try to figure out what your injuries are, see if any of them are life-threatening.” If he could on some level comprehend what was going on, she wanted him to know that she was removing his clothes for a perfectly valid reason.

She tried not to pay too much attention to the strong column of his neck as she unbuttoned his shirt, barely gawked at his wide shoulders, tanned skin, the muscles of his chest and his arms. He was perfectly built, perfectly proportioned, his body all masculine grace and beauty. Not that she was impressed or anything.

She did her best to think of Steve, the weasel who’d broken her heart. She’d thought they’d been in a committed relationship for the past five years. She’d made it clear that all she wanted was marriage and kids, the stability and warmth of a family. And Steve had strung her along, promising all that, but always asking for just a little more time before they got started. Then he moved to L.A. and left her behind like he left his old job and old apartment. He needed to reinvent himself, he’d said.

And then along came Aziz, who treated her like a princess and charmed her so thoroughly her head was spinning. He’d promised nothing and at that point, she appreciated the honesty and, on the rebound, couldn’t resist the man. She knew it had been a mistake as soon as the short fling was over. It hadn’t fixed anything, hadn’t made her any happier.

Then she’d found out that she was carrying his child.

She was petrified that she wouldn’t be able to care for a child on her own, like her mother had been unable to care for hers. But not for a moment did she regret this baby.

“That should do it,” she said when she had Karim stripped to the waist. She couldn’t picture Karim wooing a woman with outrageous gestures. “I bet you’re the strong, silent type.”

He gave no indication of hearing her. He actually was softly snoring. Good news, that. Seemed he was just asleep and not unconscious from blood loss.

She wet the towel and began washing him with it. A bullet wound and a couple of grazes. She did her best to scrub away the dried blood, leaving only the area of the bullet hole untouched. That was a deep wound that thankfully stopped bleeding. She didn’t want to chance opening it up. He didn’t need to lose any more blood. She wished she could find a phone book and figure out the number for an ambulance.

“I hope you won’t get an infection this quickly. When you wake up you can call that doctor. You’ll be fine.”

She bandaged his wounds and left them alone.

She needed more cloth and more clean water to wash him completely clean. There was dried blood on most of his torso. When she was done with the front, she leaned him forward carefully to look at his back. And gasped at the angry scars that marred his skin, a horrific testament to his past.

She couldn’t image what could have happened to him. Whatever it was, it seemed a miracle that he had survived. She cleaned off the blood, not so much of it here. Then tentatively dragged a finger over the largest scar, feeling the rough edge that ran down his skin.

She might have been overwhelmed by the dangers of the last two days, but it was clear that Karim Abdullah was no stranger to violence.

She pulled away, resolving again to get away from him at the earliest possibility. But first, she might as well make him a little more comfortable.

K
ARIM LET HIMSELF
sink into the most pleasant dream he’d had in a long time. A woman’s soft fingers were caressing his skin. Her touch was as smooth as the finest Arabian coffee and took away the pain that burned his arm.

Her voice was warm and sweet like a honeyed treat he was particularly fond of. Her scent of jasmine and vanilla invaded his senses. Her fingers ran down his chest. The dream disappeared for a while then came back again. She was touching his back now, very gently. He was aware it was a dream, even as he dreamt it. No woman would want to touch his scars, no woman would willingly look at them. But he pushed reality away and pulled the dream closer, not wanting to let go the sweet comfort of it.

The dream faded again and other images came. Pain. People dragged him over cold, hard ground. He was a child now, kidnapped and beaten when he had tried to run. The men who dragged him talked openly of killing him, of dividing the price his own stepbrother put on his head. But they decided to beat him first to pass the time and to teach him a lesson for having tried to escape. They used a camel whip to peel the skin from his back.

But that light, feminine touch brought his dreams back from the dark past. Slim fingers placed a cold cloth on his forehead and washed his face. A soft torso pressed against his midriff as the woman leaned over him.

And as sleep wore off, his body awakened. Instincts warred. A part of him warned of danger. Another part wanted to forget about everything else and take all that softness that moved around him. Jasmine and vanilla. Arousal washed over him as he woke, and a sudden awareness. On reflex, he caught the slim wrist that had been the first thing he saw, a hand rising above him. Then he rolled, pinning the woman under him.

In the next second two things registered: the pulsing pain in his arms, and that the person looking at him wide-eyed was Julia Gardner, the woman who possibly carried his brother’s child.
Off-limits
.

But just now, his brain still slow from drugs and sleep, he couldn’t deny that he wanted her, wanted her with a fierce need he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

The room was shrouded in semidarkness. Dusk was settling outside. She hadn’t turned on the light. Smart. Her intelligence had never been in question. Her stubbornness was the thing that had gotten her in trouble.

He pulled away and sat up, his mouth as dry as the
Rub Alkali,
the Empty Quarter, the deadest part of the desert. His limbs were still weaker than he would have liked, his movements not completely steady.

Memories of the hotel room and the attack flooded back. “You poisoned me.” The words came out on a rasp of outrage. He cleared his throat.

Her eyes grew huge for a second, then she looked down, away from him and backed up a few more steps.

He glanced around. They were at Aziz’s palace. “How did we get here?” His memory had some serious gaps when it came to the last couple of hours.

“I drove. You gave directions. Sort of.”

He reached up to his arm, to the bandage. So she had helped. Tried to kill him then changed her mind? “What have you done?”

She moved farther away. She wore a pair of men’s linen pants and tunic, the soft material clinging to her figure, the straight front of the shirt stretching over her full breasts. The sight did nothing to dampen the arousal left behind by his dreams, arousal that he tried hard to ignore. Apparently, it was possible to be spitting mad at someone and want her at the same time. A damn inconvenient situation.

“I’m not going to be your prisoner.” She raised her chin and looked him square in the eye at last.

“And you’re prepared to kill me to get away?” He pinned her with a hard look. “Because it is my duty to protect you on my brother’s behalf. A duty I will not betray.”

“I didn’t poison you. I was trying to put you to sleep long enough to get away from you.”

“You rendered me useless before my enemies.” He kept his anger in check. Barely a touch of it showed in his carefully controlled voice.

“And if the tables were turned? How would you feel if
I
kidnapped
you?
” She used typical women’s logic.

But the suggestion did inspire a brief fantasy. He shook his head to clear it. He was a man. Their situation could not be compared. He didn’t need protection.

He had, when he was a child, he thought then. And felt again that sense of hopelessness and desperation, the stark fear of his childhood. He hadn’t had that dream in a long time. It brought back some dark memories. But it also made him understand a little why she wouldn’t like the feeling of helplessness, the idea that her fate was in someone else’s hands.

“You are not my prisoner. You will not come to any harm.” He hoped to set her at ease. She had to accept her fate and stop trying to fight him, putting both of their lives at risk.

“You’re protecting me? I was just fine before I met you. Since—” She sputtered with indignation.

“You have a sharp tongue and a strong will that is most unbecoming in a woman.” He felt it his duty to point it out. But he couldn’t truly mind. She was something to behold when she got all worked up. Those fine eyes of hers came alive with sparks, energy vibrated off her in waves.

“It’s a miracle I’m not dead yet,” she snapped and made a frustrated gesture.

Her slim hands reminded him of another part of his dreams, and made him realize that at least some of them had to be true. She had undressed him and cleaned him, bandaged his wound.

“If you want me safe, let me go,” she said with some vehemence.

“Those men wanted
me
.” His statement didn’t negate the fact that she had been in real danger. In that parking lot with the car exploding, on the road when they’d been pursued, at the hotel. A problem he needed to solve. Without letting her go. That was nonnegotiable. “What happened has nothing to do with you. Wrong place, wrong time.”

“So I would have been only collateral damage. That’s a comfort.” She gave him the evil eye. “You have no right to keep me here.”

Really, she was pushing him too far. “You have no right to decide the fate of a prince of Beharrain. I will make sure that you are safe. I will make sure that you and the baby are well and get the best possible medical care.”

She pressed her tempting lips together.

Good. Maybe she’d be quiet and stop fighting him. He needed to deal with other things. Later, after he had a chance to think over this latest attack, after he had taken the appropriate security measures to deal with the obvious step-up in the attacks against him, he would set aside some time and figure out what she would need from him to consider staying. Be it money or any other advantage, he was willing to give it.

He reached for his cell phone, but it wasn’t in his pocket. It must have fallen out during the fight at the hotel. Plenty of phones in the palace. He called his head of security, filled him in on the developments, set up a meeting for the morning. They should be all right here for the night. He wanted to stay put until the drug wore off completely. His enemies didn’t know he was here. If they did, they would have come after him already. No sense in giving his location away by ordering his men to his side.

When he was done with the call, he checked the bullet wound and decided not to call a doctor to the palace, either. At the moment, aside from his closest people, he didn’t trust anyone. He started for Aziz’s safari kit that contained every tool for every possible emergency, but stopped in his tracks when he opened the door that led from their room to the rest of the palace.

“What have you done here?” It seemed impossible a single person could cause so much damage in such short a time, but he was starting to learn that Julia Gardner was no ordinary woman.

“The place was like this when we got here,” she said defensively.

He shot her a skeptical look. But as he moved farther inside, he realized she was telling the truth. Some of the heavy furniture that had been pushed away from the walls she couldn’t have possibly moved alone.

“Looks like someone broke in here.” He wondered how long ago. He hadn’t been out to Aziz’s place in a week since he’d paid off the servants, sent them away and closed the palace down.

“They took some paintings and other valuables. But they didn’t find what they were looking for.” He walked through the great meeting hall where low, overstuffed chairs and a modern take on the traditional oval, Arab coffee table occupied the middle of the room.

“How do you know?” She came up behind him.

“If they came for money, they could have taken a lot more things.” The amber chandeliers alone were worth a fortune. “They were searching for something.” He indicated all the overturned furniture. In one place, they’d even chiseled up the marble tile. “They didn’t find it and got angry, caused some damage to blow off steam.” He pointed at the smashed ebony chest. “Then they grabbed a couple of things so their operation wouldn’t be a complete waste.”