A Sulta's Ransom

by White, Loreth Anne

  He ate in silence.

  A muezzin chanted, his haunting call to night prayers ricocheting through the city alleys and bouncing off minarets. A thin sickle moon was rising over the distant Asir Mountains, and stars were beginning to dot the darkening sky. Beyond the city walls, the vast silence of the desert seemed to creep in and hush the day.

  Paige watched Rafiq chew. His mouth was beautiful, sculpted, and his luminous eyes were seeing something a million miles away. She touched his arm. “Rafiq?”

  He tensed and his eyes flashed to hers, suddenly hot, glittering. The man was like a beast caged in his own body.

  “Why Na’jif?” she asked.

  His brows shot up in question.

  “I mean, there are other places you could’ve gone to do the download.”

  He slowly finished his mouthful. “Na’jif is within range of the transmitting device.” Then, realizing he hadn’t answered her question, he said, “And it was an ideal place to find a safe house. The roots of the underground network go deep here. The heart of the rebellion lies in Na’jif.”

  This she had not known.

  “Besides,” he added, reaching for the jug of mint tea and pouring two glasses, one first for her and one for himself, “I am familiar with the place.”

  That was obvious after today, in the way he’d moved seamlessly through the market, the warren of city streets, in the way he’d looked at that woman, that house.

  “Why is Na’jif the heart of the rebellion?” she asked, careful not to push too hard, or too fast.

  He took a long sip of tea and sat silent for a while. The faint sound of music and laughter drifted over the rooftops.

  “Something happened here once,” he said abruptly, his voice holding no room for further questions or argument.

  “What happened?” she asked softly.

  He got to his feet in a liquid motion. “Eat. I have work to do.”

  02:37 Charlie, Na’jif safe house, Friday, October, 3

  Rafiq stared at the screen, the glow from his monitor providing the only light in the apartment as the hours ticked down to dawn. The tech crew in São Diogo was making good progress. Information was being relayed from the Nexus system much faster than anticipated.

  The crew was decoding the data as it came in and passing it on to Dr. Jan Meyer and the biotech team they had assembled. Meyer was a world-renowned infectious disease specialist affiliated with the Leopold Institute in Belgium and a consultant for a consortium of European Union intelligence. The FDS had brought him in to interpret the medical data. It had been Meyer who had alerted them to Nexus and Paige Sterling’s specific field of interest in the first place, after he’d identified the pathogen they’d brought out of the Congo jungle.

  Anticipation rustled through Rafiq as he watched the stream of data flick faster over his screen. If this kept up, they could be out of here by tomorrow night. And not a moment too soon.

  He glanced over at Paige, who had fallen asleep, out under the open sky on a Persian rug and pillows. Her pale hair fanned about her face, gleaming in the moonlight. A tenderness he could not begin to explain filled his heart, and the heat of desire swelled deep in him. She stirred, as if she could sense him looking, lifted her head sleepily, then jerked upright in shock as she realized where she was.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey to you, too.” Her voice was husky from sleep, her eyes dreamy. She pushed her hair back from her forehead. He couldn’t help but watch her mouth. All he could think of was how kissable it looked right now. He felt himself grow hard.

  “What time is it?”

  He cleared his throat. “Going on 3 a.m.”

  “Good Lord, I hadn’t meant to fall asleep there.” She pushed herself stiffly to her feet, her black skirt crumpled from sleep, her blouse open provocatively. He swallowed, his eyes fixed on her breasts.

  She pulled her blouse over her chest as she hobbled toward him. “I could do with a bath. Is there any hot water in there?” She gestured to the living quarters and bathroom.

  “As much as you like,” he said, watching her limp. “Your leg okay?”

  Something flitted over her features, a memory of her abduction, perhaps, and then it was gone. “It’s fine, just a cut and bruise that’s gotten a bit swollen.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She held his gaze. “It’s for a greater cause, and all that. Right?”

  “Right.”

  Her mouth flattened and she continued to the door and disappeared around the trellis, making her way into the apartment.

  He stared after her, conscious of the heat in his groin, his heavy breathing. She was upset because he hadn’t answered her questions, because he’d cut her off. He couldn’t blame her. He couldn’t tell her, either.

  No one could know he was back.

  “I’ll get you some ointment,” he called after her, but he wasn’t sure if she’d heard him. “I’ll leave it outside the bathroom door,” he muttered to himself, turning back to his computer. But he couldn’t concentrate.

  He hadn’t told anyone about his past, not even his FDS colleagues. He’d reached a point where he’d barely even acknowledged it to himself anymore. But now, after all these years of being comfortably numb, this mission had forced him to come full circle, back to the very heart of Na’jif, and the feelings that he was having to confront again were overwhelming. Paige wasn’t helping, either.

  How much longer could he be with her, without touching her—intimately?

  And if he did, could he ever go back to the way he was? Perhaps he’d already crossed that line…when he’d gathered her into his arms and held her while she cried, when he’d walked with her in the market, holding her hand as if she belonged to him, when he’d bought her those gifts.

  He somehow doubted he’d ever be able to shield his heart in the same way again once he left Hamn this time. A man did that kind of thing only once in his life. And a little niggling part of him wondered if he really wanted to be numb again.

  His mind drifted back to that night in the tiny Parisian bar, to the first drink of alcohol he’d ever had in his life. He’d been desperate to drown his agony and annihilate his ties to his heritage with the same bottle.

  Many drinks later, a man had come in—a tall dark stranger with a look of murder in his ice-gray eyes and a fearsome scar down the side of his face. That man had recognized something in Rafiq, a kinship. The man had sat down across from him, bought him another bottle, poured himself a drink, and they’d gotten drunk together. He’d told Rafiq he knew how a man could bury his past, completely. He was going to do it himself. And if he survived the next five years, he’d come out with an official new identity—a new name and a French passport.

  That man was Jacques Sauvage.

  And the next day Rafiq had found himself with Sauvage in front of the gates of the French Foreign Legion in Fort de Nogent, Paris. When those gates had clanged shut behind them, the men they’d once been had ceased to exist.

  Rafiq never asked Jacques about the scar, and no one ever asked Rafiq about his own past.

  It had been the right thing at the time, the only thing that had kept him living. And fighting. So why was he feeling again, why now? Why could he not keep those damn gates shut?

  He jerked sharply to his feet, dragged both hands through his hair. Questions were a waste of time. He had to focus on completing this mission. Millions of lives depended on it.

  He stalked over to the edge of the parapet, as restless as a caged tiger. And just as hungry…for something he couldn’t have, and shouldn’t even want.

  Paige sighed deeply as she sank down into the hot and fragrant water, letting it lap right up against her chin.

  The ceramic tub had clawed feet that looked like the talons of a griffin and it was positioned in front of a long window. She’d thrown the shutters open, and the candles she’d lit flickered in the soft, warm air. Paige rested her head back and watched the sky, searching for constellations she could recogn
ize. Slowly, her body began to relax.

  As frustrated as she was with Rafiq for brushing her off like that, she was touched with the package she’d discovered in the bathroom. He’d actually bought her cosmetics at the market. No one had bought her cosmetics before. Ever. No one had even thought she’d ever want a gift like that. How could she blame them? She’d grown up in jungles, far away from malls, from girlfriends, movies, magazines. And when she’d been forced to move back into mainstream society, all alone at the age of fifteen, she had never showed the side of herself that wanted pretty things, in part in deference to her parents’ memories. They’d always eschewed that kind of thing. But somehow, Rafiq had picked up on her secret need. She sank deeper into the tub.

  Maybe he’d just done it out of some guilt trip. The man was an enigma. And after today, she could see that there was some real deep, dark stuff swirling around in his psyche. Even if his silence irked her, the knowledge that he was vulnerable under all that brawn and bravado somehow endeared him to her.

  And made her desperately curious.

  “Curiosity killed the cat, Paige,” she reminded herself as she dipped right under the water.

  It was almost dawn by the time Paige had dried off. She peered into an ornate oval mirror hanging above a black marble basin and barely recognized the face that stared back.

  The skin around her eyes—usually pale and drawn from hours in the lab—was still dark from kohl, giving her a mysterious look. She lifted her hand to push her damp hair back from her face and the glimmer of silver rings and bracelets caught the candlelight. A ghost of a smile touched her lips. The scientist who never wore jewelry was adorned with the stuff. It wasn’t that she didn’t like it, it just wasn’t practical—or safe. She worked in a space suit where a tiny puncture could spell death. And she had daily chemical showers and little time to think of dressing up, let alone attracting the opposite sex.

  But somehow, in stealing her away from the compound, Rafiq had temporarily stolen her away from that aspect of her life. And now there was a new quality in her eyes. A wildness, a playfulness. And it hit her—she’d been both captured and set free at the same time.

  She did not want to even begin to analyze that.

  A knock on the door startled her.

  Paige quickly twisted a towel over her head, grabbed another and wrapped it around her, opened the door a crack and peered out.

  There was no one there, just a dark-blue apothecary jar and a box of plasters—both with Arabic lettering—left on the hall table beside the bathroom door. Under them was a neatly folded garment of sheer white silk.

  Paige looked up and down the passageway, but there was no sign of anyone.

  She gathered up the items and closed the bathroom door behind her. Obviously Rafiq had left her disinfectant, bandages if she needed them, and a change of clothes. She shook the garment out and a note fell from the folds.

  She picked it up, read it. It said she should leave her clothes in a pile at the door, and that they would be washed and dried. In the meantime, she must wear the caftan. He apologized for it being too big, but it was the only appropriate thing he could find in the apartment owner’s closet.

  Paige smiled, pressed the note to her lips, and realized she had totally lost it. The most disturbing thing about this self-revelation was, she didn’t actually care.

  The bells around her ankles chinked softly as she made her way back to the patio. The silk caftan whispered over her skin, softened with almond lotion, and Paige felt like a completely new woman.

  4:19 Charlie, Nexus compound, Friday, October 3

  The man stepped into Dr. Sterling’s office. He didn’t flick on the lights, not at first. He just stood still, fingers twitching at his side, sensing the environment in the dull orange glow of night-lights.

  Chimps shrieked down the hall. The air smelled like chemicals. It had been like this when she’d last clocked out. She’d been working later than usual. Why?

  He swiveled sharply on his heels, stared at her computer.

  He needed to get a look in there.

  He flipped the light switch and neon flickered starkly. Then light burst through the room, throwing his reflection onto the glass that looked into her dark lab.

  He dropped to his haunches, studied the floor. A small dark spot caught his eye. He licked his finger, rubbed it into the spot, put it against the tip of his tongue.

  Blood.

  He closed his eyes in controlled pleasure. He had the scent.

  Of death.

  5:07 Charlie, Na’jif safe house, Friday, October 3

  He heard the soft pulse of bells. Rafiq sat up, rubbed his eyes. It was almost dawn, he must have dozed off in front of his computer. But the sound of bells was not a dream. It was Paige. He could sense her behind him. And he could smell the fragrance he’d bought for her.

  He inhaled slowly, turned in his chair, looked up—and swallowed.

  She was wearing the caftan. Beneath that silk Paige was naked, apart from the chains he’d bought for her ankles, the bangles around her wrists and the silver rings that adorned her fingers. Her hair lay tousled and damp on her shoulders.

  Pleasure rippled through Rafiq.

  He raked his eyes brazenly over her body, stopping where her breasts rose firmly under the opalescent fabric. Then he lifted his eyes, met hers.

  She held his gaze steadily, and he could see the light in her eyes was different.

  His pulse quickened, the sensation pleasant, like the rush from caffeine. He moistened his lips.

  If it were another woman, he’d take her now, right there on that Persian rug. But she was the mastermind behind the bioweapon that threatened the future of democracy. She was his mission.

  And she had a damn unsettling way of blurring the boundaries.

  Rafiq swallowed, suddenly unsure of himself.

  “Thank you,” she said in Arabic, her voice soft, her pronunciation perfect.

  “For what?” His voice was thick.

  “The clothes, the ointment, the oils.” She smiled and the reflected light from his monitor sparkled in her eyes. “And the hairbrush.”

  He must be dreaming. That couldn’t really be the smoky tone of seduction in her voice. He couldn’t really see the dusky shape of her nipples under the caftan. They weren’t really pressed erect against the sheer embroidered fabric. She wasn’t really turned on by him.

  He wasn’t hot at all.

  Her ran his hand over his hair, trying to focus. “It’s nothing,” he said. “It’s…my pleasure.” She didn’t know the half of it. “It was the least I could do.”

  She looked away, her damp hair hiding her profile. Guilt twinged through him.

  He stood, took her hand in his. It was soft and warm from her bath. “Paige?”

  She turned her head to face him. Her eyes were luminous, her lips parted. Blood rushed instantly from his head and he felt light. He drew her closer. “Paige, I—” A loud beeping sounded from his computer.

  He spun round, leaned over the desk, hit a key. A countdown clock flashed onto the screen, and his adrenaline spiked. Yes! In eleven hours, five minutes and fifty-three seconds, the download would be complete and the mission accomplished. They’d be out of here by nightfall.

  He hit another key and realized Paige was right beside him, sharing his energy, bending over the desk, trying to see the monitor, the swell of her breast brushing against his arm.

  He stilled.

  His heart began to thud. Hard.

  He turned his face slowly to her, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. The way she was leaning over his desk he could see right down her caftan. Heat swamped his belly, and his mind went blank.

  He leaned forward, pressing his arm more firmly against her breast, his mouth moving closer to hers.

  She didn’t pull away.

  Her lips parted for him. She leaned forward. His vision swam, and he brushed his lips ever so lightly over hers—a caress, a question.

  She answered,
moving her lips against his, a soft whisper of pleasure escaping her throat.

  His stomach swooped violently. He raised his hand, cupped the back of her neck, pulled her into him…as static crackled sharply. “Zayed, you there?”

  They both jerked back, shocked at what had just happened. For a second, they just stared at each other, their attraction—rich and carnal—surging between them.

  Rafiq shook himself.

  He leaned over, tweaked a dial on his equipment. “Oui, I’m here.” His voice was thick, even to his own ears.

  “You were sleeping, mon ami.” He heard the laugh in his colleague’s voice.

  “Non.” Not with her. Not yet.

  “Ça va. Progress is good. Very good. We have access to all Nexus quadrants, but as far as the data analysis goes, things would go even faster if we had the passwords, to Dr. Sterling’s system in particular. There’s some heavy encryption. If you can get the codes from her, it will save days. Maybe lives.”

  “Affirmative.” He glanced at Paige. She’d heard everything.

  And suddenly she looked terrified. She took a step back, folded her arms over her stomach. Her body language was unmistakable. She was shutting down.

  “Paige—”

  “Get me out of Hamn first. Then I’ll give you everything you want.”

  “Paige, you heard him.” Rafiq pointed to his computer. “Getting those codes early could save lives.”

  She shook her head, her eyes narrowing. “Rafiq, please. Get me out of Hamn, and then I will help with everything I can.”

  He cursed, dragged his hands over his hair. “You don’t trust me, is that what this is about?”

  She hesitated.

  “Look, I will get you out, I promise.” But he could see the doubt in her eyes.

  “You tell me you’re a soldier with the FDS, Rafiq. Yet you clearly have some history right here in Hamn. For all I know, you really could be some member of the Silent Revolution. What guarantee do I have that you’re not going to finish that download, get what you need from me, and then leave me here?”