Surgeon Sheik's Rescue

by Loreth Anne White

  Tariq scanned the scene. Focus. Triage. Bella. But his brain was looping back to that terrible day at JFK. He could hear the plane explosions going off in his head. Hear the same screaming, smell the scent of burning flesh, plane fuel strong in his nostrils. He was half blind, hot blood in his eye, looking for Julie. For a moment Tariq was frozen in a nightmare time warp. His bodyguard placed a hand on his arm. Tariq shook him off.

  He had to move. He couldn’t fail another woman he loved. Covering his mouth and nose with his jacket, he ran toward to upside-down SUV. “Help this man to the sidewalk!” he yelled, pointing at the federal agent trying to crawl clear of the fire. One of his men jumped to action, the other scanning the crowd, alert for changes.

  Then Tariq saw her dark hair, pressed against the window of the vehicle. Tariq didn’t think now, he just acted, adrenaline and instinct firing every molecule in his body. A young man was running forward with a fire extinguisher. He grabbed it from the man, and, using his good arm, smashed the window in front. Handing it back to the man, Tariq got on hands and knees, reached inside the vehicle. “Bella!”

  But she was unresponsive. Flames were now licking into the inside of the vehicle from under the steering wheel. He had to make a decision. Fast. If she had a spinal injury he could paralyze or kill her if he tried to pull her out the window. But if he didn’t drag her out and waited for the EMTs and firefighters to fight their way through the traffic and cut her free, there wouldn’t be time before the entire car was engulfed in flames. She’d burn to death.

  The flames were coming hot and fierce under the dash, crawling along a line of leaking fuel, even as the man sprayed the extinguisher on the engine.

  “Help me!” he yelled to his bodyguard. Don’t fail. Not this time.

  And Tariq did it—with the help of his men he carefully began to edge and pull her out, fighting to make his lame hand move, thankful for having exercised it in the gym. Flames grew hotter, bigger. He could smell gas. Sweat dripped off his body.

  “Hurry! It’s going to blow!” the guy with the fire extinguisher yelled, stepping back as more fire burst out of the hood.

  Tariq managed to pull Bella free. Together with his bodyguard, he carried Bella to the sidewalk. “There’s another woman in the back of the car!” Tariq yelled, but as they set Bella down on the pavement, an explosion whooshed through the vehicle, swallowing it in fire.

  A crowd formed around the pair.

  “I’m a doctor, please, step back, give me some room.”

  I’m a doctor. I can do this. Focus.

  Her head was cut deeply. He could see bone. Her legs were at odd angles. Her pallor was gray. He prayed he hadn’t furthered the damage by moving her, but if he’d left her in the car, she’d be burning to death right now.

  Tariq felt for a pulse—she was alive. Breathing unobstructed, but unconscious and bleeding badly. He shucked his jacket and went into autopilot, stopping the most serious bleeding first with his bodyguard’s help.

  Sirens were everywhere now—law enforcement, firefighters, paramedics had arrived. People were being corralled, moved off scene, or into triage. EMTs pushed through the crowd to Bella. A military helicopter hovered ahead.

  Within minutes the EMTs had her on a spine board.

  Tariq ran after them and climbed into the ambulance behind her. “I’m family,” he said urgently. “And a neurosurgeon. She’s going to need surgery at once. Her head injury is bad. I have to be there when they operate.”

  He needed to make sure she had the best, and that he was at the surgeon’s side in the operating room.

  *

  Tariq sat at Bella’s bedside, holding her hand, monitoring her vitals. His men sat outside. Hospital machines clicked and wheezed and beeped—sounds of comfort to him. He hadn’t slept in three days. But once again, even through this terrible tragedy, Bella had given him a gift—he’d been forced back into doctoring, into an operating room. He’d been coerced—in a way—to revisit that terrible bombing tragedy, and this time, he’d won. He was still Dr. Tariq Al Arif, and he could still make a difference.

  He could still save lives.

  Her surgeries had been difficult, but he’d been in there, instructing the surgeons. And she’d pulled through. This had shown him a way into the future, in his own profession. He could still teach. He could still help advise others. He could still do research. Bella had forced him to confront what in hindsight seemed to have been his biggest hurdle of all—where he’d failed Julie, it didn’t mean he had to fail everyone else. And he hadn’t failed Bella. She was his second chance—and he was not going to let her go.

  She stirred, moaned, her eyelids blinking.

  “Hey,” he whispered, squeezing her hand. “I’m here. You’re going to be okay.”

  Her eyelids fluttered open and Tariq’s chest clutched at the sight of those violet pools, those thick lashes, her gaunt cheeks, pale skin.

  “Tariq?” Her voice came out hoarse. “You’re still here?”

  They’d removed the tubes only a few hours ago. He knew it had to hurt to speak.

  “Shh, don’t talk.”

  Her eyes widened suddenly. She tried to sit up. “How long have I been out?”

  “No,” he said, getting up, placing his hand on her shoulder. “You need to lie down, take it easy. Your legs are in braces—they had to put pins into one and a plate into the other.”

  Bella touched the bandage on her head, trying again to remember what happened.

  She’d been in the FBI vehicle—that was the last thing she could recall. Then there’d been explosions. From that point she was missing a chunk of memory.

  She frowned and it hurt. She tried to move her legs, but the braces held her still.

  Her gaze went to the window that looked out into the hospital corridor. Two uniformed officers stood outside. Across from them sat two more men she recognized from the abbey.

  “For your protection, mostly,” Tariq said, following her gaze. “The feds are still waiting to talk to you.”

  “Scoob?” she said, struggling to sit up again. “I need to get—” Another piece of memory hit her. She reached for his arm. “Tariq—I saw you up on the road. The searchlight from the chopper lit you up, and there was a guy below you, with a gun.”

  “I got him first,” he said quietly. “He escaped. But we know who he is. I have a lot to tell you, still.”

  She stared at him, emotion swelling into her chest, burning into her eyes. “I…I thought you were…” She sniffed back tears. “I thought I’d lost you.”

  “Never,” he whispered.

  “I wasn’t going to tell Nikki’s side of the story, Tariq. I was going to show you that I cared, that I had integrity, that my job wasn’t all—”

  “Bella, Nikki wants to come forward. She will tell you exactly what happened with Sam, how he tried to kill her. Faith will talk to you as well. She’s Omair’s partner, and she’s the sniper that Travis Johnson sent to assassinate him.”

  Bella frowned, and it hurt. “Faith Sinclair? She was sent to kill Omair and…she’s now his partner?”

  “And they have a little son, Adam. It’s a long, but interesting story. One you can use, if you want.” Tariq smiled again, and Bella saw that crackle of energy in his eye that she’d once seen in a photo of him accepting a polo award. There was something new and vital about him. Or rather, a vibrant energy that had returned.

  But Bella’s brain was having trouble processing everything, and a wave of fatigue and nausea washed over her. She struggled to tamp it down.

  “And you don’t mind now, that people know you’re alive? You’re not hiding anymore.”

  He laughed, and the sound rippled warmly through her.

  “No,” he whispered, leaning forward as he cupped her face. “I want them to see me, and I want them to see my scars for what they are. You gave that to me. You brought me back from the edge of something so dark and terrible I didn’t even notice it upon me.”

  He kissed her,
his mouth lightly brushing her cracked lips. As he did, a male federal agent entered behind them, and coughed. A female agent entered at his side.

  Tariq stood up, took Bella’s hand in his, his gaze holding hers. “There’s nothing you need to hold back from them,” he said quietly. “I’ve told them the royal family will cooperate fully in their investigation.” He paused. “It’s all going to come out, Bella, everything. And The Moor is going to go down. Thanks to you.”

  “You know who he is?”

  He glanced at the agents. “We do. Like I said, we have much yet to talk about.”

  *

  Two days later Bella was propped up in bed in a new private ward with her laptop and a phone. Tariq had taken care of everything financial, and he’d gotten her only the best of treatment and privacy. She was busy editing her story.

  Her mother had flown in from Chicago and pretty much moved into Bella’s hospital room. Minnie was fussing over the flowers, over the food, over Tariq, bossing hospital staff into place.

  “Bella, my beautiful baby,” she said, dark eyes luminous with emotion. “Why did you not tell me this was going on? Why did you not come to me?”

  “What were you going to do, Mom, beat the bad guys off with a rolling pin?”

  She clucked her tongue in mock disgust and stroked hair back from Bella’s brow. “You know why I named you Bella.” She glanced at Tariq. “It’s because she’s beautiful.”

  “I know she’s beautiful.”

  “You will look after my baby.”

  “Mom,” Bella growled, “Tariq has done everything he can.”

  She tutted.

  Tariq took Minnie’s arm. “Come, Mrs. DiCaprio, I’m going to buy you a coffee and a pastry downstairs. Bella has work to do.”

  “I don’t drink coffee.” Her hand went to her ample bosom. “The doctor says it’s not good for my heart. Now, my husband, you know, he drinks as much—”

  Minnie’s voice died as the door swung shut behind her and Tariq. Tariq grinned and gave Bella a wink through the glass as he marshaled Minnie off to the hospital cafeteria.

  Bella smiled. She couldn’t believe how much she loved this man. And she was going to do him proud. She got back to work quickly.

  Already she’d had several calls from Mitchell at the Daily. They’d started digging into her tips, and combined with the attack on the FBI convoy, this news was busting wide open.

  Other reporters and TV stations had called, too.

  She’d told them nothing other than to check Watchdog for her blog post, which was going live before midnight tonight.

  Meanwhile the feds were broadening their investigation and had taken the audio from the bank deposit box. They’d told her that Hurley’s and Agnes’s bodies had been found floating in the Potomac—they’d been tortured. Bella was now throwing her grief and remorse into the story. It was her retribution. Her revenge. She was doing it for them now.

  For the underdog.

  Scoob had come out of hiding, and he’d secretly let Bella listen to a copy of the audio he’d kept for himself and not told the feds about. She was using the details of that conversation between Isaiah Gold and Sam Etherington now, writing about how they’d conspired to order U.S. sniper Faith Sinclair to kill Omair. Both Faith and Nikki had spoken to her over the phone, giving their stories. Even King Zakir had given comment. It was mind-blowing content, the stuff of movies. How this family had defied death and found love even as an archenemy had hunted them down around the globe, and how their drama had found its way into the halls of the U.S. government.

  And how it had all come into her own life.

  Tears filled Bella’s eyes as she typed. She was overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all, by how she’d personally been embraced by the powerful Al Arif clan. They’d taken her into their confidence, and they’d let her know they’d do everything they could to keep her safe. They made her feel wanted. And proud.

  *

  That night Bella clicked Publish. Her blog post went live.

  The world was watching. The Daily had reporters on standby. Before 1:00 a.m. the next morning, it was on CNN, BBC, Sky News. All over the world the media was talking about the story. Pundits were scrambling to assess the impacts on U.S. foreign policy, the November presidential election. Stock markets went wild.

  She’d beaten the FBI investigation to the punch, and Sam was arrested in front of hordes of cameras, the images of his humiliation being beamed live by satellite into the homes of people glued to televisions around the globe. Isaiah Gold was arrested simultaneously in the same ignoble fashion.

  And so was Amal Ghaffar.

  Her hospital phone began to ring.

  Tariq was at her side now, and he reached for the phone.

  “No,” she said. “I don’t want to talk to anyone, not yet.”

  He pulled the plug, held it up and smiled. “You did it, Bella. You took them down.”

  “We did it.” She paused. “What did you do with my mother, by the way? Has she gone home? Things are suddenly…so peaceful.”

  He grinned. “That’s my secret.”

  “She likes you.”

  His features turned serious. “I like her. She raised you, Bella. Believe it or not, I can see a lot of you in Minnie DiCaprio.”

  Bella bit her lip, nodded. “I do love her. I love them all. I…I should have gone home to see them more often. I should have been there for them, too. That’s going to change.” She hesitated. “Thank you, Tariq.”

  “For?”

  “For making me see I do have family. The rest is not important.”

  “It is important,” he said, “to know where you came from. But it’s mitigated, Bella, by the love you do have around you.”

  “I know.”

  She thought of her friends, too, of Hurley and Agnes. And she wished they were alive to see that Watchdog had gone viral. They’d brought Bella over to the “dark side” and she’d managed to shine the light of the media world on them. The victory was bittersweet.

  “Hey,” Tariq said, taking her hand, seemingly reading her mind. “There was nothing you could have done to stop it.”

  She bit her lip, nodded. “I hope the people responsible burn in hell,” she said.

  “They will.”

  Bella looked up into his scarred face, his arrogant, aristocratic features, and she inhaled deeply. “I wanted to say, in the pool room that night, that I loved you before I ever got to Ile-en-Mer. I want you to understand, Tariq, that I always cared.” She swallowed against the emotion balling in her throat. “I never came to hurt you.”

  “I know that,” he said. “I went and read every one of the articles you ever wrote about me and my family, and I came to that realization. It made me believe you would cooperate with us, and leave Nikki out after I told you what she’d been through. I wanted us to work together, and I fought with my own brothers over it. But before I could tell you any of this, you were gone.”

  Tears flooded her eyes.

  He took her face in his hands. “Listen to me—I’ve rented a brownstone here in Washington. There’s lots of room, even a place for your mother. That’s where she is now, doing some redecorating, I suspect. And I’ve hired staff to take care of you while you can’t get around. I want you to live there with me, Bella, until you’re properly back on your feet. And in the meantime I plan on convincing you that we belong together for a lot longer than just your rehabilitation.” He paused, his gaze piercing hers. “I am going to show you just how much you are worth. To me. To my family.”

  “Tariq.” Her voice caught. “You’re messing with me—because this sounds an awful lot like a proposal.”

  “It is.”

  Words died on her lips. She stared at him. His features were dead serious.

  Then slowly, quietly, she said, “It’s too soon, Tariq. You’ve been through too much. I don’t believe you’ve fully grieved.”

  “I need you, Bella. I need you at my side.”

  “What about the
abbey? What about—”

  “I’ve had some time to think. I’m going to donate the estate to the opera foundation on Ile-en-Mer. They can use it for whatever they want, hotel, performances, they can give ghost tours, exhume the abbess’s bones, bury her properly in the cemetery. Bring closure.”

  The tears slid down Bella’s face, and her heart ached with so much love she thought she might die.

  “Say something,” he said.

  But she was shaking like a leaf, choking with emotion, and she could only nod.

  He gathered her tightly into his arms and kissed her hard on the mouth. Powerful, dominant. Sure.

  Tariq had never been more certain of anything—this woman was the best thing that had happened in his life. She had a vitality and passion that made him whole. But it had been one hell of a ride to get here. And he was not going to let her go. She was his second chance—he was going to show her it was worth it.

  *

  Look for Dalilah’s story,

  GUARDING THE PRINCESS,

  the next exciting chapter of Loreth Anne White’s

  new miniseries, SAHARA KINGS.

  Available January 2013,

  wherever Harlequin books are sold.

  *

  Keep reading for an excerpt of Mercenary’s Perfect Mission by Carla Cassidy!

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