Fit for a Sheikh

by Kristi Gold

  Bile rose in Fiona’s throat when she realized Birkenfeld’s sick plan—to set a trap for Scorpio and kill her before his eyes. Oh, God. She couldn’t let that happen. As much as she wanted him to come to her rescue, she didn’t want him to witness her death. But how could she possibly prevent that? She knew Darin Shakir well enough to know he wouldn’t leave her alone. He would find her, whatever it took.

  “Okay, Roman, I’ll keep moving. You don’t have to keep sticking me, though.”

  “I’ll kill you soon.” His voice was surprisingly calm, eerily so, and that sent chills snaking up Fiona’s spine.

  “Mind telling me where we’re going?” she asked, hating the tremble in her voice.

  He laughed. A skin-crawling, maniacal laugh. “Someplace dark.”

  When Darin reached the bowels of the building, he tried to push through a heavy door but found it locked. Overcome with frustration, he pounded his fist into the metal, breaking the skin at his knuckles. He was numb to the pain in both his hand and ankle. He felt nothing but desperation and the bitter taste of impending disaster.

  He kicked the door once, twice, yet it failed to budge. Frantically he searched the area, coming upon a transparent case containing a fire extinguisher and an ax, provided to break the glass, mounted on the wall. After shoving his gun into the holster, he grabbed the ax and broke through the small rectangular window in the door. He reached inside, groping for the release that continued to evade him for a time until finally, he hit the metal bar and shoved the door open.

  He sprinted through the empty corridor, disregarding his aching foot pounding the concrete as he tuned his senses in to the surroundings, listening for voices yet hearing nothing. He picked up his pace, running as fast as his injuries would allow, stumbling twice, then halting when he heard a closing door in the distance. He advanced toward the sound, hoping he was heading closer to Fiona and Birkenfeld and not away from them. Once he reached the exit leading outside, he paused to listen once more and discerned muffled voices, one male, one female.

  He had found them.

  Yet he faced a certain dilemma if he walked out the door. Birkenfeld could be armed with a gun. He could slash Fiona’s throat before Darin had a chance to fire his own gun. He would not risk it. He could not watch her die, helpless once more to prevent it. He would find a way to save her.

  Stepping back, he looked around and saw two elongated windows set into the wall several feet above his head, almost to the top of the high ceiling. If he could reach one and open it, he could fire off a shot and hit his mark.

  He had been trained by the best during his military career. He had learned to shoot accurately, with deadly force, showing no mercy, his goal after his attempts to rescue Tamra from Habib had failed.

  Tonight he would not fail. He could not fail.

  Propelled by his own demons, Darin tore off his jacket, yanked off his shoes, then retrieved a nearby ladder and propped it against the wall. He climbed to the top rung and grasped the thick brick ledge surrounding the window above his head, hoisting himself up. He perched on his knees leaving barely enough room to maneuver.

  Slowly, quietly, he unlatched the locks and slid the window open, blessedly with ease. He peered into the night to find a delivery bay down below as well as Birkenfeld who had Fiona pushed up against the trailer of an eighteen-wheel truck, his back to the building.

  The bastard. Darin could only imagine how Fiona was feeling at that moment, trapped and alone. If only he could let her know he was there, that she wasn’t alone. But he could not without further risking her life.

  Darin removed the Beretta, pulled back the slide and took aim. Sweat rolled down his forehead and gathered on his palms where he maintained a two-handed grip on the gun. He disregarded the burning in the pit of his stomach. But he could not disregard the limited light or the fact that although he could kill Birkenfeld with a single shot in the back, the bullet could penetrate and hit Fiona, as well.

  He waited for an opportunity, waited for what seemed an interminable amount of time while his mind cataloged his options. He needed to distract Birkenfeld and hoped that he moved away from Fiona. He would have to be quick, have to be sure. He had no room for mistakes. If he missed, Birkenfeld could turn on Fiona with the knife, and once again Darin would be faced with the same situation as before.

  He reached into his pants pocket for his keys to toss out the window in hopes of diverting Birkenfeld’s attention from Fiona. But first he came upon the round stone Fiona had given him for luck, which would provide a better distraction. And if that luck prevailed, Fiona might be afforded an opportunity to move away so that he could take a shot.

  Darin rolled the stone in his left palm as if that might provide good fortune and end the curse that had befallen the men in his family. Normally he would not have believed in something so imprudent, but then, he had never believed his life would have taken such a drastic turn eight years before. He would not have believed he would find himself in this familiar predicament again, after he had sworn not to.

  Yet here he was, charged with protecting a woman whom he cared a great deal for, and he had limited time to achieve that goal now that Birkenfeld seemed to be growing more agitated, evidenced by his ranting.

  Darin threw the stone side-handed as hard as he could, with as much accuracy as he could, considering the limited light. Amazingly it hit the intended target, the truck’s rear bumper, and bounced away.

  Birkenfeld’s head snapped toward the sound, yet he did not move as Darin had hoped. Suddenly the criminal doubled over, then stumbled to one side, clutching for the truck to regain his balance and in the process, dropping the knife. In a split second that seemed like eternity, Darin took his best shot, aiming for Birkenfeld, who straightened and turned with lightning speed to lunge for Fiona.

  The bullet hit Birkenfeld’s neck, sending the criminal forward with the force of the impact. When he landed at Fiona’s feet, Fiona screamed, a tortured, keening cry. She backed up, sank to the ground then cried Darin’s name. His real name.

  Darin needed to get to her. Needed to comfort her, let her know everything would be all right. He shoved the gun back into the holster, climbed down the ladder and rushed out the door, only to be met by a host of security personnel immediately outside the building.

  One massive guard grabbed Darin and wrenched his arm behind his back as if he were the criminal, sending a pain shooting through his shoulder to add to the one in his foot and fist. When he struggled against his confinement, the guard punched him in the stomach, almost crippling him.

  “He’s the good guy,” Fiona cried out and rushed forward, only to be held back by another uniformed guard.

  When Darin reached for her extended hand, their fingertips touched before the guard pulled Darin’s other arm around to clamp handcuffs on his wrists. “Keep back, ma’am. We don’t want him to hurt you.”

  “He didn’t hurt me, you jerk,” she said. “You’ve got the wrong man.” She turned and pointed at Birkenfeld, crumpled on the ground, a man crouched beside him. “That’s the criminal. Darin killed him before he could kill me.”

  Darin needed to hold her more than he needed the air he could not seem to draw into his lungs because of the blow to his belly. Because of the restraints, he could only stand helplessly by and watch her struggling with her misery.

  The guard grabbed Darin by the shoulders and shoved him against the wall. “What’s your name?”

  When he could finally recover his voice and respiration, he said, “I am Darin Shakir, and what she says is true. I have been working with the FBI to apprehend this—” he sucked in another ragged breath “—this criminal. His name is Roman Birkenfeld and he’s wanted on numerous federal charges.”

  He pulled the Beretta from Darin’s holster and held it up. “So who the hell are you with?”

  “An organization in Texas. If you will release my hands, I will contact a Bureau agent who will verify my identity.”

  He handed the g
un off to the guard who was struggling to keep Fiona at bay. “I ain’t releasing you until I know for sure you’re legit.”

  “Are you injured, Fiona?” Darin managed through the fog of exhaustion clouding his brain. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  The man who had checked Birkenfeld approached, shining a flashlight in Darin’s eyes. “The guy’s dead. According to dispatch, Vegas PD is coming around the building now.”

  “Get that light out of his eyes!” Fiona shouted, still firmly in the grasp of a guard. “Can’t you see that he’s hurt?”

  “We will be all right,” Darin told Fiona as she sent him a forlorn look. “This will all be reconciled soon. Are you certain you are not hurt?”

  “I’m okay,” she replied, her voice laced with tears.

  To Darin she did not sound okay but at least she was alive. Still, it would take time for her to recover, and he would do everything in his power to help her tonight, before he returned to Texas tomorrow. Guilt plagued him over the prospect of leaving her alone to deal with the events of the past few days—guilt and another emotion he was only beginning to recognize and understand.

  Fiona was strong, and she would survive without him. Yet the thought of leaving her prompted an ache in his soul that was ten times worse than the pain of his injuries.

  A swirl of multicolored lights and the sounds of approaching sirens served to enhance his frustration. He did not need this turmoil. He had only done his job, ending Birkenfeld’s reign of terror. He did need help. He needed to call Kent. But most of all, he needed to hold Fiona. To recapture his own strength through her.

  And he would, as soon as his hands were free.

  Fiona thought they were never going to let Scorpio go. After she answered their questions, she leaned against the hood of the police cruiser while they interrogated Darin inside the vehicle. In a haze Fiona watched the coroner’s car carry Birkenfeld away, a surreal scene when she considered the front of her new dress was covered in his blood. She chose not to think about it, otherwise she would fall apart.

  Fiona felt wasted, sapped of energy and terrified by what she had witnessed and what had almost happened. If Scorpio hadn’t shown up when he had, she would probably be the one they were carting away in a body bag.

  Hugging her arms tightly around her middle did not alleviate the uncontrollable shakes. The men who had been so concerned earlier seemed to have forgotten about her after the paramedics had checked her out and pronounced her physically okay. She couldn’t exactly say the same for her current mental state.

  Right now she wanted to go back to the room and wash away the reminders of this horrible night and the horrible man who had held her captive. A dead man, thanks to Scorpio. Maybe she should start thinking of him by his proper name, Darin Shakir. Regardless, after this was all over, she would always remember him as Scorpio, her brave, seductive stranger. Her hero.

  Finally Scorpio surfaced from the car, and a police officer removed his handcuffs. A tall, lanky man wearing a suit approached the vehicle and stood beside him, speaking in low tones. Fiona pushed away from the hood and moved closer to hear what he was saying.

  “My apologies for the interrogation, Sheikh Shakir.”

  Sheikh Shakir? Fiona’s mouth dropped open. No way. No how. Oh, wow.

  “I understand your caution,” Scorpio said. “I hope that Alexander Kent has cleared everything up.”

  “He has and had I been notified immediately, we would have avoided this. We appreciate your organization’s assistance in apprehending Birkenfeld. I’m sorry that you were forced to shoot him, at least in front of an innocent woman.”

  Scorpio turned and sent Fiona a meaningful look. “Actually, she was instrumental in his capture. She somehow managed to disable him.”

  Fiona inched a little closer to his side. “It’s known as a high-heel-applied-to-the-instep-and-a-knee-to-the-crotch maneuver. Works every time.”

  The stranger smiled. “I’m Agent Mills with the Bureau. Thank you for your assistance, Ms.?”

  Fiona took his extended hand for a brief shake. “Powers.”

  “Did you sustain any injuries, Ms. Powers?”

  “Only to my sense of security.”

  Scorpio wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “You are safe now. He can no longer hurt you.”

  But Scorpio could, Fiona decided, by leaving her behind tomorrow. In the meantime she needed some comfort. She needed to forget. And she wanted to do that in Darin Shakir’s capable arms. Sheikh Darin Shakir. That was going to take a while to get used to, but she didn’t have more than a few hours left in his company. She intended to make the best of every blasted minute, and she would try to make enough memories to last a lifetime. Good memories to overcome the bad.

  “Can we go back to the room now?” she asked.

  Darin regarded Mills. “Are we free to go?”

  The agent gestured toward the hotel. “Sure. I’ll let you know if we need anything else, but after talking to Kent, I think we have all our questions answered.”

  “Good.” Darin released Fiona, stepped forward and shook the agent’s hand. “Thank you for your assistance.”

  “No problem. Only, next time I hope you’ll consider working closer with us in order to avoid this kind of situation.”

  “There will not be a next time. After I return to Texas to report in, I will be traveling to Europe and staying there indefinitely.”

  Fiona’s heart fell to her feet. Not only was he leaving Vegas, he was leaving the country. Leaving her behind without a second thought.

  Yet as they walked back into the hotel, arms around each other’s waists, he acted as though he didn’t intend to let her go, at least not now. That lifted Fiona’s spirits somewhat, although she was having trouble battling persistent tears from the horrors she’d recently experienced and the knowledge that she would soon say goodbye to him for good.

  After they reached the lobby elevators, Darin turned to her and rested his palms on her shoulders. “Do you wish to take the stairs?”

  She glanced at his sock-covered feet. “Considering you’re still gimpy and barefoot, that’s not a great idea. By the way, where are your shoes and jacket?”

  “In the basement. I took them off to climb into the window.”

  She met his gaze, so dark yet almost soft. “That was quick thinking, but you’re going to lose your deposit on the tux unless you go back for them.”

  “I will pay for the suit.”

  “I guess that won’t be a problem since you happen to be a sheikh, which explains why you looked so natural playing one. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  “Because that, too, is a part of my past. Other than the more-than-adequate funds my legacy has afforded me, I have no use for nobility.”

  “Define ‘more-than-adequate funds.”’

  “Enough to purchase this hotel. And most of the hotels on the Strip. Combined.”

  And Fiona had been worried about the money she’d pilfered for the dress. She still intended to pay him back before he left. “Well, my, my, he’s not only sexy and a prince, he’s also filthy rich.”

  He pulled her fast against him. “He is also very much in need of your company.”

  “I can live with that.” She wasn’t sure how she was going to live without him. She would, only because she had to.

  Easy come, easy go. But nothing about saying goodbye to Darin Shakir would be easy. Right now she didn’t want to think about that or consider anything but getting him alone. She wanted to make love with him once more, to forget that tonight she had seen a man die. That she had almost been killed by that same man had it not been for her rescuer.

  Stepping out of his arms, Fiona reached down to remove the sadistic shoes and to conceal the tears trying to make a grandstand appearance.

  “Do you not think it would be best to undress in our room instead of in the lobby?” he asked, a lightness in his voice that seemed almost strained.

  She straight
ened and gave him a shaky smile. “This is only the preliminaries.”

  “Then I suggest we hurry.” His smile turned seductive. “If we are lucky, we will be the only occupants in the elevator.”

  Fiona tossed her shoes over her shoulder, landing them in the fountain with a loud splash. “I think that’s a great reason to hurry. And an even better reason to take the elevator.”

  He sent her a questioning look. “Then you are no longer afraid.”

  She draped her arms around his neck and kissed the dimple at the corner of his incredible mouth. “I’ve been trapped with a maniac, wielding a really big knife. I’ve watched that same maniac get shot and die. A little old elevator doesn’t scare me anymore.”

  But the intensity of Fiona’s feelings for Darin Shakir frightened her. And she would express them, if not with words, then with actions.

  Ten

  Fiona wasn’t sure who was leaning more on whom as they walked the corridor to the suite. They’d ridden up the elevator in silence, in an embrace, content only to hold on tightly to each other. When they entered the hotel room, Scorpio continued to hold her for a time as if he didn’t have the strength to do anything else. And that was okay with Fiona. As much as she wanted to make love with him, to lose herself in his touch, she would welcome this intimacy all night long. In his arms she felt safe and secure.

  After a few minutes he finally eased his grasp but kept his arms around her. “I’ll be leaving tomorrow,” he said.

  Hearing the words cemented the reality in Fiona’s heart, and that made her hurt all over. “I know.”

  “If you would prefer I sleep somewhere else—”

  “No. I want this last night with you.”

  He held her face in his palms and rubbed his thumbs along her jaw, the familiar gesture tearing at Fiona’s heart. “Are you certain?” he asked.