Zakir was disturbed by how viscerally her rejection—even as she accepted his invitation—affected him.
No woman ever shunned him. This was a gauntlet thrown down, a challenge, and it stirred the hunter in him. It also sparked something else, a reminder to be careful. He still knew very little about her.
“There is one condition, Nikki,” he said quietly.
Her shoulders flexed. “What?”
“It’s a minor thing, a mere matter of appearances, but it could have severe consequences for my monarchy and my people. If you do choose to come to the Al Na’Jar Summer Palace, you must do so under the pretext that we are officially betrothed.”
“Excuse me?”
“My country has laws, Nikki. I can change them by unilateral decree after my official coronation. But until then, I myself must adhere to them. One of those laws states that if an unmarried regent wishes to openly consort with a woman she must be betrothed to him, and her name must be officially put before the King’s Council in this capacity so that they can vet her.”
Her brow lowered. “So…you’re technically a regent?”
“For want of a better term. Under Al Na’Jar law I am not the supreme monarch until I take an official oath and am officially crowned.”
“Why haven’t you taken this oath already?”
“You’ve seen the mess my country is in, Nikki. I simply haven’t had the time.” He omitted the part about first needing to find a wife.
“What exactly would the council vet me for?”
He pursed his lips, shrugged nonchalantly. “Technically the council will want to be sure you are suited for the role of queen.”
Her jaw dropped. “Queen?”
He raised his hand, halting her thought. “It’s merely protocol, Nikki. A formality so that you can accompany me in public and in private. That is all.”
She stared at him, clearly confused.
Solomon called from the door of the hut, “Miss Nikki, come!”
Attention suddenly rent in two, she shot a glance at the hut. “I… Samira needs me.”
“Miss Nikki!”
“Can you accept this?”
She looked horrified. “No. I can’t accept this.”
He leaned closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. “You either accept this deal, Nikki, or I can no longer help you.”
“Miss Nikki! Come quick!”
“I…I have to go.” She spun around, spilling precious water from the urn as she hurried into the hut.
“I leave within two hours!” he called after her. “I’ll need your decision by then.”
Zakir realized his heart was hammering, his palms damp. Frustrated, he spun around and marched toward the Gurkhas waiting near his hut. “Prepare to leave for the Summer Palace,” he barked. “The chopper will be here soon. And bring me my laptop,” Zakir commanded as he ducked into his hut. One of his guards came running with a military computer equipped with satellite communication. At a folding table, Zakir began to draft strategy for his meetings with more rural clan leaders. He kept one eye on the time, growing increasingly edgy as he waited for Nikki’s word.
Within an hour Gelu appeared at his door, indicating Nikki had come to see him.
Zakir nodded, returning his attention to his work as she quietly entered his temporary dwelling. His plan was to play cool now, to wait and see where she placed her chess piece.
“We’re ready to go with you,” she said.
He glanced up, and compassion knifed him. Her face was pale, tight. Her gaze kept flicking nervously to his guards. Something had definitely switched in her—as if her road to freedom had suddenly been cut, and with it some spirit. Why would she feel this way when she should be grateful for his help?
“I am pleased to hear it,” he said, rising to his feet.
She remained stiff near the hut door. “We should move Samira as soon as possible,” she added.
He flicked out his wrist, checked his watch. “The helicopter should be here any minute now. So you are comfortable with my condition?”
“No, I’m not,” she said. “But I’ll do what I have to. For the children.” But she wavered. “How will the council’s vetting process be any different from the background check you’ve already run on me? Wasn’t that enough?”
“It’s essentially the same. Really, Nikki, this is just a formality.” He paused, a little icicle of unease forming in his gut. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
Her gaze sliced into his. Aquamarine. Direct. “Of course not,” she said, voice clipped. And she stepped out into the searing midmorning sun.
Zakir watched the reed curtain fall into place behind her, the icicle in his gut chilling his pleasure at winning the first move.
Maybe he hadn’t won at all.
He thought again of how she’d just appeared at his palace and how quickly she’d worked her way into his life.
Maybe he was inviting an enemy right into his home—and potentially into his bed. He didn’t think so. In his heart, he felt she was true.
But would he be able to withstand the consequences if he was wrong?
Chapter 11
The Black Hawk thudded higher into the thin air over the northern mountain range, and as they drew closer to the Moroccan border Nikki grew increasingly tense over what she’d committed to. Her avenues to freedom seemed to be rapidly shrinking.
She told herself this was temporary. And it was best for Samira, who now slept soundly on the seat behind her and Zakir. Once Samira had had her baby, Nikki could leave with her children.
In the front seat of the modified cabin, Tenzing Gelu and Abhi Hasan sat facing them, ramrod straight, their eyes hidden behind reflective shades. Rajah Sadal sat at the rear of the chopper.
Far below, the desert terrain grew more lush the farther north they traveled. Peering out of the window, Nikki began to see wadis surrounded by thick groves of date palms. Olive orchards covered the ocher hills, and cerise bougainvillea clambered up the clay walls of Berber villages. A shepherd chased goats with a stick, his dusty robe flapping as he ran on sandaled feet.
The chopper flew above a dust road that wound into high peaks. Then, as they crested a rugged ridge, a vast plateau unfolded in front of them. The change in topography was so startling and so stunning that Nikki caught her breath. The area appeared blessed with a microclimate of its own—soft gold grasses blew gently in the wind along the rolling plains and juniper scrub dotted the far hills.
Suddenly, Nikki caught sight of the Summer Palace.
The walled compound was massive, with domes of gold that glittered in the sun and minarets that stabbed high into the clear, blue sky. The entire complex was cradled at the center of the vast plateau and had been built from rock with the same soft pink and ocher tones as the surrounding peaks. Towering palm trees lined the miles of road from the gateway to the castle where a riotous color of flowers erupted around shimmering rectangular pools.
Nikki saw why this region had been chosen for the location of a Summer Palace. Geographically, it was indeed a fortress as Zakir had said, accessed by only one very long and narrow twisting road in. And out.
“It’s beautiful, Zakir,” she whispered, overcome with awe. As she spoke, she heard the thud of more helicopters. Four Black Hawks appeared over the opposite ridge. They began to lower into the compound, palm leaves twisting violently in the downdraft.
“That’s my security detail,” Zakir said as he watched the helos landing. “Our pilot will set us down on the private landing pad at the south end of the palace.”
She nodded, the sense of entrapment winding tighter and tighter the closer they got to the gleaming citadel. Their chopper began to descend into the compound.
“Those two men I sent to Al Na’Jar,” he said, watching her closely, as if sensing her mounting unease, “have also informed the King’s Council and the court of our new status.”
Nikki couldn’t breathe for a moment. This meant they would have commenced another
background check on her.
Would her identity continue to hold? Would Sam somehow be alerted in the process?
She literally felt her time running out. Clearing her throat, Nikki forced her voice to remain level. “How long will this vetting process take?”
He studied her in silence as the pilot lightly set his bird on the ground, and she felt her face growing hot. “You are very interested in this vetting process, Nikki.”
“Of course I am,” she whispered angrily as the rotors slowed, worried about how freely he spoke in front of his Gurkhas. Zakir had no idea what he could be exposing himself to with Gelu sitting there. And she didn’t know if—or how many of—the others were also involved in his treachery. “I’m being forced to pretend I want to become queen of Al Na’Jar,” she hissed. “I need to understand exactly what I’ve committed to.”
His beautiful lips curved seductively, and she hated what his smile could do to her insides. She also hated the fact she couldn’t read his eyes behind his new set of dark glasses.
“You are not bound by anything, Nikki,” he said softly into her ear, his voice very low, French-Arabic accent rolling like warm water over her skin. “This is your choice. I will never force you to do anything you don’t want to. Whenever you are uncomfortable, just tell me to stop.”
She blushed. His words held promise of sex. It reminded her of the sensation of his lips against hers and how her body had reacted against her will.
“But you must tell me if you are hiding something about your past, Nikki. My enemies will be looking for anything they can use to undermine me and mount an official challenge to my rule.” He smiled, but the expression held more threat than kindness. “But we don’t have to worry about something like that, do we?”
Nikki felt Gelu’s eyes on her, and she swallowed. “Of course not.”
The pilot gave a signal that it was safe to disembark, and Sadal got up, swung open the door. Warm air blasted in.
Zakir reached for her hand. “Come then, Nikki. Let me welcome you to my palace.”
Staff were rushing forward over the grass, pushing a stretcher for Samira, bending low as the swirling blades came to a stop.
Sweat prickled under Nikki’s robes. Little did Zakir know that by taking her into his Summer Palace he had probably set in motion his own downfall.
He led her through a high arch of pink stone. A massive set of gates clanged shut behind them, armed sentries moving back into position.
No way in.
And no way out.
Returning to the Summer Palace was difficult for Zakir. He’d been a mere teen—not much older than Samira—the last time he’d visited this place. And memories snaked up now, baring fangs at him at inopportune moments, rattling him a little.
Agitatedly, he paced in the great study as he dialed Tariq’s number. This office had been his father’s—marble floors and columns, a sweeping desk of carved mahogany, a bank of LCD security screens and electronics hidden behind gilt doors. It functioned as a high-tech nerve hub and war room, with the black granite table at the center large enough to accommodate the twelve generals of the Sheik’s Army and key members of the Council.
“Zakir?” Worry bit into Tariq’s rich voice as he answered the phone. “Have you had another episode?”
“I’m fine, but I do need you to do something for me, Tariq.”
That icicle of doubt had not left Zakir. He remained uncomfortable with the way Nikki had so visibly paled at the idea of the Council investigating her past.
She might not have entered his country with intention to harm him, but after talking with her outside the tent in the Rahm Hills he believed she was hiding something. And he couldn’t afford surprises.
It hadn’t mattered at the time, but now that he’d gone and tied his own future to her, he needed to know what it was that she wanted kept secret. Her past had suddenly, and inadvertently, become his problem. And his country’s problem. And if there was a nasty skeleton in her closet, Zakir needed to know what it was before his enemies did.
Hopefully he hadn’t made a very grave mistake in giving her name as his betrothed to the King’s Council. And deep down he was furious with himself for once again having been swayed by his libido.
Zakir cleared his throat. “I have one name on my short list already, Tariq—Nikki Hunt. A nurse from the States. I need you to initiate a private background check on her. For the past six years she’s been working for Mercy Missions at a remote outpost in Mauritania. She recently entered Al Na’Jar seeking safe passage to the coast for a group of war orphans following a rebel attack on her mission.”
“She is someone you’re interested in, Zakir? A mission nurse?”
Zakir heard the surprise—amusement, even—in his brother’s voice, and it made him wince inwardly. Not even Tariq knew the extent of the inner change this pending blindness had wrought in him or how he was reevaluating life as he reconnected with this old country. Or how the sheer gravity of the work that lay ahead daunted him and how he was yearning for a true partner with whom to share his burden and his life.
“It’s purely a business arrangement,” he countered. “The Council is already vetting her, Tariq.”
“You have declared her? This sounds serious, brother.”
Zakir inhaled, his worry deepening. “I need to know before our enemies do if there are any skeletons in Ms. Hunt’s closet. And I need to know fast. Can you coordinate this for me?”
“Of course,” said Tariq. “I’ll contact our investigative division right away. I’ll call you as soon as we have anything on her.”
“Shokrun, ya akhi.” Thank you, my brother.
“The Berbers are aligning with him.” Gelu spoke quietly into his satellite phone. “He’s stabilizing the entire eastern region, building grassroots support.”
“And this woman? This sudden betrothal to that nurse?” He heard the anger in his handler’s voice. “What in hell is going on there? I thought she was working for you?”
Gelu wiped sweat from his brow. “I have her under control. She has moved into the Summer Palace, along with her orphans. She now has even better access to the king. I can use this.”
“He cannot be allowed to marry her. He’ll become too powerful. He’ll change the constitution and immediately start the shift toward democracy, as his father had been threatening to. We’ll lose everything. Including the oil reserves.” Urgency bit into his handler’s voice. “What happened to that ‘accident’ you were going to arrange for him in the Rahm Hills?”
“The woman thwarted us. She persuaded the king to go alone with her into the hills.”
His handler swore. “And now look where we are—he’s gone and unified the peasants. We’ll have to mobilize the insurgency to that region now.”
Gelu’s mouth was dry. He felt the tables turning. He could see that he’d end up being the scapegoat if this mission failed. His handler, on the other hand, would remain untouched, as would his handler’s powerful puppet masters pulling strings from somewhere else in the world. Gelu had no idea who they were. He cared only that he got a paycheck.
“If we cannot find a reason to challenge Al Arif’s throne before he takes a queen, there remains only one way to seize power.” His handler’s voice turned flat, cool. Quiet. “The king must die.” He paused, allowing this to sink in.
“Find a way to do it without any blame falling back on you whatsoever. If you become a suspect, it will lead back to us. That cannot happen. We’ll kill you ourselves before that happens. Understood?”
“Understood.”
“Meanwhile, we’ll see if we can dig up any dirt on this woman.”
Gelu signed off, sweating profusely. He was in the olive grove, far from the castle, where it was dark and quiet. He walked slowly among the gnarled trunks of the old trees, dry leaves crunching softly underfoot.
How on earth was he going to assassinate the king at the summer fortress and make it look like an accident—without witnesses, without blame
pointing to him? The Rahm Hills had been the perfect opportunity, one he’d lost because of that woman. And the king had gained enormous ground because of it. Because of her.
Gelu stilled in his tracks as an idea suddenly hit him.
It was dark when Zakir abandoned his study, and his vision was once again weak. He walked slowly down the palace halls, his boot heels echoing on marble, three dogs by his side.
All through his life Zakir had sought to control things, fix things, take the things he wanted. But against this genetic trait that had been passed down through the dynasty, he was powerless. Vulnerable.
And vulnerability was not an emotion he had learned to cope with.
At least he felt more at peace within the walls of the Summer Palace. And he no longer felt a need to have his Gurkhas moving like shadows at his heels. He was keeping his inner living quarters private, just for him, Nikki and her kids. It would help him relax.
Zakir stopped outside the door to the chambers he’d assigned to the orphans, interleading rooms with beds covered in white Egyptian linen and draped with elaborate netting that hung down from the high ceilings. The bathrooms were of marble and gilt, and outside there was a garden of the children’s own, safe behind high turreted walls.
He watched from the main door as Nikki tucked her little united nations platoon into bed in this makeshift nursery, and he’d be damned if it didn’t do odd things to his male ego. He’d never wanted children—never even thought about it really, beyond needing an heir. Until now.
Until he watched her.
As if sensing him, Nikki suddenly glanced up and smiled. In this light her features were indistinct, but her pleasure at seeing him lit his heart like a beacon.
He waited until she was done. Closing the door softly behind her, she touched his arm, and the air almost seemed to quiver. “Thank you, Zakir,” she said, softly. “It’s like a miracle—Samira’s contractions have completely stopped.”
The Sheik’s Command Page 11
