Gibran’s nerves jumped to alert. Why did he bring up Aliyah? Did Osman suspect anything between him and her? “Aliyah is very grateful that you’ve welcomed her into your family.” He could at least put in a good word for her.
“We’d like to grow closer to her, but she’s shy.”
Gibran had now heard this more than once, and it surprised him. She hadn’t been all that shy when she approached him in the garden. She’d seemed curious. Was there something about him that made her more confident? Could she tell, even then, that he felt like an outsider too?
“I think she’s a bit intimidated by you all. You’re educated and well traveled, you speak English fluently, and she’s never traveled further than Nabattur and probably has almost no education at all. She’s very glad that her children will be educated here at the palace.”
“So are we. What lovely girls they are.” Osman’s smile glowed with genuine warmth. “They’re the reason the palace immediately felt like a home. To be honest I dreaded coming back here. My memories were anything but happy.”
“Mine either.” Gibran leaned back in his chair. Then cursed himself for starting to relax. Remain on alert at all times. Expect anything, and be ready for it. His Foreign Legion commander had drilled the warnings into him so hard they’d become part of his DNA.
The DNA that bound him—against his will—to the man before him.
Osman had no idea Gibran had overheard him talking in his office last night. They say to keep your friends close and your enemies closer, and I’m still not sure which one he is.
Did Osman still consider him a potential enemy?
“Who hates you?” He leaned forward, peering into his brother’s haunting green eyes.
“You’ll think me arrogant, but I truly don’t think anyone does.”
His warmth was disarming. “Everyone with power has enemies. Who is jealous of you? Who would like to be in your place?”
You.
The unspoken word rang in Gibran’s mind. But Osman probably didn’t even credit him as that kind of rival.
“We have cordial relations with all our neighbors. I’ve made sure to observe all the usual diplomatic formalities with them. The traditionalists are the most likely suspects. They’re certainly vocal opponents of any changes we introduce, such as the introduction of divorce.”
“Your attackers are not driven by moral imperatives.” Gibran sipped his coffee. “If they were, there would be threats before attacks. They’d be more concerned with achieving their own aims. The person behind these repeated assaults doesn’t care about your aims or views. They seek to destabilize your regime. Shoot first, ask questions later. They want something, and I’ll bet it’s something very specific.”
“Then why not demand it?”
“Because then you can be sure they don’t get it.”
Gibran spent the morning interviewing each member of the staff. He tracked the movement of their eyes, mirrored their gestures, repeated questions and watched for them to become exasperated, or self-conscious. Innocent people wanted to help, guilty people started trying to manipulate the situation.
There were only two, in addition to the guard in custody, who tripped his internal radar and he asked to have their backgrounds investigated.
While the family ate lunch, he headed for the dungeon-like “harem” where the three suspects were now held in windowless mud-brick rooms with walls a foot thick.
It was a relief to be busy doing the work he knew best. It helped to get his mind off Aliyah’s wary gaze, and the soft body hidden under her silky clothing. Something about her really got under his skin. Maybe that her situation reminded him so much of his mother, slinking quietly about the palace, trying not to be noticed, when she was a beautiful, vibrant young woman with her whole life ahead of her.
Damn it! How did she sneak into his mind again? Was he growing soft? Lately he’d spent too much time psychoanalyzing people, not enough time diffusing bombs that were about to blow his head off. Bombs helped to focus the mind. He’d do better to treat each of these subjects like an unexploded bomb.
He started with the man who’d been in custody the longest—the one accused of stranding Zadir and Veronica in the Empty Quarter when their plane went off course and ran out of fuel. He’d been caught weeks later when he’d torched the brothers’ jet as it sat on the airstrip.
“You don’t like the Al Kilanjar family to travel.” He turned a chair backward and crossed his arms across the back of it.
The prisoner was shackled to his own chair, the only other furniture in the room. “I have nothing to say to you.” His small, dark eyes flashed with insolence.
“Then why are you talking?” This was a good sign. This one couldn’t resist flapping his lips. And Zadir had told him he was a smoker who eyed all cigarettes greedily. Gibran lit one and left it smoldering in an ashtray. He didn’t mind the smell. He’d endured a lot worse over the years. “Your boss is an idiot.”
“I don’t have a boss.” The man cocked his head back. He was about thirty, small but wiry, with a full beard probably grown in confinement.
“Yes, you do.”
“How do you know?”
Gibran managed not to smile. This man couldn’t resist talking now he had the chance. “You’re not the type to lead anything. You’re just a foot soldier. I’m a foot soldier too. A peon. Cannon fodder.”
“I’m not a soldier. I am a goatherd.”
“Who knows how to fly a plane?”
The conversation continued in the same obtuse fashion, as did his interviews with the other two captive suspects, but by the end Gibran had managed to extract some crucial facts: The men were not from the same ethnic or religious group, or even the same nationality. One was from southern Ubar, one from Satya—a backward country across the southern mountains—and the third from neighboring Akar. This ruled out ideological motives.
Which meant they were in it for the money.
So they could be bought.
Now he just had to figure out what currency—emotional or otherwise—would buy their confessions.
The next thing on Gibran’s agenda was to secure the safety of the royals, including Aliyah. He handpicked staff from the ones he’d interviewed, and assigned them to each brother and his wife. Mostly they were the same ones already charged with that duty. Rooms were rearranged so that the security staff were within earshot if needed.
Aliyah was a problem. He didn’t much like the idea of a man trailing her and watching her movements, even if it was for her own safety. Unless that man was him.
So he assigned himself to Aliyah. His motives were pure. Her children had been threatened and there was an immediate risk. He never spared people’s feelings when their safety was at stake. If she had to endure uncomfortable, even unwelcome, proximity to him in order to ensure the safety of herself and her children, then so be it.
His role was as protector, so he’d keep a respectful distance. His training had ensured rigid discipline that allowed him to ignore his body’s signals of thirst, hunger and pain—so he knew he could easily resist the siren song of desire when it conflicted with the call of duty.
Aliyah wasn’t so sure. “You’re going to guard me?” Her dark eyes widened.
“I’m highly trained and experienced. I’ve protected princesses and diplomats from countries all over the world. You saw last night how effectively I can disable an attacker.” He thrust out his chin. Did she doubt his ability to protect her? He never allowed personal feelings to interfere with his work.
“I know that. It’s you I’m worried about. Who’s going to protect me from you?” She drew herself up to her full height, which wasn’t very tall but she still looked breathtakingly regal in soft blue-green silks.
“On my honor, I shall make no advances toward you.” He regretted his commitment even as he made it. He knew he’d never break his word. Aliyah was truly off-limits now.
She looked him up and down, possibly taking in and distrusting his
dark cotton pants and his plain T-shirt. She’d never left Ubar and might feel wary of Western customs, despite the arrival of her two American sisters. “Would you find me more acceptable in a long robe?”
She laughed, dark eyes suddenly flashing. “The way you dress has nothing to do with it. It’s the way you look at me. Like a leopard gazing at a lamb.”
“Am I doing that right now?” He schooled his features into an impassive expression. If his eyes were the windows to his soul he struggled to make them views into empty and barren terrain.
She bit her lip, staring right into his eyes in a way that could unnerve the most hardened warrior. “Yes.”
“What?” He had hoped to reveal nothing but a desire to do his duty.
She studied him until his muscles twitched with impatience. “But if you give your word, I’ll accept that. I know that an Ubarite man lives and dies by his word.”
He bowed deep, as if to demonstrate that he was a man of honor. “I will protect you and your children.”
“I appreciate that. Especially since you already have.” Her lovely smile spread across her mouth again.
And he cursed the heat that spread through his body at the sight.
CHAPTER SIX
Aliyah checked her face in the mirror. Was the outline around her eyes too dark? Her lovely American sisters wore very little makeup and she sometimes felt overdone by comparison. She’d been drawing the kohl line around her eyes since she was about thirteen, the same way her mother taught her. “The eyes are the key to a woman’s beauty,” she’d insisted.
That so-called beauty had brought Aliyah little but trouble so far, but she still lined her eyes every day. Maybe that was a sign of the low intelligence she worried about. Why was she so slow to learn English? Sam and Ronnie were picking up Ubarite much faster than she could grasp their language.
And now she had to attend dinner with the family. “Are you ready my loves?” she called to Parsia and Nasri. They would come, too, which meant she had to worry about them wriggling around too much, or spilling their food.
And Gibran would be there. He, of course, was the whole reason they had to go. He had to eat dinner with his long-lost brothers, and she—as his responsibility—needed to be present to so he could protect her at the same time.
“We’re ready, mama,” called Nasri. Her girls looked lovely, in their favorite dresses with ribbons—a Western idea introduced by Sam—shining in their hair. “I’m excited. I like eating dinner with our uncles.”
“They’re not really your uncles.” She tried to keep her tone light. Technically they were sisters and brothers. “They’re the kings. Be sure to call them your majesty.”
“But Osman doesn’t like that.” Nasri pouted.
“Zadir doesn’t like it, either,” lisped Parsia.
“And Amahd hates it.” Nasri crossed her arms over her chest. A rather Western gesture she must have picked up recently. “He says to call him Amahd.”
“Well, then you must call them what they told you to call them.” She smiled, trying to look as relaxed and happy as they were. “Just remember to be polite.”
“We’re always polite,” protested little Parsia. “Even my dollies are polite.”
“You’re so right, sweetheart.” She kissed her daughter’s sweet-smelling hair. She envied them their innocent confidence and vowed to do her best not to squash it in the future. “And it’s one of the many reasons I love you so much.”
She led them through the palace, feeling like a mother duck with her ducklings. Gibran had gone ahead to speak to some staff members about the new security protocols he was implementing.
She heard laughter before she entered the dining room—no surprise, since the brothers and their wives all enjoyed each other’s company. It was such an astonishing change from the grim days here while her ex-husband was alive. Everyone was scared of their own shadow back then.
“Aliyah! I’m so glad Gibran coerced you into joining us.” Osman rushed forward and scooped up Nasri, who squealed with delight. “I know it probably keeps the girls up past their bedtime, but we do enjoy having all of you here.”
She smiled. His warmth was so genuine he really did make her feel welcome. They all did. But later when she was alone she found herself analyzing how little she’d managed to participate in the conversation and wondering if she’d bored or annoyed anyone.
Gibran was there, tapping something into his phone. He glanced up and their eyes met for a single, breath-stealing moment. Then she jerked her gaze to the table of food. “What a feast. Are we celebrating something?”
“Of course. We’re celebrating Gibran being back among us,” Zadir chimed in. “It feels like everything’s finally falling into place.”
“How did you even find out about me? I mean that I had the same father.” Gibran tucked his phone away.
“The servants.” Osman grinned. “I overheard two of the older women muttering about the king’s fourth son and I wouldn’t let them go back to their business until they gave me a straight answer. I tracked him down and called him the next day.”
“And I gave you the cold shoulder.”
Osman shrugged. “It was a strange situation. I understood.”
“And he didn’t leave me alone, either.”
“Well, by then I knew you were a security specialist and we needed you professionally as well. My business colleagues do compliment me on my persistence.”
Osman pulled back a chair so Aliyah could sit down. Unfortunately, it was next to Gibran. She tried not to look at him.
“I’m not so sure it’s a compliment. I swear, every time I looked at my phone it had his number on it.”
“You didn’t block it.” Osman beamed.
“I thought about it. Then I figured you’d just have your servants start calling me and that would really tick me off.”
They all laughed, and Zadir helped the girls into seats—Parsia next to Aliyah, so she could help cut her food, and Nasri between Zadir and Amahd. Two waiters started to pass around plates of steaming rice and spiced chicken.
“I hope you can figure out who’s behind the sabotage.” Amahd leaned forward. “We lost a lot of oil when someone torched that well a few months ago, and the power outage caused a big backlog in production.”
Amahd was the most businesslike of the three brothers. Aliyah had often reflected that he needed a warm wife to loosen him up a bit. He seemed to have no interest in finding one, though. Unlike his brothers he often stayed so late at work that he didn’t even come to the palace for dinner, and she was pretty sure there were no women for him to consort with out in the oil fields.
“I got some leads today, but I have work to do. Tomorrow I plan to go into Nabattur and sniff around. I haven’t seen the old city in years.”
“Perhaps Aliyah can go with you.” Sam looked sideways at her. “Her father runs a stall in the market and she often goes in to visit her relatives. That way you’d be protecting her as she visits family and she could show you around.”
Gibran nodded, as if considering something very serious. “That sounds sensible.” He shot a glance at her and she tried not to reveal every emotion she was feeling on her face.
In truth, she was excited at the prospect of showing Gibran the old city. She didn’t have to feel embarrassed by her family being tradesmen because his own mother was a palace employee. And she’d enjoy watching his reaction to things he hadn’t seen in a long time.
And out in public, in a traditional country, there was no danger of him trying any cheeky moves on her. It would be an interesting excursion. An adventure, even! Maybe Gibran was right and she needed more adventure in her life—just not the kind he’d originally suggested. “That would be fine.” She tried to sound politely willing, but not overtly interested. She didn’t want to give Gibran any ammunition to work with if he started insisting that she wanted him again.
“Ronnie and I are going out to watch the foundation pour for our new house tomorrow.” Zadi
r smiled at his wife.
“I’d love to come along, too,” said Sam. “In fact I’d love to film it if you don’t mind. I have a feeling that it’s history in the making.” Aliyah wished she could cheerfully join in, too. But she was too shy. She’d never even been to the province that was now Zadir’s kingdom, though it was barely a half-hour drive by car from the palace.
“The cantilever I have planned is rather daring.” Ronnie grinned. “In fact even the engineer couldn’t believe it when the calculations panned out.”
“It’s going to be spectacular.” Zadir shook his head. “Aliyah, I think you’re the only one who hasn’t seen the drawings. Everyone on the planet is going to be talking about Ronnie after they see this masterpiece. Did you know she turned down a presidential library commission to move here?”
“I could already tell it would end up designed by committee. They wanted all kinds of changes to my plans. And what’s one more library when you can design a cutting-edge residence for one of the most dramatic settings on earth?” She smiled.
“And one of the harshest climates,” said Amahd. “Blazing hot during the day, and it gets cold at night on that side of the mountains. I’ll be taking notes. Hopefully Ronnie will agree to design my house when I figure out where to put it.” Amahd had inherited the third province, with most of the mineral resources.
“And when you finally find a wife to help you plan it,” teased Osman.
Amahd harrumphed.
Aliyah thought it was a bit mean of the brothers to tease him about being single. Clearly work was more important to him. She knew only too well the misery of being pressured into marrying someone you didn’t love—or even like—just because protocol demanded it.
“Leave Amahd alone,” chided Sam. “He’s quite capable of finding the right woman for him when he’s ready. There’s no sense rushing into these things. Maybe he’ll find someone at the next marriage ceremony. Did I tell you my documentary about that last one aired on PBS last week?”
Desert Kings Boxed Set: The Complete Series Books 1-6 Page 50
