The Black Sheep Sheik

by Dana Marton

  Blazing buzzards.

  The attacker was closer to her than to Amir. In a few steps he was by her side, swearing, yanking her between two minivans and out of sight of the approaching car.

  A rough-palmed hand clamped over her mouth before she could call out for help. In seconds they were at the black van parked in the back; then the side door opened and hands reached out of the darkness, pulled her up and in.

  She kept her hands around her belly to protect the baby. Two men were in the back, at least one up front, driving. She could see only shapes, very little light filtering through the small window that was the only connection between the back of the van and the cab.

  The men stayed silent while the vehicle sped out of the parking garage, tires squealing. She stayed down and remained still, giving them no reason whatsoever to get rough with her. Amir was her only thought. Let him be all right. Let him find her.

  Then she realized that she still had her key ring hooked around her thumb. Without her car, Amir couldn’t follow the van, even if he wasn’t seriously injured. And if he was? She had to get back to him.

  Whatever cool and calm she’d been faking fled in an instant. Panic set in. Shivering fear.

  “Please let me go. Please. I’m going to have a baby soon—”

  One man taped her hands together in front of her; another taped her mouth shut, effectively ending her begging.

  AMIR RAN AFTER the van for as long as he could. Not nearly long enough. He gasped for air, ignoring the spasms in his side, the muscle pain in his legs, the pain of the bullet in his shoulder. He cursed the weak physical condition he was in after lying in bed for a month. But he kept moving even as he did that. Pushed around the bend. Jumped to the side when he was almost hit by a pickup. He didn’t bother to stop for the honking driver. He kept running up the parking ramp to street level.

  “Isabelle!”

  When he knew without a doubt that he wasn’t going to catch up with them, when he lost sight of the van down the boulevard, he dragged his wheezing self back to the hospital. He grabbed a soiled hospital gown from a temporarily abandoned cart by the employee entrance and draped it over his bloody shoulder.

  The bullet had gone straight through, as far as he could tell. He didn’t have time to worry about the injury at the moment. He strode to the main entrance and straight to the nearest pay phone, then called the resort.

  “I need a car sent to the Dumont hospital for me. Immediately.”

  Efraim didn’t ask questions; even as Amir was hanging up the phone, his friend was barking orders on the other end.

  The car was there in twenty minutes, along with two bodyguards. Another twenty minutes and they were pulling into the resort. Stefan, Efraim and Antoine were waiting for him in Stefan’s suite. With a surprise.

  Darek, prince of Saruk, was with them.

  Amir greeted him first. “What are you doing here?” His country wasn’t part of COIN.

  Darek embraced him as if they were true brothers. “I came to help.”

  The royal physician came through the door, looking bleary-eyed. “I flew all night to get here. Would you please sit, Your Highness?” He immediately saw to the wound.

  His friend Sebastian, prince of Barajas, came in behind him. “I came as soon as I heard. We were on the same flight.” He greeted Amir first, then the others.

  “Where have you been?” Efraim sat on a chair by Amir’s side. “Where is this mystery woman you were supposed to bring?”

  “When did you get hurt?” Stefan took in the wound and shook his head.

  “Who else knows that you’re alive?”

  “Why didn’t you call before?”

  Amir cut off any further questions with a gesture of his hand. “I was in a coma from the explosion until yesterday evening. None of that is important now. The most important thing is that the mother of my son was kidnapped from the hospital. I need to find her.”

  A silent hush fell over the room. They all stared.

  “You want me to set up a press conference to announce your safe return?” Stefan asked. “The media has finally decamped. They had this place swamped for a while after you went missing. I’m sure news of you can bring them back in a hurry.”

  “Not until we have Isabelle back.”

  “You have a son?” Efraim asked.

  “He’ll be born in a few days. I met Isabelle the last time I was here. Then I was on my way to see her again the night the limousine was blown up.” He summed up the rest in as few sentences as he could; then it was his turn to question the others. “What have you found out about the explosion?”

  He sat slack-jawed when they were finished. “The Russian mob?”

  Stefan’s lips narrowed. “They were hired men. We haven’t been able to figure out who was behind them. We had…some distractions,” he admitted.

  “And Fahad?”

  “That was the biggest shock.” Efraim shook his head, sorrow and anger clear in his dark eyes. Fahad was his cousin.

  “Saida will be disappointed,” Amir muttered to himself, thanking the heavens that his sister was safe and far away from here. She had a lot of respect for Fahad and, Amir thought, perhaps even a schoolgirl’s crush on the man when she was younger.

  “Saida came here when she found out that you disappeared. She is getting married,” Efraim said cautiously.

  Amir’s head whipped up. He pinned his best friend with a killer look. “I don’t remember anyone asking my permission.”

  “Not me.” Efraim raised his hands with haste. “It seems she’s become enamored with the local sheriff.”

  “Is she at the resort?”

  “She had to fly back to Jamala for a few days to smooth some ruffled feathers. Your continued absence… Anyhow, she’s grown into quite the diplomat. Nasir is with her for protection. She’ll be back on Monday. She’s been calling. She wants you to call her as soon as you have a minute.”

  Probably to ask his permission to marry. Like hell was some Wyoming wild man going to marry his little sister. In case they’d all forgotten, she was a princess.

  “Jake Wolf is on his way, actually. You can sort that out with him when he gets here.” Efraim was grinning in anticipation.

  “The least I would have expected from my friends is to guard my sister’s honor while I was incapacitated.” They were going to have more words about that later. “I thought the police weren’t to be trusted.”

  “That’s the previous sheriff and his cronies,” Sebastian said. “Mr. Wolf seems like a decent man. He saved Saida’s life.”

  Amir jumped up, ignoring the doctor’s yelp. The man had been about to sew his wound together. “Saida was in danger?”

  “She insisted on being involved with the investigation into your disappearance. There was no holding her back.” Antoine hung his head, as if embarrassed that the four of them couldn’t control one woman.

  Knowing his little sister, Amir couldn’t truly blame them. She was another one of those independent sorts, like Isabelle. He didn’t understand today’s women. His mother had always been the very picture of matrimonial obedience. A thought he didn’t have time to ponder at the moment. He sat back down and let the doctor take over again. “But she’s safe now?”

  Efraim nodded. “Absolutely, yes.”

  “Actually, hers might not be the only upcoming royal wedding,” Sebastian said with a sheepish expression on his face.

  Amir’s eyebrows slid up. “What are you talking about?”

  “You missed an eventful month.” Stefan shrugged. “We all sort of, well, met our matches one way or the other.”

  He took a few seconds to process that. “I was missing in action and you took time for romance?” He didn’t know whether to feel insulted or to laugh. They’d always been confirmed bachelors, the five of them.

  “Exactly why I came over,” Darek teased. “Someone had to keep a straight head on his shoulders.”

  “Danger and romance are not as incompatible as one would think,�
� Sebastian declared, waxing philosophical.

  And Amir couldn’t contradict that. His connection with Isabelle had only grown through the danger they’d faced together. And she was still in danger, in more danger now than she had ever been. “Hurry up,” he snapped at the doctor.

  “All done, sir,” the royal physician assured him, having bandaged him in the meanwhile. “The bullet went straight through. It shouldn’t get infected. All you need is rest. Is there anything else you require?”

  “I didn’t bring you here for myself,” he told the man, his patience on its last leg, frustration and worry over Isabelle tightening his muscles. “You will be attending to my future wife as soon as we recover her.”

  Antoine brought over a plate of food without remarking on Amir’s paleness or the weight he’d lost, which he appreciated. Just now he didn’t want to dwell on his weakness.

  “Where do you think they took her?” Antoine asked.

  “I don’t know.” He didn’t feel like eating. He chose what looked like a turkey sandwich, anyway, and took a healthy bite. He needed to regain his strength. “But I have the license-plate number of the van.”

  “Good. Then we’ll start with that.” A man who looked at least partially Native American came through the door, a sheriff’s star on his shirt.

  That had to be Jake Wolf, the bastard who had seduced Saida. Amir put down the sandwich and stood. Damn it all that he still didn’t have a gun, while the sheriff was armed. He hadn’t been in a good mood to begin with, but Wolf’s cheerful face rubbed him just the wrong way. He opened his mouth to rip into him, but Wolf spoke first.

  “Sheik Amir, I’m Jake Wolf, sheriff of Dumont County. I would like to ask you for the honor of your sister’s hand in marriage.”

  That gave him pause. All right, so maybe he had some manners and his intentions were possibly honorable.

  “I will answer that request after I’ve had a chance to converse with Saida.”

  “Fair enough,” the man said easily, looking like a besotted fool who was so far gone in love he actually didn’t think he had anything to fear from the Black Sheep Sheik. “What do we know?”

  Amir rattled off the letters and numbers of the license-plate number, and Wolf called it in. They had an address within thirty seconds.

  Then there was a fight over who should go. All the royals insisted, including Darek. In the end, it was agreed that having them out in public would only complicate things and might put Isabelle in even more danger.

  “You all stay. I’ll go with my most trusted men.” Wolf headed for the door.

  Amir grabbed a gun from the table and followed.

  Wolf, oblivious to danger, blocked his way. “You should stay, Sheik Amir.”

  “Can you envision a situation, Mr. Wolf,” Amir asked in a tone of clear warning, “in which my sister was in trouble and you would stay home while others went off to rescue her?”

  The sheriff’s lips narrowed; his shoulders went still and stiff. Then he went through the door without another word of protest, and Amir followed him. Wolf was calling in reinforcements on the way.

  Amir prayed they wouldn’t be too late.

  “WE’LL BE FINE.” Isabelle placed her hand on her belly. “I’m not going to let anything bad happen to either of us. By hook or crook, whatever it takes. You have to trust me on this. Did I tell you that Wyoming law requires that children believe their mother?”

  She was locked in an abandoned basement office. She had no idea where. The van had no windows in the back, and they hadn’t let her out until the garage door had been closed behind them. All she’d seen was a short hallway with a closed door at the end and the basement door to the left. They’d gone down one flight of rickety wooden steps to an unfinished space, save the small, windowless office in the corner. At least it had an attached powder room that housed a cracked toilet and a lime-scale-covered sink.

  Her back was killing her. She sat on the dusty chair, contemplating lying down on the dirty floor. The baby seemed to gain weight every day, her belly putting more and more strain on her spine. Her legs were a little swollen, but nothing serious, a normal part of this stage of pregnancy. Her cramps had stopped, which was a huge relief. She didn’t want to give birth in this godforsaken place.

  “Remember how I said this morning that you could come anytime now?” she asked her son. “On second thought, I’d really appreciate another week.”

  She would have appreciated a host of other things as well, like knowing what had happened to Amir, if he’d made it. He’d gone down. How bad was his injury?

  She looked around once again, hoping to spot something this time that might help her open the door. They’d taken her purse and car keys. She was still wearing the cowboy shirt over her maternity dress, the cowboy boots still on her feet.

  She could probably kick the door open—she had serious weight to put behind the kick—but that would be heard. She needed a quieter method. Amir might have had an idea if he were here. Too late, she was beginning to appreciate him and the concept of teamwork. Right now, actually, it wouldn’t be all that bad if somebody had her back.

  Voices filtered through the heating vent: men were speaking, but not loudly enough for her to make out the words. She stared at the grate wistfully. Spies and thieves crawled through industrial-size vents all the time in the movies. But these ducts were way too small for that, especially with her current figure. Not to mention she would need a crane to lift her to the ceiling.

  Right here was the reason why action flicks rarely featured pregnant women. No movies called The Gestating Spy or Mission: Maternity ever topped the box office.

  This battle clearly wasn’t going to be won on physical ability. Think. She turned to the desk and went through the drawers again one by one. Didn’t find as much as a paper clip. Whoever owned the house might be a murderous bastard, but he sure was tidy.

  She looked around again. There had to be something she wasn’t seeing. There had to be a way out of here—

  Something she wasn’t seeing. Her hands flew to her ears and she just about ripped out her new earrings. She straightened the hypoallergenic surgical steel hoops as best she could and headed for the door. Even the baby kicked in excitement. The lock wasn’t complicated—it was an average double-sided lock they sold at The Home Depot. Figuring out how to bend the metal just right was the trick. Good thing she had clever surgeon fingers.

  She inserted the bent thicker end of one earring and tried to manipulate the tumblers. Something clicked, but the door wouldn’t open. Footsteps sounded upstairs. She pushed harder. Too hard. She broke her makeshift pick. She tossed it on the floor and bent the other earring into a zigzag shape, tried the lock again.

  “Come on, come on. Work, please.”

  And as if that had been all the encouragement the door had been waiting for, the lock popped again, opening this time.

  She peeked out. Couldn’t see anyone in the basement. Couldn’t see a direct exit to the outside, either. She kept close to the wall and tiptoed to the stairs, listened. Nothing. If there was anyone at the top of the stairs, he was staying silent.

  She put her foot on the first step, then held her breath when it creaked. Still no sound from above. She made her way up step by step, barely daring to breathe on the way, wishing that Amir was here with her. And not caring whether that made her less self-reliant or weak.

  The next door blocked her way. Her hand shook as she put it on the knob. Twisted the metal. It didn’t give. She could have cried when she realized this door was locked as well. She’d left her earring in the previous door. Should have thought of that. She tried the knob again. Definitely locked. Which meant that she had to sneak back down for her makeshift lock pick, then up again, risking noise and the possibility of being discovered.

  By the time she made that nerve-racking trip and was ready to put the zigzag-shaped piece of metal to use, her forehead was beaded with sweat.

  She tried to be careful, but this lock was as tou
gh as the first. The tip of her pick broke off within seconds. “Okay, don’t do this. Just work. Please,” she whispered, using the piece she had left. And the lock clicked open at last, at the same time as the pick snapped in half. She waited for her heart to slow before she opened the door a crack.

  The door to the garage she’d come through earlier was closed, but the door that led to the rest of the house was open. The men were arguing about money, although she couldn’t see any of them, just an empty hallway with peeling wallpaper.

  She waited, trying to decide what to do, nearly jumping out of her skin from nerves every time someone raised his voice. They were out of her line of sight for the moment, but who knew how quickly that would change once she stepped out into the hallway? Still, she had no choice but to try. She flattened herself against the wall, hoping her belly wasn’t sticking out too far. Okay, kiddo, pull your legs in.

  She didn’t dare look back as she inched forward. Then she was at the door that led to the garage. If it was locked, she was trapped. She had nothing left to open another lock with.

  She put her hand on the knob and prayed. It turned smoothly under her hand. Whoever had kidnapped her must have felt safe in this place, having no concern about being discovered and busted in on.

  She pushed against the door, cringed at the soft creak. Stopped and waited. Nobody came.

  In seconds she was in the garage. The only exit was the automatic garage door. If she opened that, the men inside would hear for sure. They would rush out, and she wasn’t going to win a footrace with this belly.

  She moved to the van and glanced in through the window. The keys dangled in the ignition.

  “We are so out of here,” she told her son. “You just watch your mother.”

  “COPS ARE ON the way.”

  “We didn’t even deliver the ransom note yet.” The man swore to himself. He didn’t want to end up like the previous team leader. The money was good, but not enough to die for.

  “Get out. Take her with you. Alive.”

  “Ain’t she supposed to be disposable?”