by Dana Marton
Amir held her gaze for a long moment. Then he took his foot off the gas pedal and put it on the brake. He threw the gun out the window so the men behind them could see it.
“Where are the other two guns?” Darek shouted.
“I don’t have those. I swear. We surrender.” Amir opened the door and got out, his hands in the air.
And just like that, their brief flight to freedom was over.
THEY WERE STRAPPED in the back of a chopper. Isabelle’s contractions were five minutes apart. Amir was no expert, but he was pretty sure that meant the baby could come very soon now.
Darek was with them, more of his men hidden around the abandoned airstrip. A cloud of dust was coming closer and closer. The royals were arriving in two separate vehicles.
“Wait.” Amir wiggled his hand, trying to loosen the ropes that bound his wrists to the armrests. “You should have my signet ring. If Saida ever does have a son, I want him to have it. It’s been in the family for generations.”
Darek shrugged and came over.
Amir bent his finger slightly so that the ring wouldn’t come off so easily. Darek had to put the gun down so he could hang on to Amir’s hand with one hand and tug the ring with the other, probably wanting that symbol of Jamalan royal power for himself.
What he wanted didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that he was close enough at last, within reach.
Now. Amir slammed his forehead into Darek’s with all the strength he had left. Pain reverberated through his skull. For a second, he saw double.
“You…” Darek blinked hard, faltered, dealing with the impact in his own way.
Outside, the royals’ vehicles were coming to a stop. It would all be over within minutes.
Darek lifted his hand. He was going to shoot.
Amir lurched against his restraints. Growled when he couldn’t break free.
But instead of shooting, Darek collapsed to one knee. This was it. Their last chance. Amir kicked him in the head, using whatever strength he had left. And at last, the man folded.
“Watch out! Watch out! It’s a trap!” Amir shouted but wasn’t sure whether he could be heard outside the chopper.
“It’s a trap!” Isabelle added her voice to his, screaming at the top of her lungs, using the pain of her labor as inspiration, because she way outdid him.
Darek’s gun lay on the floor, inches from Amir’s feet. He stretched to drag it closer with his foot, then kicked his shoe off, guided the weapon up his leg with his toes until he could reach it with his fingertips.
“Got it,” he grunted to Isabelle, who stopped screaming.
“Watch out!”
Darek was reviving, lunging for him.
With his hand tied, aiming correctly was impossible, but he emptied the magazine in the general direction, hitting Darek in the hip by pure chance and sending him sprawling back. Not as satisfactory as a clean kill, but at least the gunfire would definitely tip off his friends to trouble.
Gunfire erupted outside, too.
Isabelle moaned, drawing his attention.
“Can you hold on a little longer?”
Her eyes were closed as she focused on her breathing, a sheen of sweat covering her forehead. “Three minutes apart.”
“Coming on board,” a voice shouted from outside.
Jake Wolf was the first onto the chopper. Took in Darek. “I knew something wasn’t right with him.” He pulled a knife from his belt and cut Isabelle’s ropes first, then Amir’s, handing him a gun at the same time.
Which he tried to use to finish off Darek.
“No.” Jake knocked his hand aside. “The law will take care of him.”
“He wanted to force Saida to become his second wife after we were all dead.” Amir hissed the words just as Darek rose somehow and pulled another gun from behind his back.
Two shots went off at the same time as Isabelle screamed in pain.
One hit Darek in the head; one in the heart.
Amir and Jake exchanged glances, then moved to help Isabelle out of the chopper.
Efraim got on board, filling what little space was left. “Everyone all right?”
“We need to get her to a hospital.” Amir swore under his breath when he realized he was too weak to help. His shoulder wound had reopened at one point during the fight. He’d lost enough blood to feel the difference.
“You’re needed out there,” Efraim told Jake, sending him on his way. Then he turned to Isabelle. “I’m Sheik Efraim. I apologize for the informality, madam.” He lifted her into his arms swiftly, then headed for the exit. “I’ll try not to jostle you. But when one of the bullets that are flying outside hits the fuel tank, we don’t want to be in here,” he told her.
Amir hurried after them, wholeheartedly agreeing.
Efraim paused at the door, pulled back so Amir could shoot the man who was aiming right at them. The first bullet missed, but the second found its target and the guy running toward the chopper fell with a cry.
Amir jumped to the ground first, covering Efraim, who had his hands full with Isabelle. A part of him hated the sight of her in another man’s arms, but he had to accept that Ephraim was stronger and could move faster.
And speed was imperative, since they were in the middle of an old-fashioned Western shoot-out, people running and ducking, bullets coming from every direction. For a second, he couldn’t even tell how the battle was going, who was winning.
“Go!” He covered Efraim, the three of them heading as best they could for the cars. He felt civility melt off him, the restraint he had adopted since he’d become ruler of his country. The warrior blood of his ancestors rushed in his veins. Savagery filled him and he embraced it. He would not let her be harmed. Not if he had to die for her safety.
Protect mine. Kill the enemy.
They were out in the open, but there was no help for it. Staying in the chopper was too dangerous. Once they were in the car, they could get out of there and head to the nearest hospital.
“Watch out!” Wade, his half-brother, shouted, popping up from behind cover.
“How did he get here?”
“He came to the resort after he heard on the news that you were found. Of course, by then you’d disappeared again,” Efraim said.
Some of the bullets came so close that at one point he was certain Efraim had been hit. But no, his friend kept on going. For how long? The cars were a good hundred yards away, on open land. He shot at every position that shot at them, trying to keep them down, going for a head shot if he had a chance.
But, too soon, he ran out of bullets.
This was it; this was the end. Enraged, he threw the empty gun toward the enemy, and bolted forward, ready for hand-to-hand combat if needed, unable to accept that he couldn’t do more, that he might not be able to save his son and Isabelle, the woman he was in love with.
Then Wade and his friends were rushing out of cover and up to him, tossing him a fresh weapon, forming a circle around Isabelle and defending her with their lives.
Chapter Thirteen
Had she ever said that she didn’t want a powerful man to protect her? Had she been that stupid? She was ready for all the protection of the fighting royals now and then some. In fact, if anyone wanted to send in the National Guard, she would be very grateful.
The royals were moving her toward a waiting car. One of the men by her side fell, but more of the enemy was killed or injured. Fresh gunfire sounded in the distance.
“Who,” she gasped, “are they?” There better not be more of Darek’s men coming.
“Backup,” one of the royals told her. We knew something wasn’t right when Amir called. “We have enough loyal people left that between them and Jake Wolf’s men, we have the airfield surrounded.”
“The fight ends here today,” Efraim said darkly. “There won’t be any live to fight another day.”
Endless seconds passed before Darek’s men realized that the boss wasn’t coming out of the chopper and they were trapp
ed. Then chaos erupted. They didn’t know which way to run, and some ran straight into bullet fire. She barely registered all that, could barely follow the battle. Her contractions couldn’t be more than a minute apart now. The baby was coming.
Finally, they reached the car and she was helped into the back. She sat sideways so she could put up her feet. Amir jumped into the driver’s seat. Another royal, Prince Stefan, if she was correct, got in next to him in the front, providing cover.
“Go!” Efraim slapped the roof. “We can handle the rest here.”
Then they were flying.
She noted little of the landscape that whizzed by them. She focused inward and did her breathing.
By the time they reached Dumont General, she was feeling the urge to push. She held it back. “Just a few more minutes, baby. We’re almost ready,” she whispered to her belly. “Go to the ambulance bay,” she told Amir.
The guys there would have her on a gurney and wheeled up to Labor and Delivery before anyone could blink. Except, several ambulances blocked the ambulance bay, the area a beehive of activity, people rushing around. Had to have been a major accident somewhere. Oh, God.
“Employee entrance.” She moaned in pain as she pointed.
That was the closest door to them now and would get her to her destination faster than going back around to any of the main entrances.
One of the pulmonary nurses was coming out just as Amir parked. Prince Stefan lifted Isabelle out of the car.
The nurse recognized her and held the door open for them. “Oh, yea, congratulations! Looks like this is your big day.” Then she took in their grim faces and the blood that covered Amir’s shoulder and grew uncertain. “Is everything all right here?”
“The baby is coming.” Isabelle gritted out the words.
The nurse was pulling out her cell phone. “I’ll call ahead and let them know.”
They sailed right by her.
Prince Stefan ran forward until Amir miraculously produced a gurney from one of the side hallways. She felt marginally better when she was finally lying flat on her back.
“Straight ahead,” she told them.
The farther down the corridor they got, the more people they had to go around.
“Out of the way!” Prince Stefan tried to clear the corridor and did a pretty good job of it.
“The future queen of Jamala is having my heir. I demand assistance immediately!” Amir bellowed, making heads turn.
Then they were in a gallery above a waiting area, at the elevator bank. Only three elevator stops from Labor and Delivery.
“We’re going up. Third floor,” Prince Stefan said, reading the directory, jabbing the button repeatedly.
Amir held her hand. “Are you in much pain?”
Did doughnuts stick to women’s hips? But she wasn’t as worried about the pain as she was about her son. The last two days had been crazy with all the stress and running for their lives. She just wanted her baby to arrive safely and be healthy.
Amir was looking at her with turmoil on his face, uncertainty in his dark eyes for the first time since she’d known him.
“What is it? Spit it out, for heaven’s sake.” She was low on patience at the minute.
“I don’t want my son born a bastard,” he said in a tone of urgency.
Her first inclination was to hit him over the head with the nearest IV stand, but since none were within reach, she simply gritted her teeth. “Now is so not the best time to go medieval on me.”
But as she looked into his turbulent dark eyes, she realized suddenly what this meant to him. This was what he believed in. This was right and important to him, a part of his honor, which was the core of the man, like being American and an independent woman was the core of her.
“All right.” She couldn’t believe she was saying this. “Okay.”
His face lit up with triumph; then his gaze settled on the sign on the door of the nearby hospital chaplain’s office. He grabbed the gurney and pushed her forward.
Unbelievable.
“I’ll hold on for five more minutes, but then I don’t care if a meteor the size of Bow Mountain hits the hospital. I will start pushing.”
He didn’t say anything. He was too busy grinning.
Prince Stefan was dragging the priest out before they reached the door.
“I cannot do this,” Father Francis was protesting. “I cannot officiate a Catholic wedding between two people who are not Catholic, as I told Prince Stefan here. And there’s a waiting period. Then there’s the matter of a marriage license. It’s impossible. It’s not up to me, my children.”
Amir gave the man the glare of death. But before he could do more, the elevator dinged and he raced back there with her.
“I need to get married in the next five minutes,” she told one of the orderlies who got on with them at the last second. “Any suggestions here?”
“There’s a rabbi on the ninth floor, but he’s out of it. He just came out of surgery. He won’t be coming around anytime soon.”
“How about someone who got some license over the internet?” She was desperate and nearly blind with pain.
The orderly nodded. “I got a cousin like that in Jersey.”
Might as well be on the moon.
Then they were on the third floor and rushing down the corridor, passing by the Labor and Delivery Unit’s large lounge, where family members were allowed to wait. The place was full of people, some pacing, some guzzling coffee, some sleeping on chairs that had been pushed together.
Amir stopped the gurney. “I, Sheik Amir Khalid, marry this woman, Isabelle Andrews, and take her as my one and only wife in love, to cherish and protect forever,” he announced boldly to the room.
In love…
Her heart nearly stopped beating as people stared at them wide-eyed.
“I, Prince Stefan Lutece, witness this.”
Then they were moving again.
The urge to bear down was irresistible. “What was that?”
“A traditional, centuries-old Jamalan wedding ceremony,” said Amir.
“But I didn’t say anything.”
“It’s not necessary. I announced and Stefan witnessed. We are now married.”
There were so many things wrong with that, she couldn’t even begin to list them, and she didn’t want to at the moment. Nurses descended on her, and someone paged Dr. Szunoman, who was still on call, thank heavens.
When they began to undress her, the two men backed out of the room, thankfully. She was given a hospital gown, and her legs were put in stirrups. She was barely hooked up to the monitors when she started pushing.
Amir came back in, dressed in scrubs, Dr. Szunoman right behind him. “I hear it’s time. How are you doing, Isabelle?”
“Bursting.”
“It’ll be over soon. Push with each contraction. Rest in between.” He situated himself on a stool.
Amir took her hand. “I love you.”
His cheeks grew slightly pink at the public admission. She had a hunch Jamalan sheiks weren’t quite so free about displaying their feelings in public, but at the moment it was the exact thing she needed to hear.
“I love you, too.”
“The head is crowning,” Dr. Szunoman piped in.
The baby’s nurse came in. At Dumont General, they had separate nurses for the mother and the baby, a practice that could save lives during a difficult delivery.
“One big push,” the doctor said, encouraging her.
It was the best and the worst day of her life at the same time. She felt as if her body was being torn in two, and part of her was certain that she was dying.
She pushed with all her heart, squeezing Amir’s hand for all she was worth.
“The head is free.”
She felt tears filling her eyes.
“One more big push.”
She pushed and she screamed.
“Congratulations. You have a bouncing baby boy,” the doctor said, then announced the time of bir
th as he laid her precious son on her chest.
She looked into the most beautiful face she’d ever seen, at dark eyes and dark hair, a chin that was a miniature version of Amir’s. Her tears were now freely flowing. “Oh, baby.” He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
“I love you so much,” she whispered to her son. “And I love you, too.” She looked up at Amir, whose eyes were glistening suspiciously.
Time to complete their wedding. Her way.
“I, Isabelle Andrews, take you, Sheik Amir Khalid, as my husband in love.” She looked at Dr. Szunoman. “Say you witness.”
The doctor gave her a confused look but said, “I witness.”
Warmth spread through her, and she felt endless love for the two men in her life, both of them a miracle in their own way. She took Amir’s hand and placed it gently on the baby’s back. “This is Amir, your daddy. I’m Isabelle, your mommy.” Then she added, “Your friends can call me Mrs. Sheik.”
Chapter Fourteen
Six weeks later
Amazing what a motivated group of knowledgeable people could accomplish in six weeks, Isabelle thought as she looked out from the balcony of the splendidly decorated palace. In the distance shone the brilliant azure of the Mediterranean Sea. In the square in front of the palace, a sea of eager faces had gathered for the royal wedding.
The make-haste vows at the hospital were sufficient, but since Amir was the sheik, his station demanded that a larger ceremony also be performed. And he gave his people what they wanted. Isabelle’s head was still buzzing from the events of the day.
The party was just getting started below, exotic music and laughter filling the air. Nearby, on a smaller balcony, Antoine and Beth were doing some heavy-duty kissing. One floor up, she could see Stefan and Jane doing the same. All of Amir’s friends were there with their future brides. Hers was only the first in a string of expected royal weddings.
The whole world was talking about the series of royal nuptials. Tourism was booming, which was an unexpected bonus on top of the sizable funds the princes’ U.S. summit had brought in.
