Sheikh Protector. Dana Marton
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dirty look. “One more thing.”
He drew up an eyebrow. Here we go. She was about to make her first demand.
“Please don’t humiliate me in front of people like that again.” Her words were issued softly.
Damned if he knew why he was feeling like a heartless bastard all of a sudden. His jaw muscles pulled tight. “Sorry.” He didn’t know which one of them was more surprised when the word was out.
“Wow, that sounded like it hurt. Was it your first time?” She grinned.
He glared back.
“You could just let me go,” she said when they were in the car, the air conditioner going.
“Too cold?” he asked as he pulled into traffic.
“Are you kidding? I have a furnace inside. I could be standing on the snowfields of Siberia and be hot. Pregnant bodies produce lots of energy.”
He hadn’t considered that. “I can’t let you go.” He turned down the boulevard.
“You’re a sheik. You can do anything you want.”
She had an answer for everything, didn’t she? Fine.
“I don’t want to let you go,” he said.
“Don’t you ever watch international TV? Your views on life and responsibility are pretty archaic. You don’t have to take care of me. I don’t belong to you.” As she said the last sentence, she enunciated each world deliberately.
“I don’t have time for TV.” He didn’t bother addressing her wild notion of her not belonging to him. “I want you to write me a list of what you need. Both for you and the baby. And you need to eat more,” he said just as a dark sedan cut off the car following them to get directly behind him. “I can bring a nutritionist on staff while you’re with us.”
He kept his attention on the sedan, his warning senses perking up. The car was moving with too much purpose, the driver unnecessarily aggressive.
“I don’t need a nutritionist. I eat healthy and I eat as much as I need. I won’t be staying that long anyway.”
She clearly resented his interference. And right now wasn’t the time to discuss just how far he was willing to go to make sure her pregnancy went as smoothly as possible.
He looked at the rearview mirror again. “Listen, we might—” Too late, he saw the gun. He swerved. “Watch out!” He pushed her down just as the rear window exploded.
He heard the shards hit leather, but his seat and headrest protected him. A glance confirmed the same for Julia. He stepped on the gas and the car lurched around the minivan in front of them. But his attackers—two men, their faces obstructed by tribal-style headdresses—followed.
He swore under his breath. Should have brought his security along. But he didn’t want anyone in his family or at the company to know about Julia Gardner and her claims yet. Didn’t want to deal with the questions about him going to a women’s clinic. If her story were untrue, he didn’t want to unnecessarily tarnish Aziz’s memory and bring his honor into question.
The car in front of him was slower than slow. For a moment, he swerved into upcoming traffic to get ahead, expecting Julia to scream at him. She didn’t, but horns beeped all around them. He chanced a glance at her when he’d returned to the right side. She sat pale-faced, hanging on to her seat with a white-knuckled grip.
He snapped his attention back to the road in front of him. “We can handle them.”
“We can’t handle them. Oh, my God. Call the police!” She squeaked the last word.
“I’m a little busy.” He growled under his breath, not at her, but at the men. By the time the police found them, this could be long over. Either he shook their attackers, and shook them fast, or one of their bullets would find its aim and end the chase.
He swore under his breath again. More stress was the last thing Julia needed in her condition. Not that he knew anything about her condition. But he would learn. For Aziz’s child. If—Damn, but the uncertainty drove him crazy. He wasn’t a patient man on his best day.
When they got out of here, he was going to get her to agree to stay in the country, then lock her up safely in his palace and not let her go until the baby was born. Maybe he would move to Aziz’s place for the next six months. Living under the same roof with Julia might be more than he could handle. Especially if she kept sneaking into his bedroom. He was concerned about that as much as he wished for it.
“Hang on.”
He was a good driver and put all his skills to use. For a moment or two, it seemed he might be able to put enough distance between his car and the assassins behind them.
Then a bicyclist, of all things, pulled in front of him, oblivious to danger. And he swerved, running the car up the cement rails of the shoulder, the right two tires leaving the ground. If they were to flip… He grabbed the steering wheel and maneuvered as best he could. He had to get the car back on the road. After an endless moment, he did manage.
“Are you all right?” He didn’t dare take his eye off the road to look at Julia.
“I’m not all right. People are trying to kill me!” She sounded shaken. “What is it with everyone? Is everybody completely nuts around here? What are they thinking? Just go!”
He did, and for a moment was sure that they would make it. But the second bullet was more accurate than the first. The force of it slamming into his flesh smacked him against the steering wheel.
They were out in the open. The bullets kept coming. He had a woman and an unborn child to protect. Pain spread through him. He’d been hit. He couldn’t tell how badly, and it was information he needed. All their lives depended on it.
Chapter Three
All his life he wanted to be a holy man. He had even changed his name to Mustafa, which meant chosen. And he indeed knew that Allah had chosen him when the only god trusted this most important task to him.
Old evil had returned into this world—old evil that offended the faith of his people and threatened their souls. He had sworn to destroy it and all who had come in contact with it, all who had been contaminated.
And the One God had been gracious and had given him followers, a tight sect of righteousness and light. They were all happy to die for the cause.
But so far, their work had been blessed and it had been Aziz Abdullah who had died. Mustafa smiled as he looked out over his garden. That first task had been done right. But they had much longer to go it seemed.
The evil objects had not been recovered. The world and his faith had not yet been saved. The idols had been passed on and contaminated yet another man: Karim Abdullah. But Karim, perhaps in his ignorance or already too tight in the grasp of the evil, did not realize that he needed to be purified.
It couldn’t be helped. Mustafa stroked his beard and closed his eyes against the strengthening sun. His free hand held his cell phone. The call would come soon. Karim, the guardian of evil, would be dead.
Then, without a powerful guardian, the idols would be found. Yes. He smiled into the sun. He and his faithful followers would most certainly triumph.
“HOLD ON TO THE steering wheel,” Karim said, pressing a hand to his wound, then pulling it away and looking at it, probably checking how badly he was bleeding.
Pretty badly. Then again, when it came to gunshot wounds, she wasn’t sure there was such a thing as “good.”
“The steering wheel,” he said more urgently.
Julia stared at him. Was he crazy? Apparently, because he was letting go already, just expecting her to grab on as he pulled a gun—a gun—from under his suit jacket with his still-functioning right hand.
She