The Sheikh's Lost Princess

The old woman was talking about dying. Suicide by torture. Nikki felt fresh tears threatening to ruin her makeup job but she held them back. She had to stay strong.

“You are young and you have a mission yet to accomplish,” Lalla added more forcefully than Nikki would’ve thought possible. “A mission best undertaken alone. Someone waits for you to change destiny. You must succeed in those efforts.”

Now how could she know that? How could this old woman possibly know that Nikki had voluntarily come to Zabbarán to search for her son? She had told no one.

Thinking back on the whole sordid story of arriving in Zabbarán expecting to find a new job waiting for her as promised, only to be thrust into a dank cave-like prison with five other women, was not something Nikki did often. She didn’t know what the Taj elder had in mind for her future now but knew it wouldn’t include a legitimate job.

She’d come to Zabbarán with high hopes of locating her baby, and she would find him, or die in the attempt.

Truthfully, Nikki’s first unforgiveable mistake had been in trusting her Parisian neighbor to watch her little boy while she went to work. That mistake had been the start of this journey through hell.

But, in her own defense, she’d been desperately poor at the time and her child had needed food and a place to live. After her father died, Nikki was left with no choice but to go to work. And there had been no friends or family to babysit her son while she worked.

Still, in retrospect, that seemed like a lame excuse. But at the time she was trying to be a good parent. The neighbor woman had actually seemed rather sweet and was good with children. She was kind. And, she already watched over other children from their building.

Nikki had checked around for another job, desperate to find a different solution. Eventually, she’d given in and handed over her five-year-old boy for eight hours a day to a woman she barely knew.

Then the day arrived when Nikki came home to find her son, the neighbor and all the neighbor’s possessions gone. It was her worst day—in a lifetime filled with bad days.

Nikki flew straight to the Paris police who looked at her as if she had sprouted wings. “Sorry, madame. We will take the report. But many children disappear each year in Paris. Not many are ever found. We will do our best.”

Fighting hysteria and with no one to help her, Nikki beat on every door in her apartment building, searching for anyone with information. Her tears did not open any mouths, but eventually she sank to threatening people with bodily harm. That bought her a little information.

She was told the neighbor who’d disappeared with her baby had bragged about selling two of her charges to a desperate middle-eastern couple. The couple supposedly had wanted sons and were willing to pay a fortune to obtain them. Greed. Her son was taken from her because of greed. The more she thought of it, the more it made her sick to her stomach.

Nikki also learned that the middle-eastern couple claimed to be from a small town in the newly freed country of Zabbarán. She rushed back to the police with the news. They took the information and shrugged. Then they suggested she hire a private detective.

Too low on funds to consider such a solution and now frantic with worry, Nikki badgered everyone she met for ideas on how to get her son back. Eventually she was introduced to a man, who knew of a man, who was recruiting westerners for jobs in the new country of Zabbarán. She’d jumped at the prospect.

The next thing she knew, she’d landed in this horrible place. If it hadn’t been for Lalla …

“You must adjust the moustache, miss.”

Nikki refolded her map and put it away before pressing down against the smattering of dark hair she’d glued to her upper lip. “How is the disguise?”

“You will not fool anyone for long. Your feminine figure stands out even under the manly robes. Try to avoid encounters. And …” Lalla reached under her own robes and withdrew a dagger. “If you are attacked, use this wisely.”

Staring down at a wide blade attached to a short leather hilt, Nikki tried to imagine using such a blade on a human. It was unthinkable—until she considered her son. For his sake, she would use any weapon at her disposal.

Reaching out to take the knife, Nikki froze with her arms stretched wide. One second ago she and the handmaiden had been alone in the harem’s kitchen. The next instant she’d felt another presence behind her back, joining them in the room. Her instincts went on alert.

But before that fact had time to sink in, Nikki was attacked and roughly thrown to the floor. The dagger flew from her hands and clattered against the stone as the fall took her breath. Sucking in air, she fought to move. But as she tried to squirm out of the way, she was pinned underneath the hard planes of a man’s body.

A big man.

Chapter 2

Shakir silently pointed the older woman into a corner, jammed the barrel of his weapon to the base of the young Taj soldier’s skull and ordered the kid to be silent. The soldier kept squirming and moaning. Pressing his advantage with a knee to the kid’s kidney, Shakir tried to quiet the tango. He growled orders in both the Taj Zabbar language and in the few words of Kasht that he could remember.

“You are making a mistake,” the old woman said in French.

He glared at her, flipped the tango to his back and began a rough pat-down. Sweeping his hands across the kid’s shoulders and down his sides and legs, Shakir checked for more weapons. The sight of that ancient dagger had put him on alert. This young Taj soldier could be as deadly to the mission as a scorpion’s sting.

Temporarily stashing his compact MTAR 21 in the pack on his back, Shakir used both hands to search. With his right, he checked between the kid’s legs. While with his left hand, he rolled down under the soldier’s armpits and around the rib cage.

“Bloody hell.” Shocked, Shakir stepped back and stared down into surprised hazel eyes. “Blast it, who the devil are you?”

“I … I …” The female under his hands was at a loss for words. So was he.

Then it hit him—a few minutes too late. “Nicole?” He reached out to take her by the arm and pulled her to her feet.

“Shakir? Shakir Kadir? Oh, my God, what are you doing here? You scared me to death.”

He took a step back and studied the form of the young man standing in front of him. Only now that he knew the truth, the form no longer even vaguely resembled a young man. He should’ve known.

But Nicole’s honey-blond hair had been entirely tucked up under a purple-checked kuffiyah. Her skin beneath the Taj soldier’s garments looked the color of splotchy brown dates. Her tiny feet—the feet should’ve been a dead giveaway—were encased in the smooth leather sandals prevalent in these desert regions.

“What is that ridiculous-looking thing you’ve stuck to your lip?”

She reached up, smoothing her finger along what looked like a line of dirt. “Just a bit of Lalla’s hair. Doesn’t it look like a moustache?”

“Not even a little.”

She grimaced, but immediately recovered her composure. “I don’t understand. This is crazy. Like a bad dream. What are you doing here, Shakir?”

His initial flood of relief at finding her alive gave way to irritation and he, too, grimaced. “We’ve come to bring you home.” She didn’t look injured, but what had they done to her mind?

Where was her gratitude? Where were the tears of joy he had expected to see?

Antsy and ready to move out, Shakir fought his annoyance and reached for her arm. “Let’s go.”

Nicole jerked back. “Where?” She fisted her hands on her hips and glared at him. “How did you find me? Why are you really here?”

Stunned, Shakir saw the mistrust in her eyes and it wounded his pride. Never in their entire relationship had he given her reason not to trust him.

And he didn’t have time to deal with it here. “We’ll hash this out later. The choppers won’t wait.”

She stood her ground. Something odd was going on behind those eyes. Something very odd.

“Now, Nicole.” He started toward her again.

“I was about to leave on my own.” She backed up a step. “What about the other women?”

“I brought in a team. They’re rescuing the other women at this moment. Everyone will leave the country in choppers as a group. Everyone.” His whole body hummed with impatience. “Do I have to carry you?”

“What about Lalla? We can’t leave her behind.”

For the first time, Shakir turned his head to study the old woman in the corner. Speaking to her in French, he asked, “Are you willing to leave?”