Desert Rogues Part 2 (18 page)

by Susan Mallery

Published by Silhouette Books

America's Publisher of Contemporary Romance

A
fter a long day of working in the delivery room, Emma Kennedy was ready to spend her evening with her feet propped up, the TV on and a bowl of ice cream in her hand. Okay, yes, she would probably eat something decent for dinner first but the ice cream was a must. It had been
that
kind of day.

Nothing had happened all morning, then right at noon, four women had decided to deliver. One had been a terrified teenager, and Emma had stayed with her as much as possible. At twenty-four, Emma had been closest in age of all the nurses, although a lifetime of experiences away from the street-wise, body pierced and tattooed patient.

Emma opened her mailbox, pulled out the cable bill and a flyer for a sale at Dillard's, then walked toward her apartment.

She was tired, but content. It had been a good day. A happy day. One of the things she loved about her job was the joy new mothers experienced when their babies were born. Being part of the process, even on the periphery, was all the thanks she needed. When she thought about all the—

Emma suddenly stopped in the hallway. Two men in dark suits stood by her front door. They looked respectable enough—clean, short haircuts, polished shoes—but they were definitely
lurking.

She'd taken several self-defense courses over the years, but she wasn't sure how helpful the information she'd learned would be against two large men.

Glancing first left, then right, she calculated the distance to her nearest neighbor. How long would it take her to run to her car, and what kind of reaction she would get if she screamed?

One of the men looked up and saw her. “Ms. Kennedy? I'm Alex Dunnard from the State Department. This is my associate, Jack Sanders. May we have a moment of your time?”

As the man spoke, he pulled out an ID card complete with picture. His companion did the same. Emma abandoned the idea of bolting and approached her front door.

The pictures matched the men and the cards
looked
official enough, but it wasn't as if she'd seen a State Department ID before and would know the difference.

Alex Dunnard slipped the ID back into his jacket pocket and smiled. “We have some official business to discuss with you. May we come inside, or would you be more comfortable if we met at the coffee shop on the corner?”

Emma noticed that neither option allowed her to get out of talking with them. Which was crazy. What would the State Department want with her?

She gave them the once-over and decided to let them in. Her Dallas suburb was safe, quiet and ordinary. No doubt these men had the wrong person. Once they straightened that out, they would be on their way.

“Come on in,” she said, inserting her key in the lock.

They followed her into the smallish living room. It was already dusk, so she turned on both floor lamps and the light in the hall, then motioned to her sofa.

“Have a seat,” she said as she plopped down in the club chair opposite.

As she set her purse on the floor, she noticed several stains on the front of her brightly patterned scrub shirt. The pale green pants were also dotted and streaked. Occupational hazard, she reminded herself.

Alex perched on the edge of her sofa, while the other gentleman stood by the sliding glass door.

“Ms. Kennedy, we're here at the behest of the king of Bahania.”

Alex kept on talking, but Emma was too caught up in the word
behest.
She wasn't sure she'd ever heard someone say it in normal speech. It was more of a book word. Then the rest of the sentence sunk in.

“Wait a minute,” she said, holding up her hand. “Did you say the
king
of Bahania?”

“Yes, ma'am. He contacted the State Department and asked that we locate you and then offer you an official invitation to visit his country.”

Emma laughed. Oh, sure. Because that sort of thing happened all the time. “Are you guys selling something? Because if you are, you're wasting your time.”

“No, ma'am. We're from the State Department, and we're here—”

She cut him off with a wave. “I know. At the behest. I got that part. You have the wrong person. I'm sure there's another Emma Kennedy floating around who has lots of personal contact with His Royal Highness, but it's not me.”

She looked at her modest apartment. If only, she thought humorously. Maybe a small money grant or two could have taken care of her student loans. And she desperately needed new tires for her ten-year-old import. Oh, well. In her next life she would be rich. In this one she was just a single woman struggling to pay the bills.

Alex pulled a piece of paper out of his outer jacket pocket. “Emma Kennedy,” he read, then went on to list her birth date, place of birth, her parents' names and the number on her passport. A passport she'd had since she was eighteen, young, innocent and foolish and had thought…Well, she'd thought a lot of things.

“Just a second,” she said, and rose to walk into her bedroom.

Her passport was tucked in the back of her sock drawer. She pulled it out and returned to the living room where she had Alex read the number again. It matched.

“This is creepy,” she said. “Look, I don't know the king of Bahania. I'm not sure I could find Bahania on the map. There really has to be some kind of mistake. What would he want with me?”

“You are to be his guest for the next two weeks.” Alex stood and smiled. “There's a private jet standing by to take you to his country. Ms. Kennedy, Bahania is a valuable ally in the Middle East. Like their neighbor, El Bahar, they are considered the Switzerland of that region. These progressive countries offer a haven of peace and economic stability in a troubled part of the world. They also provide a significant percentage of our country's oil.”

Emma might have only taken one political science class at college, but she wasn't stupid. She got the message. When the king of Bahania invited a young Texas nurse to vacation in his country for a couple of weeks, the United States government expected her to go.

Was she being kidnapped?

The idea was both insane and terrifying.

“You can't make me go,” she said, more to hear the words than because she believed them. She had a feeling that Alex and his friend could make her do just about anything.

“You're correct. We would not force you to accept the king's invitation. However, your country would be most grateful if you would consider granting him this request.” He smiled. “You'll be perfectly safe, Ms. Kennedy. The king is an honorable man. You're not being sold into a harem.”

“The thought never crossed my mind,” she told him hotly, even though it had. Sort of.

A harem? Her? Not on this planet. Men didn't find her especially appealing, and she…Well, she avoided matters of the heart. She'd fallen in love once and it had been a complete disaster.

“This is a great honor,” Alex said. “As a personal guest of the king, you'll be staying at the famed pink palace. It is quite extraordinary.”

Emma walked back to her chair and sank down. “Can we stop for a second and reflect on the reality missing from this situation? I'm a nurse. I deliver babies for a living. Unless the king has a pregnant wife or something, why on earth would he be interested in me? I'm assuming if you know my passport number, you also know I've only been out of the country once and that was six years ago. I live a quiet life. I'm boring. You have the wrong person.”

Alex's good cheer didn't waiver. “Two weeks, Ms. Kennedy. Is that so much to ask? Those volunteering for military service give much more.”

Oh, darn the man. He was going for guilt. She really didn't like that. Her parents had been experts at it and she hated the sense of having disappointed anyone.

“I'll accompany you to Bahania,” Alex continued. “To assure your safe arrival. Once you're settled, I'll return to Washington.” He paused. “You're being given a wonderful opportunity, Ms. Kennedy. I hope you'll consider it. If we can leave for the airport in the next hour, we will be in Bahania by sunset tomorrow.”

Her mind swirled. “You want me to go with you right now?”

“Please.”

Emma glanced from Alex to his friend by the sliding glass door. She had a bad feeling that if she refused, she would be taken against her will. Not exactly thoughts to warm her heart. It looked as if she were going on a trip.

 

Two and a half hours later, Emma found herself sitting on a luxurious private jet as the lights of Dallas disappeared below. She had a large suitcase in the cargo bay, a small overnight case next to her feet and, as promised, Alex Dunnard in the seat across from hers.

She still wasn't sure how it had all happened. Somehow Alex had gently ushered her through the process of calling the hospital for time off, packing and leaving a message for her parents that she'd gone away with a friend. The white lie had been his suggestion, made so that her parents wouldn't worry.

Then she'd showered, changed and found herself in a limo the size of a football field. Now she was on a plane and sitting in leather seats so soft and comfy, she wouldn't mind having the material made into a jacket.

On the bright side, if she
was
being kidnapped, it was by someone with money and style. The downside was that she'd managed to put her entire life on hold for two weeks with exactly two phone calls and a request that her neighbor pick up her mail. What did that say about her world?

Before she could decide, a uniformed young woman approached. “Ms. Kennedy, I'm Aneesa and it will be my pleasure to serve you on our flight to Bahania.”

Aneesa rattled off the expected flying time, mentioned a stop for gas in Spain and offered selections for dinner.

“When you're ready to retire for the evening,” she continued, “there is a sleeping compartment for your use.” She smiled. “Along with a bathroom, complete with shower.”

“That's great,” Emma told her, trying to sound calm. As if this sort of thing happened to her all the time.

“Shall I serve dinner?” Aneesa asked.

“Uh, sure. Why not?”

When the attendant had disappeared to what must be the plane's galley, Emma turned to Alex.

“Are you going to tell me what's really going on here?” she asked.

“I've told you all I know.”

“That the king wants me as his guest for two weeks,” she summarized.

“Yes.”

“And you don't know why?”

“No.”

Not exactly helpful.

She returned her attention to the countryside below and wondered if she would ever see Texas again. Then, determined not to wallow in unpleasant and scary thoughts, she pulled out the entertainment guide and pretended interest in the various DVDs available for her viewing pleasure.

A half hour later, the meal was served. The food was beautifully prepared and delicious, if Alex's speed of consumption was anything to go by. Emma picked at the baked chicken dish and refused wine. She studied her travel companion—a well-dressed man in his mid to late forties. Nice looking, married—if the wedding ring was anything to go by. Did Mrs. Dunnard mind her husband flying off at a moment's notice? Had it been a moment's notice for him or had he known about the trip in advance? And why on earth did the king of Bahania want to meet with
her?

More questions she was unlikely to get answered. When she tried pumping Alex for information, he remained pleasant but uncommunicative.

One restless night in a luxury cabin, several time zones and a pit stop for gas later, Emma didn't know any more than she had when she'd stepped onto the plane in Dallas. The difference was they were coming in for landing at an airport on the edge of the desert.

She stared out the window and tried to keep her mouth from falling open. The sights beneath were so beautiful they nearly took her breath away.

Turquoise-blue water lapped up against a pure white beach. There were miles of buildings, lush foliage and sprawling suburbs that gradually gave way to the endless beige and browns of the desert. Emma could see pockets of industry, large buildings that appeared ancient and what looked like dozens of parks throughout the city before the plane banked and headed for the airport.

They landed with a light bump, then taxied to a low one-story building. As Alex picked up his small overnight case, Emma fumbled for her purse.

She was escorted onto the tarmac where the late afternoon was warm, sunny and dry. And bright. After the confines of the plane, she found the sunlight nearly blinding. Three steps later, she entered a pleasant room where a man in uniform actually bowed when she presented herself and her open passport.

“Ms. Kennedy,” he said, flashing a smile, “welcome to Bahania. May your journey be pleasant and blessed.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, wondering if everyone was always so polite. Not that she was going to complain. She could get used to this level of service.