Sheikh's Command (2 page)

“Olivia,” she said, her voice, soft.

“Just Olivia? How avant-garde …”

She did crack a smile at that. “No, my real name … is a little ugly,” she said with a some difficulty. “I think that if I am going to embark on a professional career, I will want something a little less … unwieldy.”

Olivia watched him between bites of her sandwich, as if, he thought, she was waiting for him to attack her. There was something about her that was oddly delicate, Makeen decided, something that made it feel as though at any moment, she might get up and bolt away. In response, he instinctively moved slowly, keeping his hands where she could see them, and after a few moments, he noticed her relax a little.

“I can certainly see that,” Makeen said. “Some names are very cumbersome. I myself have no less than four middle names.”

He startled a laugh out of her with that, at least, and encouraged, he pressed on.

“What do you think you will call yourself?” he asked. “Will you name yourself after someone famous, or will you perhaps take on the name of one of the great musicians?”

“No,” she said with a decisiveness that was almost startling on her. “No, I want something plain and simple. Something that slips out of the mind as soon as one hears it.”

“I'll admit, most musicians I know want more attention not less,” Makeen said with a laugh. “What shall your name be, then?”

She shrugged, a little shyly. “What would you call me?”

Was he mistaken or was there a rather enchanting blush on her face? He wasn't sure. All he did know was that he wanted nothing more than to smooth the ball of his thumb over the curve of her cheek to see if he would nuzzle it.

Makeen was slightly startled at himself. When he wanted a woman, he usually preferred them leggy and blonde, exotic and assured. Young street musicians who looked like they might like to swipe his sandwich off his plate were not really what he imagined when he thought of desirable women, but still there was something to this girl that stopped him from looking away.

“Hm … Bird.”

“Bird?” she asked, raising a dark brow. She had the most expressive face, lovely and sweet, capable of showing an enormous range of emotions with a simple quirk of her eyebrow.

“Yes,” Makeen replied. “Bird. Sounds so sweet, and so apt to fly away if I take my eyes off you for a moment.”

There was a brief moment of shock on her face, and he thought that he had her pegged. There was something about her that made him want to hold on to her, and Makeen fought the urge down before he could do something truly ridiculous with it. This started out as him doing a woman on the street a good turn, and now it was becoming something else.

“I don't get you,” she said finally. “You come out of nowhere, you save me from that cop, you're buying me a meal, and all for what?”

He shrugged. “I suppose I wanted the pleasure of your company. You are a talented musician, and I wanted to speak more with you.”

Her laugh was harsh, something that seemed out of character for such a sweet face. Something told Makeen that her life hadn't always been kind to her, and for some reason, that made him ache.

“No one offers something for nothing,” she said, her voice heavy with cynicism. “What's your angle, Makeen?”

“You saying my name would be enough,” he said, and it was true. His name on her lips felt like a strange and shocking intimacy, something that sent a shiver up his spine.

“Makeen,” she said, and this time there was a sweetness to it that even she could hear.

“You pay me back by being yourself, and no one else,” he said, meeting her eyes. She looked half-stunned, or perhaps slightly hypnotized. “You pay me back by being an excellent musician, one that could leave the current professionals on the stage in the dust.”

She swallowed hard, and for a moment, Makeen wondered if he could glimpse tears in her eyes.

“All right,” she said. “Okay.”

Olivia laughed self-consciously, pulling back into that tough shell he had seen earlier. The fact that he had been allowed to see her vulnerable was, he thought, something special and rare.

“You are a strange man, Makeen. Very strange.”

“So I have been told,” he said. “Look, here is my card. I happen to believe in supporting artists, and perhaps if you are ever in need, you can call me again.”

Instead of taking the card, she watched him set it on the table.

“I can take of myself,” she said, prickly again, and he sighed.

“As you like … Only a woman should have options. I wanted to give you another …”

At that inopportune moment, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and then gritted his teeth.

“I am sorry, I must take this,” he said, and she waved away his apology.

“Yes?” he asked, turning away slightly. “Have we found them?”

“Affirmative, sir,” said the man on the other line. “Found and captured the whole lot. They are being processed right now.”

Makeen had to keep himself from punching the air in victory. The result of almost a year of hard work had paid off, and now they were going to put an old wrong to right.

“I'll be down there inside of an hour. Good work.”

He hung up the phone, ready to make his apologies to Olivia, but she was gone, her plate empty and nothing to show that she had been there at all. For a moment, it felt like a heavy loss that struck his heart, but he shook it off. He had known her for less than an hour. It wasn't something to mourn.

As Makeen got up to call over the waitress, however, he smiled. She had taken his card.

CHAPTER TWO

Olivia took the long way back to the apartment she shared with her family. It wound through twisting streets and dark alleyways, and she comforted herself by thinking that it was only a matter of time until she could escape this, escape all of this. This wasn't going to be her world for much longer.

When she walked into the dark apartment, met with the smell of stale cigarettes and spilled alcohol, Olivia was reminded very clearly that it was still her world for now.

“I'm home,” she called, and she could see from the door that her father was asleep on the couch. Asleep or passed out drunk, it didn't matter much, and she was content to let him lie. In the kitchen, however, she found her mother, pacing back and forth, chewing on her cigarette butt and listening intently on her phone.

Olivia had her mother's dark hair and rich complexion, but where Olivia was curvy her mother was rail thin, as if life had worn her away. Olivia sometimes wondered if her mother had been soft and gentle once, and how long it had taken for that to wear away. Perhaps she had still been kind when David was a little boy, before Olivia had come along. She certainly hadn't been when Olivia was born.

Finally, Mayellen ended the call, turning towards her daughter with bloodshot eyes. Olivia braced herself, ready to hear a diatribe about how useless she was, how she was leeching off of her family's resources, how she wasn't earning her keep with her silly little violin.

Instead, Mayellen wavered as if she was on a boat at sea, and her hand gripped the back of the kitchen chair.

“Mom?” Olivia asked, and her voice came out soft and scared as it hadn't been in years. “Mom, what's the matter?”

“That was Stavros,” she said, her voice hollow with fear. “The cops conducted a sting on the warehouse. They took your brother.”

Olivia gasped, her fingers tightening on her violin case's handle until it hurt.

“Oh, God,” she whispered.

Her family originally came from the United States, but they hadn't been back since she was a little girl. When she was a child, it had all felt like an adventure, roving the world and never staying in one place for any length of time. There had always been new people to meet, and though the periods of poverty were grinding, there were times when her father was flush too, and the gifts came rushing in.

Olivia was almost thirteen before she realized that her father was a criminal. Large grifts and small were what he used to keep his family afloat, and more than once, they lit out ahead of the cops growing wise.

They had come to Zahar almost eight months ago, and Olivia knew that this was going to be the end of the line for her. She was leaving all of them. She wouldn't be a part of this life anymore. While her brother got involved with the local toughs, she sent out her audition tapes over and over again, and over and over again, she got rejections.

She was getting close, though. She had received a notice that she was under consideration in Berlin and Johannesburg. She knew that she had to be patient, but she wasn't sure that anything had ever been harder. Soon, she knew that she would escape all of this, but at her mother's words, it all came crashing down.

David …

David had always been there for her. He was the one who had gotten her her violin, he was the one who had taught her to drive, he was the one who had protected her from her father's rages, and her mother's cruelty. It was David who always cheered her on, grinning at her with that crooked smile, always so sure that she would go further than he ever could.

Her mother shot her a scornful glance. “Look at you acting so shocked and concerned. Don't bother putting on that face, missy, we all know that you're going to fly the coop as soon as you can and to hell with the rest of us. Everyone knows that you're not going to be any help at all.”

Her mother's words hit her like a hammer, and they awakened something in Olivia that felt as if it had been sleeping all her life. She knew that she was clever, and she knew that she was tough, but she had never felt such pure rage and determination before.

Instead of falling back in front of her mother's words, she stood up, and for a moment, a shocked Mayellan took a step away.

“No. That's not me,” she said fiercely. “I'm going to save him.”

She strode out of the apartment, her violin still in her hand. On the table by the door was the mail. On top of the pile was a cream-colored envelope marked with a return address to Johannesburg. She didn't give it a second look.

Instead, she left the apartment and climbed the rickety stairs to the roof. The stars were beginning to come out, and even in the midst of her wild despair, she looked up on them in wonder. Zahar was still a city, and she knew that they were faint, but local ordinances to reduce light pollution were in effect, meaning that they were brighter than any she had ever seen.

Zahar was a beautiful place,
she thought
. If only I was a different person.

She shook the thought off, because right now, she needed her wits about her. She took out her phone, and hands trembling, she dialed the number on the thick cardstock.

CHAPTER THREE

Makeen was in the middle of a busy club when his phone rang. For a moment, he was confused, because as far as enforcement squad went, he had been told that it was all wrapped up.

The afternoon and evening since receiving the call had been a long one for him, even if it was intensely rewarding. The sting operation that the department had been working on for close to a year had finally came to fruition, and he knew that life was going to get much, much better for his country. In the five years since his father had died and he had come to power, he had learned and learned well that there were very few things that could be considered complete wins. Compromises were made, agreements were reached, and some things were simply left.

This was an uncomplicated, unarguable win, and he and several of the other personnel were determined to celebrate.

The club flashed red and gold lights, and the women surrounding him were eager to get his attention, even if they didn't know who he was. He grinned at a tall blonde who was running her fingers through his hair, and smiled at a sultry brunette who eyed him as if he was something good to eat. It had been a while since he had taken a lover. He wondered if his next woman was here tonight.

Unbidden, his mind conjured up a small woman, almost a girl, with dark hair and eyes that seemed to see right into his soul. He had called her a bird, and indeed, she had taken wing. Why did he still think of her? He tried to shake the thought of her off, but it was too late. A pall came over the proceedings, and he shook off the women to stalk to the bar.

He was halfway there when his phone rang. After the initial moment of confusion, he veered towards the outside porch area, which was blessedly empty. The caller was only a number, no one who had called him before, and when he answered the phone, he was cautious.

“Who are you?”

The words were strange, but the voice was automatically familiar. “Olivia,” he said, his voice brightening without his will. Just a few moments ago, he thought that he would never hear from her again. To hear her voice after that was like balm on burned skin.

“Yes …” She suddenly sounded unsure. “I mean … you remember me? The girl from today, with the violin?”

Makeen chuckled softly. “I am not in the habit of forgetting beautiful women who play the violin as if they sold their souls to the devil,” he said. “You used my number.”

“I did … Makeen … I need you to tell me who you are.”

That caused him to raise an eyebrow. “That's a strange question. I am the man you met today. I bought you lunch.”

“You are dodging the question,” she said, her voice impressively stern. “That cop backed off of you. You weren't scared of him at all. I have lived all over Europe and the Middle East, and I know that means something. Now tell me,
who are you?
”

When she spoke like that, there was nothing in his mind that could deny her. “I am Sheikh Makeen al-Hamidiya of Zahar,” he said, standing a little straighter. That was more than a title. It was his true self. He had only shown a portion of himself to her earlier that day, and perhaps that had been deceptive. He would make up for it now.

Makeen heard her pull her breath in and then release it slowly.

“Oh my God,” she said quietly. He wondered for a moment if he could hear tears in her voice.

“Olivia? Olivia, what is it?”

“Can you … will you meet me? Please?”