The Sheik's Command (21 page)

“Nasab is with the insurgency?”

“It’s not clear yet. My interrogators believe Nasab might be using the insurgency to create unrest for another reason. He might be working for someone else, possibly even for someone outside the country. We have a lot of work to do still. The danger is not over.”

“Zakir, in the orchard, the man who gave me the capsule and the orders, he was foreign. Caucasian, I think. He had an accent that might have been European, maybe French.”

Zakir nodded. “We have him. My men followed him from the orchard after he met with you. He led us to an insurgent cell, a base camp carved into a sandstone cliff. They were holding Samira there.”

Emotion balled into her throat again. For a moment she couldn’t speak. She touched his hand, his smooth dark skin, her heart swelling and aching with love for this fierce and gentle man. So strong, yet so vulnerable in his impending blindness.

“Zakir,” she whispered, “can you forgive me for—”

He touched his fingertips over her lips. “I know you didn’t come here to hurt me, Nikki. My heart was right. You are a healer, not a killer. Tariq helped confirm this. He remembered who you were, and he passed the information to our private investigators in the States. They confirmed it with biometrics and fingerprint matches.”

She inhaled shakily, Sam snaking back into her thoughts. With it came the cool, dank fear, the memories. “I am not that person anymore, Zakir.”

“Nor am I the same person you saw written up in the tabloids, Nikki.” He paused. “Sometimes we need to go through a crucible of trials to become the people we are really destined to be.”

Silently, she reached up, removed his glasses. Nikki touched the sides of his eyes, and her heart sank. His right pupil was showing barely any reaction at all. He was almost completely blind.

He touched her face in return, his strong fingers so gentle, and as he felt the wetness on her cheeks, emotion began to glisten in his own eyes. “I am thankful that I can see you one last time, before the darkness is permanent. I’d like to
think you were destined to come to me, Nikki,” he whispered. “I think we could be good together. I believe we
belong
together.”

She crumpled against his strong body. And he stroked her hair. “Tell me about your twins,” he whispered. “About Hailey and Chase. Tell me everything.”

And she did. It was the first time Nikki had been able to speak openly about it in this way, without feeling judged, hated, and it was profoundly cathartic.

Zakir gathered her tightly into his arms. He held and comforted her like she’d needed to be comforted all those years ago after the tragic deaths of her toddlers. Like she’d needed to be loved by the husband who’d betrayed her.

“What about the senator?” she whispered as her emotions settled. “Does…does he know I am here?”

“Nikki—” for she’d never be anything else to him “—Senator Etherington will never know. Your identity will remain a secret between us and our private security company. Omair has special contacts who can create you a brand-new identity. One that will withstand exhaustive international scrutiny. But we can keep the name Nikki.” He caressed her face. “I would like this, because you
are
Nikki to me. And the surname they choose is irrelevant because—if you say yes—when you become my queen you will adopt the Al Arif name and legacy as your own.
That
is the name that will matter.”

Tears were streaming down her face again. Zakir could feel the hot wetness. He could feel her shaking. But he could see very little in this light. He leaned down, kissing the tears away, tasting the salt of her emotion, remembering every little detail of her oasis eyes, her features, the memory of her face glowing like a candle—a beacon of light and hope in the darkness that would now become a part of his life.

“How can this be done, Zakir? How can you just give me an identity that will withstand such scrutiny?”

He inhaled, thinking no more secrets. What he knew about Omair, she, too, would know. “Omair sometimes contracts to a private military organization based on Sao Diogo, an island off the west coast of Africa. This company occasionally subcontracts to the CIA or the Pentagon. Omair tells us very little about his work, Nikki, but I do know his people can organize this. I have already spoken to him about it. Nikki Hunt will cease to exist. She will have fled the mission in Mauritania and vanished, presumed perished in the Sahara.”

“What…about my orphans?”

“We will make them ours, Nikki.”

“All seven?”

He laughed. “Eight if we count the new baby that will be born in the Summer Palace. They, too, can bear the Al Arif name. It will mean a lot to me.” He smiled, feeling warm, feeling a sense of family, feeling like a true patriarch. All things he’d missed and begun to crave upon his return to the desert. Things he’d begun to crave when he’d met Nikki.

He sensed her shift in energy, her joy, and Zakir reached up to touch her mouth. He felt her smile. His heart soared. It gave him such pleasure to make her happy, to give hope back. To protect her.

“What about Mercy Missions, Zakir? You mentioned that you told the Tenerife base that I was here—”

“We’ll work it out. We can say any number of things, for example, that we lost contact with you again when you returned to the Rahm Hills.”

“And your enemies on the King’s Council—what if they’ve already dug up something on my past?”

“Those enemies are all now in custody, Nikki. They will stand trial at once, and anything they know will go with them
to their graves. We still do not yet know who was pulling their strings, but if we do this quickly—if we change your identity and we marry very soon—you
will
be safe.” He cupped her face. “Will you accept my proposal and become my queen of Al Na’Jar? Will you rule by my side and help guide me when I stray?”

“Zakir, what if some journalist tries to trace my background and finds I am this person with no history?”

“Omair’s contacts are the real deal, Nikki. They’ll plant a false past for you. And they—and I—will make sure that Sam Etherington can’t touch you.”

By leaking to the press that he had tried to kill his wife.

He lifted her face to his. “Please, Nikki, be my queen. Rule by my side. And in return I promise to protect you and keep you and our children safe.”

“Yes,” she whispered, not believing this was possible. Not fully able to comprehend that her ridiculous childhood fairy-tale dreams had come true—she’d found her prince. She’d found family. After all she’d been through.

“I love, you, Zakir,” she whispered as she leaned up to kiss him. “More than you will ever know.”

Zakir took her into the private garden off his chambers, where she bathed in rosewater, the sun warm on her naked skin. And they made love again, so tenderly and so poignantly, and Nikki felt as if she had come home. Into the arms of her sheik. Where he would keep her safe. And loved. Always.

And she would guide him through his darkness in return.