Baby Of Mine Read online

  “Please,” she gasped. “I can’t breathe.”

  “Good.” She recognized Basheem’s voice. “Feel this.” Something sharp pricked her bare torso and she flinched. “A knife,” he said. “Fight or scream and you die.”

  “Yasmin...” She managed to choke the words out. “My daughter.”

  He chuckled. “Do I seem that much of a fool? You’re the one I wanted. You’re my ticket out of Kholi.”

  Not releasing his hold, he dragged her, choking and gasping, across the courtyard. Dizzy from lack of air, Linnea felt the necklace slip from her grasp. When they came against the outer wall, the earrings fell out of her hand.

  With his knife pricking her between the shoulder blades, he forced her up a rope ladder ahead of him. At the top, he pushed her so she half fell, half jumped down the other side of the wall, stumbling and falling to her knees. As she struggled to her feet, she heard a shout from the courtyard side of the wall. “Linnea!” someone called.

  Talal!

  “One sound from you and you die,” Malik’s cousin snarled, yanking her to her feet and tying a thong around her wrists. Pulling her by a long end of the thong, he forced her toward a car parked across the road and then into it. He shoved her into the back seat, climbed into the front, revved the engine and roared off.

  Linnea sat up, swaying back and forth as the car squealed around corners, and tried to figure a way to escape. There were no handles on either rear door and a heavy glass window separated the front from the back so she couldn’t reach the driver. Even if she could open a rear door she’d be killed if she tried to jump from the car at this speed.

  Something pricked her thigh, and, feeling awkwardly with her bound hands, she discovered the wire of one of the earrings she’d lost in the palace courtyard had snagged in the filmy material of the costume she still wore. She started to work it loose and then shook her head, leaving the earring where it was. Maybe she could find a way to use the earring later. A faint hope but better than none. The ankle bracelets she hadn’t removed tinkled with each movement she made.

  She twisted around to look through the back window, searching for any sign of pursuit. Headlights shone far back along the road, but she had no way of knowing who drove that car. She prayed it was Talal. She concentrated on trying to free her hands, but the thong was tied too tightly.

  Her mind skittered away from any thought of Yasmin. At the moment her position was too precarious to be distracted by worry. She had to use all her wits to get away from her captor. But how?

  Maybe if she knew where he was taking her she could form some kind of plan. Clearing her bruised throat, she said, “Can you hear me? Where are we going?”

  Basheem didn’t answer.

  Either the intercom wasn’t working or he didn’t choose to answer. What now?

  If he stopped, she should try to leave something to mark their trail. She reached for the earring again, then shook her head. The silver ankle bells would be better. With much effort, she worked one of the ankle chains loose and held it in her left hand.

  She tried to peer from the windows of the car but could see no lights, and the tinted glass made anything else difficult to make out in the darkness. From the more labored sound of the car’s engine, she deduced they were climbing, and she tried to picture the mountains around Akrim as she’d seen them on the drives with Grandmother Noorah. Visions of white buildings and towers rose in her mind.

  Were they heading for the Turkish ruins? On the other side of the hills where the ruins stood, as she recalled, the road led to the border of Yemen. But hadn’t Grandmother Noorah mentioned that the border was many klicks, as she called kilometers, off and also unfriendly?

  She twisted around again to look through the rear window. No headlights followed. Huddling on the seat, she tried not to give way to the panic she felt hovering over her.

  Suddenly she was thrown onto her side as the car swerved into a right-angle turn. As she straightened, she began to jounce up and down as they negotiated what was apparently an extremely rough road. The ruins? She thought she could see white blurs through the tinted windows. They must be off the main road—why had he turned in here? No one lived in the ruins. She’d been told Bedouin nomads had formerly camped among the ruins but rarely did so these days—the city below had grown too large for them to be comfortable setting up a camp so close by.

  The car stopped, he climbed from it and reached to open the back door from the outside. She tried to swallow her fear. He’d told her bluntly enough that she was his ticket out of Kholi, so she no longer believed he had any intention of leading her to Yasmin. The stop here was for some other reason. Dread tightened her muscles.

  He grasped the dangling end of the thong binding her hands and yanked her from the back of the car. As she stumbled out, a flash of defiance sizzled through her growing terror. “Where is she?” Linnea demanded. “I’m beginning to think you don’t even know where my daughter is.”

  “You’re wrong.” He tugged on the thong, forcing her to follow him up an overgrown path that hurt her bare feet.

  Linnea fought down the flicker of hope in her heart. No, Yasmin wouldn’t be hidden somewhere in the ruins. It made no sense for him to bring her daughter here if what he meant to do was flee the country with Linnea as hostage. She clutched the chain of bells tightly. Not yet.

  She bit back a cry as she stepped on something sharp, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing her gasp in pain. The moon, past full and waning, shone down, adding an eerie dimension to the square white building looming up ahead of them. On her daylight tour she’d thought the Turkish ruins exotically lovely. By night they seemed ominous.

  He forced her on until at last they reached the doorless building. Linnea dropped the belled chain at the threshold, the continual tinkling of the other chain still around her ankle covering the sound. She limped inside, following his pull on the thong, the floor, littered with debris, adding additional agony to her injured foot. She’d done all she could to mark her trail, but if no one pursued, she’d done so in vain.

  Talal. She whispered his name under her breath, holding it in her mind like a talisman of hope.

  Her captor paused after entering an inner room. He crouched, yanking her down onto her knees. Producing a tiny penlight from his pocket, he flashed it into her eyes, blinding her for a moment. Then his light roamed over her body, making her stiffen in renewed fear. She saw the glint of the light on the blade of his knife as he raised it and she shrank back.

  He pulled her closer, the knife slashing at the thongs binding her hands together. She blinked in surprise at her unexpected freedom. He grabbed her wrist, stood and pulled her with him.

  Releasing her, he said, “Undress. Now.”

  She stared at him in horror.

  “Afterward you can put on the woman’s gown,” he told her, gesturing to a heap of blackness on the floor near where a rug was laid atop the rubble. “First we’ll take our pleasure.”

  “No!” she cried, edging away from him.

  The flashlight fell from his hand onto the rug as he grasped her wrist, shoved her into the corner where two walls met and traced the tip of his knife along her bare midriff. Beads of blood appeared. “You will undress for me,” he growled.

  Though the tiny beam of the fallen penlight now illuminated the opposite wall rather than being focused on them, there was enough light for Linnea to cringe at the avid anticipation in his eyes. Enough light for her to fear the knife that was forcing her to his will. Enough light for him to gape at her nudity once she’d removed her clothes. Enough light so she’d be forced to watch him rape her afterward. The thought made her gag.

  Was there no escape? Stalling, she mumbled, “I’ll take off the ankle chain first.” As she reached down, her fingers brushed against the earring caught in her costume. Hiding what she was doing with her hand, she unhooked the wire and carried the earring with her while she fumbled with the chain around her ankle. Bells tinkled when she finally re
leased the catch and tossed the chain aside.

  “Hurry up!” he snapped.

  He had her penned in this corner; she couldn’t get away. Taking a deep breath, her gaze pinned to the knife he threatened her with, Linnea regretted she’d never taken any defense classes for women. Even if she had, though, she couldn’t imagine how she’d be able to disarm him before he could use the knife on her.

  Slowly, reluctantly, she raised her hand to the tiny buttons on the front of the costume’s top.

  A wild, ululating howl froze her in position. In a blur of motion, a figure—Talal!—leaped at her captor through the archway and Basheem swung around to face him.

  “He’s got a knife!” she screamed.

  As if by magic a knife appeared in Talal’s hand, too. They circled each other, close to her. Too close. She sidled from the corner, backing up until several feet separated her from the two men. Breath hissed between her teeth as her captor lunged at Talal, slashing downward with his blade. Talal leaped aside, whirling to deliver his own blow. Blood stained the shoulder of Basheem’s white robe.

  She saw Talal through different eyes, a man fighting for his woman, fighting for her. Love she’d refused to admit to swept into her heart, making her lift a hand to her breast as though to try to contain the feeling. Why hadn’t she realized her love for him was too great to be imprisoned behind the barriers she’d tried to erect?

  When Basheem came even with the archway, he suddenly turned and fled. Talal raced after him. Left alone, Linnea grabbed up the penlight and searched the room for any possible weapon she might use, coming up blank. Finally she twisted the hook of the earring wire straight and gripped it in her hand so the wire was free to jab with. Not much, but the best she could do. Putting her back to a wall, she waited apprehensively, fearing that, if she moved, Talal wouldn’t be able to find her once he disposed of the enemy and returned here.

  Besides, if she left, she wouldn’t dare use the light and, in the darkness, might blunder into Basheem again and wind up as his hostage. At the same time, she longed to get into the action, to do her part in capturing this evil Khaldun.

  Running footsteps alerted her, she tensed, prepared for anything. Talal burst through the archway, his glance searching the room. When he located her, he paused momentarily, his attention distracted just long enough for him to step on her discarded chain of bells. His foot twisted under him and he lurched sideways, falling onto his back despite a desperate attempt to stay on his feet.

  Shrieking in triumph, Basheem bounded into the room and, knife in hand, flung himself at the fallen Talal. Crying “No!” Linnea darted forward and thrust the stainless steel earring wire as hard as she could into the back of Basheem’s neck.

  He cried out and clapped a hand to his nape. Talal rolled free and leaped to his feet in time to avoid a thrust of his opponent’s knife. He thrust at the Khaldun dog, aiming for his knife arm. His blood beat with the need to kill the dung-eater but, controlling his battle rage was the knowledge the king would resent being deprived of a beheading.

  At that moment the man twisted and Talal’s knife slid in between the ribs instead. With a sickening gurgle, Basheem collapsed onto the floor, frothy blood oozing from his mouth. Talal grimaced as he stared down at him. Got him in the lungs. He wasn’t likely to survive long.

  “Talal!” The alarm in Linnea’s voice made him whirl.

  Three Bedouins in desert dress, the ends of their checkered red-and-white headdresses folded back, stood in the archway, knives in hand.

  “Prince Talal,” the oldest one said. “We heard your call. We came.”

  Talal hadn’t realized he’d uttered the primitive howl that was the fighting call of his ancestors’ Bedouin clan. The sight of Linnea at the mercy of a Khaldun had short-circuited his brain.

  He strode to the men, embracing them one at a time. “Thanks to Allah, you were within earshot. I won’t forget.”

  The eldest smiled. “We were camped for the night at the far edge of the ruins and arrived late, Prince. You needed no help.”

  “I ask your help now,” Talal said. “My enemy must be taken to a hospital.”

  The old Bedouin shrugged. “Why bother?”

  “We need information from him before he dies,” Talal said. “So we save him. His car is down the track. Can you drive him to the city and remain with him until I arrive at the hospital?”

  “You ask, Prince, we oblige,” the Bedouin said.

  “As I will do in return one day.” He bent, extracted car keys from a pocket of Basheem’s robe and tossed them to the old man. Without further talk, the three men lifted the unconscious man and bore him from the room. Talal strode to Linnea and wrapped his arms around her.

  She hugged him close. “Thank heaven those men were friendly,” she murmured. “They frightened me.”

  “Some of my Bedouin relatives,” he said, breathing in the fragrance of her hair in bemused relief.

  “Who in Kholi aren’t you related to?”

  Detecting the quiver in her voice, he eased her away. “Time to get you back to the palace.” Seeing her wince as, an arm around her waist, he urged her through the archway, he noticed her bare feet and the bloodstained footprints she’d left on the filthy floor.

  Muttering in Arabic, he swept her into his arms and strode from the ruins, heading for his car.

  Against the odds, he’d found Linnea in time to save her from defilement by that miserable Khaldun. In all his life, he’d never been given a more precious gift.

  What he felt for Linnea was far more than the normal lust of a man for a pretty woman. He knew he’d protect her with his life if necessary, but love was a word he’d never offered any woman because he shied away from lying. Even now, carrying the woman who meant more to him than anything else, the word caught in his throat, refusing to pass onto his tongue.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Talal drove back to the palace with one arm around Linnea. She huddled against him as though he was her only anchor in a sea of chaos. Before they reached the palace, though, she’d recovered enough to begin asking questions.

  “I heard you call my name,” she said, “but he—Basheem Khaldun—had that knife and I couldn’t answer. I tried to leave a trail for you to follow. Did you find the necklace and the earring?”

  His arm tightened around her. “That’s one of the reasons I was able to locate you in time. We’d traced Basheem to the ruins earlier, but he was gone by the time we reached them. Once I found he’d abducted you, I was sure he’d head back to his lair. When I discovered the ankle chain outside the ruined building, I knew where he’d taken you.”

  He wasn’t yet able to share with her how he’d felt when he arrived at the palace and found her gone. He’d been close on Basheem’s trail when he’d realized with a sickening certainty that trail was leading him toward the palace. Toward Linnea. Knowing Basheem meant to harm her, he’d finally understood just how much she meant to him and he was terrified he’d be too late—as he almost had been.

  “I tried not to lose my head,” she said.

  “You’re as brave as any man I know,” he told her.

  By the time they reached the palace Talal’s fury at the ruthless dog who’d abducted her had reached explosive proportions. He carried Linnea into their suite at the palace, damping down his rage with difficulty. Her injuries needed tending and he meant to take care of her himself.

  After easing her onto the bed, he directed the servants he’d summoned to run bath water and fetch first aid supplies. As they hurried away, Linnea beckoned him close. He bent down and she whispered, “Don’t leave me alone with any of them. One of the women servants is connected to him.” She shuddered. “The one who gave me his message.”

  “Who is she?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t pay attention at the time.”

  “But surely you’d recognize her?”

  She shook her head. “It was dark and there are so many of them.”

  A traito
r within the palace. Not the first time nor, unfortunately, would it be the last.

  “She’ll be found,” he promised grimly. “And dealt with. I won’t leave you until I’m certain you’re all right. I’ll have to go soon, but Grandmother Noorah will take my place. You won’t be alone.”

  When the bath was ready, he dismissed the two hovering servants. With gentle hands he unbuttoned the top of Linnea’s belly dancer’s costume and eased it from her. She wore nothing underneath, and he did his best to ignore his flicker of desire at the sight of her rounded breasts. He tugged off the lower part of the costume, revealing white silk bikini panties that barely covered her dark mound.

  Blood pounding in his ears, he slid off the panties, his arousal now impossible to control. Taking a deep breath, he lifted her, snuggling her nakedness against him as he carried her into the bathroom and lowered her into the oversized tub.

  “I can wash myself,” she protested as he knelt and picked up a sponge.

  “Let me,” he said, sliding a rose-scented cake of soap gently over first one breast, then the other, feeling her nipples peak under his fingers. Desire waged a battle with his determination to cleanse her, as if washing her would free her of the memory of what she’d endured.

  “Not fair,” she murmured as he continued to half wash, half caress her. “I’m naked and you’re fully dressed.” The huskiness in her voice revealed her own need.

  He grinned. “No problem.” Setting sponge and soap aside, he removed his headdress and sandals, threw off his robe and undershorts and climbed into the tub with her, the warm and scented water lapping softly around his body, caressing him as he longed to caress her. Before he could claim the soap again, Linnea was lathering his chest with it.

  The feel of her fingers against his skin was both endearing and erotic, and the sweet scent of roses bemused him. He’d allowed no woman to wash him since he was old enough to protest. Linnea was different. She was his wife, of course, but that had little to do with the emotions rocketing through him.