The Sheik Who Loved Me Page 3

  “We find her. Dead or alive. We need to be damn sure either way.”

  O’Reilly turned to the window and stared out at the African city skyline. “If we go looking for her, if we send search parties out with guns blazing, Rashid’s gonna find out.”

  “Then we do it another way, and we do it real quiet. And we kill any information before it gets out, starting with the embassy.”

  O’Reilly nodded. “If he finds her first…” He paused. “Rashid is a dangerous man,” he said very quietly.

  Lancaster studied him in silence. “Yes. But if crossed, she is one dangerous woman.” His eyes narrowed. “And right now she is a loose thread we can’t afford.”

  Chapter 2

  “This is Dr. James Watson.” David introduced the large gray-haired man to whom he’d been talking in hushed, guarded tones.

  Why the secrecy? What were they hiding from her? Unfocused panic skittered through her system.

  The doctor came over to her bedside. His smile was warm. “How’re you feeling, Sleeping Beauty?”

  From anyone else, the trite comment would have annoyed her, but she didn’t mind it from this man. He seemed genuine enough, and he had the comforting look of experience in the deep lines of his weather-beaten face. “I…I’ve been better,” she said, her voice still coming out raspy. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth, and her lips were dry and cracked. The skin on her face felt tight.

  “I want you to follow this light with your eyes,” Dr. Watson said, moving a pencil-thin flashlight across her field of vision. She followed the movement.

  “Looking good.” He clicked off the light, stepped back slightly and studied her face. “I hear you’re experiencing some amnesia.”

  She tried again to recall what had happened, how she’d ended up on the beach of a Red Sea island in a terrible storm, but she couldn’t. With a horrible, sinking realization she realized she still didn’t have a clue who in the world she was.

  “The most important thing is not to panic,” he said.

  Yeah, right. She swallowed, wincing at the raw pain in her throat. David moved instantly to the dresser, poured water from a jug into a glass, brought it to her.

  She raised herself slightly on one elbow, accepted the glass from him and swallowed greedily. But before she could drain the glass, he grabbed it from her. “Whoa, take it slow.”

  She felt as if he’d snatched a life source from her. Her eyes flashed to his. “I’m thirsty,” she challenged.

  His eyes held hers, the ink of his pupils blackening his irises as he watched her face. “Too much, too fast,” he said slowly, too slowly, his voice low like heavy mist in a dry and rocky canyon, “and you’ll only feel worse. Trust me, I know thirst. I know the ways of the desert.”

  Trust him? Instinctively she knew she shouldn’t. But she couldn’t break his gaze. She couldn’t tear her attention away from the smouldering male interest in his eyes. Her heart began to beat faster. Her breathing became more shallow. And with utter shock, she realized her body was warming under the intense heat of his gaze. She was reacting physically to the thirst in this powerful man’s eyes.

  He stepped slowly back from the bed, his eyes still holding her prisoner, even in retreat.

  “I’d like to ask you some questions if that’s all right?” The doctor’s voice snapped her back. With sheer relief she turned her attention fully to Dr. Watson.

  “Do you know who this is?” He gestured to David as he spoke.

  She hesitated, unwilling to look at David, afraid to snare his gaze again, mortified at how he made her feel inside. Lord, she sure wished she did know who he was, why she was feeling these things about him. “Of course I know who he is. He’s David Rashid. We…we met earlier. He…he said he brought me up from the beach.” Naked.

  “Very good. You’re able to form new memories since your accident. That means no anterograde amnesia. Now let’s see what you know about the past.” He paused, thinking. “Okay, tell me, do you know who John Lennon was?”

  “Of course.”

  “Churchill?”

  She let out an exasperated breath. “Yes. I know who Churchill was. And Hitler. I know my history. I know about World War II. I know when the Berlin Wall came down. I know when Mandela was released. I know…” that David Rashid is smuggling weapons-grade uranium.

  She froze. Her heart cramped tight and then hammered hard against her chest. Oh God, where had that come from? Heat flushed into her cheeks.

  “Your parents?”

  The doctor was talking to her, but her mind was suddenly blank.

  “Do you know who your mother is? Your father?” he pressed.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember something about her childhood…anything about her childhood. But there was nothing. Just a black hole. She sucked in a shaky breath. “No,” she said softly, opening her eyes, still trying not to look at David. “I don’t know who my parents are.”

  “Can you recall where you went to school? To university? Your job?”

  She shook her head.

  The doctor was chewing on his cheek, his brow furrowed in thought. She could feel the heat of David’s concentrated gaze on her. It confounded her thinking further. Unsettled her. She needed clothes. A hairbrush. Maybe then she’d feel less vulnerable.

  “Do you remember where you grew up?” This time the question came from David.

  She sucked in a breath and turned slowly to look into his face. She felt a flush rise in her cheeks again the instant his eyes caught hers. She fought the warming sensation, forced herself to scrutinize his features, to find a match in her brain. Why did she think he had anything to do with nuclear weapons? What did uranium have to do with anything at all? Where in heavens had that thought come from? She tried to dig it out of her memory. But it was gone, a wisp of smoke in the breeze. Had she fabricated the notion? Maybe it had been born of a confusing nightmare she’d had as she’d slept in his bed. She didn’t trust anything about her mind right now. Or her body. And that scared the hell out of her. She didn’t want to show just how frightened she was.

  “This is ridiculous,” she said. “If I can remember the Beatles, if I can recall historical events, why don’t I know how I came about that information? Why don’t I know where I went to school? Why don’t I know who the hell I am? It just doesn’t make sense.” She felt tears burn behind her eyelids, which only frustrated her more.

  “Give it time,” Dr. Watson said. “I’ll run a few more tests later. Meanwhile,” he said, clipping his black bag shut, “try to relax. No use worrying about what you don’t know, now, is there?”

  Oh, yes, there was. She angrily sniffed back the thick emotion rising in her chest.

  “You’re British,” David offered, his voice a little softer.

  “Is that a question?” she snapped.

  The hint of a smile tugged at his finely sculpted mouth. It only served to irk her further. Her belligerence, given her absolute vulnerability at the moment, obviously amused the man.

  “It’s a suggestion,” he offered. “Your accent is English. You sound like you’re from the U.K. Maybe you came on a diving holiday? Not many tourists come to the Sudanese region otherwise. Unless of course you live in the area. Or you’re working here, with an aid organization, maybe?”

  “Those are questions.” And they made her deeply uneasy.

  “Does any of it seem even remotely familiar?” he asked, a twinkle in the indigo of his eyes.

  She closed her eyes, shutting him out. “No.”

  “Well…do you dive?”

  Her eyes snapped open. “I don’t know!”

  “You do know where the Red Sea is?”

  “Of course I know where the Red Sea is. I’m not brain dead. I just can’t remember who I am.” Frustration clipped her words.

  David opened his mouth to speak. But Watson’s hand restrained him.

  “It’s perfectly normal to feel frustrated,” said the doctor, eyeing first David, then her. “Things
will probably start coming back as you begin to feel better. For starters, you could probably do with something to eat.”

  God bless the doctor.

  “Of course,” said David. “Forgive me. I’ll get Fayha’, my housekeeper, to bring you some breakfast. Anything in particular you like?”

  “I…I…” She racked her brain. “Dammit, I don’t know!” She struggled into a sitting position, clutching on to her sheet.

  Something shifted suddenly in David’s eyes. He was watching how her hands clutched the sheet over her breasts. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice deeper, the Arabic accent suddenly stronger. “We’ll find out who you are. We’ll put word out as soon as we have communication up and running again. We’ll contact the embassies in the region and the Sudanese Ministry of Interior. You can’t get into this part of the world without a visa, and you have to register with authorities once you arrive. If you came to Shendi from Sudan, there’ll be a record. We’ll also put word out in Saudi Arabia and Egypt in case you were on a dive trip that originated from one of those countries. Someone will know who you are.”

  “Great,” she muttered. “I sure as hell hope so.”

  “And once you’ve eaten,” said Dr. Watson, “I’ll come back and run a few more simple tests. In the meantime,” his eyes shifted to David, “I need to pack for Khartoum. I have to leave this afternoon if we’re going to get those medical supplies to the Ba’ar mine before the end of the week.”

  David nodded and Watson made for the door.

  She panicked. The doctor was going to leave her alone with him.

  “Are you a neurologist?” She called after Watson in an unfocused attempt to keep him in the room.

  The doctor paused, turned calmly back to face her. He indulged her with his warm and generous smile. “No, I’m an internist. But I do have some basic neurological and psychiatric training. I’m in David’s employ,” he explained.

  “Employ?”

  “Watson works for Rashid International, my company,” said David. “He sees to my employees in remote areas, and you’re damn lucky he was still around when you washed up.”

  Rashid International. Something pinged faintly in the back of her brain. There was something familiar about the name…as if she had a role to play with the organization. But that wasn’t possible…because then surely David and Watson would know who she was, wouldn’t they?

  A noise outside in the passage interrupted her thoughts. David heard it, too. He stilled, listened. And a grin spread slowly across his face. “Kamilah?” he called out. “Is that you lurking out there?”

  The silky, dark head of a child peered around the heavy door. Huge chocolate-brown eyes stared straight at her. They were the eyes of a beautiful and nervous deer, she thought as she studied the girl. She had velvet coffee-brown skin, and her hair, the same blue-black as David’s, hung thick below her slight shoulders.

  “Ah, as I suspected.” David held his hand out to the child. “Come on in, sweetheart.” He turned to face her. “This is my daughter, Kamilah. She discovered you on the beach. I believe she saved your life.”

  She looked from David to Kamilah and back. Saved her life? This child?

  Kamilah stepped cautiously into the room.

  A band of tension strapped tight across David’s chest as he watched his daughter edge toward the woman in his bed. Kamilah had not uttered another word since he’d brought her “mermaid” up from the beach, in spite of his best efforts to reengage her verbally.

  At first his heart had sunk. But her eyes had looked deep into his, giving him a rare window into her little soul. And in her eyes he’d read gratitude. That look alone had shifted the ground beneath his feet. And her small hand had held his so very tight when he’d brought her to see the “mermaid” in his bed once Watson had stitched her up.

  And when he’d kissed Kamilah’s soft dark head goodnight, she’d smiled, hugged him as if her little life depended on the contact. It had all been a precious slice of pure sunshine in a world that had been way too gray for way too long.

  But still, he couldn’t shake his feeling of unease as he watched Kamilah venture up to the woman’s bedside. He watched his daughter’s eyes widen in awe at the sight of the golden woman in his bed.

  “Hello, Kamilah.” The woman’s voice was suddenly soft. Melodious.

  “I guess I owe you a very big thank-you,” she said. “How on earth did you manage to find me in the storm?”

  She waited, expecting Kamilah to answer.

  The room went dead quiet. Expectancy hung thick in the air. David felt the muscles in his neck go stiff. Would she speak again?

  His daughter edged even closer to the bed. It had been a long, long time since David had seen such confidence in his baby. For the past two years, she’d all but coiled up in front of strangers. He tried to swallow against the odd mix of sensations in his throat. Would she speak in front of one now?

  “I…I was waiting for you,” Kamilah said so softly David thought he might have imagined the sound.

  “Waiting for me?”

  Kamilah’s dark head nodded. “For a long time.”

  Emotion exploded instantly into David’s chest. She’d spoken to a stranger! Just like that. When for the past two years she hadn’t been able to utter a word to him. A curious cocktail of relief and resentment began to churn in his stomach.

  “You were waiting for me?” the woman asked again, confusion knitting her brow. Her eyes flicked up, met David’s. He could see the unspoken question in them. But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t say a thing. She scrutinized him, then she turned her green eyes on Watson. He said nothing, either. Neither of them were willing to break the spell.

  The woman turned her attention back to Kamilah, obviously aware that something was playing out on a much deeper level. “Well, I’m very grateful that you found me,” she softly.

  And with those few words, she notched up a resenting respect from David. In spite of her injury, in spite of her memory loss, she had enough presence of mind not to call Kamilah on her statement. She’d simply gone with the flow.

  David watched as Kamilah’s eyes slid in wonder down from the woman’s face to where her legs raised the Egyptian-cotton sheet. Then his daughter tensed visibly.

  “What is it, Kamilah?” the woman asked.

  Kamilah’s eyes shot up to the woman’s face, then back to the unmistakable shape of legs under the sheet. And David knew. He knew exactly what was worrying Kamilah. The woman didn’t have a tail.

  He had to do something, say something. He cleared his throat. “Kamilah…feels, uh, she believes that you should have a tail.”

  Everyone stared at him. He cleared his throat again. “You’re…you’re supposed to be a mermaid. With a tail.”

  The woman’s almond-shaped eyes widened. Her jaw dropped. David’s stomach balled into a knot. He had no idea what the woman might say, what words it would take to crush his child. He was petrified Kamilah would once again derail when she discovered the woman was not a real mermaid.

  “A tail?”

  David nodded. “Yes.”

  She studied his eyes, trying to read him, trying to guess his game, then she turned slowly to face Kamilah. “Should I have a tail, Kamilah? Please don’t tell me I should have a tail. Have I totally lost it?”

  Watson chuckled heartily, cracking the tension. “Well if you had a tail it’s gone now, so yes, I’d say you lost it.” The doctor continued to chortle merrily at his own joke.

  David didn’t find it at all amusing. He knew what this meant to Kamilah.

  The woman sensed it, too. “But you seem to think I should have a tail, Kamilah?”

  The little girl nodded, her face deadly serious.

  “Hmm.” Then the woman smiled. A warm smile. Like sunshine. It reached right into her emerald eyes making them sparkle with the morning light. And it made a dimple deepen in her one cheek. David stared, struck once again by her unbalanced beauty, by how white her teeth were against her soft t
an. She’d been exquisite in repose, but the animation in her smile brought her beauty to full life. And it was dazzling. But it wasn’t only her physical appearance that intrigued him. She possessed a latent confidence, and right now she was in control of this bizarre situation in spite of her loss of identity, in spite of the fact she was stark naked under that thin sheet, a fact he couldn’t seem to erase from his mind.

  Bemused, he watched as she placed her hand gently over Kamilah’s. “You know, sometimes it happens when mermaids come on land,” she said softly. “Sometimes they lose their tails in exchange for something else…like legs.” She tipped her head conspiratorially closer to his daughter’s, and lowered her smoky voice to a whisper.

  “And, Kamilah,” she said. “You do have to remember that sometimes things are not quite what meet the eye. You’ve always got to keep an open mind, because one can never be sure when it comes to the magic of fairy tales.” She smiled again. “But I think you know that, don’t you? I think you know all about fairy tales.”

  No one spoke. Tiny dust motes danced, glistened in the shafts of yellow sunshine sneaking through the wooden slats that covered the window.

  “What’s your name?” Kamilah’s little whisper sliced the silence. David released a whoosh of air he hadn’t realized was trapped in his lungs. His heart tripped back into a steady rhythm. His child was coping. She was going to be okay.

  The woman studied his daughter carefully, looking deep into her eyes, as if seeing something there that he, a mere mortal, a mere father, didn’t have the power to see.

  “Kamilah,” she said. “I don’t have a name. Not right now, anyway. I can’t remember it. I got a bad knock on the head, and I can’t seem to remember where I came from.”

  Kamilah nodded solemnly, as if she understood completely, as if mermaids not only lost tails but that it was quite common for them to lose their minds when they got washed up out of the sea. Then his child turned suddenly and stared expectantly up at him.

  David swallowed, taken aback by the spark of urgency in his child’s eyes. He wasn’t sure what she wanted. “What is it, Kamilah?” he asked.