Bodyguard Confessions

Quamar’s knife hit, sinking into the guard’s forehead, his surprised features a death mask as he slumped to the floor.

Expertly, the giant searched the man. Finding nothing, he shoved the body into a nearby utility closet, grabbed his knife and the rifle, then waved Anna forward.

Quamar tapped on the door.

Seconds ticked by. Quamar tapped again.

“Who is it?”

Quamar spoke too low for Anna to hear, but after a few words, the door opened.

A woman, no more than thirty, petite with feathered black hair just past her shoulders, waved them in.

“Quamar.” Relief underlined his name.

Quamar placed a finger to her lips, gave her one of the rifles. With silent steps, he made his way through the apartment, searching the adjoining rooms. A few moments later, he returned and motioned Anna into the apartment.

Tentatively, she glanced around. Luxurious by any standard, the apartment still managed a homey appearance. Muted, jeweled colors of sapphire, emerald and ruby draped the walls, covered the floors. A balanced blend of patterns and solids, mixed with the darker mahogany of the furniture, did more than relax—it soothed the senses.

“Your mother will be out in a moment,” Quamar said, before placing both rifles on a nearby dining table. “I caught her by surprise.”

For the first time, Anna took a good look at her rescuer.

Oh, he was tall, she’d known that. Even in the hospital bed, the blankets and bandages hadn’t been able to hide the height of the man. But they certainly hid the massive strength beneath.

The romantic in her recognized his stance as that of a warrior—taut, tense but poised. To protect, to rescue those he stood guard over—those he deemed defenseless. Her. Rashid.

Broad shoulders and bulging muscles were well defined under the flow of his black robe. Bare-chested, his rich, bronzed skin glistened with sweat and golden undertones where his robe parted into a V, framing the rigid abdominal muscles. He wore his dark pants loose and low on lean hips. But the cotton did little to conceal the firm, tight-muscled thighs beneath.

The woman in her took him in with one, slow stroke of her eye, recognizing instantly the attraction that fluttered in her stomach.

He’d taken off the turban, giving her an unobstructed view of his face. Dark eyebrows framed onyx eyes and long, thick lashes. Their arch, concealed now with a frown, she imagined appeared with a vengeance once his humor surfaced. If he had one.

He kept his head and face clean-shaven, adding a smooth texture to otherwise masculine features. His jaw was chiseled with a slight cleft in his chin—cut from the same stone that carved his high cheekbones, the straight slant of his nose.

His mouth, beautifully sculptured from the Greek gods—hard and sexy, with just enough give to hint at something softer beneath.

“Miss Cambridge, are you all right?”

Startled, Anna looked up to catch Quamar studying her. The black deepened enough to indicate he’d been watching her awhile.

“I’m sorry.” Heat flushed her cheeks. “Yes, I’m all right.”

“How about you, Quamar?” the woman asked, frowning as she glanced between the couple.

“I am fine, Sandra.” Quamar’s half smile only brought a raised eyebrow from his friend. He bent down and kissed the woman’s lips. A brief kiss, one of reassurance. Not passion.

Sandra’s leather-brown irises narrowed with concern. “I’ll just make sure you all are. If you don’t mind.” She walked across the room and grabbed a large black bag.

“Anna, this is Doctor Sandra Haddad,” Quamar stated when the woman returned. “Her father, Omar, is the physician to the royal family. Sandra is Taer’s coroner.”

“My father? Is he…” Sandra paused, unable to go further.

“The Al Asheera won’t harm your father, Sandra.” An older woman stepped from a nearby hallway. Her accent placed her as British. Older by at least thirty years, her skin showed little of her age. She was trim and petite, barely passing Anna’s shoulder. A glance from mother to daughter showed they had the same hairline, the same brown eyes. “He is too valuable. There is need of him.” And, Anna noted, the same stubborn line in their brow.

The woman paused long enough to caress the top of the baby’s head.

When Anna took an instinctive step back, the older woman smiled. “I’m Elizabeth Haddad. A friend.”

Before Anna could answer, Elizabeth addressed Quamar. “Prince Rashid is not safe here. Nor is Miss Cambridge.”

“The baby, he has slept through everything?” Sandra asked, already reaching for her flashlight.

“Yes,” Anna answered, trying to keep her concern at a minimum. “His nanny drugged him.”

“How long has he been out?” Sandra asked, checking the baby’s pupils.

“Over three hours now.” Anna’s arm tightened, protecting.

“Not the best way, but it served its purpose.” Sandra opened the sling and snagged the bottle from the baby’s lap. She unscrewed the lid and smelled. “Passiflora Incarnata. Not harmful but concentrated. When he wakes, he’s not going to wake happy. She had to give him quite a bit to keep him out this long. He might even have a slight headache, not all that different to a hangover.”

“But he’ll be fine?” Anna asked.

“Yes. He’s fine.” Sandra stroked Rashid’s forehead.

“But you aren’t.” Elizabeth’s gaze took in Anna’s mud-caked clothes, her bare feet. “You’ve been injured.”

With a frown, Anna followed Elizabeth’s gaze to the floor. For the first time, she noticed the blood-smeared footprints behind her.

“You are bleeding?” Quamar noticed the red marks on the floor. “Where are your shoes?”

“Slippers. I lost them running in the tunnel. Going back for them would’ve slowed us down.”

Quamar swore. He opened the door, gave Anna a hard stare, then disappeared into the hallway.

“What was that about?”

Anna sighed. “That’s his ‘Don’t you dare move while I’m gone’ look.”

“Really?” Elizabeth mused. “I’ve known Quamar since he was a child, and I’ve never seen more than a ‘I’m not going to let my feelings show’ look.”

Anna would have laughed, but she couldn’t figure out if Elizabeth was being serious or not.

Before she could ask, Quamar stepped back in and shut the door. “The rug is red, which covered your marks. But the stairs are a different matter. One that worked in our favor. I cleaned them down to the fifth floor.”

He glanced at Sandra. “Who placed the guard outside your door?”

“Hassan,” Elizabeth replied with derision. “At least that’s what the guard said. Under the ruse of protecting us, of course. He is keeping us safe in order to force Omar to help his soldiers.”

“The guard is dead. We have very little time before he is discovered. I had no choice, he saw me. But I took him down to the fifth floor also.”

Sandra nodded toward Anna’s feet. “We’ll clean up our floors, too.”

“All the communication lines are down.” Quamar walked to the bay window, eased the curtain barely an inch and studied the street. “I am taking you to my father’s camp.” He turned back to the women. “But first I need your satellite phone, Sandra.”

“I don’t have it,” Sandra replied. “It’s at my office. I only use it for my field research.”

“Then we go to your office,” Quamar stated. “Right now, I need you both to get ready.”

“No,” Sandra said. “I have a better chance of retrieving the phone if I stay. If people are injured or dead, they are going to need me and I am going to need my office. Just tell me who to call.”

“You are not staying.”

“Yes, Quamar, we are. If they come to our door, I will tell them the guard never reported to us. The worst they will do is assign another man,” Elizabeth argued. “I’m not leaving my husband.”

“Quamar,” Sandra said. “Hassan won’t harm us. He needs us too much.”

Quamar looked at her for a moment. “All right, I will give you the number to an associate. And a message. Memorize both.”

Sandra brought him a pen and paper. Quickly, he wrote the information. “Roman D’Amato. Talk to no one else,” Quamar added.

Anna didn’t recognize the name. “Will your man be able to contact my father?”

“Yes.”

“Tell him to say ‘no worries’ when he reaches my father.”

Quamar’s eyebrow arched. “A code?”

“A confirmation.”

“When were you going to tell me about this?”

“It’s not like I didn’t mention it on purpose, Quamar,” Anna retorted. “I’ve been a little preoccupied.”

Anna turned to Sandra. “When I refused having a Secret Service detail, my father devised this alternative,” she explained. “It will confirm you are a friend.”

Sandra nodded. “That’s easy enough.”

“Tell us, Quamar, how many have died?” Elizabeth asked.

“Many Taerians. Not near enough of the Al Asheera,” Quamar commented with a chilling finality.

“Your responsibility is to the prince and now, Miss Cambridge. Not revenge, Quamar,” Elizabeth advised.

Quamar’s features hardened. “First one, then the other.”

Chapter Five

“Yes. It is always that way, isn’t it?” Elizabeth commented.

Quamar’s features hadn’t changed, but the set of his jaw moved, tightened ever so slightly.

Watching, Anna understood. Quamar Bazan was enraged. He just did a damn good job hiding it.

He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want the responsibility of her or the prince. What he wanted was to destroy the Al Asheera. To avenge the dead. His family.

But wasn’t Rashid his family, too?

“Sandra, you take care of Quamar while I tend to Miss Cambridge.”

“Please call me Anna.” But as she made the request, Anna’s eyes flickered over Quamar. Fate had tossed them together, taking the decision of survival away from both of them. Prince Rashid came first.

“She stays with me, Elizabeth. They both do.” Quamar crossed his arms over his chest.

“I have been a doctor’s wife for thirty-five years and have learned something during that time. She won’t come to any harm. We’ll just be down the hall, Quamar,” Elizabeth said, the hard line of her statement leaving no chance for argument. “I will keep the door open.”

Elizabeth led her down the hallway to the last bedroom. “I have met your mother, Anna. You are very much like her.” Elizabeth’s lips tilted ever so slightly, but her voice softened. “Smart, diplomatic. But be careful, don’t underestimate Quamar. Now—” she walked to the adjoining bathroom “—let me help you and the prince get cleaned up. We do not have much time. And we’ve wasted too much already with talk.”

“The airports will be controlled, so will all the main roads,” Quamar stated grimly from behind. Anna jumped. The man moved like a jungle cat.

“See what I mean?” Elizabeth murmured to Anna. “He does like his way.”

“We’ll be crossing the Sahara, Elizabeth. To my father’s camp.”

“And the baby?”

“He is Taer. He will be fine,” Elizabeth said. “Quamar will make sure.”

Sandra entered the room with her medical bag. She caught Anna’s eye and smiled. “Looks like we’ve moved to the bedroom also.”

Anna took one look at Quamar and shook her head. “You’re worse than the Secret Service.”

Quamar merely lifted an eyebrow over the insult.

“Let me have a look at you, Quamar.”

Without argument, Quamar sat on the corner of the bed.

“How bad is the headache?” Sandra asked, before flashing the light at his right eye.

“Bearable.”

“Do you have your pills?”

“Yes. But it does not matter.”

“No. I guess it doesn’t,” Sandra responded somberly.

Sandra’s light slid from one eye to the next. “You need rest. The headache will only worsen.”

Quamar caught her hand, pulled it away from his face. “I am fine.”

Sandra said nothing, only held his look for a long moment. “Do not worry,” he added.

“I can’t help it,” Sandra retorted softly, then tugged her hand free. “I’m a doctor. It’s my job.” Her voice hardened on the last word. “I just wish I was better at it.”

“Sandra—”

“Just take your medicine when you can, okay?”

“Okay.” Quamar’s smile, while brief, took his features from attractive to heart-stopping handsome.

Little pinpricks of warning skittered down Anna’s spine. She groaned silently.

Featherlight fingers touched Anna’s arm. “Come, Anna.” Elizabeth glanced at her daughter, then to the giant. “I’m assuming that you will allow Anna to close the bathroom door?”

Anna automatically held the prince tighter. “Rashid can stay with me,” she said, not realizing until she spoke that her statement was almost identical to Quamar’s earlier one.

“You might just understand Quamar better than I thought,” Elizabeth responded.

“Put Rashid on the bed, Anna,” Quamar ordered. “I will watch him.”

Anna started to protest, but knew it was a waste of time.

“You can change his diaper, then, too.”

Quamar grunted. But whether it was a yes or no, she couldn’t decide.

She pulled Rashid out of the sling that held him close, then placed him down in the middle of the bed. At six months, his hair had grown into a thick mop of pitch-black. She touched it with trembling fingers.

This time, Elizabeth placed her hand on Anna’s shoulder lightly—a mother’s comforting touch. “He’ll be fine.”

Without waiting for Anna to respond, Elizabeth eyed Quamar. “You don’t look like you need clothes, which is a blessing. Omar is shorter than you by a few inches. And leaner. His robes wouldn’t fit.” Elizabeth glanced at her daughter. “Sandra, find Anna some clothes from Jamaal’s room.” She turned back to Anna. “He is my son. Studying also to be a doctor in the United States. He is built smaller—like my family—so his clothes should fit you better.”

“Men’s clothes?” Anna asked.

Quamar answered for Elizabeth. “They will be looking for a woman with a baby. Not two men.”

Elizabeth paused, considering. “Of course, we’re going to have to hide your figure.”

Anna felt Quamar’s gaze run over her, and she looked down. Her body wasn’t svelte, but curvy with a small waist that flared into rounded hips and thighs.

Now with the sling off, the pajamas stuck to her like a second skin. She wore no bra under the tank top, something she did only at night. Her breasts were too large to go braless any other time. Heat rose in her face.

“And hide your hair.” Elizabeth ran a hand over Anna’s blond locks. “Maybe cut the length shorter so you appear more masculine.”

“No,” Quamar answered, abruptly enough to raise the older woman’s eyebrows. “The turban will cover her head. If it comes off, they will see it is blond and it won’t matter whether it is short or long. It cannot be helped.”

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