Assassin for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 11)

by Annabelle Winters

  Kathryn laughed as she watched the smiling brown faces of the people of Sehaar look up at her, some shouting in Arabic, others whispering and giggling to each other. “What are they saying?” she asked.

  “What do you think?” Hyder replied.

  “I don’t know. That the Sheikh has brought a white woman back as his hostage?”

  The Sheikh laughed. “They are saying ‘Aikhtar alshaykh akhyrana malakatah.’ Which means the Sheikh has finally chosen his queen.”

  Kathryn felt her heart leap, but she did her best to remain calm. The past few days had drained her, and she was tired and hungry and on the edge of collapse. So why did she also feel alert and alive, happy and joyful, like this was a homecoming for not just the Sheikh but for her as well?

  She smiled and waved back as their camels moved through the crowd and made their way to the road that led to the capital of Sehaar. Already they could see the high minarets of the Grand Mosque, the domes and towers of the Royal Palace. Her head spun as she held on tight to the saddle-horn, somehow managing to still smile and wave to the adoring crowd.

  “Hyder,” she said, calling to the Sheikh as they began to leave the crowd behind and make their way towards the Royal Palace in the distance. “We should use a phone and send help for the Hashimi who might be wounded in the attack.”

  “I have already had it done,” came the reply, the Sheikh answering without even turning. “Medics have been dispatched by helicopter. They will do everything they can.”

  Kathryn frowned as she absentmindedly scanned the skies. “I don’t see any helicopters. I didn’t hear any engines or rotors. Have they left yet?”

  The Sheikh turned and looked at her, his jaw tight but his eyes sparkling. “You think I am lying? Why would I lie?”

  Kathryn frowned at the question, and suddenly she felt weak from hunger and dehydration, drained from exposure to the sun, sore from riding on a hard saddle all day. She had no idea what to believe anymore. It was almost like the Sheikh was mixing truth and lies just to get her turned around, to generate chaos and uncertainty, to make her doubt everything, everyone, Mel, Benson, his sister, even herself. But why? Why?

  “Read between the lines,” came the words in her head, and she was taken back to that first encounter with the Sheikh. It was three days ago, but it felt like three years, maybe thirty years, perhaps forever. “Read between the lines.”

  Oh, God, is that what’s happening here? Is all of this just another one of his tests, a riddle for me to solve, a puzzle for me to unravel?

  She watched the Sheikh from behind. He sat perfectly upright in his saddle, majestic and poised, as if he was in complete control. Would he really be so calm if everyone he knew, including his own sister, was trying to assassinate him? Was it possible that no one was trying to kill him at all, that it was all an act, part of the puzzle, part of the riddle that he wanted her to solve?

  You’re hungry, thirsty, sunburned, and your butt hurts from riding all day, she told herself. You’re not thinking straight. Those Russians were real. Those F-16s were real. Those Blackhawks were real. The only thing that isn’t real is this damned Sheikh.

  But there was something else that was real, wasn’t there, came the final thought as the Royal Palace loomed large in front of them. More real than anything. You and him. What it felt like to be touched by him, to be taken by him. Hold on to that. That’s the key. That’s the key to all of this.

  25

  “I guess you don’t need to carry keys to your palace,” Kathryn said as the massive jewel-encrusted teakwood doors swung open for the two of them. “Oh, my God, this is nice! Very nice!”

  She’d accepted the lightheadedness by now, and she grinned like a fool as she stared at the lavish entryway to the Royal Palace of Sehaar. The walls were red sandstone, the floors covered with thick Persian silk, the furniture hand-crafted Burma teakwood that was aged and ornate. Tapestries of gold, purple, and green moved lazily in the breeze flowing through the massive open balconies at either ends of the sprawling ante-room. Portraits of kings and queens stared down at them as the Sheikh led her to a velvet divan and said, “Sit. Drink. Eat.”

  “Shower, soap, bath,” she said, hesitating for a moment, not wanting to get sand and dust on the purple velvet that looked new as the morning. But when she saw the veiled attendants emerge from behind flowing curtains with trays laden with cool lemon-juice, sweet dates, and fresh almonds as big as her head, she gave in and just flopped down on the divan and sighed out loud.

  “I could get used to this,” she mumbled, after gulping down a tall glass of lemon-juice and stuffing her mouth with those succulent dates.

  The Sheikh smiled as he drained his own glass of lemon-juice, taking a handful of almonds and then turning to his attendants and giving them instructions in rapid-fire Arabic. “They will show you to your chambers whenever you want. You will have fresh clothes, a running bath, anything else you want.”

  Kathryn nodded and sighed, but she couldn’t muster the energy to get up off that soft velvet, and before she knew it she’d passed out, almonds scattered all over her boobs, her mouth hanging open.

  When she awoke it was morning, sunbeams dancing through the open room, a warm, soothing breeze flowing all around her. She stretched and sat up, blinking and looking around. It took her a moment to remember where she was, and even when she did remember, she had to convince herself it was real. She’d completely lost track of who she was, in a way. This felt like a dream, and she didn’t want to wake up. Not now. Not ever.

  As if by magic, a veiled attendant emerged and showed her to her chambers—a set of lavish rooms decorated in green, gold, and red. A selection of robes had been laid out on the sprawling bed, and she could hear the sounds of a hot bath being run for her around the corner in a bathroom the size of her living room back in Birmingham.

  The bathroom had a skylight above the marble tub, and the air was thick with the scent of exotic bath oils: lavender and sage and wildflower. It was so overwhelming Kathryn almost cried as she descended into the warm water and looked up at the blue, cloudless sky through the skylight.

  “Yes, I could get used to this,” she said aloud, and suddenly a feeling of aching desperation ripped through her. She didn’t want to go back to her old life. She wanted this. She wanted to be comfortable, to be pampered, to take baths in marble tubs with skylights above her. She wanted to be loved, to be married to a king, to take his seed, to have his children. She wanted to wear flowing robes and to ride camels through the narrow streets of Sehaar, waving at smiling children and blowing kisses to giggling women in hijabs and veils. Why not? Didn’t she deserve this? Hadn’t she paid her dues?

  And then the tears came, hard and fast, and soon she was sobbing into her bath, salty tears flowing like desert rain down her smooth cheeks. How could she ever expect to have something like that? She was a killer. A psychopath incapable of normal human emotion. She didn’t know if she could trust her own people. Three nations were out to kill her. The only person she could trust was a man she’d known for three days and who wouldn’t give a straight answer to any of her damned questions! Which meant she couldn’t trust him, could she?

  And where is he, anyway, she thought as she finally dried off and dressed, smiling when she saw the large tube of sunscreen thoughtfully placed on her teakwood dresser by her silent attendant.

  Maybe he doesn’t exist, she thought with a smile as she slathered the sunscreen on and massaged it into her face and neck, rubbed down her bare arms with it, even coated her toes just in case. Maybe I’m still in the desert, insane from exposure and dehydration, hallucinating as I slowly drift closer to death. That seems more like it, doesn’t it? That’s what I deserve. Not this.

  She laughed as she looked at herself in the mirror. She looked a bit slimmer, she thought, though there was still some cushion and certainly her hips weren’t going to get narrower, no matte
r how much water-weight she lost. The flowing white dress she’d chosen felt nice, and with the slip beneath it, she looked decent enough to be seen in public, yes?

  She found a white scarf amongst the clothes laid out for her, and after wrapping it over her head and around her nose and mouth like a hijab, she went to the balcony and looked down on her kingdom. Why not, she thought. A little walk through the streets, yes? If I’m hallucinating, I might as well go the whole hog and explore my dream world.

  There was no sign of the Sheikh as she left her chambers and somehow found her way to those teakwood double-doors. Two attendants stood there, and they bowed their heads and pulled the doors open for her. For a moment Kathryn wondered if they’d stop her or insist she take an escort or a bodyguard, but they were silent and did not even make eye contact with her. So she wasn’t a prisoner in this dream. And most likely she didn’t need to worry about being kidnapped, raped, or murdered in the streets. Well, that was nice.

  Kathryn stepped out into the sunshine, squinting and immediately wishing she’d asked her attendant for sunglasses, those big ones that Lady Gaga wore. Why not? It was her damned dream, wasn’t it?

  She laughed as she skipped her way beyond the palace walls and into the streets of Sehaar, smiling at everyone she saw, laughing like a madwoman as she surrendered completely to the insanity of it all.

  Soon she found herself in a marketplace, and when she saw a street-vendor with a rack of sunglasses, she walked up to him and picked out a pair.

  “Charge it to the Sheikh,” she said after realizing she had no money on her. That sense of being in a dream had taken over, and she was feeling slap-happy and reckless, that feeling of desperation rippling beneath the surface, spurring her forward, making her almost want to wake up from this dream and realize it was a nightmare.

  To her surprise, the vendor simply bowed his head and grinned wide, flashing tobacco-stained teeth as he nodded and said something in Arabic. Soon the other vendors took notice, and before she knew it, they were offering her dates and sweet tea, handbags made from camel-leather, hand-woven tapestries made from silk and wool, pastries, little wooden figurines, and God-knows-what else!

  Kathryn laughed as she accepted as many of the treats and gifts as she could, hugging the women and smiling at the men as she felt the world spin around her faster and faster. At times she felt a sudden panic, like this was all going to go horribly wrong. But then she tasted another sweet pastry made from walnuts and jaggery, and so she laughed and adjusted her sunglasses and decided she was going to stay in this dream as long as she could.

  She strolled through the streets, looking in wonder at the sandstone bungalows, some of which looked a hundred years old. In the distance were some modern highrises made of steel and glass, and the juxtaposition of the old and the new made her smile. Some of the streets were narrow and cobbled, others were broad avenues, perfectly paved, with Range Rovers and Ferraris cruising up and down like it was nothing. She glanced back at the towers of the Royal Palace, to make sure she could find her way back, and then she walked down a narrow cobbled street which looked sort of interesting.

  The street was lined with cafes, all of which had outdoor seating. There was no alcohol being served, but the men and women drinking sweet tea and thick coffee seemed as happy and chatty as any drunk folk.

  And then she saw something that caught her eye. A familiar face.

  Kathryn frowned as she walked past the roadside café, looking at the man through her sunglasses while making sure not to turn her head. Why did he look so familiar?

  Then it hit her. It was the pilot. The Sheikh’s pilot. That very same pilot who’d insisted she and the Sheikh take the two parachutes and eject. That very same pilot whom the Sheikh had kissed on the cheek and bid farewell. That very same pilot who’d supposedly died in a ball of flames above the empty desert.

  And then she knew she was in a nightmare. The worst kind of nightmare. The kind that makes you think you’re in a fairy-tale at first, but then you realize it’s a goddamn horror story.

  26

  How do I get out of here, she wondered as she stumbled back to the Royal Palace, not sure what to do next. She’d doubled back after passing the pilot, deciding to confront him and find out what the hell was going on. After getting a closer look while walking past, she was sure it was him. And he didn’t look like he’d just come out of a goddamn helicopter crash—hell, he was chilling there, not a scratch on him, sipping coffee and munching on almond-brittle!

  But when she walked to the end of the street and turned around, the pilot was gone. She hurried to the café, wondering for a moment if she’d imagined it. But she saw his table with a half-finished cup of coffee and the broken bits of almond-brittle scattered on a white napkin. He was gone. He must have seen her and taken off, which only confirmed that something was rotten in Sehaar. Perhaps all of it was rotten.

  “What do you think of my kingdom and its people?” came the Sheikh’s voice from behind her as she rummaged through the dresser drawers in her chambers, not sure what she was even looking for. She had no money, no passport, not even any damned clothes. She could get to a phone and call Mel, but she had no idea if she could trust Mel right then. As for Hyder . . .

  “Who are you?” she hissed at him, turning and backing up against the heavy wooden dresser. “What’s happening here? You come clean now, Hyder. Now, or so help me God, I will fucking kill you.”

  Color flashed briefly across the Sheikh’s handsome face, but he stayed silent and calm. Then he shook his head. “No, you won’t. You’ll never kill again, Kathryn. That part of you is dead. You’ve allowed yourself to think of a future with me, and that’s broken you. You’ll never be that person again. You’ve changed forever, just like I have. We’ve lived a lifetime in three days together, and we’re never going to be the same. We can’t. We won’t.”

  Kathryn just shook her head, not sure if she was answering his question or just shaking with emotions she couldn’t understand. Some of what he said struck a chord as she thought about how she’d felt taking a bath in a jewel-studded marble tub the size of a swimming pool, selecting her clothes from silks made for a queen, skipping through the streets like a carefree schoolgirl, tasting pastries and exotic delicacies like she was on vacation, not on the run with a man she’d been sent to kill.

  “Just stop, Hyder,” she whispered, still shaking her head. “Every word that comes out of you is a goddamn lie. I saw your pilot—our pilot. I saw him clear as day, just like I see you now.”

  The Sheikh’s face went flush again, and this time he blinked and looked away. But then he glanced coolly back into her eyes, a strange smile teasing its way onto his dark red lips. “Is there a question in there?” he asked calmly.

  “I can’t even . . . I just cannot!” Kathryn shouted, clenching her fists and wishing she had a gun, knife, or goddamn baseball bat in her hand. “Just get me out of here. I don’t care how. Plane, chopper, camel—I don’t care what. Just get me the hell out of here. Or get me to a phone and I’m calling Mel.”

  “And what will you say to her? That you’re aborting the mission? That you’ve lost your nerve? Will you ask her why American planes tried to kill us? Why Russian assassins tried to gun us down in bed? How Saudi choppers found us amongst the Hashimi? Of course, if she knows the answer to any of those questions, it would mean she has betrayed you. So who can you trust, Kathryn Krane? Who?”

  “Certainly not you!” she screamed, almost spitting into his face as she allowed the rage to boil over.

  “No!” he answered, his own voice rising even as those green eyes sparkled with an intensity she’d never seen. “Not me. I have lied to you, and you damned well know it. That is not the question. That is not the riddle. That is not the puzzle. The question is why have I lied to you?! Think, Kathryn! What is the only truth we have found in all of this? The only goddamn truth?! The only thing that feels real?”


  Kathryn’s head spun as she felt her body tense up. She caught the scent of the Sheikh’s natural musk, and it took her back to the moments they’d shared, the desperate, raw moments of passion when it was just the two of them in a world that made no sense. No sense at all. In fact it made so little sense that it was almost like someone had been trying to make it as nonsensical as possible. As if someone had been trying to twist everything around to create a puzzle that was impossible to solve, a riddle so full of contradictions and conflicts that it was impossible to answer . . . at least impossible using logic, reason, or common sense.

  “Us,” she said, her voice wavering and almost breaking as she felt the tears threaten to flow. “Us,” she said again, her voice so soft she could barely hear herself. “That’s the only thing that felt real, felt true. The only thing that made sense.”

  “And do you think it would have felt that intense, that real, that deep if not for what we’ve been through together over these past three days? Running from assassins? Jumping from an exploding helicopter? Riding through the desert with the Hashimi? Dodging Saudi Arabian bullets?”

  Kathryn felt like she was choking, and her vision narrowed as she was pulled back into that dream-world where anything was possible and the ridiculous became real. She thought back to those masked Russians with their AK-47s. Yes, she’d heard the gunfire, but did she see the bullets ripping holes in the walls or shattering the glass? And yes, they’d taken off in the helicopter and the pilot had swerved and maneuvered his way out of range, but wouldn’t at least a couple of bullets have hit the chopper, even if they didn’t cause much damage? As for the scene with the F-16s, wasn’t it strange that a helicopter that has seating for six passengers plus two pilots only has two parachutes? And wasn’t it curious that the pilot was so quick to calculate that the two of them needed to eject and let him go down in flames? And speaking of flames, had she actually seen the chopper explode? When they’d jumped, the adrenaline rush was too much for her to remember much of anything, and though she’d noticed that there was no wreckage or debris when they landed, she’d figured they’d drifted while parachuting and that the chopper had crashed some distance from them. And then there was the midnight attack on the Hashimi camp. The Sheikh had grabbed her and pulled her out of there so quick she didn’t have a chance to survey the scene. They’d ridden out of there in a heartbeat. Had she actually seen her new Hashimi friends being gunned down in cold blood? And though she knew that the Saudi government did things its own way, did it really make sense that they allowed their military to fly American-made Blackhawks out into the desert and use men, women, and children as target practice?