A Dangerous Man

by Rachel Cade

  “The hell are you talking about?” He lifted her chin up to him. “I never would have done that.”

  Tears fell and she hugged him as tight as she could.

  “We need to get out of here. Shit.” Jack held her hand tightly as he went to the bathroom and grabbed her purse and shoes. “Is anything else of yours here?”

  Ciara shook her head.

  He lead her down the main stairs to the opened double front doors.

  As they came outside, a jeep came charging toward them. Ciara’s instinct was to pull back with Jack, but he held her hand.

  “Jack! Fuck!”

  He led her down the steps, pointing at the driver. “You, damn it. You’re right on time.”

  He opened the back seat door and gestured for Ciara to get in. “Please drive us the hell out of here.”

  “You got em? You got Gonzalez?”

  “He’s right in hell where he belongs.”

  “You must be the lady.” The driver said, eyeing her in the rearview mirror with a smile. “I’m Sam.”

  Jack held her hand tightly, and she rested her head on his shoulder. “Hi Sam. I’m Ciara.”

  Sam quickly maneuvered the car and sped away from the property.

  Ciara held him tightly the entire car ride.

  When they arrived at Sam’s place it was almost sunset.

  Jack helped her out of the car.

  “What is this place?” she asked as he led her inside.

  “Headquarters.” Sam said turning on the light.

  Jack shot him a look.

  Sam took the hint. “Why don’t I run out and grab us some food?”

  Jack dipped his head. “Thanks.”

  After Sam left Jack turned to Ciara who was still looking around. “Are you alright? Can I you some water?”

  He wasn’t sure what else to say, standing there with another man’s blood on his clothes.

  “Yeah. That would be good.”

  He went to the refrigerator and grabbed her a bottled water.

  “Like old times.” She said, smiling as she accepted it.

  Her blouse was sprayed with blood.

  Jack looked down at it as she drank a hefty sip.

  “It’s Marcus’,” she revealed after swallowing.

  “What?”

  “I went to see him. I was there when I called you. That’s where that guy showed up. I was just trying to get answered about my-” Her face crumbled and the tears fell. By the time she covered her eyes with her hand he was on her, pulling her into a hard embrace.

  “It’s okay.” What could he say to her? What could he do to make any of this right?

  “He was going to force me to marry him,” she said against his chest.

  The words were muffled but Jack heard her clearly. He pulled away just enough to meet her gaze.

  “He was going to blackmail me.” She wiped her eyes and reached into her bag, pulling out a phone. “Marcus taped us, in Nassau.”

  Jack thought his anger had peaked with killing Gonzalez but he pulled the phone from her, practically crushing it in his hand. He would have done the same to Kelly. “He’s dead?”

  Ciara nodded.

  “A god damn shame. I’d have gladly done it.”

  When he looked up from the phone she was staring at him.

  “He told me you were a mercenary.”

  “I am.”

  “The guys that were after you worked for this man, Gonzalez?”

  “Yes.” Jack took a deep breath, holding her gaze. “I used to work for him too.”

  “I know.”

  “You do?”

  “Gonzalez told me. About the coup, the money-”

  “I didn’t steal from him. I took what I was owed.” Jack’s mouth was a flat line. “Then he took you.”

  Ciara reached for him, letting her purse fall to the ground. “You came for me Jack. You saved me.”

  Lowering his head, he rested it against her forehead. “I love you too much not to.”

  He’d never said that to a single person in the world.

  “Jack.” Her eyes glistened as she stared up at him. “I love you too.”

  Clapping caused them both to turn their heads. Sam was at the door. “Who doesn’t love a happy ending?”

  Epilogue

  One Week Later

  “I’m not going to catch him.”

  “Yes you will just do it like I showed you and don’t stab me.”

  Ciara was on Jack’s shoulders as he waded in the waist deep water.

  With a spear he’d shaved down to a point she was trying to nab a fish.

  The tropical water was so clear you could easily see the fish swimming around the sea floor.

  It had been a half hour and Jack didn’t seem tired of having her on his back.

  In fact for the past few days since their arrival he hadn’t been tired. The small house he was rented didn’t go long with her cries and screams filling it. They were together. It was as crazy and spontaneous as their first meeting but they were together and they were going to try to make it work.

  Her parents hadn’t been happy at the sight of her packing a suitcase. But she took Anita’s advice and paid their opinion no mind. One day maybe they could repair things. But for now she was going to take time for herself.

  As for Jack, he seemed ready for a long sabbatical from mercenary life. Ciara planned on showing him the lighter side of living, away from the way he’d grown up.

  “Oh my God.” A fish stuck into the spear, pinned against the sand beneath the water. “I caught it!”

  “Alright. That’s my girl, you sure did. Now you gotta do it like five more times. A man’s gotta eat.”

  Ciara huffed. “Really?”

  “Mhmm.” Jack caressed the side of her thighs.

  It was going to be a long, but beautiful afternoon.

  ***

  Thank You so much for reading my debut novel.

  I really hope you enjoyed Jack and Ciara’s story.

  I would love a review so I can know your thoughts on it.

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  Email: rachelcaderomance@gmail.com

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  Sheikh’s Bed

  Chapter One

  The Sahara

  He was her father’s friend, wouldn’t give her some leverage?

  Weariness hunched her shoulders. Her hands were tied behind her back, the thick rope cut into her skin. Sweat clung her clothes to her body like a second skin.

  Three hours earlier, Karen Wexler and four colleagues from Travel magazine were in a jeep snapping photographs for their anniversary issue near the Libya border. The next thing they knew twenty armed men were ambushing them. They were yanked from the vehicle and ushered into separate tents like livestock. In the melee, she’d heard one of the men say his name: Sheik Tamir Rahman.

  A scream was in the back of her throat but she held it at bay. In this part of the world, keeping your mouth shut was always the safest option. She was thankful her legs weren’t tied. It was unnecessary considering the guard a few feet from her was holding an AK-47.

  Karen had no desire to test him.

  Would she even be allowed to plead her case?

  She had no idea what to expect. It was a bad idea to let her friends talk her into flying over Algeria. With a margarita and a couple of beers, her conscience had proved pretty useless and she agreed to go. Her father had been the U.S. Ambassador to Morocco ten years ago, but that didn’t give her any clout here.

  Smart move.

&n
bsp; The rustling of fabric behind her signaled someone else had entered the tent. When the man next to her moved, it took every ounce of her resolve not to scream and beg for her life.

  He spoke to the other man in Arabic, and she vaguely recognized the word “yes” as she strained pointlessly to hear their rapid exchange.

  Karen squeezed her eyes tightly together, vowing if given the opportunity, she would never drink again. The colorful rug beneath her shifted several times to the thump of her heartbeat as someone closed in on her.

  Head bowed from fright more than custom, she watched as a pair of shining brown boots appeared in front of her. Licking dry lips, she refused to look up from them.

  “American.”

  Her stomach sank, he was not pleased, and she wasn’t sure if he’d made a statement or asked a question. Karen went with instinct and kept her mouth shut.

  “Constantly testing your boundaries.” Each word was clipped as though he was seething with anger.

  She couldn’t seem to catch her breath, despite the fact that the tent was surprisingly cool compared to the over one hundred degree temperatures that sweltered the sands outside. She was stifling, her mouth parched. Karen’s breath and thoughts were both erratic, and she was helpless to control either of them.

  This was the first time in her adult life that she was completely out of control.

  Her camera dropped to the ground, hitting her exposed knee against the bone, making her wince. The exposed negatives of her film came next, hitting the other knee.

  For a moment, she felt her lips tremble as two months of work was destroyed right in front of her. Karen bit down on her tongue, to the point tears threatened to moisten her lashes.

  “You are a reporter?”

  “Yes,” she answered reluctantly.

  “And how has that been working out for you?”

  Karen looked up, and her scowl could have deflated the tent. Her eyes made contact with the dark, glittering irises of Sheik Tamir Rahman.

  He was her father’s friend.

  It became a mantra in her head.

  He was her father’s friend, that had to mean something to him. The last time she’d seen him she’d been fifteen, standing on a landing strip with her father as a twenty-seven-year-old Tamir had pecked her on her cheek and walked out of her life to get married.

  She’d cried for almost a week.

  He’d been her only friend.

  That was what she didn’t want to acknowledge. She’d grown past it, filling her life with her own ambitions, new people. Ten years had gone and all of that had faded into the past.

  He stood over her, live in the flesh, no longer a memory. Time had barely touched him, though he’d cut the waist length hair she used to yank on like a rope before charging off into a dead run—he always caught her. It now rested in feathered layers against his shoulders.

  Instead of a clean face, he carried a neatly trimmed beard that accentuated a sharp jaw line.

  “Uh, my God,” she mumbled unintentionally, casting her head back down.

  ***

  Her thoughts might as well have mimicked his own. Tamir’s breath caught in his throat, when the deep brown face tilted up at him and her brown eyes met his.

  Karen Wexler.

  Her eyes still wide and expressive, thin brows arched above them. The cherub quality of her cheeks and mouth were fading, but still made her appear younger than her years.

  By her reaction, she recognized him as well. Placing his hands on his hips, he used the seconds to regain his composure.

  “You took my camera,” she said quietly. “That was all I had, can I please go?”

  “No.”

  “Why?” Karen asked, staring at him with the same intuitive eyes that constantly read him all those years ago. “I don’t have anything else you want.”

  She is afraid, the thought made him frown.

  But their past didn’t matter, the times had changed, she was a foreigner trespassing on his land, nothing more.

  Moving behind her, he felt her start when he cut the ties from her wrist. “I trust you know how pointless it is to run.”

  Tamir didn’t look at her while speaking, and she scrambled away from him before massaging her lightly bruised wrists. Holding his head low, he quickly left the tent; only outside could he manage to take in an easy breath.

  He stayed away for a while in a separate tent after he had his men bring her things to him. He now had her entire life splayed out in front of him. Aside from the broken camera and useless film he’d left with her, all she had was an empty canteen, her passport, and several magazines in her bag.

  When she’d barely passed his waist she had insisted on being called Kari, and she’d always been more boy than girl, never content unless she was dirty and fighting with all the males. It had been acceptable then to him because she was just a kid, but now … He sighed as he stared at her passport picture.

  She was going to have to be made to understand that she couldn’t do everything she wanted. A lesson her father should have taught her a long time ago. It would have been easy for Tamir to have one of his men contact Bruce Wexler, now retired and living in Los Angeles. But Tamir didn’t. Instead, he had Nidal make a bath, and then he had Karen fetched and brought to him.

  Nidal had no love for Americans and his regard for women was questionable. One look from Tamir as he brought Karen into the tent made him promptly take the woman off his shoulder and place her in the center of the room. She stumbled slightly, her short curly hair looked tousled, and she appeared to be repressing what he guessed was a barrage of curses.

  It was then that Tamir came to realize the true change in her. Gone were the short stubbly legs and arms that were constantly grabbing what they wanted, in their place were long well-toned athletic limbs, but she obviously still had plenty of spirit.

  “Leave us, Nidal.” The younger man nodded, briefly glancing at Karen, and Tamir almost rolled his eyes at the gossip that was surely spreading through the camp. It didn’t matter, his authority would never be questioned.

  “Is it all right for me to speak?” Her voice was low, barely constrained sarcasm and anger spiced her words.

  Shrugging he answered, “I suppose.”

  Her words rushed out, “Can I see my friends? I just want to know—”

  “No harm has come to them.” He calmly spoke over her, cutting her off.

  “Am I supposed to take your word for that?”

  “What else are you going to take?” he challenged.

  ***