Her lover climbed up her hair to visit her. Funny how neither of them had thought of cutting it to make a rope that would let her climb to freedom.
“Cut it!” she ordered as if she were the witch in the fairy tale. Did that mean her prince wandered the desert blind in search of her?
Turning off the water so as not to waste it, she waited for Asad to return with scissors he’d assured her he carried in his gym bag along with a change of clothes and a few personal items. Such as the razor she’d borrowed to shave her legs and under her arms.
She stood with her back pressed to the canvas.
He grabbed a hunk of hair. “Are you sure?” She could hear the skepticism in his voice.
“No.” She laughed, shaking her head. “Just cut.”
“Hold still.”
She felt the tug. Heard the snip, then another, and another as the weight fell away. Finally she was able to wash her hair, first with strong lye soap to get rid of any lice, then with the bottles of homemade shampoo and conditioner Raja had provided.
When she turned off the water this time, he handed her a nice thick towel to rub down with. Afterward, she tucked it around her body and stepped from behind the canvas. It felt wonderfully freeing to be able to run her fingers through her short crop of clean hair.
“How do you like it?” she asked, shaking her damp head from side to side.
He started at her hair, but his gaze drifted downward to her towel-wrapped body. “Kalilah, you are as bold as a man,” Asad said. Though he didn’t seem to fault her for it.
And she felt quite comfortable acting that way.
“May I borrow some clean clothes from your bag?”
“Stay. I will get what you need.”
But he only moved closer. Then neither of them moved at all. Her gaze shifted from his lips to the desire burning in his eyes to his lips again. Would he kiss her? Did she want him to?
She brushed her thumb across the ring. Her single anchor to reality. At the moment she felt naked and vulnerable, rather than bold. She broke eye contact with Asad.
He reached up to brush her shorn hair from the butterfly bandage on her forehead. “I don’t think you should have gotten it wet.”
“My badge of honor. Germans used to wet their dueling scratches in order to leave scars.”
“And how would you know that?”
“You have CNN. And I have the History Channel.”
“You Americans and your TV.”
“My…my mother’s German. A naturalized American.” She surprised herself by remembering that detail. “If I close my eyes I can hear the soft burr of her accent.” She closed her eyes. “I can’t picture her face—just a vague image, really. She’s calling my name, but I pretend I can’t hear her. I’m a little girl and I’m hiding. I don’t want to go home because I know I’m in trouble.” She felt the burning behind her closed lids and opened them. Blinking back the tears, she choked back a sob.
“And I have a friend who’s always in trouble. He studies World War I German flying aces. A pilot, I think. At least, he likes to think of himself as a renegade Red Baron.” She exhaled a ragged breath. “I’m being silly.”
“I do not think you are silly.”
“I don’t even know if these are actual memories. Or just something my mind has made up. It’s so frustrating, like they’re just out of reach.”
But the present was right here, right now staring her in the face. And listening politely. She’d almost kissed him. And she wasn’t at all sure she was free to make that kind of mistake.
He must have realized it, too, because he recovered his composure without advancing farther.
She busied herself by rummaging through his gym bag for shirt and pants, then stepped behind the canvas to change. She put on the oversize men’s white shirt and tucked it into men’s khaki pants that fit tight across the hips, but were loose in the waist and long in the leg.
Once she’d rolled up sleeves and pant legs, she felt reasonably dressed and much more composed herself. She could tell by the smile on Asad’s face he still thought her bold for dressing like a man. Smiling back, she added the bourque and the vest with her holstered weapon for good measure.
“Go—” he nodded toward the watering hole “—while I take my turn.”
Strolling toward the oasis, she freed the chain with the dog tags from the shirt. One thing she knew for sure. She was somebody’s daughter. And quite possibly somebody’s fiancée.
Wasn’t it better to be somebody than nobody?
But who was she?
She’d barely stepped foot on the little patch of green surrounding the watering hole when she heard the putter of a small-engine, single-prop plane. Shading her eyes from the sun, she backtracked toward Asad.
“Cessna Skyhawk,” she made the offhand comment in passing. She continued to watch the plane, growing increasingly agitated as it circled overhead. “He’s going to land!”
Her heart beat wildly to match the pounding in her ears.
She made a mad dash for the dune buggy. They were coming to get her. To take her back. And she had to stop them. She didn’t want to lose her new-found freedom.
“Kalilah!” Asad shouted after her, followed by orders to his men.
By the time she realized he’d followed her with no thought to his modesty, she was already in the buggy racing toward the plane.
ZACH LOOKED UP from tying down the Cessna Skyhawk to the ground stakes. A dune buggy, kicking up a cloud of dust with the velocity of a sand storm, raced toward him. Followed in the distance by a Hummer.
His welcoming party.
Though he wasn’t at all sure what to expect, Chaplain Matin had tried to assure him that the al Ra’id were a peaceful people. The desert itself extracted a high toll on human life. By nature and necessity, Bedouin were hospitable to strangers. The price of offending the dignity of man or tribe, on the other hand, was revenge by death. Lesser crimes or disputes were settled by a judge, usually the sheik, whose decision was absolute.
In other words, Zach had to hope he didn’t offend anybody. Is that what had happened to McKenna’s two agents—the ones who’d never returned from the desert?
He knew he didn’t have the element of surprise coming in by plane, but his ability to keep his cool in the cockpit was something he trusted. He’d stood firm with McKenna. If he was going in unarmed, he was going in and coming out on his own terms. And that meant by plane.
McKenna had conceded the point with a private plane waiting for him in Riyadh, the capital of Saudi Arabia. Zach had insisted it be a Skyhawk, like the one he owned, so he didn’t have to waste a moment of time learning a new instrument panel.
He tugged on the nylon cord one more time to make sure the knot would hold, but also to make sure he’d left enough slack for movement in case of high winds.
The dune buggy skidded to a halt a few feet away and he turned.
Michelle leaped from the driver’s side.
And his heart damn near leaped to his throat. She looked thin enough to be blown away by a strong gust. Cheeks sunken. Eyes hollow and smudged with half moons beneath.
A bandage on her forehead.
Zach took one, two steps closer. He wanted to reassure himself that she was real. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and never let go.
“Feet apart. Hands against the plane!” she ordered, gun drawn.
“What the hell?” He saw absolutely no recognition in her eyes. Was she the terrorist McKenna claimed she’d become?
“Mouth shut. Do as you’re told.”
He raised his hands slowly, his mind going over every detail he could recall of Dr. Trahern’s briefing on combat fatigue, post-traumatic stress disorder and transference, Stockholm syndrome. He turned around without a word and put his hands against the fuselage of the plane.
She tucked the gun somewhere and patted down his outstretched arms. His shoulders. As soon as she’d put the gun away, he could have easily overpowered her. But he didn’
t want to spook her, so he took it all in stride.
She felt her way around his chest from front to back and front again. His heart skipped a beat when he saw that she was wearing his ring. Mesmerized, he followed the path of her hands as they trailed down the outside of his legs.
And up the inside.
She cupped his balls. He jumped.
“Not so rough, sweetheart,” he said over his shoulder. “But it’s nice to see you, too.”
She hesitated. Look confused. Met his eyes for the first time. Still no recognition.
“I’ve never seen you before in my life. Turn around. State your business,” she demanded, the gun back in her hand and leveled at his heart.
Zach stared into Michelle’s eyes for what seemed like an eternity. “Don’t you recognize me?” he asked.
Before she could answer, the brand-new black Hummer rolled to a stop a few yards away. Four Arabs hopped out, two on either side, the three passengers heavily armed. Zach instinctively moved to put himself between Michelle and the heady-duty artillery.
“Kalilah! Are you all right?” The driver rushed toward them. “Don’t be alarmed,” he said to Zach by way of greeting. “She pulled a gun on me, too, when we first met.”
Holstering her weapon, she said, “He’s unarmed.”
“Michelle?”
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” she denied. But he’d seen the flash of recognition at the name. “My name is Kalilah al Ra’id.”
“Your name is Michelle Dann. And I’m the guy that goes with that ring.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
RUB’AL-KHALI,
Arabian Desert
MICHELLE’S KNEES buckled and Zach caught her in a dead faint. Cradling her in his arms, he gently lowered her limp body to the sand.
“Michelle,” he called to her, patted her pale face. “Wake up.”
“She’s been under a great deal of stress…” The driver of the black Hummer stood guard over them. His men stayed clear, weapons at their sides.
“I have some smelling salts.” Zach nodded toward the plane. “In the first-aid kit. Under the seat.” He raised his voice to be heard by the men rummaging through his plane.
It concerned Zach that Michelle wasn’t coming around. He noticed the bump on her forehead, the bandage, which he removed to further examine the injury. It looked superficial and didn’t extend into her scalp.
His Rapunzel had cut her hair.
He ran his fingers through her shorn locks, missing the length. But not one-tenth as much as he’d missed her. She moaned.
“Michelle? Can you hear me?”
She continued to groan in response.
“Kalilah?” The other man held the stick of smelling salts under her nose.
She shook her head from side to side, trying to shake the ammonia scent, but her lashes fluttered and she opened her eyes.
Zach stared down into their brown and barren depths, endless like the desert. No hint of recognition. But he couldn’t even begin to describe the joy at seeing her again. In finding her alive. “Hi,” he said simply. “Remember me now?”
She shook her head and straightened into a sitting position. Pulling away from him, she reached out to the man with the smelling salts and he helped her to her feet. “How are you feeling, Kalilah?”
“Her name is Michelle Dann.”
“We suspected as much,” the man she’d called Asad answered.
“I’m fine,” she answered, calling a halt to their standoff.
“You have a bump on your head. You don’t know who you are. And you don’t know who I am. I’d say you’re not fine,” Zach stated flatly.
“She’s suffering from amnesia.”
Zach pulled himself up to his full height. “Is that what you call it?”
“I am no expert, of course.”
“All the more reason to get her to a hospital.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, backing away from him. “Asad?” She looked to the other man for guidance.
Zach stood, slack-jawed. The Michelle Dann he knew didn’t let men stand around talking about her in the third person or look to a man to make her decisions. About the only thing that rang true was her refusal to let him take her to the hospital.
Asad addressed his men in Arabic. And Michelle headed off with them toward the Hummer. Zach moved in that direction.
“She is getting stronger every day. Come, let us get out of this heat.”
LIKE A CAGED TIGER, Michelle prowled the length of Asad’s tent. She turned toward the flap. Asad entered. She stopped.
“He’s come to take you home, Kalilah. Michelle,” Asad corrected.
“I know.” She looked down at her hands. According to a stranger, she was Michelle Dann. U.S. Navy fighter pilot fallen to earth.
“You are afraid of him?” Asad asked.
She twisted her hands. “Yes. No. I don’t know.” She resumed her pacing. “I mean, he knows me. And I don’t recognize him at all. That frightens me. What if…” She looked down at the ring. “What if he’s lying?”
“You do not trust him?”
“At this point I don’t trust anyone. Not even myself.” She noticed the hurt in Asad’s eyes and amended her statement. “Except maybe you, Asad. I trust you. If you think I should listen to him, I will.”
“What I think is not important. But if this man holds the key to your past, you owe it to yourself to speak with him. I will not leave you alone with him unless you wish it.”
She nodded.
Asad’s man posted outside the tent let the stranger in. The stranger ducked his head to pass through the parted tent flap. His body followed. Tall, lean, well-muscled. From what he’d told her, a fighter pilot like herself. He wore desert-print fatigues—BDU, battle-dress uniform, he called it. He didn’t look much like a pilot. He looked like a soldier.
If he was her fiancé how come she couldn’t remember him?
A smile played at the corner of his mouth when he addressed her, “Hello again, Michelle.”
She nodded. Stretched an uneasy smile across her face. And twisted the man’s ring on her finger. They were using her name enough to make her sick of it. Trying to get her used to it, she supposed.
“Sweetheart, I’m here to take you home.”
She stiffened. Sweetheart, darling. Kalilah. It had felt so natural. “Do you always call me that?” she ventured.
“Sweetheart? Yeah,” he admitted. “But you don’t like it much,” he added.
“Then why—”
“I like it.”
She continued to stare at him, processing this new information but unable to connect it to her past.
“I’ll stop,” he said, following her long silence.
He looked big and awkward standing there. But sincere. She turned to Asad for reassurance. He gestured that they should sit. And the three of them took seats on the floor of the tent.
“I’ll listen to what you have to say,” she said. “But I’m not willing to leave here with you just yet.”
“Kalilah has asked me to negotiate her departure. She’d like some time to get used to the idea.”
“How much time?”
“In three days’ time we are hosting a gathering of tribes,” Asad told him. “There will be feasting and celebration. Weddings. Camel races. Kalilah would like to stay for the festivities. And we would like the opportunity to say goodbye. Even though we have known her only a short time.” Asad looked at her as he said this. She’d felt safe for such a very short time. Surly three days wasn’t too much to ask. She turned to face the stranger.
“Fair enough,” he said, leaning back against their host’s pillows and making himself comfortable. Then to her, “Why didn’t you just ask me yourself?”
“Kalilah is wary of strangers,” Asad answered.
“What did you say your name was?” She managed to find her voice.
“Zach. Zach Prince.” He smiled, and it was brighter than the Arabian sun. Even if she couldn’
t remember, she could see why she might have fallen in love with him.
Raja brought them coffee. Michelle poured a cup for their guest and tasted it. “El-Heif,” she said, topping off the cup. “Now you taste. El-Keif, second cup.”
He did, looking at her over the brim of the mug with his sky-blue eyes. Something fluttered in her stomach.
Awareness?
He held out the cup. “El-Dheif, cup of the guest,” he said.
“You know the custom?” She poured a third time, filling the cup to the brim. Then she filled a cup for Asad and finally one for herself.
“How long have you been here?” he asked without answering her question.
Again Asad answered for her. “Not very long.”
Zach Prince kept his gaze locked with hers.
“How long have I been gone?”
“A month,” he answered.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
She expected him to say, “Looking for you.” Instead, he stared into his half-full mug and set it aside before meeting at gaze once more.
“I thought you were dead, Michelle. I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am that you’re not. Or how sorry I am—”
“Sorry? For what?”
His gaze shifted to Asad.
She hugged her knees to her chest and waited for Zach’s answer.
“There’s so much we have to say to each other. But later. When you’re safe at home. Your mom and dad are worried sick—”
“You haven’t satisfied my curiosity yet. I have many more questions before we leave.” She sighed. “I’m tired.” She rested her aching head against her knees.
“It’s the heat.” Asad pushed to his feet and helped her to hers. “I’ll have Raja move your things to her tent,” Asad said. “Your friend can stay here with me.”
Zach looked ready to protest as he rose to his feet. Raja, who’d been quietly hovering in the background since bringing them their coffee, began gathering Michelle’s few things from around the tent.
The two men sized each other up. Michelle could almost see their chests puff and their shoulders square. And whatever imaginary string it was that pulled them to their full heights.
Sign, SEAL, Deliver Page 11