Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Abdul Halim bin Khalid al-Faizan sipped his tea and read the papers that his wife had brought to him. There was much unrest in the desert these days. Much unrest.
As it should be, praise be to Allah. Abdul Halim’s lips curled in a small smile as he thought of all that would come to pass when opposition forces broke through the king’s defenses and conquered the city. It was almost time, but not quite.
There was still the matter of the uranium to be settled first. And it would be quite soon, he was certain.
But he was a patient man these days. He could wait.
He knew the Americans would be looking for him now that his code name had resurfaced.
It was regrettable that his second-in-command had allowed news of his existence to escape.
That would not happen again. He’d made an example of Jassar ibn-Rashad.
No one would cross Al Ahmad now, not if they wished to avoid the fate he’d meted out to his former lieutenant.
Fortunately, few people knew that Abdul Halim and Al Ahmad were the same person.
Jassar ibn-Rashad had not known. Abdul Halim made it a point never to let his lieutenants know his true identity.
Those who knew were related to him by blood or marriage, and they would not tell.
As his fate went, so went the fate of the family.
Abdul Halim lifted his head as his wife came into the room.
Fatima was a pretty creature but empty-headed for the most part.
But Lana loved her. It didn’t hurt that Fatima was quite enthusiastic in bed, which was never an unwelcome thing.
In fact, looking at her now, at her trim figure beneath the silk dress she wore, his body began to stir.
And then Lana ran into the room. “Daddy!”
She ran into his arms and hugged him tight, her dark curls tickling his nose as he held her. He patted her head and set her away from him. She was a precocious child, much like he had been at her age. She amused him. He would even go so far as to say he felt an emotional attachment to her.
But he did not wallow in sentimentality. If he had to one day slice himself away from her, then he would do so. He would do whatever it took to achieve his goals.
“What is it, my pet?”
“I want a puppy.” She stuck her little lip out in a pout. Perhaps he should be angry with the blatant attempt at manipulation, but she was too much like him. At the age of six, Lana had a very high opinion of herself. He admired that greatly.
“Lana, did I not tell you not to ask your father for a puppy?” Fatima was standing with hands on slim hips, looking furious.
Abdul Halim ruffled his daughter’s hair. “I will think about it, habibti. Now get ready for school.”
Lana stomped her foot and ran from the room. Fatima sighed. “I’m sorry. I told her not to bother you about a puppy.”
He shrugged. “She is a child. She does not understand delaying gratification.” He set the papers aside and picked up his phone when he heard the telltale buzz.
There was a message from one of his lieutenants.
It would be in code, of course. He opened it and began to read.
Fatima knew better than to disturb him at such a time.
She left the room in a cloud of silk and sweet perfume.
Abdul Halim finished reading the message and picked up the paper again. Nothing much happening other than more foreign arrivals in the city today. The world media was coming more steadily now because of the unrest in the desert.
Just wait until riots broke out in the city. They would be positively gleeful, the ghouls. Abdul Halim smiled to himself.
The doorbell rang and Fatima went to answer it. He heard the rustle of silk as she came back to the sitting room. His brother was behind her.
“Greetings, brother,” he said as Farouk came into the room and took a seat. Fatima left them and closed the door behind her.
Farouk accepted a cigarette. “What do you need me to do?”
“I need you to find the woman. She is dangerous to us now.”
Farouk blew out a column of smoke. His eyes flashed. He knew who Abdul Halim meant. The only person to ever escape once the Freedom Force had taken her hostage.
“We should have gone after her sooner.”
“We did not have the resources,” Abdul Halim snapped. “Once we were attacked, we had to scatter. It was impossible.”
Farouk had been there in North Africa, and he knew what had happened. The Americans had rescued her. And they’d shot Abdul Halim and left him for dead—or so they’d thought.
Now that his secret was exposed, Lucinda Reid was dangerous. He remembered that she’d insisted she was called Lucky. He’d laughed at that, but little did he realize at the time just how lucky she was. She was not only lucky, she was also spirited.
And she’d been defiant. So defiant. He did not like defiance, especially from a woman, and yet it had fascinated him too.
His people had taken her from the street because he’d wanted to kill an American.
He’d wanted to watch their government panic and posture, and he’d wanted to sew the seeds of fear in their tourists and in the local government.
When Americans were scared, they reacted out of proportion to the threat.
He liked how easily manipulated they were, and he’d thought to use it in his aims against the state.
He should have killed her immediately, but she’d fascinated him.
He hadn’t known she was military until they’d gone through her purse and found her identification.
She’d been doing work for her government, interpreting for the military commanders that were propping up the state on orders from the American government.
He’d taken her capture as a sign, and he’d been determined to break her utterly before he killed her.
At first, he’d tormented her with words. And then he’d used his knife to mark her body. He had been so close to breaking her. To taking her for his own. He did not often mix sex and punishment, but there were times when it was necessary.
It had been necessary with her. She was disobedient and she’d inflamed him with the desire to punish. He’d wanted to prove to her that she was nothing, that her military couldn’t save her. He’d been looking forward to it so much.
But the Americans had busted in and taken her from him, and then he’d spent the last two years reestablishing his network.
Abdul Halim viciously stubbed out his own cigarette.
He’d wanted to deal with her sooner, but he was methodical and logical—and she’d presented no threat when he was thought to be dead.
But everything had changed with ibn-Rashad’s betrayal. Lucky Reid was now a loose end, and though it galled him to let her off so easily when she really needed to pay for her sins, it was his only choice.
“Find her, Farouk. Find her and kill her.”
Kev didn’t like the way Lucky sat there so quiet and still and chewed on her lip. He wanted to tell Mendez to leave her the hell alone, tell them all that there was no way in fucking hell she was going to Qu’rim and facing the prospect of Al Ahmad.
And, Jesus Christ on a cracker, how in the hell was he supposed to play her fucking husband? Lucky wanted him anywhere but where she was. She said she didn’t hate him, but he knew she despised him—despised all of them. He understood why.
If somebody had to pretend to be her husband, let one of the other guys do it.
Any of them would be better at it. Chase or Ryan—or maybe Sam, though he was pretty hot and heavy with that English professor they’d bailed out of trouble a couple months ago and might find it difficult to pretend.
Yet the thought of them—any of them—pretending to be Lucky’s husband made him want to growl. Mendez had chosen him for a reason—probably because the colonel knew that Lucky had been tight with him and Marco back in the day—and he would see it through. Even if it killed him.
Because being near her twenty-four seven was certain to kill him.
He’d spent years thinking about her, months calling her, and hours fantasizing about kissing her again.
He still didn’t know why he’d kissed her, except that he’d been so damn relieved she was alive.
He’d been the one to find her, and in those few moments before the other guys arrived, she’d clung to him.
It had killed him to see her so vulnerable.
So he’d just lowered his head and kissed her.
Maybe to impart strength, maybe because he just had to.
Whatever it was, it had rocked him to his core. Shaken his foundations. And now he wanted to do it again.
Jesus, he was one sick bastard. She’d lost her husband—a man he’d called his best friend—and she didn’t need his fantasies intruding on her life.
She glanced over at him. He didn’t give away, by word or deed, what he was thinking. Her gaze darted back to Mendez and what he was saying. Kev heard it all, but his eyes remained on Lucky.
There would be some hard training first, so they didn’t just haul her back into the danger zone and expect she could handle it.
She’d been out of the Army for over a year, and she needed to be recertified in weapons.
Then she needed to get her combat skills up to snuff.
She went a little pale at that, but Kev was the only one who seemed to notice.
He knew that Lucky didn’t like to be touched.
He remembered Marco telling him once, a sad note in his voice, how Lucky flinched whenever he reached for her.
Marco wouldn’t tell him details—nor would Kev have wanted to hear them—but he could imagine. Kev had gone home that night and punched the shit out of the bag he’d kept in his apartment when what he’d really wanted was to bury a knife in Al Ahmad’s throat.
“Big Mac.”
Kev’s head snapped up. “Yes, sir?”
Mendez was looking at him with narrowed eyes. “You’re with Lucky twenty-four seven starting now. We’re training hard for the next few weeks and then we’re going in. You’ll start practicing your cover story right now.”