Desert Orchid: The Desert Princes: Book 1 (32 page)

"The mother lode." Wallace Monroe held up two cell phones, a short-wave radio and a satellite phone. "I'll get these to the tech guys. Hopefully we'll find out who was paying him."

"It was my father," Charisse told them. "He must be here because Omar was going to take me to him after he..." Her voice wobbled in a way that seriously annoyed her. The time had come for her to fight back. Anger, the need for vengeance, burned nice and bright in her heart. She refused to be a victim. She refused to live in fear. But no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't stop the awful trembling.

Then she found herself wearing Khalid's sweater, being lifted in his strong arms. The sweater drowned her. His scent and the wonderful warmth of his body made her snuggle her face into his neck.

"She's freezing," Khalid said. "I need to get her out of here."

It was clear that Bruce Monroe had everything under control. So Khalid turned, nodded to a couple of soldiers who lit the way with their torches, and took his wife home.

Arabella turned to the Monroe brothers, and Sarif.

"Find Pascal Chanteluelle. This thing will not be over until we do."

Bruce Monroe's dark eyes went fierce before he blew out a long whistle. "Chanteluelle? For fuck’s sake, Bella. He's been on Interpol's radar for years. He's untouchable. What the hell have you got us into here?"

"Scared, soldier boy?" Arabella taunted.

"How do you know this?" Sarif's hawk like features were sharp as he fired the question.

"We have family who work for the National Central Bureau of Interpol, cousins," Bruce responded. And then flashed white teeth as he smiled. "Can't tell you any more than that, otherwise I'd have to kill you."

Sarif returned the smile. "Quite a family you have, Monroe."

Still kneeling on the filth on the floor, Wallace Monroe gave a snort as he rifled through Omar's possessions. "You have no idea, Your Highness."

Omar's body was being lifted into a black rubber body bag and zipped up. Six of the men grabbed a handle and hefted it onto their shoulders, and one grunted, "Heavy bastard, isn't he?"

Bruce flicked back the cover on his wrist watch, checked the time on the luminous dial.

"Spread out and search the rest of the caves. It's possible he had more than one nest. Find anything, tag me immediately."

He turned to Arabella, and flashed her a big grin.

"So, where would a man safely hole up in these mountains? He'd need shelter. The ability to get in and out fast. I'm thinking helicopter. And that means a pilot and maybe a couple of grunts with guns, too. Unless he's using a military bird, he'd want room for Omar and the queen."

Arabella shook her head.

"He wants Charisse dead. And I'm betting Omar would be surplus to requirements once he'd delivered his prize. Too many people in the know means more people to pay to keep quiet. Chanteluelle's a greedy bastard. I'm thinking it will be just him and the pilot. Unless of course he can fly a chopper."

"Hey, Wall," Bruce yelled to his brother who was bagging up Omar's devices. "Speak to the spook. Find out if Chanteluelle has a pilot's license."

Wallace checked the time on his wrist watch, grinned.

"Oh, man. It's the middle of the night in Vegas. He'll be so pissed. It'll be my pleasure."

They all moved to leave with Sarif taking the lead.

Hanging back with Bruce, and keeping a wary eye on Sarif, Arabella muttered, "Ethan's in Vegas?"

"On vacation with a very nubile brunette. She's got huge..." With his hands he made the shape of large breasts.

Arabella rolled her eyes. "I thought he had a thing for Coco's pal Louise?" she said, referring to Bruce Monroe’s sister.

"Nope. That on-again-off-again relationship is off." Now he frowned and slowed his pace. His eyes were serious when they found hers. "What's going on with you and Sarif?"

Opening her mouth to tell him her private life was none of his business, Arabella changed her mind. Bruce Monroe had trained her. He knew her too well. And she'd never been a particularly good liar.

Now his sharp eyes studied her face carefully.

His eyes narrowed.

Before she could respond, he said, "That bad, eh?"

"I'm in deep shit."

"Want help getting out of town?"

"I was already on my way out of town when I came across evidence of Omar in the tunnels. I turned back."

"Just as well you did. Did I tell you it was a nice shot?"

Her shoulder nudged his. "You did."

He nudged her back. "Seriously, if you want out we'll get you out."

Sarif had halted, waiting for them, she realised.

And those sharp dark eyes were watching her and Bruce like a raptor.

"Thanks," she whispered. "I might take you up on that."

"I can still smell him on me," Charisse whispered into her husband's warm neck.

She couldn't help the little break in her voice or the horrible shudder that convulsed her body. His arms tightened around her as he carried her through her bedroom, into the bathroom, and placed her on her feet.

Still holding her close, he slapped on the power shower.

Her legs refused to support her.

The room spun as she sank to the wide edge of the bath, while he tugged his sweater over her head before making short work of the rest of her clothes. His hands were trembling, as if he had a fever. He ran them over her naked body, checking for hurts, for marks, on her delicate skin. When he came to her wrists, the flesh rubbed raw, he placed a tender kiss on the spot, to make it better.

Without saying a word, he stripped.

Lifting her in his arms, he stepped into the shower.

How long they stood holding on tight to each other with hot water pounding them, Charisse never knew, it might have been hours or minutes.

As if she was a child he picked up one arm and then the next and washed her thoroughly.

All she could do was simply stand there and let him look after her.

He was so gentle, especially when he knelt and pressed a single kiss to her belly and then her bruised hips, as he washed between her legs. There was nothing sexual in his touch as his big hands swept over her body. Taking great care he rose and washed her hair, rinsing until it squeaked. All she could do was close her eyes as he massaged oatmeal scented conditioner into her scalp, his fingertips easing away the shock, fear and confusion from her mind. The way he rinsed and slid his fingers through the silver strands made her realise just how much she meant to him. Using a cloth, he carefully cleaned her face.

The hitch in his breath had her open her eyes to stare into his fabulous face. Those dark eyes never left hers. And she realised there were tears as well as water streaming down his face.

Undone, her hand rose to cup his cheek. "He scared me, but he didn’t hurt me, Khalid. Arabella didn't hesitate. He's dead." Then the horror of the day made her voice hoarse. "He said... he said my father paid him to bring me to him."

"Hush," he said. Then his mouth moved across hers. A kiss so soft and so tender that the horrible ache in her heart eased.

He lifted his head and his eyes stared dead into hers.

"How did you come to Onuur, Charisse? Are you ready to talk about what happened to you?"

She nodded even as a shudder of revulsion ran through her body.

Too pale, he decided.

Khalid wrapped her in a thick towel, wound another around her hair in a turban and carried her through to her bedroom.

Placing her on the bed, he blotted her hair with the towel and ran a brush through it, taking great care not to tug. The simple task settled them both.

After rummaging through her closet, he dressed her in panty shorts and a T-shirt, all the while holding close a fury that threatened to overwhelm him. When he got his hands on Chanteluelle he’d fucking kill him with his bare hands.

Once they’d settled into her bed, she crawled onto his lap and he held her close.

On the opposite wall, the huge black and white photograph of Mia and Jamila made him catch his breath. Closing his eyes, his mouth nuzzled her hair, and her arms wound around his waist.

"When you love someone, they need to know who you are now, today, even though you’re no longer who you were. Does that make sense?" she whispered.

He swallowed the hot rock in his throat, nuzzled her damp hair.

"Yeah, it does. Who were you, baby? What happened to you?"

The shaky sigh that escaped from her throat had him hold her tight.

"I’ve got you," he whispered.

And Charisse began her story.

"To the outside world our family appeared perfect. A powerful, successful man with a beautifully fragile wife and obediently docile daughters. In public my...
he
was Mr. Nice Guy. The perfect father. The perfect husband. The perfect example of a man who worked for the greater good. He’s charismatic, loves to be at the centre of attention, at the centre of any drama he creates. Over time, I've come to realise that my father is the perfect sociopath.

"Adults can control children by placing emotional restraints upon them and socially isolating them. When we were small, my...
he
kept us in line by not punishing Mia if she did something he didn’t like... instead he punished me. Mia was not like me. She was feisty and very stubborn. But he never lifted his hand to Mia, only to me. And because Mia loved me, that way he was punishing her but more importantly, controlling her. As twins we were already connected, but living with a constant fist of anxiety in our belly brought us even closer. We never knew who he was going to be from one day to the next."

"What about your mother?" Khalid wanted to know.

Reluctant to go there, to try to explain the love she still had for her mother in spite of everything, Charisse gave a weary sigh. "She wasn't a strong personality. Certainly not strong enough to cope with a man like my father. Only once did she get her own way about us going away to boarding school in England. I think she realised that by mixing with other girls, by seeing how a normal family functions, we would be strong enough to break free. She fought for us, but ultimately it was an act that destroyed my mother. Basically, he wore her out, sucked the energy, the hope, the joy out of her life."

"Didn’t she try to stop him abusing you?"

"No. And for a long time I couldn’t forgive her for that. But now I realise she was as much a victim as we were. But I still cannot get over the sense that after Mia died, she simply abandoned me to him.

"You see, Mia had been his life. After her death his behaviour became more erratic. At the time of the accident I was attending summer school and I believe my mother took the brunt of his behaviour. She’d always been slim, but after the accident she appeared emaciated. She couldn’t cope. She couldn’t break away and be free from him... except by taking her own life.

"At my mother’s funeral even the eulogy was all about
him
and how much
he
had suffered. I didn’t shed a tear, because I was happy she was at last free of living with a monster. He removed every single photograph of her from the house, tossed them in the trash. You see, he was furious that she’d gone, escaped from him via the ultimate act of suicide. And all that he had left was... me. The one person he did not want in his life.

"There are many people in the world – women and children – who are locked away without bars on the windows. Controlled, trained, not only by cruelty but by acts of kindness, too. I lived for each tiny moment of kindness he might show me."

She shuddered.

"Now I was his focus. I was so afraid all the time. One night he woke me up in the early hours of the morning. It was the middle of January. He was angry, and this time he was sweating and stank of alcohol."

She broke, stopped to swallow, to take a shaky inhale.

And this time the breath Charisse let out scraped over her throat like acid.

"He had scissors and grabbed my hair and cut it all off. It was even shorter than Arabella’s. He said I was vain. That I wore it long to tempt men. He had that strange look in his eyes that always terrified me. He..."

She trembled and Khalid held her tight.

"Two men, strangers, came into my bedroom. And he made me stand and he cut off my nightgown and panties. He made me turn around while they took pictures with their cell phones."

"Dear Christ."

"All I can remember thinking is that I should have run away sooner. I'd been planning it for weeks. I was waiting for spring and now it was too late. He made me face the wall. And I heard one of the men talk on the phone. He was running an auction. When I realised it was an auction for me my legs gave way.

“Then they were arguing about money. I started to cry. And I remember he told me to be silent or he’d give me something to cry for. One of the men made me swallow pills and water. I couldn’t stop crying. And it felt as if I was floating outside my body. My father went wild. And I watched as he used his fists, his feet, until I bled.