The Sheik’s Captured Princess (The Samara Royal Family Series Book 4) (13 page)

Ciala pulled the wig lower to better cover her dark hair and adjusted the glasses over her eyes.  Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she thought she looked pretty good! 

She’d been practicing getting in and out of their suite without her guards seeing her so hopefully, today would be just as successful.  She’d told her guards that she would be reading today and that she didn’t want to be disturbed except by the wait staff who would bring her lunch.  They accepted her edict since this was normal behavior for her so she thought through any other contingencies she might need to put into play.  But nothing came to mind.  She should be free and clear for the remainder of the day. 

Stuffing her equipment into her bag, she patted it closed, then moved through her exit.  It took her only about fifteen minutes to sneak out of the palace.  A bit more time than at her brother’s palace compound, but still doable.  And perhaps with practice, she’d be able to skim a few minutes off of that time.

She slipped into her latest vehicle purchase, a rusty Ford Bronco, circa 1975 with torn up seats taped together with duct tape and a steering wheel that looked like it was about to fall off, but also with a brand new engine and a powerful transmission that could get her over the rugged terrain as if she was driving on smooth asphalt.  As she drove through the streets, she made sure that her gloves were covering her hands and she hunched over a bit.  It wouldn’t do for the police to see an elderly lady in a beat up truck but with smooth, young hands.  She’d read enough about police work to know that those were the kinds of inconsistencies that police looked for when scanning traffic. 

Ciala smiled as she headed out of the city, feeling free for the first time in a long time.  No guards, no husband and no responsibilities other than the task she’d set for herself.  And she suspected that this latest shrine her contact had told her about would be more fascinating than the others she’d photographed recently.  As she drove out of the city, her mind went through all of the details she’d heard about this site, leaving her worries back at the palace.

Jurar read the missive and fury ignited his temper.  “I want to talk to this man,” he said with a cold, seething anger. 

He stood up, leaving a meeting for the second time in two days.  He didn’t bother to explain as he walked out of the conference room with absolute fury pulsing in every step. 

When he reached the police station where the man was being questioned, he had calmed down a bit.  But he still wanted details. 

He stepped into the interrogation room where the man was still handcuffed to the metal table.  “Out!” he snapped to the investigator who was interrogating the suspect.  The man almost tripped over himself in his effort to get out of the room quickly.  “Yes, Your Highness,” he gasped as he closed the door. 

The suspect was pulling back as far as his handcuffs would allow as he stared up at the ruler of his country, his mouth hanging open in awe and his eyes wide with fear. 

“Tell me what you just told the other man,” Jurar said with a cold tone that demanded absolute obedience. 

The prisoner stammered for a few moments before he finally took a breath and spit out the story.  “She’s beautiful, Your Highness,” he started off.  “More beautiful than any woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Jurar didn’t say a word.  He continued to stare down at the suspect named Fayad as he mumbled. 

“She is the lover to the rebel leader, Al Harith.  I know you’ve been searching for this man for years and he is a thorn in your side.”

Jurar didn’t comment, neither confirming nor denying this man’s assertion about the rebel leader’s nuisance effect on his administration.  “Continue,” he commanded coldly. 

“This woman, she’s his lover and if you capture her, he will come to get her.  I don’t know if he’ll turn himself in or if he’ll try to get her out of your prison, but he will come.  They love each other with a passion that is crazy, Your Highness.”

“A crazy passion, eh?” he offered.  Jurar walked over to the table, opening the file folder so that the picture was face up.  He spun the file around and pointed to the picture.  “And this is the woman who is the lover to Al Harith?”

“Yes, Your Highness.  They love each other very much.  She isn’t with him all the time though.  She comes and goes.  I’ve led her to other places within your country.  She pretends to be taking pictures of religious sites but she’s really scoping things out for Al Harith.  We’ve had long conversations on rides to these places where she tells me how much she loves this man and she’d do anything for him.  I believe he feels the same way for her.”  He nodded to the picture again.  “Capture her and you’ll have a better chance of capturing the man who leads the rebels.” 

Jurar closed the file folder, not able to look at the picture of his beautiful wife any longer.  He was seething with a fury he’d never before felt.  And he was conflicted.  Parts of this man’s story didn’t make any sense.  And parts of it fit in exactly with what he already knew about his wife. 

Turning around, he walked out of the police station.  “Back to the palace,” he commanded to his guards as he slipped into the armored limousine.  Twenty minutes later, he stormed into their private suite, his wife’s guards still standing sentry outside the doorway.  But as he looked around, he realized that his lovely wife was not there.  Not in the bathroom or the closet.  She was gone.  Exactly as she’d done before! 

Damn her!  Just two days ago, he’d ordered her to stay inside the palace.  The message informing him that his wife had been kidnapped had torn him apart.  Until he’d seen her, alive and well, and felt her body with his hands, his mouth and made love to her, affirming that she was alive and safe, he’d been out of his mind with fear. 

And now she was gone.  No, he didn’t think she’d been kidnapped.  He suspected that she’d simply snuck out on her own.  Just like she had so many other times at her brother’s palace.

Damn it!  He’d known about her adventures and he hadn’t done anything to stop her.  And now he had the added suspicion that she was a spy for the very man who had been eluding his men. 

A part of him wanted to dismiss the suspect’s claims as false.  Ridiculous.  But Jurar had never completely obliterated the small nugget of doubt about his wife.  When he’d caught her that first time, she could have simply claimed to be the sister of the Sheik of Kilar and she would have been released immediately.  She hadn’t done that.  She’d escaped on her own and very effectively eluded his men, just as this Al Harith had been doing for years. 

When he’d finally found her again, he’d dismissed his suspicions as ridiculous.  He’d told himself that she was exactly what she’d claimed to be, an avid historian studying ancient religious sites and the current cultural impacts on society.  She could certainly talk about her work with a passion that had impressed him.  But that might just be an effective cover story.  All spies are taught to be good actors and actresses, needing to lend credibility to their cover stories. 

Now, finding her gone, without her guards and a prisoner in custody claiming she was the rebel leader’s lover…he wasn’t sure what to think.

But there was the incontrovertible fact that Ciala had been a virgin until a few weeks ago.  And her discovery of her sexuality as they explored each other, learned each other’s likes and dislikes, he didn’t believe that kind of excitement could be faked.  Her passion was real.  He didn’t doubt that.

But what if…

His jaw clenched as doubts surfaced. 

Walking out of the suite, he snapped to her guards, “Find her!” and he walked to his security office.  “I want a full background on this prisoner,” he told his head of security, handing the file on the man he’d just interviewed.  “I want to know everything about him down to what he eats for breakfast, who he hangs out with, what time he wakes up and goes to bed.  I want everything!” and he started to walk out again.  “The man had to have been in hiding over the past few weeks or he would have seen a picture of my wife which was released to the press.  So find out where he’s been.  I want the location of his hole and I want all of it by the end of the day.”

Ciala slipped back into the palace the same way she’d left it and hid her disguise in the closet.  She then walked over to the lunch cart and devoured the now-cold meal that had been delivered hours ago.  This was still something she hadn’t figured out, how to sneak a meal out of the palace when she left.  She didn’t know Drakar’s capital city well enough yet to know which restaurants or markets were safe for her to enter, even in disguise. 

When she was finished, she called the kitchens and asked for her tray to be removed.  She then slipped into the bathroom and washed off the dust from the day.  The SUV she’d obtained had a fabulous engine, but no air conditioning unit.  It would look odd for her to be driving around in a beat up old truck in the desert with the windows closed and air conditioning blasting, so she’d learned over the years to do without that luxury.  It meant a great deal of dust settled onto her skin, but that was a small price to pay for getting her research done.  And she’d gotten some great pictures today.  She made a mental note to contact Fayad and ask him to schedule interviews with some of the residents of that area. 

She picked up her cell phone, wondering why he hadn’t called her back yet.  Usually Fayad was quick about returning her messages.  Possibly because she paid him so well. 

When she stepped out of the bathroom, a silk robe tied around her waist and her hair in a towel, she was relieved that the wait staff had already taken her tray away.  But now she had another issue.  Jurar was leaning against one of the marble columns.  And the look in his eyes didn’t bode well. 

She reached down to the ties of her robe, making sure she was still covered.  But then again, why bother?  She was feeling euphoric after her day’s adventure.  Why not…

She didn’t have to finish that thought because Jurar was walking over to her and there was a look in his eyes that she didn’t completely understand. 

“Did you have a good day?” he asked, his hands sliding around her waist. 

Ciala’s hands automatically smoothed up his magnificent chest and she smiled.  Yes, she could admit that she wanted this.  This was her man and she loved him.  Her body craved Jurar’s touch so why fight something so wonderful?  Perhaps it was her day of freedom influencing her reactions, but she was going with the feeling today. 

“Yes.  I had a wonderful day.  All by myself and doing research,” she told him, not lying and it felt good. 

Jurar waited for the signal but her earlobe remained free of any tugging fingers.  “What made today so special?” he asked. 

Ciala wondered why his hands weren’t sliding underneath her robe, but maybe he didn’t know that she was interested.  She pressed herself against his body, silently telling him that she wanted his touch.  “I just sat here, read through some books and journals,” she said and her hand reached out to push her hair behind her ear, her fingers checking that her earring was still in place. 

Jurar watched and knew she was lying.  “And did you get a lot of reading done?” he asked. 

Ciala pulled out of his arms, unaware of how her hand moved up and scratched her earlobe once again.  “Of course,” she said and moved back to the bathroom, tugging the towel off of her hair.  “What did you do today?” she asked.

Jurar leaned against the frame of the bathroom doorway, watching her carefully.  “It was a very successful day.  My men captured a man we suspect is a rebel spy.  We’re interrogating him now, trying to find out what he might know.”  His eyes narrowed as he said, “His name is Fayad.  Ever heard of him while you were doing your research?”

Everything inside of Ciala froze.  Her eyes slashed to his in the mirror and he could see her face drain of color.  “Fayad?” she repeated.  The towel dangling in her hands, forgotten.  “Yes.  I know of a Fayad.”  She debated going on, but in the end, she couldn’t let a man who had helped her so many times in the past be interrogated for something he probably didn’t do.  “Fayad was my interpreter and he would find various places he thought I might be interested in seeing.”  Swinging around, she looked up at Jurar with wary eyes.  “I don’t think he’s a spy, Jurar.  He’s a good man.  I didn’t see anything or hear him say anything that would indicate that he was working with the rebels.” 

Jurar’s gut unclenched as she admitted her association with the man in custody.  And it wasn’t a lie.  He could see the sincerity in her eyes.  “And yet, he’s giving us information about the rebel leader and possible ways to catch the man.”  He waited, wondering if she might give something away. 

Ciala shook her head.  “He’s a good man,” she told Jurar.  “Please don’t hurt him.”

“The rebel leader?”

Ciala looked confused.  “Fayad.  He’s just a sweet loner who worked hard to find me religious sites.”

“And you don’t want me to hurt him,” Jurar filled in the rest.

“No. I don’t.  And please don’t lock him up.  He’s a kindred soul.  He and I would drive around the desert for hours, just talking about life and politics, social problems and the world in general.  He doesn’t have a wife or a family.  I don’t think he even has a permanent address.  He’s just a good guy trying to make a living without a formal education which limits what he thinks he can do.”

Jurar was stunned that his wife would defend a man who was accusing her of treason.  She obviously had no idea who the real Fayad was or she’d be hanging the man out to dry and giving up all of his secrets.