the car, her high heels sinking into the soft sand.
He wasn’t sure if he should go after her—which is all he’d spent the last week doing—or give her some space to allow her to maintain some dignity.
Space won, and Makin and his driver stood next to the car in the event that their assistance was needed.
Even though it was still relatively early in the day, it was hot in the direct sun, with the morning temperature hovering just under a hundred degrees Fahrenheit. It was a very dry heat, he thought, sliding on his sunglasses, unlike Florida with its sweltering humidity.
Florida was fine, but this was his desert. This was where he belonged. They were just a few kilometers from Kasbah Raha now, and he was impatient to reach the palace.
He spent several months each year at Raha, and they were usually his favorite months.
Every day in Raha he’d wake, exercise, shower, have a light meal and then go to his office to work. He’d break for a late lunch and then work again, often late into the night. He enjoyed everything about his work and stayed at his desk because that’s where he wanted to be.
He wasn’t all work though. He had a mistress in Nadir whom he saw several times a week when there. Hannah knew about Madeline, of course, but it wasn’t something he’d ever discuss with her. Just as Hannah had never discussed her love life with him.
Makin’s cell phone suddenly rang, sounding too loud in the quiet desert. Withdrawing the phone from his trouser pocket, he saw it was his chief of security from the palace in Nadir.
Makin answered in Arabic.
As he listened, he went cold, thinking the timing couldn’t be worse. Hannah was already struggling. This would devastate her.
Makin asked his chief of security to keep him informed and then hung up. As he pocketed his phone, Hannah appeared, her graceful hands smoothing her creased turquoise cocktail dress. As she walked toward him, she gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about that.”
He didn’t smile back. “You’re still sick.”
“Low blood sugar. Haven’t eaten yet today.”
Nor had anything to drink, he realized, remembering now that she’d no coffee, tea or juice on the flight, either.
Makin spoke to his driver in Arabic, and the chauffeur immediately went to the back of the gleaming car, opened the trunk, and withdrew two bottles of water. He gave both to the sheikh and Makin unscrewed the cap of one, and handed the open bottle to Hannah.
“It’s cold,” she said surprised, even as she took a long drink from the plastic bottle.
“I have a small refrigerator built into the trunk. Keeps things cool on long trips.”
“That’s smart. It’s really hot here.” She lifted the bottle to her lips, drank again, her hand trembling slightly.
Makin didn’t miss the tremble of her hand. Or the purple shadows beneath her eyes. She was exhausted. She needed to eat. Rest. Recover.
She didn’t need more bad news.
She didn’t need another stress.
He couldn’t keep the news from her, nor would he, but he didn’t have to tell her now. There was nothing she could do. Nothing any of them could do.
He’d wait until they reached the palace to tell her about the call. Wait until she’d had a chance to shower and change and get something into her stomach because right now she looked on the verge of collapse.
“Shall we?” he asked, gesturing to the car.
EMMELINE slowly rolled the cold water bottle between her hands, pretending to study the arid landscape, when in truth she was avoiding Makin’s gaze.
She knew he was looking at her. Ever since they’d stopped alongside the road, he seemed quieter, grimmer, if such a thing were possible.
Earlier, by the side of the road, she’d thought she heard his phone ring but she’d only stepped around the car for a minute or two, so if he had talked to someone, it had been a short call.
Her sixth sense told her the call had something to do with her.
Maybe it was paranoia, but she had a cold, sinking sensation in her gut that told her he’d begun to put two and two together and things weren’t adding up.
Had he figured out the truth? That she wasn’t the real Hannah Smith?
Still worried, Emmeline saw a shimmer of green appear on the horizon. The shimmer of green gradually took shape, becoming trees and orchards as the desert gave way to a fertile oasis.
Fed by an underground stream that came from the mountains, the oasis became a city of red clay walls and narrow roads.
The sheikh’s driver turned off the narrow highway onto an even narrower road shaded by tall date palms, the massive green-and-yellow fronds providing protection from the dazzling desert heat.
As the car approached the enormous gates ahead, they swung open, giving entrance into the walled city.
“Home,” Makin said with quiet satisfaction as they traveled down yet another long drive bordered by majestic date palms, the heavy fronds like feathered plumes against the clear blue sky.
More gates opened and closed, revealing a sprawling building washed in the palest pink. But as the car continued to travel, Emmeline discovered the palace wasn’t just one building, but a series of beautifully shaped buildings connected by trellises, patios, courtyards and gardens. No two were the same. Some had turrets and towers, others were domed, although each had the same smooth clay walls lushly covered in dark purple and white bougainvillea.
The car stopped before the tallest building, three stories tall with intricate gold-plated doors and massive gold, blue and white columns flanking the entrance.
Staff in billowy white pants and white jackets lined the entrance, smiling broadly and bowing low as Sheikh Al-Koury stepped from the car.
Having grown up in a palace, Emmeline was familiar with pomp, protocol and ceremony. Daily she’d witnessed the display of respect all were required to show the royal family, and yet there was something different about the sheikh’s staff.
They greeted him with warmth and a genuine sense of pleasure in his return. They cared about him, and she saw from the way he responded to each man, he cared about them.
Makin paused at the ornate entrance, waiting for her, and together they stepped through the tall gold doors, leaving the bright sunlight and dazzling heat behind.
The serene, airy foyer was capped by a high domed ceiling of blue and gold, the cream walls stenciled in sophisticated gold swirls and elegant patterns. Emmeline drew a slow breath, relishing the palace’s tranquility and delicious coolness. “Lovely,” she said.
The sheikh lifted a brow, and glanced enquiringly at her.
She flushed, remembering she was supposed to be Hannah and familiar with everything here. “The coolness,” she said. “Feels so good after the heat.”
He stared down at her a moment, expression peculiar. He seemed to be looking for something in her face, but what, she didn’t know.
And then he nodded, a short nod, as if he’d come to a decision. “I’ll walk you to your room,” he said. “Make sure everything is as it should be.”
Emmeline’s brow puckered at his tone. Something had happened. She was sure of it.
He set off, leaving her to follow, and they crossed the spacious foyer, through one of the many exquisitely carved arches that opened off the entrance, their footsteps echoing on the limestone floor.
He turned