Bodyguard Lockdown

chapter Nineteen



Two months later

The Al Asheera’s camp wound along the lowest ridge, a snake of canvas tents interspersed with wagons, small herds of goats and camels.

The smell of coffee and baking bread drifted on the wind and reached Booker on the cliff above.

His stomach tightened.

He’d been traveling by horse for two days with little food and less sleep.



He peered through his binoculars.

It had been two months since they took Trygg down. Two months since Sandra forced the internal nanite war inside him. And saved his life.

For the first week or so, he’d felt like a human punching bag. Kate MacAlister had told him just how close he’d come to dying. How hard Sandra fought to save him.

Now it was his turn to fight for her.

“Let’s go, Sam,” Booker murmured and nudged his horse down the slope.

Less than an hour past dawn, but the camp was active. The men were lighting fires, tending to the stock. The woman tended to the children, and prepared the morning meal.

He slid out of the saddle and onto the ground, then tethered his horse on a loose caravan wheel.

“Are you here for something, McKnight?” Aaron Sabra strolled over from a nearby tent. “Or someone?”

“Very funny, Sabra. Where is she?” Booker glanced at the rifle holstered in the saddle, left it there and swung around. “Where is the doc?”

“Who told you she was here?” Aaron sipped some of his coffee.

“Kate,” Booker replied, not amused. “I hope you’ve kept her safe.”

“I’ve kept her busy.” Aaron smiled into his cup. “The only one she needs to be kept safe from is you.”

“Busy doing what?”

“She’s a doctor. What do you think?”

Booker stepped forward. “So help me, God, if she gets sick, I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Hurt me?” Aaron’s eyes went slate-gray. “Do you really think anything my people could do would hurt her any more than you have already?”

“I’m not here to hurt her. I’m here to make things right.” But the fact she’d been suffering didn’t sit well with Booker.

“Fair enough.” Aaron lifted a negligent shoulder. “But she’s kept herself busy with my people.”

“Your people?”

“Yes,” Aaron explained. “Jon Mercer has persuaded me to help rebuild the Al Asheera into a productive tribe. One that works with Jarek, instead of against him.”

“And Sandra?”

“She’s spent her days vaccinating the young, healing the sick, comforting the elderly. She’s even delivered a few babies over the last couple of weeks.”

“I want to see her.”

“She went for a walk,” Aaron replied. “You’ll find her by the rocks, just outside of camp.”

“Alone?”

“Usually,” Aaron said, coughing to keep from laughing. “Just be back before noon meal. My people have grown fond of her, and will expect her for the noon meal.”

“I do not think this will take four hours—”

“You don’t think this is going to be easy, do you, McKnight?” Aaron laughed this time. The deep, hearty laugh of someone who’d been in the same quandary. “Groveling to the woman you love is a long, drawn-out process.”

“For the record, Sabra?” Booker swung back up on Sam. “Your job protecting Sandra is over. For the rest of your life. Understood?”

“Understood,” Aaron answered, grinning. “For your sake, I hope she’s alone.”

“Why?”

“If you have to grovel, you’re not going to want an audience.”

* * *

SANDRA SAT CROSS-LEGGED on the highest boulder, her gaze steady on the Sahara. The sun danced over the horizon, spinning gold from sand, turquoise from the cool morning air and blue skies.

A new day.

She rested her hands across her stomach, breathed deep to settle the flutter of nervousness, the touch of nausea.

A new beginning.

The wind tugged at her hair, whipped her tiered skirt around her legs. She brought her knees up to her chest, held her skirt close with her arms.

She’d spent the past two months amongst the Al Asheera. Two months getting to know their way of life, and their families and bringing their babies into the world, and sometimes—she smiled—their livestock.

Her free time she’d spent on the boulders, sometimes talking with Aaron or one of the camp women, but mostly alone—listening to the wind, the quiet hum of her thoughts.

Yet nothing eased her doubts, the nagging ache in her heart.

Nothing blocked the image of Booker, pale and half-dead, from her mind.

It had been close. His kidneys had shut down, his spleen hemorrhaged. The first she saved, the second she couldn’t.

But he’d pulled through and healed quickly.

She leaned back on her hands, closed her eyes, lost herself in the heat of the sun.

The whistle, a low rendition of “You Are My Sunshine,” drifted over the boulder.



Her eyes blinked open. “Go away, Booker.”

Instead, he moved closer. “Now, Doc,” Booker drawled with his best Texan accent. “You know if I were that easy, we wouldn’t be in this predicament. You would have stuck it out at the hospital until I woke up.”

“We’ve said everything that needed saying in the plane,” Sandra shot back, her gaze locking on his.

His features had darkened, the lines on his face deepened, with fatigue or worry, she couldn’t be sure. He’d lost weight, grown whiskers, but neither dulled the sharp blue irises that drifted over her.

“You said all you needed to say,” Booker corrected softly. “And all I needed to hear.”

“And you said nothing.”

“I was a little busy at the time, sweetheart,” Booker reasoned, his mouth twisting with amusement.



“You lost your chance,” she managed, her voice calm. But her fingers trembled, her heart stumbled. “Shouldn’t you be at the palace?”

“I’m exactly where I want to be.”

“Aaron told me that Jarek wants you back as his security consultant.”

“I turned him down,” Booker replied. “I’m heading back to the States.”

“Oh.” Something sharp hit Sandra in the chest. So she was a loose end. And he was leaving. So be it.

She drew her knees back up, tightened her arms around her legs. “I guess we both got what we wanted.” She rocked, just a bit. To make the hurt go away.

“Not even close.” Booker settled next her. “Have you talked with your parents?”

Sandra stared off into the distance. “No. They’re on a long-needed vacation. The inquest was fast and efficient. President Mercer made sure of it.”

“He was found innocent on all counts of treason,” Booker remembered. “I heard it on the news.”

“Once my father’s involvement became public, he seemed relieved. My mother has been supportive. My brother, too.”

“And you?”

Sandra shrugged. “I realize he had no choice. But when he recruited me to work for Trygg—”

“He didn’t give you a choice,” Booker finished, understanding. “You would have made the same decision, Doc. You would have helped Jonathon Mercer.”

“I would have,” Sandra admitted. “But if my father had told me what Trygg was from the beginning...”

She gave in to the urge and settled her chin on her knees. “So many died, Booker. I can’t help thinking that if my father had only trusted me, your men, Emily and your baby...”



“Time to move on, Doc,” he said, studying the horizon. “Time to live our life for ourselves.”

“I don’t know if I can, Booker. Not yet.”

“I flew out to meet with them, you know. Your parents.”

“You flew all the way out to Amsterdam?”

“Your father and I had some things to settle. About Trygg. My men. You.”

“My father never discusses his family.”

“He loves you, Doc. He didn’t tell you about Trygg because he was trying to protect you. Kate was supposed to be the point person on Trygg but it never materialized. If they hadn’t pulled her from the project, Trygg would’ve killed Kate just like he killed Jim Rayo’s wife and all the others.”

Sandra frowned, but said nothing.

“By the time Kate left, it was obvious to your father you worshipped the ground Trygg walked on. And at that time you and your father were barely on speaking terms. If he had told you that Trygg was a traitor, would you have believed him?”

Her head shot up. “Yes,” she defended.

Booker’s eyebrow rose.

Sandra sighed, then let her chin drop to her knees again. “Probably not.”

“You need to talk with him, Doc. You need to forgive him. Life is too short to carry that kind of anguish inside.”

Tears pricked at her eyes; her breath lumped in her chest. She would, too. She loved her father too much to do anything else. Still, she would need time to trust, but hopefully, that too would come.

“Doc, you didn’t spend your whole life living up to Andon’s memory. You spent your whole life living through your father’s guilt,” Booker pointed out softly. He draped his arm over her shoulders, pulled her close. “Guilt that he is finally coming to terms with. Don’t you think it’s time you come to terms with your own and not take the twenty-five years it took your father?”

The lump thickened until it rose to the back of her throat. “And you? Your guilt is gone?”

He took her chin, tilted it until they were nose to nose. “I’m working on it.”



“How?” Her breath caught, and love jolted through his chest, squeezed his heart.

Instinctively, he drew her closer until they were chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat. “I contacted my grandfather.”

“You did?” One hand went to his chest, stopping him from drawing her in, from making her believe.

The other went to her stomach, to protect, or maybe to wish...

“Why did you see your grandfather?”

“I don’t know,” Booker admitted. His hand slid up her spine, absently massaging the tension from her shoulders. “After I talked with your father, I found myself on my grandfather’s doorstep.”

“Was he happy to see you?”

“Shocked would be a better word,” Booker replied. His grandfather had not changed much over the years. Thin and frail, with very little hair, but the same sharp blue eyes.

“What happened?”

“He wants me to run his company. He’s been saving it for me in case I came around.”

“Are you?” she demanded, her eyes wide, unbelieving again. “Coming around, I mean.”

“Who knows?” He paused, then pulled back until their eyes met. A grin spread slowly across his mouth.

Her heart bumped.

“Yes, actually. I am.”

“You lost me, Booker.” Sandra shook her head, confused. “You’re going to run his company?”

“My grandfather offered to make his overseas headquarters here in Taer. Fifteen hundred people will be given jobs, and more than twice that number will relocate from the States,” Booker acknowledged. “It will mean a lot of traveling, since the main headquarters will remain in Texas. Six months here. Six months there.”

“That’s quite a bargaining chip.”

“Both will have a research department.”

Sandra quirked an eyebrow. The sadness drowned in a thick haze of sudden anger. “I have a job. I don’t need you to find me one, Booker.”

“You’re going to continue to work for Jarek as his royal physician?”

“Most likely. He needs someone to replace my father, at least temporarily.” But she wasn’t sure. There was more than just herself to consider now. “I certainly don’t want to work for you. Or be anywhere near you for that matter. I don’t think we can go back, Booker. Too much has happened. There’s still too many secrets. And even more regrets.”

Fear clamped in his gut, twisting his insides. “I think I fell in love with you the moment I saw you in the desert,” he admitted quietly.

Sandra stiffened, not sure she’d heard his words correctly.

“We were at the oil drill site in Taer. You were standing there, across the sand. In a hat, sunglasses—” he glanced at her shirt and pants “—the same khakis.”

“They’re comfortable,” Sandra quipped, then frowned. “I remember that day, though. One of your men had been injured. He caught his leg in one of the winch chains.”

“I hadn’t been that nervous since—” He swore silently. “Hell, I’ve never been that nervous. Except for now.”

“Booker, this...” She waved her hand between them. “It will go away. It has to.”

“It hasn’t for four years, Doc.”

“Why now?” Sandra demanded. “Why couldn’t you have said all of this a year ago? Or even two months ago in the cave when we made love.”

When we conceived our baby, she added silently.

“When I married Emily, I thought I loved her. I thought she was all I wanted. Stability, comfort, family.”

“It was there. You just didn’t have enough time with her,” Sandra insisted. “We stole that away from you.”

“No,” Booker denied. “You can’t steal something that never existed in the first place.”

“What do you mean?”

Booker took Sandra’s hand. The calluses, the heated grip, invaded the dark part of her heart. She couldn’t bring up the strength to tug free.

“Emily was the only child of an overindulgent father. She was too selfish, too vain to care about anything other than herself,” Booker told her. “Sandra, Em wasn’t coming to tell me she was overjoyed at being pregnant. She was coming to tell me she didn’t want my baby. She never wanted to get pregnant. The pregnancy wasn’t planned.”

He paused for a moment. “She was leaving me. Her bags were packed and in the trunk of her car. She hated me enough to tell me in person that she was filing for a divorce and getting rid of my baby.”

His voice rasped out the last word. Tears pricked at Sandra’s eyes. She blinked them away.

“It took me all these years to sort it out in my mind,” Booker explained. “I think somehow, when I first met Emily, I compared her to my mother. An heiress of sorts, who would defy her father for an undying love.”

“But Emily wasn’t like your mom.”

“No, she married me on a whim. To get back at her father, I’m sure,” Booker admitted. “Their relationship was extreme in all emotions. Anger, love.”



“She still didn’t deserve to die, Booker.”

“No, she didn’t.” He brought Sandra’s hand to his cheek, pressed a soft kiss on her wrist.

Her pulse quickened, her fingers caressed the whiskers, the slant of his jaw. It was then she understood she’d never be able to stop loving this man.

But she could still walk away.

“The revenge I took on Trygg wasn’t out of love for Emily or for my men, Sandra,” Booker admitted. “It was born from anger, guilt...pride. Loyalty maybe. But never love.”

When she looked away, he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned her face back to his. “But when he took you? The rage, the fear I felt, rocked me to the core. I would have avenged you. And it would have been out of love.”

“I don’t want you to avenge me.” This time Sandra did tug free. She rose to her feet, dusted off the back of her skirt. “It wouldn’t work, Booker. Every time we looked at each other, we’d remember what brought us together.”

“Damn right it will,” Booker replied, grabbing her hand to keep her from leaving. “And I don’t ever want to forget.”

Surprised, she looked at him. “What?”

“I hope I never forget.” He tugged her hand, catching her in his arms and across his lap. Before she could move away, he hugged her to his chest. “You almost died on me, Doc. So many times, I’ve lost count.”

“Five,” she admitted, somewhat reluctantly. “Six, if you include the moment on the plane when you couldn’t say you loved me.”

“I was fighting my fear of losing you,” Booker admitted. He linked his fingers with hers, left them resting across her belly. “If I’d said the words out loud, I wouldn’t have been able to let you go.”

“You didn’t let me go—you threw me out of the plane,” Sandra murmured. “Can’t get more decisive than that.”

“You kicked me out of a helicopter first,” he reminded her with a smile. “I love you, Doc. And if it takes me our lifetime together to convince you, so be it.”

“It just might.” Her voice hitched; her heart fluttered. “Just because I want you around for a lifetime, Booker.”

He let out a long sigh. The vibration rumbled against her ear, making her want to sink farther into his chest.

“Fine with me.” He tipped her chin up, kissed her softly on the lips. “I want to raise a family with you and grow old together.”

“The family part is taken care of,” she whispered, the words bursting from her heart, shining through the sheen of tears in her eyes. “I would say in about seven months.”

Booker slid his hand over her stomach with gentle fingers. “And the growing old together?”

She laughed and hugged him close. “I guess that will happen if we stay away from high places.”

* * * * *