Bodyguard Lockdown(38)

“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.”