Chapter Two
The raid was supposed to be a simple one. Their contact in the small border town had been very precise. A low-ranking member of the IJN arrived in town to order supplies, and typically he stayed for an hour or so at the only cafe before leaving. Some people would not have bothered with such a person, but immediately, Bassam had realized that a man who knew what supplies to order would know more than even he might think he did.
The raid mobilized inside of an hour, and they arrived on the small border town less than eight hours after he had made the decision. There had been the usual objections to Bassam's presence, but he had shaken them off as he always had.
After all, this feels like a fitting action for the man who is supposed to be Shajae's first and last protection, he thought with some amusement.
The men of his dynasty, going all the way back seven hundred years to the founding of Shajae, had always been bandit hunters. They brought justice to a lawless land, and above all, they maintained the peace for those who lived under their rule. The older he got, the less difference he saw between bandits and terrorists; he only knew that both had to be dealt with equal force and determination.
On the helicopter out to the site, Bassam reflected that he could be excused if there was a small part of him that was more than eager for this exercise. Life in Tir, the capital city, had been dull of late, dull enough that they were starting up the talk about his wedding again, or at least his proposed wedding. It felt as if he couldn't make an appearance or sign a bill into law without getting a question about when he was going to produce an heir for the throne.
Frankly, it made facing possible terrorist bullets far more appealing, as far as he was concerned.
He expected an easy extraction and retrieval. The man would be removed from the chain that connected him to the terrorists in the mountains and then turned over to national intelligence, a strong force would be left in town to ward off any who might try for retribution, and after that, Bassam would return home with the knowledge of a job well done.
Simple.
Then one of the plainclothes agents reported that there was a woman sitting with their target, and things had quickly deteriorated.
His heart knew before his mind did.
The woman sitting with their target could have been anyone. She had a head of bright chestnut hair, she dressed simply and as if she had been on the road for a while, and the expression on her face was sympathetic. She was Western, unusual for this part of the world but not unheard of. There was always a hitchhiker looking for a thrill off the beaten path, a woman hiding from a man, a journalist looking to score a real news story.
Then she was a hostage, and when that man's gun had touched her head, Bassam's heart had swelled with a tidal wave of rage. It was such a red-hot emotion that it deafened him for a few precious seconds. It was something that might have gotten him killed in another, more dangerous moment, but at that moment, he had been lucky, if stunned.
Mine, his heart had bellowed. Mine, no right to touch her, no one has a right to touch her but me, only mine, only mine, mine, mine, mine...
Then he had come back to himself, his mind following after his heart, but his mind hadn't believed what his heart had known right away. Bassam told himself that it couldn't have been her. There was no way it could be her, not after all of these years, not in this godforsaken little border town that barely stopped short of being a no-man's land...
Surely not.
His well-trained soldier's mind took over then. There were men who were depending on him, and there was an objective he had to meet. There was absolutely no time for him to waste on who the woman might have been.
He’d dealt with the situation, the target was taken down, and the hostage was pulled away for a later debriefing. All of this went like clockwork, and even in his daze, Bassam could find it in him to be disbelieving of who he had seen.
Laurel Garibaldi was meant to be safe on the other side of the planet. There was no way she could be here, but his heart assured him that it was her, and after a moment, he knew that it was not something he could deny any longer. It was her, and now he had to deal with it.
Laurel... It was a name he had kept close for two decades. Bassam wasn't the kind of man who pined. He was a man of action, a man who made decisions and then carried them out. Throughout his life he had been so, and the decisions he made were always designed with his country's good in mind. Laurel was the one exception, resting like a brand over his spirit. If he were honest with himself, he would say that thoughts of her crossed his mind at least once a month, more likely once a week or so. He wouldn't say he was carrying a torch, but when someone changed your life so very much, it only made sense to think of them.
At least, that was what he told himself.
Now here she was again, in the flesh, and he had to deal with her.
The feed store the lieutenant had taken her to had a large glass front, and Bassam took a moment to look at her unobserved. He had not seen her since she was a raw nineteen-year-old girl, all legs and wild eyes and passionate speech. She had to be at least forty by now, just a year or so younger than he was.
She was more womanly now, less slender, but the fire in her was the same, and much as it had two decades ago, it called to him.
Bassam shook his head. This was ridiculous. He was a man with a country to run, and she had been a first love, one that had burned bright and then ended as was only right and proper. This was all foolishness.
As he walked in to face her, however, he wondered all over again at what fate had brought him.
***
“Bassam?”
Laurel's voice was barely more than a whisper, her mind still reeling from the shock, but Bassam, damn him, only inclined his head courteously. Once, she had accused him of having ice water in his veins, but that was nothing compared to the cool elegance of the military man who stood in front of her now.
“Yes,” he said. “We are standing in my country on the field of operations run by my men. I am not the one who is out of place here. That is you.”
She recoiled from his cold words, her eyes narrowing with anger. He might have been her first love, but now he was like every other military man who had ever gotten in her way, who had tried to hide the truth from her.
“I am not out of place,” she said, tilting her chin up. “As I have been telling your man here, I am a journalist with all the necessary documentation and papers needed to operate in Shajae, in Dubai—”
“I'm sure you are, and I am sure you are aware that those papers can be rescinded by the government that issued them, and believe me, that is what I am thinking about doing right now.”
Laurel's eyes narrowed. “And what reason would you give for doing that?”
“What rea— What about the fact that you were seen consorting with a member of a terrorist organization?”
Laurel was so angry she could nearly spit fire.
“A subject for a story that I was going to write that might have shed some much needed light on the situation here,” she hissed.
If anything, rather than being convinced, Bassam's voice dropped and he looked even more grim.
“This situation is not one that needs the interference of Westerners,” he said, his voice as precise as a well-thrown knife. “You are leaving with the convoy. You can walk aboard on your own power, or I can have you officially detained, it is up to you, but—”
“Wait,” Laurel burst out. There were only a few things more important to her than the sanctity of a story, but one of them was waiting for her in the topmost room of the town's only boarding house.
Bassam looked at her impatiently, and a small part of her cried out to think that the man she had cared about so very much was gone, replaced by this man she knew not at all.
“What is it?” he asked curtly. “I warn you, Laurel, even for our old acquaintance, I am running out of patience for—”
“My son,” she said, speaking very quickly. “I will not leave without my son. He is in the boarding house two blocks over. I am not leaving without him. You must let me go get him.”
Even in her panicked state, she took pleasure in seeing Bassam's jaw drop as he stared at her incredulously. It made her feel a little better for being so shocked earlier.
He opened his mouth as if there were many things that he wanted to say, but then finally, he shook his head and turned away.
“We are going to speak later,” he said, his voice barely more a growl. “But for now, take the lieutenant with you and collect your son. He'll take you where you need to go.”
“Thank you,” she said acidly, not bothering to hide the fury in her tone. “I have nothing but good will for a man who sees sense as easily as you do.”
She started to follow the soldier who had stood guard over her, but then Bassam's hand shot out, closing around her wrist. His grip was firm, there was no pain to it, but somehow, a shock ran from his body to hers, something so electric and profound that she nearly cried out. When Laurel's eyes flew up to his, she could see that he could feel it right away as well.
Hurriedly, he dropped her hand, taking a step backward.
“We will talk,” he said, making it sound more like a threat than anything else. “Back in Tir. There are many things that need to be discussed.”
“I look forward to it,” she retorted, even if she was far less confident than she felt.
Then Laurel followed the lieutenant, because right now, more than anything else, she needed to be close to her son.