The Black Sheep Sheik by Dana Marton

I find out, I promise you, there’ll be hell to pay.” He searched for a weapon, spotted a fire extinguisher on the far wall, impossible to reach.
    Isabelle was searching, too, her gaze darting from car to car. “Where do we hide?”
    His muscles tightened. He wanted to reassure her, but he had little good news to give. “No place to hide here. I’m sorry.”
    Her SUV was in a clear line of sight, most of the way protected by the emergency staircase. “We will run for it,” he told her. “Zigzag. Between here and there, take every available cover. No matter what anyone says or does, no matter what happens to me, you just keep going. I need you to promise me that.”
    “It’s impossible.” She looked pale and worried, her eyes large in her face.
    “Not nearly. Reminds me of running with the bulls in Spain.” He made his tone lighter for her sake, wanting to erase the fear from her eyes. “I’ll tell you about the good old days when we get out of here.”
    “You didn’t run with the bulls.”
    “Seven times,” he told her proudly. “Now!”
    They dashed forward, stopping in the cover of an enormous pickup truck. He normally sneered at giant American monstrosities, but now he was grateful for the size. Cars in his country were much smaller; the roads narrower. The original road system had been built for donkey-cart traffic.
    “What about security?” Isabelle was asking him in a low whisper.
    “I don’t know if I can trust my security,” he told her morosely.
    “I mean in Spain. How could they let you risk your life like that?”
    Either she was the coolest person under pressure, or she was trying to distract herself from the threat of imminent death so she could function.
    “I left my security at the hotel. Nobody knew who I was.”
    They dashed another ten yards, then stopped by the next support column and crouched at its base. Too slow. Only luck saved them. He was still too damned weak. A week from now, he could probably take on the bastard. Take him on and rip his heart out for putting Isabelle in danger.
    As it was, if he wasn’t careful, he wasn’t going to live to see next week.
    “I thought sheiks were supposed to be responsible and all that. What was that embracing responsibility speech you gave me before? The whole ‘being the father of your nation’ thing?”
    “I haven’t run with the bulls since I took the throne.” Not that anybody appreciated that or any of the other sacrifices he’d made. Everybody took his complete lifestyle change for granted.
    And his life was about to change again. Completely. Yet, this time, he didn’t feel a single spark of resentment. He was looking forward to this twist. Then do what you have to so you live that long, he told himself as he inspected their surroundings.
    They had only another five yards separating them from Isabelle’s car, but they would have to come out into the open to close that distance. He scanned the area again, looking for another alternative and not finding any.
    “Get your keys out.”
    She did so immediately.
    “I’ll distract them. You run to the car and drive out of here as fast as you can. Without looking back, without a moment of hesitation. They’re after me. They will leave you alone. Don’t stop until you’re someplace safe.”
    Her chin came up, and he knew what was coming before she said the words. There was something tragically heroic about her, in the fire in her blue eyes.
    “I’m not leaving you in here with some armed madman. I don’t care if you’ve run with the bulls, wild elephants or a yeti.”
    He didn’t have time to argue with her. He raked his brain for a compromise, aware that with every second they wasted hesitating, the shooter was creeping closer and closer to them.
    “You can’t move as fast as I can,” he pointed out. “I’ll run for the elevators and keep in cover. I’ll meet you at the front entrance of the hospital. We’ll be safe there. There’s security in the