Kitabı oku: «Captive of the Desert King», sayfa 3

“Yes.” He led her to the rear of the cave. A small stream trickled down the back wall into a natural basin of rocks at the floor.

“You’ve been here before.” It was a statement, not a question, but Jarek chose to answer Sarah anyway.

“Quamar and I spent quite a bit of time out here exploring when we were younger.” Jarek took a few more of the glow sticks out of the pack, snapped them, then tossed them onto the floor.

“This will have to do for light. We cannot start a fire. The rocks at the entrance would conceal the flames, but not the smoke.”

“We should have energy bars or something in the survival kit.”

“Rashid, we’ll leave the horses saddled, just in case. But I want you to help me bring them back here to drink some water. After, we’ll return them to the front of the cave. They’ll give us warning if anyone approaches.”

“Yes, Papa.”

While father and son took care of the animals, Sarah grabbed the backpack and sat down on the ground.

Laughter caught her attention. A rich, deep chuckle that made a woman’s breath hitch, her heart beat just a tad faster.

Deliberately, she turned her back to the pair and sorted through the survival kit.

After a while, Rashid joined her at the wall. “Papa’s finishing Taaj’s feeding bag.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Not really,” Rashid said, his voice rough with fatigue. He rubbed his eyes. “I had oat cakes while we rode on Taaj.”

“Want a place to sleep?” She scooted back, until her back bumped the wall, then patted her legs. “I’ve heard my lap is pretty comfortable.”

Jarek watched from a distance as Rashid snuggled against Sarah.

He was almost too big for her slight frame, but she wrapped her arms around him and managed to tuck his head under her chin.

Within moments, Rashid’s body relaxed and his breathing deepened.

“Asleep?” Jarek crouched next to her. His knuckles brushed his son’s cheek. “I want to check the perimeter one more time. When you get tired, I’ll take him from you.”

Surprised at the gentleness in Jarek’s voice, Sarah glanced at him. “You’re not going to order me to put him down right now?”

Jarek nearly smiled at the suspicion in her voice. Sarah Kwong was no pushover.

“No, not right now.”

“What happens next?”

“We wait to see what morning brings.” He sat down next to her, stretched his legs out and leaned back against the wall. His muscles flexed, trying to shed the fatigue and the strain from the constant vigilance that had kept them tight for the last twelve hours. “If we have to, we’ll circle back to the city or head toward my Uncle’s caravan. Either way, I will get us there.”

“Can I ask how? The Sahara is almost as large as the continental United States. We can go days without seeing anyone.”

“You forget, this is my backyard.”

“A backyard that has been infested.”

“That’s a very good analogy,” Jarek replied. “The Al Asheera have scattered, then hide in the sands, like vermin. It makes it difficult to flush them out into the open.”

“Have you ever tried rat poison?”

“No, but I might.”

“Will your cousin look for you?”

“Yes,” Jarek laid his forearm across his eyes. “But still it will take time. Until then we must keep safe.”

For the first time that day, she realized she actually did feel safe.

“Who is Roldo, Your Majesty?”

“I have no idea.” Jarek didn’t open his eyes. “Why?”

“Just before he died, Ramon told me to run from Roldo.” She shifted Rashid just a bit to look at Jarek. “He also said to tell you he was sorry.”

“Did he say why?”

“No. Actually, he didn’t say anything after that. Those were his last words.”

Jarek said nothing for a moment. Only the tightening of his fist indicated he’d heard. “Could Ramon have been delirious when he spoke the name?”

“He was aware enough to hand me his gun for protection.” Her eyes lingered over his profile while his eyes remained closed. The green hue of light didn’t detract from the carved features, but somehow it softened the line of his mouth, the line of his jaw. Just enough to give her a glimpse of where Rashid’s boyish features came from.

“Did the Al Asheera think you were on the plane?”

“It’s highly likely,” Jarek answered. “But even if they didn’t. The death or torture of an American reporter would not go well with Jon Mercer’s and my diplomatic efforts. The fact that you are his daughter’s friend only adds to the prize.”

“I didn’t get this job because I was Lara’s friend,” she pointed out.

“If I thought you had, you wouldn’t be here,” Jarek retorted. This time his mouth twitched with amusement over her quick defense. She was a woman with pride, and maybe a little vanity.

Both were fine if well deserved. And from what he’d seen of Sarah Kwong’s files, both were deserved.

“The president holds a tremendous amount of respect for you.”

The primness in the tone, made Jarek open his eyes.

“But you don’t.” Jarek turned his head until he faced her. Without thinking, she rubbed her cheek against Rashid’s temple. “My opinion isn’t the question here.”

It had been a long time since a woman had held his son. Even Anna didn’t come near as much anymore, Jarek realized. Emotion raced through him.

“No. Just my integrity, it seems,” Jarek responded. “Tell me, is your low opinion simply because I did not meet you in Morocco?”

“No,” she admitted. When her hair fell in a curtain over his son’s shoulder and neck, she automatically brushed it back. “I tend not to trust people who keep secrets. It comes with the job.”

“And you believe I have a secret.”

“No, Your Majesty. I believe you have many secrets.”

“You’re wrong.” Jarek gave into his urge and captured several strands of hair from her shoulder. He rubbed them between his forefinger and thumb, enjoying its cool, silky texture. “You see it’s not what I am hiding. It’s what I am protecting.”

He glanced down at his son. “Although it seems I haven’t done a good job with that, either.”

Chapter Five

Roldo Costa sat on the jeep’s hood, anger twisting his insides into a vicious knot. It wasn’t his fault the king and his brat slipped past Oruk’s men. He dug into his pocket for his paper and bag of weed.

Hell, it wasn’t his job to search and destroy.

It was only to destroy, Roldo thought with contempt.

But then, the Al Asheera leader never appreciated the beauty of Roldo’s expertise.

Effortlessly, he rolled the joint and licked the paper closed. The desert chill had settled in, making his mood even fouler. He wanted to be at the city’s brothel, a place called the Cathouse, drinking and whoring.

The women liked him there. They thought he was a big shot because he got them booze from Milan and drugs from a cousin in Columbia.

They thought he was tough, too.

He lit the joint and took a long drag. The smoke was harsh, spurred by the cocaine he’d added to the mix. It bit at the back of his throat, burned its way to his chest.

While he waited to catch his buzz, Roldo pulled his Glock from his shoulder holster, enjoying the weight of it in his hand.

Since the jeep had no roof, he reached over the windshield of the jeep and flipped on the headlights.

A buzzard squawked, its wings flapping against the stark beams. But it didn’t fly away. It wasn’t willing to give up its meal of rotted flesh unless it was absolutely sure there was danger near.

Roldo leveled his pistol at the bird. “Take off, you dumb son of a bitch. Fly while you can.”

The bird stared at him for a moment, then settled back into his meal.

“Stupid bird.” Roldo squeezed the trigger. Laughing at the puff of feathers, he watched the vulture flop dead.

He shoved his gun back into its holster, took another hit off his joint. “Let’s see if the Royals are as stupid as you, bird,” he yelled. He left the joint hanging from the corner of his mouth and walked around to the back of the jeep.

From the boot, he pulled out C-4, a detonator and wire. “This is the difference between smart and stupid, bird,” he muttered.

Like the vultures, Oruk’s men tracked their prey, and then waited for it to drop dead in front of them.

Stupid.

Roldo, on the other hand, set the trap, added the right bait, then let the prey come to him. He flicked the joint nub into the sand and ground it under his heel.

Smart.

Confident, he counted off paces from the jeep to the plane. If he hurried, he’d still have time for a few drinks at the cantina.

Smiling at the thought, he stepped over the bird and got to work.

“HOW HAVE YOU BEEN, Sarah?” The question broke through the silence that had filled the cave for the past hour.

“Good,” she said cautiously, unsure from where the question came. They had just put Rashid down on a makeshift bed of the emergency blanket and Jarek’s robe.

“And your father and mother, how are they?”

Slowly, Sarah finished tucking the robe around Rashid’s shoulders and straightened. “They are doing well.

“My father has retired from the university,” she added. “They are currently traveling in a motor home somewhere in Yellowstone National Park. I get e-mails when they have access to the Internet, and postcards when they don’t.” She paused for a moment. “But I assume you already know that, since the president sent you my file.”

“He told you?”

“The first time I met with him over the possibility of flying to Taer, he told me his intentions,” Sarah mused. “Should I be flattered that you took such an interest in me after all these years?”

“Before I made an agreement with Jon Mercer, I had your background checked.”

“And you’re telling me this, why?” Sarah asked. “Considering you’re a king and run your own country, I don’t think you need to reach for the intimidation card. So why share this information with me now?”

“I will not let just anyone into my home, Sarah. Even on the recommendation of a president.”

“Especially past lovers,” Sarah added. When Jarek didn’t respond—didn’t deny her statement—Sarah brushed the hurt aside.

“Fair enough,” she said and meant it. After all, she’d researched him, too. “So you’re telling me, I’m on probation.”

“I’m telling you that just because we are in this situation here, it will not change the situation once we reach the city again.”

“Okay,” Sarah replied slowly. “I stand warned.”

“Come sit over here.” Jarek dug into the backpack and retrieved the first aid kit. “We need to clean the cut on your forehead. And your feet. Infection sets in relatively easy in the desert.”

“I can do it.”

“How? When I can see it better than you?” he mused, his lips tilting, challenging her reluctance. “You’re not afraid, are you?”

Of you, yes. “Of a little pain? No,” she retorted, deliberately misunderstanding his question.

She sat cross-legged on the ground. But when he crouched in front of her, she tensed.

“Relax,” he murmured, in the same even tone he’d used on the horses.

While her features remained passive, she could do very little to ease the tension in her shoulders.

For the first few minutes, Jarek worked in silence, cleaning the cut with an antiseptic wipe.

“This will sting.”

Sarah hissed at the sharp slice of pain. “You weren’t kidding.”

Gently, he blew across the wound, taking the sting away from her temple. “I never realized you had graduated from the University of Nevada.”

“Forty-eight hours doesn’t allow much time for much personal history.” But was plenty of time to fall in love with a king, she thought.

“The file said you graduated at the top of your class. Majored in journalism. Minored in history.” Jarek brushed away a few strands of hair, tucked them behind her ear. “That must have made your father happy.”

“It did.” The brush of his finger against the shell of her ear touched off a ripple of goose bumps down her neck. “But I happen to enjoy history. So it made me happy, too.”

“You are quite brave, Sarah,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. His fingers worked efficiently. His feather-light touches were gentle, almost soothing as he applied the medicated cream.

“Not really.” Without realizing it, her voice dipped low to match his. “I’ve had worse injuries.”

With him only mere inches away, it was hard not to study the man. The set plains of his face, the jaw slightly dusted with whiskers, the sculpted line of his mouth.

This wasn’t the man who ruled a country. It was the man who haunted her dreams.

“I’m not talking about this cut,” Jarek explained and reached for a butterfly bandage. “You’ve weathered the day pretty well, considering.”

“I guess,” she whispered, closing her eyes against the brush of his knuckle against her cheek. “One doesn’t have a choice in a situation like this.”

He pressed the small bandage to her temple. “I’ve known many who’ve acted cowardly under less dangerous situations.”

“Then you might want to question the company you keep.” Suddenly, she remembered she was addressing royalty. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

“No need to be sorry. I happen to agree with you. But sometimes we are not able to choose so easily.” Jarek placed another bandage on her wound. “You might have a scar.”

“It’s just a mark,” she joked, but the words were no more than a whisper. “And it isn’t the first. In third grade, I got into a fight with the playground bully. It wasn’t pretty.”

“Did he hurt you?” His fingers drifted over the delicate line of her jaw.

“It was a girl,” she joked lightly. “And I gave her a fat lip. But walked away with a nasty scar on my shin. She was wearing roller skates. The metal kind.”

“You’re pretty tough aren’t you?” His thumb skimmed the soft skin behind her ear.

“Sometimes.” In that moment, the lightness was lost, destroyed by the shiver that tripped down her spine, the tension that curled tight in her belly. “Then, other times, not very tough at all.”

“How about now?” Jarek’s gaze drifted over her features, rested for a moment on her mouth.

“Papa?”

Jarek stiffened. His hand dropped away from her face. “I’m here. Go back to sleep, son.”

“Yes, Papa.”

After the little boy turned over, Jarek stood. “Sarah, I—”

“Don’t,” she said quickly, then untucked her hair from her ear, using the long strands as a curtain to cover her confusion. “It’s all right. We both got carried away.” She tried for flippancy, but managed a quiet sort of dignity. “We’ll chalk it up to the stress of day.”

“Time to sleep, then.”

“Together?” Her head shot up.

“With Rashid between us,” Jarek corrected. “Trust me, he is a ball of heat. You just have to watch the elbows and knees.”

“I have nieces that are the same age.” Sarah slipped off her shoes and placed them in her purse. “I take it he’s crawled in bed with you on occasion.”

Jarek glanced from Sarah to the sleeping boy. So many things had slipped away. “He used to.”

Chapter Six

Memories took their revenge in the subconscious, spurred by the vulnerability that came with sleep. The thwack of the whip against raw flesh. The whimpers of the almost dead. The dull rhythmic beat of both sounds swirled and ebbed—a backbeat to his nightmare. Seductive, persuasive, both whispered to him, nurtured by the dark edge of insanity, the bitterness of betrayal.

When he fought back, the demons came. They ripped through his skin, splaying muscle and bone, exposing nerves until the air turned foul—thick with the stench of rancid blood and feces.

Jarek awoke, his jaw clenched, sweat sticking between his shirt and skin. He cursed the memories, the scars on his back that would never let him forget.

A penance for past sins.

It was rare for Jarek to sleep more than a few hours a night. Even rarer for the nightmares to leave him in peace.

Unaware of his demons, Sarah continued sleeping, her head resting in the crook of Jarek’s shoulder.

Rashid lay between them, his head pillowed against her chest and one arm flung over her side.

A shaft of longing speared his chest, catching him off-guard.

The horses shifted, their stance turned edgy. Taaj blew air out of his nostrils in warning.

Slowly Jarek untangled himself from Rashid and Sarah.

When she stirred, he placed a hand over her mouth. “Quiet,” he whispered. “We’ve got company. Wake Rashid.”

When she nodded, he grabbed his rifle from the wall nearby. “Ramon’s gun is in the backpack,” he said almost tonelessly.

Sarah nodded again, this time the movement was stiff with fear.

“Be careful,” she whispered.

But he was gone.

Quickly, she put her hand to Rashid’s mouth and shook his shoulder. “Wake up, sport.”

SHADOWS STRETCHED and twisted beyond the cave and into the semidarkness. The chill of the night lingered in the cool and damp of the predawn.

Taaj moved restlessly against Jarek. “It’s all right, my friend,” he murmured, adding a few words in his native tongue of Taer.

After the animals settled, he followed the wall to the edge of the cave opening.

The noise was soft. A whisper of cloth against stone. The grind of sand beneath a heel.

But it was enough.

Soundlessly, Jarek placed his rifle against the wall and drew his knife from his boot.

The shadows stretched farther—morphing suddenly into the shape of a man’s head and shoulders.

Jarek waited the length of a three heartbeats, then stepped out from the rocks, knife first.

The man, startled, let out a whoosh of breath as the knife made contact with his first rib. Jarek lifted and shoved. The man hit the wall, his eyes frozen, his face nothing more than a mask of death. Slowly, Jarek stepped back, then froze when he heard a faint bleep.

He glanced down at the man’s wrist and caught the green glow of a miniature GPS receiver. Quickly he cut the device from the rebel’s wrist and shoved it into his pocket.

Suddenly, another man jumped from the path. Younger, than the first, his eyes wide in fear. The rebel raised his rifle and fired. Three shots exploded into the night air, before Jarek’s knife found its mark in the man’s chest.

Swearing, Jarek reached for the watch in his pocket. The signal in his hand grew stronger as he returned to the cave.

“What is it, Papa?”

Jarek didn’t answer, instead he ripped the gun from Sarah’s hand and tossed it to the ground.

“What are you doing? Are you crazy?”

“How much did they pay you, Miss Kwong?”

“What are you talking about—”

Jarek grabbed her purse and dumped it onto the floor. The wristband suddenly vibrated against his fingers.

“You didn’t have time to tell them I wasn’t on the plane with you?” He reached down and grabbed a small round disc from the pile of items. He smashed it under his heel. The vibration stopped. “They must have promised a lot of money for you to risk your life in a plane crash.”

“You’re delusional. I have no idea how that tracking bug got into my purse,” Sarah argued. “For all you know, Ramon—”

“Don’t!” Fury flashed crossed Jarek’s features. He grabbed her arm and jerked her forward.

“Try it,” Sarah warned, her own anger flaring. She met him toe-to-toe. The sting of accusation drove any thought of fear from her mind. “That bug could’ve been put in my purse by anyone, anywhere. You’ve just been waiting for an excuse to ship me home.”

“I’m not sending you home anytime soon. You’re going to be my personal guest until I decide what to do with you.”

“Personal guest?” Sarah seethed. “You mean a prisoner, don’t you?”

“Call it what you want.”

When she turned on her heel, he grabbed her arm, forcing her back around.

“Don’t you dare touch me, you son of a—”

“Papa?”

Sarah snapped her teeth together, but her glare didn’t waver.

“Get your things, Rashid. We need to leave.” Jarek’s tone was short, uncompromising. “The Al Asheera will find us. And when they do, we’ll be cornered if we don’t move.”

Startled, Sarah argued. “It’s too dark—”

“The sun will rise within an hour. A blessing and a curse. We will have better footing, but we will also become easier targets.”

Jarek released his hold. “Gather your belongings.”

Angry, she picked up her things and shoved them back into her purse. “I hope you have a plan. Or are you planning on spending the next few days roaming these cliffs.”

“We will find my uncle’s caravan.”

“Uncle Bari?” Rashid asked, frowning.

“Yes.”

“But Taaj. And Ping?”

“We leave the horses and continue on foot.” Jarek grabbed Ramon’s pistol from the ground, then shoved it into the backpack. “I am familiar with these paths. We should have no problems navigating them for the short time before dawn breaks over the horizon.”

“And if we fall?”

“We won’t. The ledges are dangerous, but can be traveled,” Jarek commented grimly. “And we have little choice. Those shots you heard were a signal. It will be only a matter of time before more of your friends pinpoint our location.”

Sarah refused to defend herself again.

“If we leave the horses, they could die,” Rashid insisted while he blocked the entrance, his hands fisted.

“Where we have to go, the ledges are too narrow for them to maneuver.” Jarek slipped the backpack straps over his shoulders. “By my estimates, Bari’s caravan is less than two days west of here if we cut through the cliff faces. Once we reach the caravan, I will make sure the horses will be taken care of.”

“Two days without food—”

“As long as they have the water from the spring they can go two days without food.” This time he didn’t disguise the impatience in his tone. “Do not worry, Rashid. Taaj will take care of Ping.”

“Yes, Papa.” The young boy held back a small sob and went to say goodbye to his horse.

“If Ping dies, Rashid will never forgive himself,” Sarah warned Jarek quietly.

“Better a horse than my son,” Jarek snapped back, barely managing to keep his voice low. “Damn it. He should not have been out here. He should not have

followed me.”

“Maybe you should not have ridden out here, either.”

“If I hadn’t you’d be a prisoner of the Al Asheera.”

“Better me than your son.” Using his words against him. “Of course, I could be conspiring with them.”

“I hope for your sake the latter is true.”

“And why is that?”

“I have seen firsthand how the Al Asheera torture women.”