Читать книгу Seized By The Sheik - Ann Voss Peterson - Страница 11

This whole thing was wrong. All wrong.

Callie swung onto Sasha’s back. When she’d ridden out to Rattlesnake Badlands at Prince Stefan’s request, she’d been aiming to talk Efraim into going back to the resort where he’d be safe. Instead, he was risking his life for his cousin’s, for hers. And unless she was willing to let Fahad die, she couldn’t do a damn thing to change it.

“Fahad,” Efraim said, kneeling next to his cousin. “Can you hear me?”

Fahad mumbled something Callie couldn’t quite catch. His eyes fluttered and opened. His face twisted in a grimace of pain.

“I am going to lift you onto the horse. It might get a bit rough. Hang with us, okay?”

Fahad just kept breathing, in and out, as if anything else was beyond his grasp. It probably was.

Efraim glanced up at her. “Ready?”

She wasn’t sure how they were going to pull this off. Fahad couldn’t lie on his back across the saddle. Nor could he drape over it on his belly, letting blood rush to his head. She slipped behind the saddle’s cantle and sat on the stiff, leather skirt. “He’s going to have to sit on the seat. That’s the only way this is going to work.” Even then, she wasn’t sure they could manage.

Efraim knelt down. Fitting his hands under Fahad’s shoulders and knees, he lifted the man from the ground and climbed to his feet.

Callie reached down from the saddle, and Efraim hoisted him onto the seat. Callie guided his leg over the saddle until he sat astride. She settled him on the seat and leaned his body back against her. She could feel him groan, the sound shuddering through her body. She steadied him with one hand and held Sasha’s reins with the other.

“Do you have him?”

Good question. With a man who had the strength of a rag doll sitting on her lap and her legs dangling at her mare’s flanks, Callie had a challenge ahead of her. She was grateful the horse was Sasha. The palomino mare could read Callie’s shifts of weight almost as if she was reading her mind.

She looked down at Efraim. The thought of him out facing the man who did this to Fahad chilled her to the core. If only she could do something.

He had his pistol, but a pistol wasn’t going to do much good unless the shooter was close. Balancing Fahad against her chest, she tapped the stock of her rifle. “Take this.”

He shook his head. “You’ll need it.”

“Between balancing Fahad on the saddle and keeping control of Sasha, I don’t have enough hands to use a rifle. Give me your pistol.”

He unbuckled his holster. Reaching up, he helped her strap it around her waist. She pulled the rifle from its scabbard and handed it to him.

His hand closed around hers. He lingered for a moment, then took the rifle. “Go.”

She clucked to Sasha and the horse moved forward. Callie kept her eyes on the horizon in the direction of the Seven M Ranch, resisting the need to look around, to see Efraim taking cover among the hoodoos and cliffs, to watch as he faded into the distance.

Two gunshots cracked and echoed off the rock.

Callie kept Sasha moving forward. She knew the shots were likely Efraim drawing attention to himself, trying to let her ride away unnoticed. She forced herself not to think of what might happen next, but her imagination niggled around the edges anyway. Efraim shot… Efraim lying in Rattlesnake Badlands alone while the life drained from his body… Efraim sacrificing himself to make sure she could escape.

A sob stuck in her throat.

In all the times she’d spoken to him before today, she’d had to remind herself to be professional. Speak about COIN and the future of Nadar. Don’t get too personal. Don’t hold his gaze too long.

She’d been attracted to him from the first time she’d laid eyes on him, at a reception in Kyros, his hair nearly as black as his tuxedo. Each time she’d spoken with him since, she’d felt on the edge of giggling and blushing. She’d had to force herself to remain professional.

And now?

Now she just wanted to talk to him again. She just wanted to look in his eyes and feel that blush one more time.

Sasha cleared the badlands. The landscape flattened into sage-pocked plains and abrupt, flat-topped hills called benches. The mountains loomed closer on the northern horizon. The scent of pine tickled the dry wind.

The going was slow, even on the more even ground. With each sway of Sasha’s stride, Callie could feel Fahad’s weight tip to one side or the other as he grew weaker and even less able to hold himself steady. He was a big man. Not as tall as Efraim, but thick and muscled. If he tilted too far to either side, she wouldn’t be able to hold him.

The sun dipped lower in the western sky, its aurora kissing the blue shadow of mountains before starting its slip behind. Soon she would have to navigate by the glow of twilight. She needed to keep moving. Among the mountains, twilight seemed to last forever. But when night finally fell, it was blacker than a nightmare.

“Efraim.” Fahad’s voice was low, a harsh whisper.

Callie leaned her face close to his. The rusty scent of blood filled each breath she took. “He’ll catch up with us. He’ll be okay.”

“You let him…”

She finished the rest of his sentence with her imagination. An extra shard of guilt dug into her. “I didn’t let him. He insisted on protecting you, protecting me.”

“You care only for your negotiations.”

His words hit her like a slap. “That’s not true.” She’d been telling herself that that was all she should care about ever since she’d first met Efraim. That she should be professional. That she should think only of her job. Now a part of her wished she’d never listened.

“He shouldn’t die…”

His voice was growing weak. She leaned closer. “…you should.”

“I should what?”

“Die.”

The vitriol in his one word shook her to the core. She’d faced opposition before in her job. Hatred for the United States. Distrust. She’d faced some of the same from the people she’d grown up with. But never had someone wished her death straight to her face. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“You have polluted Efraim.”

“Polluted?” Words gathered in her mind, bitter words she longed to throw back. She bit the inside of her lip. Pouring gasoline on this kind of fire would only make it burn brighter, hotter. She would let him have his say.

“You, your country…let him go.”

Let him go? “Efraim does what he feels is best. I have no hold on him.”

“Let him go.”

All her experience as a diplomat, and she had no idea what to say to the man. She could find no words. “Efraim makes his own choices.”

“Then may you both…” A rasping sound vibrated through his chest and back. He strained backward, against Callie, as if struggling to breathe.

She shifted him to the side.

“Your family and his…may both be destroyed.” He slumped heavily against her. He gasped in a labored breath, then another.

She grasped the saddle’s fork and held on.

“Whoa, Sasha.” Reaching around the other side of him, she transferred the reins into the hand gripping the saddle. She threaded her free hand along the man’s neck and felt for his pulse. His skin felt clammy. Sweat soaked his hair, his beard. A faint, thready rhythm beat against her fingers.

Still alive, but for how long?

She picked up the reins again and clucked to Sasha. Eyes on the horizon, she searched for the telltale signs of the creek that wound through her family’s ranch while the sun slipped behind the mountain range.

EFRAIM HELD HIS GUN at the ready and strode toward the flash of movement he’d seen between clumps of sage. Probably an animal. A pronghorn antelope darting across the land or a coyote scrounging for food or scampering after a rodent. But deep down he feared it wasn’t something so innocuous. Whoever had shot Fahad was still out here. Watching him. Following. He sensed him.

At least he hoped the gunman was following him and not Callie and Fahad.

He could no longer see them. He hadn’t been able to for quite a while now, even over this open stretch. But he could see her horse’s fresh tracks among sagebrush and prickly pear. And at his pace, he had to be closing in on her. Of course, with only the faint glow of the sun from beyond the mountains, seeing anything was becoming a challenge.

A slight rustle carried on the dying wind.

Ahead, vegetation grew a little taller, a little more lush. A clear indication of water. Probably a creek. He pulled out Callie’s rifle. Lifting it to his shoulder, he peered through the scope and scanned the area.

No horse. No man. But also no animal. At least not one he could see.

Whoever was out there was very good. Either someone who knew the land, or someone trained to disappear. He could be lining Efraim up in his sights right now, and Efraim wouldn’t even know he was there.

Not until the bullet hit.

He tried to clear his mind, to focus on what his senses told him, not what his imagination could invent. Whoever was out there had been following Callie or him or both since Fahad was shot. He hadn’t shot back since his second attempt in the badlands, but that didn’t mean killing them wasn’t his aim. Efraim just wished he knew why the man was playing with them like a cat plays with its prey before devouring it.

Dry soil crunched under his boots. The wind had died down with the fall of night, and the air was still, making every sound loud as gunfire. He breathed deeply, searching for the scent of burning tobacco, the sharp tang of a man’s sweat, something, but all he could detect was the ever-present fragrance of sage flavored with a distant hint of pine.

He lowered the rifle. Another thing he hadn’t seen was any sign of a ranch, and that had him worried. It couldn’t be too much farther, could it? He hoped it was as close as Callie thought. And he could only pray Fahad was still alive and strong enough for it to matter.

The hiss sounded from the prairie floor, like the shake of a maraca, louder than the wind.

Oh, hell.

He looked down at the earth in front of him.

The black coil of a rattlesnake lay near a clump of sage. Again, it sounded its deadly warning.

Efraim took a slow step backward. Then another. In all the riding and climbing he’d done in Rattlesnake Badlands, he hadn’t seen a single one of the reptiles. They’d probably been hiding from the hot sun. This one had ventured out to enjoy the cooler evening air.

He took several more backward steps.

The rattle faltered, then stopped. He’d barely drawn a breath when another sound came from behind him. The unmistakable clack of a rifle chambering a round.

“Turn around and I’ll blow your head off.”

The voice sounded American. A local, or at least a pretty good imitation of the accent. A slight tremor vibrated under the words.

Efraim gripped the rifle. He slid his finger to the trigger guard.

“Throw the rifle down.”

Could he spin around, aim and fire before the man could take him out? He doubted it. He’d proven himself quite a marksman in the canyon. Now, with what sounded like only a few yards between them, hitting Efraim would be child’s play.

“I said throw it down.”

It would be smarter to wait for a better chance. He just prayed it would come before the bullet did. He tossed Callie’s rifle to the ground.

“Put your hands up.”

Efraim complied. Hands raised, he scanned the area, straining to see in the dim light. Sagebrush hulked in low, gray mounds, but he could see little else. Nothing he could use for cover.

Boots crunched on dry ground. The steps came closer, moving up behind him.

Efraim held his breath. He could feel the man closing in. Only eight feet away. Four. Two. Efraim no longer had his pistol or Callie’s rifle, but that didn’t mean he was unarmed. He slowed his breathing, focused his mind, ready to move.

The footfalls stopped. Efraim could sense him bend down, hear him grab Callie’s rifle.

Now.

Efraim slashed a hand downward, grabbing for his belt. The dagger decorating the buckle looked like simple ornamentation, but it was anything but. His thumb found the release button at the same time his fingers hit the tiny dagger. He pulled the small blade clear and spun around.

The man was a dark silhouette, the last glow of twilight behind him.

Efraim slashed, hit flesh.

The man let loose a guttural sound.

Efraim reversed direction, bringing the blade back, striking again.

This time his enemy was ready. He lifted the rifle. Blade hit barrel.

The dagger wrenched from Efraim’s hands. The rifle barrel numbed his hand and plowed into his side.

Pain shot through his ribcage, making it hard to breathe. He struck out with his bare hands. His knuckles glanced off the man’s chin.

The rifle hit again.

His whole chest seized with pain. Gasping, Efraim hunched forward, trying to protect his ribs, trying to breathe.

The man was on him in a second. His knee drove into Efraim’s back. Dirt and grit ground into his cheek. He struggled for air but nothing came.

“Hold still.”

Efraim finally choked a breath into his lungs. Dust came with it. He coughed, his side on fire. The entire middle of his body wreathed in pain.

His dagger.

It had flown out of his hand when the rifle barrel hit. It had to be here. Within a few feet. He scraped the ground in front of him with his free hand, but hit nothing but sagebrush and prickly pear.

“Hold still.” The man shoved his knee harder into Efraim’s back. “Right now, or I’ll blow you away.”

Each inhale seared like a hot poker in the side, but at least he was breathing. He felt something hard press into the back of his head.

“Is he dead?”

“Who?” Efraim managed to choke out.

“The one I shot.”

Efraim dug his fingers into the dirt. He didn’t know if Fahad was alive or dead, but either way he would strangle the man with his own hands. He would avenge his cousin. His blood. Fahad would do no less for him.

“Is he?”

“No.”

He let out a breath with a whoosh. “Why are you here?” The man’s voice cracked.

Efraim smiled. It was one thing to gun a man down from a distance. Looking through a rifle scope made everything seem unreal, like watching a violent movie or playing a video game. Americans loved their violence as long as it was at a distance. Pretend. Or in someone else’s country.

Efraim knew how to deal with it close up.

He had to be calm, to clear his mind. He’d struck too fast with the knife. Played it too recklessly. He’d assumed he was faster than his enemy. As fast as he had been years ago when he’d fought for Nadar. He’d been wrong. But he didn’t need to be faster. He was smarter. This time he needed to think. And when he got an opening, he needed to make it count.

The guy had him pinned to the ground, but his weight rested too much on Efraim’s back. In that unstable position, Efraim could throw him off balance and flip him. He’d already proven himself more fond of throwing threats around than bullets. He’d give Efraim another chance. Cracked rib or not, Efraim could take him. He tensed, ready to make his move.

“Efraim?”

Callie.

Bloody hell. She must be near. She must have heard voices. And knowing what he did of her, she was probably on her way to help.

Efraim could feel the man tense at the sound of her voice. He still had his rifle, probably two, because he’d taken Callie’s, as well. Maybe that was what he was waiting for…for all three of them to be together. Maybe he was following, being as quiet as he could, biding his time so he could take them all out at the same time.

“Efraim? Is that you?”

She was closer. Riding straight into his trap. Straight toward a man with a gun.

Efraim couldn’t let Callie be his target. “Callie? Run.” He bucked backward, trying to unseat the man.

The man was too quick. He shifted his weight off Efraim and brought his fist hard into Efraim’s side.

Into his cracked rib.

Pain ripped through his body. A gasp tore from his lips. For a second, he couldn’t move.

Gritting his teeth, he forced his body to function. He sprang upward and back, but the man was off him and he connected with nothing but air.

A shadow moved to the left.

He spun to the side with a kick. This time he hit flesh.

The man grunted but kept moving. Running. Not toward Efraim or the sound of Callie’s voice but away. Footsteps ground on dry earth and faded into the night.

Efraim tried to run, to give chase, but after a few steps, he knew it was no good. He slumped forward, bracing his hands on his knees. Pain tore through his side, making each breath agony. Cracked rib for certain. Maybe two. He forced himself to straighten, took a few steps in the direction the shooter went, then doubled over again.

“Efraim? Are you okay?”

He turned toward her voice. All he could make out was the silhouette of a horse carrying two riders. She was near him, only a few feet away. But he couldn’t see her face.

“Efraim?”

“I’m fine,” he lied.

“I heard voices. Fighting. What happened?” Her voice trembled, frightened for him, not sparing a thought about what she was rushing into.

At once he felt grateful for her concern and angry that she’d exposed herself to such danger. “You should have run for the ranch. You shouldn’t have risked coming back for me.”

“And let you die?”

“I wasn’t going to die.” He was close enough to see her face now, her golden hair. But he couldn’t read her eyes. But there was something, the sheen of tears on her cheeks… “Callie? You’re crying. What happened?”

Her breath hitched. “I’m so sorry, I—I think Fahad is dead.”