Читать книгу The Sheikh Who Stole Her: Sheikh Seduction / The Untamed Sheikh / Desert King, Doctor Daddy - Dana Marton - Страница 11

Tariq crept through the night, sticking close to the buildings, staying deep in the shadows. Dawn had not yet arrived, but the moon lit their way. The storm had died down and their clothes were dry. Time to look around.

He couldn’t sleep, anyway. Not after he’d touched Sara and experienced the depths of her passion, the sweetness of her mouth, the feel of her under him. She had drawn away. He’d pushed too fast, too hard. Found it difficult not to. His sudden and fierce need demanded he have her.

“This way,” he murmured, and dashed across an open area, toward the large building near where he’d seen the tire tracks before. She ran behind him. Whoever had arrived in the middle of the night, in the middle of the storm, was most likely there.

Sara had come because they had but one weapon between them, the tire iron, and they’d had to put out the fire now that the wind was no longer blowing. They couldn’t risk someone smelling smoke. Tariq hadn’t seen the hyena for a while, but he didn’t want to leave her behind unprotected.

“Keep low,” he whispered.

She ducked her head down, her hair tumbling around her shoulders. She hadn’t put it back up. She was beautiful and sexy, with an incredibly hot body that made him ache with wanting. But there was so much more to her. Beauty alone couldn’t distract him this much. The world was full of beautiful women, and there was no shortage of sexy bodies happy to press up against a sheik who owned a couple of oil wells.

He wasn’t proud of the fact that in his youth he had taken advantage of that.

It’d been only over the last few years before he’d returned to Beharrain that the emptiness of his relationships had begun to bother him. And since he’d been here, he’d barely had a relationship at all.

Spending a day and a night with Sara Reeves made him wish for things he hadn’t given much thought to before. And he couldn’t afford to now. The task at hand required his full attention.

“Watch out.” He pointed toward a scorpion that skittered across the ground a few inches from her feet. He kicked sand at it. The scorpion lifted its tail, but turned and moved off in the opposite direction.

Sara’s lips tightened as she stared after it, but she didn’t make a noise or any sudden movement that might betray their presence. “Poisonous?” she whispered.

“Yes.” At the beginning of construction they had done an extensive relocation project, capturing scorpions and transporting them to the Rub al-Khali, the Empty Quarter, the uninhabited part of the desert.

Out of the dozens of species of scorpions in his country, only a few were poisonous. None had been found when they had surveyed the area, then shortly after work began, contractors came across several nests of them. It made Tariq wonder if they’d been brought in, yet another insidious form of sabotage. But as with the rest, nobody talked, nothing could be proved.

He moved forward again, creeping along the wall when they reached the building they’d been heading for. Sara came up close behind him the next time he stopped to listen for noises inside, their bodies separated by only an inch or two. He was aware of every soft breath she took, her every move, and wondered if she was as acutely aware of him as he was of her.

Back in the villa, she had pulled away. Probably the smart thing to do—not that he’d liked it. The instant connection between them had probably taken her off guard as much as it had him. So he would give her time. As much as he could. He would plan a slow seduction. It hardly seemed possible, and yet he must, because he wasn’t ready to walk away from her. He wanted more. A lot more. As soon as they were both safe and away from danger.

He moved on to the next window hole and glanced inside. “Two trucks,” he whispered.

She stiffened, probably thinking about the attack. But she drew her back straight in the next second, and he knew if it came to that, she would be ready to fight.

“Not the same ones,” he told her.

The trucks stood in the shelter of the walls, the one closest to him a Russian-made Kamaz. He couldn’t see enough of the other one to identify it, but they didn’t look like the beat-up military trucks that had attacked them on the way to the well. These were later models, in better shape.

Men slept, some snoring, on the sand that covered the floor.

“A single sentry,” he whispered as he watched a youth of maybe twenty sitting facing the entry. His back was propped against the wall, and his head bobbed as he fought sleep.

Tariq focused on the trucks. “I want to see what they are transporting.” It might provide the clue to why his convoy had been attacked, why his oasis project was regularly visited by people who had no business being here.

“Be careful,” Sara said.

With her on his heels, he ducked to keep out of sight, then rounded the building to get to the other side. Coming in the front would have been too conspicuous. But the structure had plenty of gaps in the walls. The best point of entry was a window hole on the other side, where the trucks would keep him out of sight of the guard.

Suddenly, the hair prickled at Tariq’s nape. He wasn’t consciously aware that he’d heard something, but he must have, because all of a sudden he knew without a doubt that they were no longer alone. He held up a warning hand for Sara as he stopped midstride and looked around slowly. A small sound came from behind a pile of bricks a few yards away. He flattened Sara against the wall and stepped in front of her, keeping the tire iron ready.

A shadow stretched forward in the moonlight. Was somebody crouching there? Tariq prepared to lunge. But then the shadow moved again and separated from the brick pile. The hyena. The animal growled at them.

Sara grabbed on to his shirt from behind.

“Keep still,” he whispered.

“Over there,” she whispered back.

He glanced around and spotted another, much larger shape between two buildings.

A camel? “How did that get here?”

Got lost in the sandstorm, most likely. Or it could be here with its rider, hiding out from the storm as Sara and he were, although Tariq would have expected the animal to be tied up in that case. Camels were notorious for wandering off, not something someone whose survival depended on the beast was likely to forget.

Encouraged by Tariq’s attention being drawn elsewhere, the hyena crept closer. Tariq tried to shoo the damn thing toward the camel, but of course, the hyena was interested in him and Sara, smaller targets that would make easier prey. It eyed Tariq with a leer, not looking particularly impressed by the tire iron. Understandable, when its powerful jaws could easily snap in half the wrist that held it.

Tariq swung the length of metal, anyway. The hyena danced back, but didn’t run away. And they couldn’t shout, couldn’t throw anything at it, couldn’t make a noise. Tariq strode forward, keeping his body between Sara and the beast.

When he reached the next window hole, he looked in and took stock of the men inside from this different point of view. There were about two dozen of them, all sound asleep, apparently. But going in through this opening was still too risky. Tariq ducked down again and kept moving, turning back every few steps to keep track of the hyena, and of Sara.

When he reached the window he’d been aiming for, he looked inside and searched the dim interior carefully. Everyone in his line of vision seemed asleep. The trucks blocked his view of the guard.

He turned and handed Sara the tire iron. “Over there,” he mouthed, pointing to a nearby stack of bricks that towered over their heads. He helped her up on top, trying not to get too distracted touching her. He kept his hand on her arm for a long moment, then reluctantly pulled away.

She would be safe here, out of the hyena’s reach and out of sight if any of the smugglers wandered outside. Plus, from her higher position, she had a good view of the surrounding area, and could keep an eye out for anyone approaching. He stepped back to the window and leaned into the building, checking to make sure he wouldn’t be stepping on anyone when he climbed in.

“Don’t take any chances.” The soft whisper came from behind him.

He nodded without looking back.

Silently, he pulled himself up to the sill. Then he lowered himself to the floor inside. His shoes sank a good inch into the loose sand that had been recently blown in by the winds.

The only light came from the moon peeking through many holes in the walls. Tariq had no trouble blending into the shadows. He walked slowly, in a crouch, and stopped frequently. A man who lay on the floor spread-eagle, snoring up a storm. The grating sound stopped just as Tariq passed. He froze. But a glance back showed the man still sleeping, his head turned in the opposite direction.

Crossing the ten yards from the window to the nearest truck took nearly as many minutes. Tariq lifted the corner of the canvas and looked inside. Too dark to see anything. He listened for sounds of breathing. Nothing. Not that he had expected to find anyone. No sense in sleeping in the stifling air of a closed, hard truck bed when one could sleep on the soft sand outside.

He pulled himself up and crawled in, letting the flap close, and complete darkness envelop him. He went by feel, bumping into wooden crates that filled most of the truck, leaving enough room for only a handful of armed men to guard the cargo when they were on the road.

Guns was Tariq’s first thought. He wedged his fingertips under the top of the nearest crate, but had trouble prying it open. Whoever had closed it had nailed it down well. He searched around for a tool, but found nothing. Then he came across a banged-up license plate and used that. Precious minutes ticked by as he eased the top open a millimeter at a time. He froze when someone spoke in Arabic directly outside.

“Ready?”

A groan came in response.

Tariq ducked behind a crate so they wouldn’t immediately see him if anyone checked inside. He felt around for a weapon, but his fingers met only crates and more crates. Fortunately, there was no further conversation, only footsteps walking away.

Probably the changing of the guard.

Tariq didn’t dare move for a good fifteen minutes, until he could be reasonably sure that the guy who’d just come off duty was asleep. Then he lifted the crate’s top and eased it off, reached inside. His fingers brushed against what could have been a bag of flour. He knew better.

Drugs.

On his tribal land. He gritted his teeth at the insult, at the danger that these smugglers were bringing to his people. This would be stopped, and he would be the man to stop it. As soon as he saw Sara Reeves to safety.

He inched back the way he had come and pushed the flap aside an inch, looked out to make sure the new guard wasn’t anywhere nearby. But everything seemed the same as when he’d come in, with no movement among the men. Tariq went over the tailgate and dropped quietly to the sand, then crept to the cab and stepped up. Reaching in through the open window, he was grateful when he felt the satellite phone he’d dared to hope would be there.

He glanced at the men between him and the window hole in the wall, his way out.

He needed weapons, too.

But as he bent to reach for the AK-47 lying next to a bearded man on the sand, a shout came from the other side of the trucks, followed by sounds of people coming awake and jumping to their feet.

Tariq ducked under the vehicle.

Gunfire erupted at the building’s front, and voices shouting and swearing angrily. He could see feet moving that way.

His heart leaped and banged against his rib cage. He tried, but couldn’t see the source of the disturbance amid all the chaos. He only prayed it wasn’t Sara. She wouldn’t have left her safe position for anything, would she?

“YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED out of it.” The shah let his full disapproval sound in his voice.

His son hung his head with respect. “Yes, Father.”

“And for what? A woman?”

“You have not seen her. She—”

“Silence!” he thundered. He’d had his share of foreign whores over the years. They had been a ready source of entertainment. That his son should become bewitched by one defied understanding. “Do you have need of another wife?”

“No, Father.”

The boy had gotten the first at age seventeen, a fifteen-year-old, sweet virgin his mother had arranged for, and his grandfather had negotiated. The lad had been caught pestering the maids one time too many. Not that there was anything wrong with that; that’s what they were there for. But should there be a child … The first son should be born in wedlock.

The shah scowled. He had no intention of letting history repeat itself. He’d acquired his son’s second wife as a college graduation present, when the boy had professed to falling madly in love with one of his friend’s sisters, at age twenty-two. The third wife had come just last year.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Father.”

Good. The three wives the boy had so far were obedient, and had gifted him with many sons. Since the Quran allowed only four, the smart thing to do was to save the last one for when he was older, fifty or sixty or even more. A fourteen-year-old virgin could do miracles for a man’s body and soul at that age, revitalizing him all over again.

“Go prepare yourself for the feast,” he told the boy.

His closest allies would soon be here. He would reveal his secret to them. And then, with his son, his firstborn, his pride, together they would begin to reclaim their family’s legacy.

SARA WAS LOST IN THOUGHT, trying to find some explanation for the out-of-character way she had acted with Tariq, feeling flushed all over again at the thought of his kisses and his hands on her, when the gunfire erupted.

Tariq.

She glanced around, but couldn’t see anything from her perch on the brick pile. The hyena was nowhere in sight. After a split second of evaluating her situation, she slid to the ground. Had Tariq been discovered? He had to have been. Why else would the bandits be shooting?

She gripped the tire iron and peeked in the window. The trucks sat in the middle of the large open area. She could see men near the front of the building, but couldn’t make out what they were doing, other than that they were upset over something.

The gunfire stopped.

Had Tariq been captured?

She waited to see if they would bring him back in, trying to think how she could possibly save him. What could she do against truckloads of bandits?

If he was still alive. She hadn’t counted, but at least two or three dozen shots had been fired.

The thought of possible implications gripped her with icy fingers.

A dark shape separated from the deep shadow between the two trucks—a man hurrying toward her, keeping low.

Fear mingled with hope inside her. It could be that someone had spotted her, but it also could be Tariq. If it was one of the bandits, wouldn’t he have shouted for the others? Hope grew even as she held the tire iron ready to swing.

Then the man reached the swatch of moonlight that came through the window, and she relaxed, stepping back as Tariq vaulted through the hole.

“Let’s go.”

Her wrist was caught in a band of steel that pulled her forward.

“Did they see you?” she whispered, hurrying to keep up with him.

“The hyena paid them a visit. I shouldn’t have left you here.” His voice was taut with intensity.

He picked a different path than the one they’d taken to get here, keeping in the cover of buildings and out of sight of the men, who were still milling about outside.

“Who are they?” she asked, struggling through the soft sand, which sucked at her feet with every step.

“Drug runners.”

“How many?” She hadn’t been able to see in the darkness.

“About two dozen. Well-armed.” Instead of taking her back to the villa where they’d spent the night, he was walking toward the structure that housed the Hummer.

She glanced at the sky before they stepped inside. How long before morning? How much time did they have left in the relative safety of darkness? Couldn’t be more than an hour or two. She tried to glance at his watch, but couldn’t make out the dial.

“You think the bandits will find us once it’s light outside?”

“They might.” He let her go at last, and walked to the vehicle. “They could pile back on their trucks and drive out without ever looking around. Or they could be here for a couple of days, waiting for the handover of the drugs, if it’s been arranged for this location. If they wander around, they’ll see the trailer doors I busted. I think they come here often. They would notice the missing wood that we took for the windows. If that happens, they’ll come looking for clues as to who was here.”

She glanced at the Hummer. Even if the two of them could successfully hide, they couldn’t hide the car. And if the smugglers took it … God, she didn’t want to be stranded in the middle of the desert.

Tariq reached into his shirt, and only now did she notice the bulge there. She could have kissed him when he pulled out a satellite phone. Okay, she could have kissed him without much provocation at any time, but she was extremely relieved to see the phone.

He was dialing already. Then he spoke in rushed Arabic, before stopping to listen to the response from the other end. It couldn’t have been good news. His face turned darker and darker, his free hand fisting at his side. He barked several questions, scowling fiercely as he hung up.

He set the phone on the Hummer’s hood, then leaned against the car and rubbed his hands over his face. Then he swore. Heartily. In English.

When he was done, he looked at her and apologized.

“What is it?” Her heart clamored. Although she hadn’t understood a word of the conversation, she knew something was seriously wrong.

“My brother Aziz was killed,” he said. “The new well was blown up yesterday. Nobody survived.”

“The well we were going to?” She felt light-headed and decided to sit down.

He nodded, a stony expression on his face. “The fires are still burning. Emergency crews are trying to put them out and cap the well again. My brother Karim is coming with a chopper. I told him where we are.”

He picked up the tire iron he’d dropped as they’d come in, and she knew he was considering going back to fight those bandits, to find out if they knew anything about this, to take out his rage on someone.

But he wouldn’t stand a chance. She needed to distract him until he calmed down a little. She couldn’t begin to imagine what losing a sibling would feel like, but she had lost her mother at an early age, then more recently her father. She could understand the rage.

She stood and walked to him, placed a comforting hand over the one that held their sole weapon. “I’m sorry.” She stepped closer and laid her head against his chest. She could hear his heart beating madly beneath her ear. “Were you close?”

He nodded, then began talking with some reluctance. “When I was a child in the U.S., I lived with distant relations of my mother. Their sons were older, and didn’t much like the intruder they considered me. I spent a lot of time being ganged up on, or alone. I always thought of myself as the piece that didn’t belong, fantasized about my real family, how it would be when I returned. Perfect.” He gave a sour chuckle. “Then, after a while, I grew up and forgot that I’d ever wanted to come back. I suppose I was angry.”

“At your family, for sending you away?”

“Yes. My mother said she wanted to save me from danger, but she kept my twin brothers, who were born just before I was exiled. Only they didn’t call it that. Everyone said I was going to America to get a Western education. My father had sons from other wives. He could afford to send me far away to see if I learned anything useful to bring back to him. As a child, I was often dejected. Then over the years, teenage angst was added on top of that, and I convinced myself I didn’t care. And later I made a life for myself separate from my family.”

“What brought you back?”

“A call for help.” He drew a slow breath. “I thought myself so separate from them, but a call was all it took. My family and my people needed me. They needed someone to take over the company, someone who knew how to lead a large business the Western way, who could negotiate on the same level with the foreigners who poured into the country to make investments. I had this fantasy that everything would be perfect now. I’d be where I’d always belonged. It didn’t last long.”

“This place is so different from the U.S.” She could understand how someone who had lived decades away from it would have a hard time trying to fit back in.

“The same men who wanted me for my business skills didn’t trust me, viewed me as a foreigner. I wasn’t a perfect puzzle piece. I stood out. My own people didn’t trust me, because I’d been away for so long. People outside the tribe didn’t trust me, because I was half brother to the former king, Majid. The only thing that worked was my brothers.”

“They accepted you.”

“Without reservation. Despite the fact that, aside from a few brief visits, they didn’t know me at all. We were strangers, but bound by blood, and that proved to be stronger than I could ever have imagined.” Pain crept into his voice.

“You think this was an attack on your family?” He had told her other men among his relations had been killed before. In a subconscious gesture, she laid a hand on his forearm.

“It’s possible.” He dropped the tire iron and wrapped his arms tightly around her, buried his face in her hair. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’m going to make sure that you’re safe.”

“Take me to safety then.” Sara had a fair idea that he had other plans—plans that would put his life at serious and immediate risk.

“Karim is coming for you. He’ll make sure you get to the embassy and acquire new papers. He will guard you until you leave the country.”

Tariq was going to stay and fight, do whatever it took to gain information about the attacks.

“Come with me.” She drew back so she could look into his dark eyes, her heart aching at the raw pain in them.

“I cannot.”

And she knew that no matter what she said, he wouldn’t.

“Isn’t Karim’s coming here dangerous?” she asked. “The bandits have guns. They could take down a chopper.”

“He’ll pick you up two miles north of here. I’ll take you there.” Tariq pulled away reluctantly. “When I was out scouting yesterday, I found some oil they’d had on hand for the machinery during construction. I should be able to plug the hole in the oil pan and fill it up. Even if it leaks a little, we should be able to get to our rendezvous point.”

“And then you’ll come back here?”

He nodded.

“What about the authorities?”

He opened the hood. “My half brother was not a good king,” he said darkly. “Half the people in the current government spent time in his infamous prisons. He didn’t shy away from torturing political prisoners. People in power are not fond of my family. I don’t trust the authorities.”

“You’re not your half brother,” she said as he dropped down and crawled under the car.

He pulled himself out after a minute and searched around for several slivers of wood. He grabbed the tire iron, too. “The Tihrin chief of police lost his right leg in Majid’s torture chambers. He is not going to do anyone in my family any favors,” he said, back under the car again. His voice was filled with frustration.

He banged on something. Stopped.

“Do you have anything I can wrap around the iron so it’ll make less noise?” he called.

She stripped off her suit coat and passed it to him. The muted sound was a lot quieter. Hopefully, it wouldn’t carry as far as the smugglers.

He was done in a couple of minutes and crawled out, handing her back her jacket. Then he brought an earthenware jar filled with oil from the rear of the Hummer. When had he put that there? Probably when he’d been scouring the site for the satellite dish and carrying in water for their bath.

He filled up the oil pan, checked the level, then closed the hood. “Let’s get some water, then head out of here.”

She moved toward the door, stopping to look around before she stepped out. No one was in sight, except the camel, which was licking a discarded brick about two hundred feet ahead. Nobody said camels were smart.

She and Tariq moved quickly between the buildings without talking. He was carrying the tire iron again. Dawn was breaching the horizon. As soon as daylight arrived and the bandits could look around the construction sight, they would notice the boarded up windows and come searching.

“I need to go back to the trucks,” Tariq said once they were inside the villa. “I need a gun. I almost had it when the hyena came in, and then they were all awake, every gun in hand.”

“You got out. Don’t you think that’s enough of a feat? You can get a gun from your brother.”

“We’ll need one before that. No matter how quietly we move, there’s a chance that they’ll hear. I want to be able to defend you. And if I could find a knife and slice their tires, they couldn’t follow us at all.”

And as an added bonus, the smugglers couldn’t leave before he got back. That was part of his plan, too, no doubt. She stared at him, slack-jawed. “This is insane. You know that, right?”

“Most of them should be asleep again by now.” He shrugged. “They came in late last night.” He held her gaze, his mind obviously made up.

The only thing she could do was help. “What can I do?”

“Get the water to the Hummer and wait there. If anything goes wrong, drive north.” He pointed to show her which direction he meant. “As fast as you can. Even if you miss the meeting point, Karim will find you from the air.”

He meant if they killed him. Sara’s blood ran cold at the thought.

“You’ll make it,” he said in a reassuring tone.

She didn’t want to think about having to make it through the desert without him. She didn’t want to think of him dead. He was little more than a stranger, but he had saved her life. And there was some undeniable connection between them, a zing of electricity that she couldn’t begin to comprehend. She cared about him, felt as if she knew him, a lot more than she would have thought possible, given the short time they’d spent together. Of course, she’d seen him tested more than once, watched him endure incredible hardship. That had revealed his character and strength more than several months’ worth of a casual relationship would have.

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” she said.

“Not if I can help it.” He came back to her and drew her into his arms. “I’m going to find you when this is over.”

His head dipped slowly toward her. He was giving her plenty of time to pull away from the kiss. She rose to meet him instead. He didn’t waste time with being tentative. He kissed her with full passion and need, taking her breath away.

Through the mist that obscured all coherent thought in her mind, three things became increasingly clear. One: Tariq was a man like no other she had ever met, and she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted another. Two: they would be lucky if either of them lived through this. And three: life was incredibly unfair. They could have met while he’d lived in California. She went to California on business all the time.

I will find you when this is over. Considering the kind of man he was, she believed that nothing but death could keep him from that promise. She clung to him, aware of the precarious nature of their situation, of the fact that he was injured, of the incredible odds.

She fisted her hands in his shirt and kissed him as if it was the last time they would be together. He kissed her back with the same desperate need.

And would have kept kissing him, but a small sound outside penetrated the haze of pleasure in her mind.

She froze.