Читать книгу Captive of the Desert King - Donna Young - Страница 8

The man woke. Tense. Alert. Ready for an attack.

He laid quietly for a moment, listening for the rustle of the tent, the footsteps on the ground outside. A habit he’d developed from childhood. A habit that had saved his life more than once over the years.

“Master Baize. Your guest is here.” The voice pierced through the curtain, its tone deep and heavily accented.

Oruk Baize forced his muscles to relax. “Give me a minute, Roldo, then send him in.”

A quiet sigh caught Oruk’s attention. Slowly, he slid the silk sheet from the warm body beside him. The material hissed over a supple white shoulder, down the slender curves and smooth back to round, naked buttocks.

For a moment, he thought about opening the window flap, allowing the sunlight to pierce the darkness—maybe burn off the stale scent of sex and sweat that still hung heavy in the air. It’d be worth the tongue lashing he’d receive, to see her pale skin heat in temper.

Besides, he might be up for a good fight, he mused, silently. Something he’d grown accustom to over the months, and now actually anticipated.

He threw the sheets back over the woman and stepped from the bed. Seduction, domination. A little of both. The thought made him hard, then annoyed.

Business before pleasure.

Oruk pulled on a pair of dark, silk trousers and zipped them enough to cover his hips. No need to exert too much energy.

After all, this associate would be dead soon.

He stepped through the curtain opening and into the main part of the tent.

Oruk was a big man, with wide shoulders and a deep, barreled chest. His features were that of a soldier—broad, flat and unyielding. But attractive enough to have his bed warmed most nights.

He was the son of a camp follower. Most were, in the Al Asheera. He’d never known his father and barely remembered his mother—a whore who had deserted him when he was nine.

He’d survived like most of his kind. At ten, he’d learned to shoot a gun, throw a knife. By eleven, he’d killed with them.

Oruk walked to the opposite side of the tent and stopped by his teakwood coffee table. Some comforts he refused to give up, even when he was forced to act as a nomad.

That included good whiskey. And even better, a smoke.

He opened a nearby humidor and selected a cigar. Cuban. Expensive. And the only brand he smoked.

The tent rustled. He felt a short gust of wind, heard the hard step of man in a hurry. “Hello, Murad.” He clipped off the end of the cigar and lit it with a match.

“We had a deal, Baize.”

Oruk ignored the slight tone of contempt in the other man’s voice. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the office?”

He took several deep puffs, but didn’t offer the businessman a cigar. Why waste a good cigar? Oruk thought with derision.

“They escaped from the plane wreckage.”

Murad Al Qassar was a businessman by trade, an accountant by looks. With short trimmed hair and long, thin features, he was the only man Oruk knew who wore a pinstriped suit and a tie to an Al Asheera camp.

“I know,” Oruk finally answered. “Roldo told me.”

Roldo Costo threw himself onto the pile of pillows in the corner of the tent and shrugged. “Things happen.”

Roldo was a little man with greasy hair and rotted teeth. Still, Oruk did not keep him employed for his looks, only for his talents.

“The king decided at the last minute not to meet the reporter in Morocco. There is little we can do about that,” Oruk pointed out.

“I disagree,” Murad snapped.

“The king won’t get away from my men again, Murad.” Roldo took out his knife and began cleaning his fingernails, a habit Oruk knew Murad found disgusting. It was the exact reason why Roldo did it whenever the businessman came around.

“Luckily for us, he was there in the desert,” Roldo added. “He watched Ramon’s plane go down. We’re tracking them to the caves.”

“Who?” Murad demanded. “Ramon and Jarek?”

“The reporter, the king and his son,” Oruk inserted. “So you see, Murad, things are working out in our favor.”

“The prince?” Murad took a moment to digest that bit of information. “What about Ramon?”

“He’s dead,” Oruk explained. “Roldo found him in the cockpit. Or what was left of him.”

“That’s not good enough, Oruk.” Murad eyes narrowed. “We had a deal. One that’s cost me a tremendous amount of money.”

Oruk studied the red tip of his cigar. “There is nothing to worry about. Instead of being on the plane, the king was in the desert with his son. An outing of sorts. Fate placed him and the boy in the vicinity of the crash site.”

“I don’t believe in fate.”

“Destiny, then.” Oruk smiled at his own joke. “Either way, it is good luck for us.”

Murad swore. “And yet the king is still alive.”

“Like I said.” Roldo shoved his knife back in his boot and stood. “My men have staked out the caves and are waiting to move in at daylight. The cliffs are too risky in the dark. I’ll lose good men.”

“Take the risk,” Murad snapped, his lips curling back on his teeth in anger. He stepped up to Roldo, going toe-to-toe with the mercenary. “We had an agreement. The king and his son dead. They’ve accommodated you by being together, don’t mess it up. We haven’t been able to get this close to him or his son in a long time. Understand me?”

“I understand that you will take care of the buyers and the shipments,” Oruk answered for Roldo. He walked to the bar cart to pour himself a shot of whiskey. “And I will take care of the Royals and your gambling debts once we have control of Taer.”

“I also provided the weapons,” Murad reminded him.

“And I provided the Al Asheera,” Oruk countered, then signaled Roldo to step away from Murad. When the little man moved, Oruk continued. “We are all doing our part.”

“I’ll believe that, Oruk, when Roldo takes care of the king and his son.”

“In my time, Murad.” Oruk’s tone hardened. “Not yours.”

“Time is running out,” Murad warned. “Soon Jarek will sign the agreement with the Americans.”

“Agreed.” Oruk flicked his ashes, let them fall to the rug. “But once we control the throne, it will not matter. The death of the reporter will only widen the rift with the Americans.”

“What about his cousin, Quamar? And Sheik Bari?”

“I imagine Quamar will be searching soon,” Oruk reasoned. “It will take time for him to notify Bari. By then, we’ll have the king and his son.”

“You had better.” Murad pulled back the tent opening. “I have a meeting in the city. Notify me when you have them.”

Roldo spat on the ground after Murad left. “He whines too much.”

“And you screwed up.” Irritation scraped at Oruk’s nerves, but he forced the emotion back. Understanding the mentality of the mercenary, made it easier to control him. “Bring me the Royals and you will have the pleasure of killing Murad when its time.”

“I would like that.”

The bed curtain flickered and Oruk’s loins grew heavy. He finished the shot of whiskey, then put down his glass.

“Screw up again, Roldo, and I will punish you myself.” Oruk held one side of the curtain open and stepped partway through before turning back to the little man. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes. I understand.” Roldo waited until Oruk disappeared, then he spit again.

This time in front of the curtain.

“WE’LL REST FOR A MOMENT and let the horses breathe a little,” Jarek ordered, then pulled on Taaj’s reins. He leaned down and whispered in his son’s ear, then pointed to a small niche in the wall a few feet away.

“It cannot be too much farther, Sarah,” Rashid told her as he slid off his father’s horse. “Once the path widens, I’m sure we’ll find shelter.”

Jared had stopped mid-height of the sandstone cliffs—a monument of jagged stone and sheered walls, all striped in burnt hues of rust and beige and black shadows.

The evening wind skittered across the dunes, now washed in golden hues from the fading sun.

“It really is beautiful, isn’t it?” Sarah murmured.

“Uncle Quamar says that for those who learn to respect the Sahara, her true beauty is revealed,” Rashid explained.

The little boy had dozed for most of the two-hour trip, leaving nothing but a tension-filled silence between Sarah and his father.

“Your Uncle Quamar seems to say quite a bit, doesn’t he?” Sarah slid from her saddle, happy to give her backside the respite.

“He certainly does,” Jarek commented wryly, then jabbed a thumb at the long wall of cliffs. “There are caves in between the rocks and crevices. We’ve only a little farther to go before we find shelter in one of them. But from here on, we’ll need to travel on foot,” Jarek instructed.

“I’m beginning to think, I’m more of the ‘wave down a taxi with air conditioning’ type of person, Your Highness. No offense to your horse, Prince Rashid.”

“I’m sure she isn’t insulted.” Rashid patted Ping’s neck, just to be sure then nodded toward the niche. “I have to…” He paused, then grinned. “Take care of business.”

“Oh, you do, do ya?” Sarah asked, totally charmed.

“An expression my aunt uses,” Rashid admitted.

Sarah glanced at the small crevice. “Very American, too.”

“Yes. It’s a good one.” This time when Rashid winked, he managed to flutter only one eye.

Sarah felt the familiar bump in her heart.

“You surprise me, Miss Kwong.”

“How?” she asked, her eyes locked on the little boy as he walked a few feet away.

“Rather than a taxi, I thought you’d be more of the ‘jump in the fire-red sports convertible’ type of person.”

The fury whipped through her, split-second fast and razor wicked.

She caught the speed, throttled the anger back. But the wicked broke free and curved her lips. “Actually, I drive a hedonistic black sports convertible. My father’s words, not mine.

“But when I step out with it—usually in a fire-red dress—I wear them both with class. Something my father said comes from good breeding and even better manners.”

She heard the hiss, a rasp of air caught between clenched jaws but she didn’t turn, simply because she didn’t care. Maybe it was the fact he’d come close to the mark, or the fact that she’d already spent the day surviving a plane crash and dodging madmen with machine guns. Or maybe she just couldn’t understand how a jaded man like Jarek could have such a wonderful little boy like Rashid.

In the end, none of it mattered. Even the possibility of being sent home on the next available flight out of Taer.

“I deserved that,” Jarek admitted on a sigh. “I apologize, Sarah. My father raised me better also.”

The sincerity caught her, another nudge, but unlike Rashid’s remark, Jarek hit her deeper, in the pit of her stomach.

“Apology accepted.”

“Thank you,” Jarek replied softly, simply. But his gaze, one that had the darkest part of his eyes flaring with awareness, wasn’t simple.

And suddenly, being sent home on the next flight from Taer didn’t sound so bad to Sarah.

STONES, some the size of adult fists, others small boulders, sprung free from the ledges and tumbled down the walls to the chasm below. But most stayed on the trail, little enough to make their way into Sarah’s shoes, dig in her heel and, after an hour or two, rubbed her toes raw.

“We’ll stop here for the night.”

Jarek halted the horses in front of a shallow crevice. It was identical to many others they had passed along the path.

“Here?” She picked a particularly sharp stone free from beneath the arch of her foot and decided distance was a relative term when traversing rocks and narrow trails.

He gestured just beyond one side of the crevice to a rock that jutted from the cliff wall.

Sarah looked closer and whistled. The stone lip curved back, hiding a cave entrance wide enough to fit each horse. “My first secret passage.”

“Mine, too,” Rashid said with awe. “Ali Baba and his thieves could have lived in a cave such as this.”

“Let’s hope they aren’t in there now.” Jarek took one of the glow sticks from the survival pack. “Sometimes there are lions in the caves, as well as vipers and scorpions. Stay here while I check to make sure it is safe.”

Sarah heard the snap of the stick and suddenly the entrance was dimly lit with neon green light.

“So you like Ali Baba, do you?”

“The story is my Aunt Anna’s favorite. She reads it to me and my cousin Kadan when we are sick.”

“It’s clear.” Jarek stepped out of the cave and gestured them in with the horses.

Eight foot in height, the crevice opened into a cave more than thirty feet deep and ten feet wide.

“This is huge,” Rashid murmured, leading Ping through.

“I don’t know about huge,” Jarek mused, tugging Taaj forward. “But it will provide protection from the cold.”

The scent of stale earth and dust caught in Sarah’s throat, making her cough. But it was the dankness of the rocks that made her rub her bare arms.

“Why is it damp?” Sarah forced her eyes to focus through the shadows. “Is there water in here?”

“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.”