moving. Let’s get our sister,” Zafir said.
“Done,” Emir said and clicked off.
* * *
TARA CRINGED. She hated the dark, the shadows her imagination had the uncanny ability to turn into more threats than those she already faced. Time seemed to be crawling by and the darkness was never-ending. Without the moon, the night was only broken by the few, too distant stars, and by the fire that crackled and spit over thirty feet away. There was a tent, but she preferred to sit outside it and, oddly, they’d allowed that one request.
Maybe, somewhere in the back of his mind, the leader remembered her for who she was and what she had been to him. Whatever the reason, she was grateful. Somehow it seemed safer here where there was some distance between her and them. She clutched the blanket. It was cold again tonight. She shivered and her eyes never left the fire and the men around it. It wasn’t safe for her to take her eyes off them. She’d learned in the early hours of her kidnapping that they were unpredictable.
She was so tired. She couldn’t help closing her eyes just for a second. A minute passed and then two before she was snapped awake by angry shouts that echoed through the small, struggling oasis.
Tara drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as if that would make her smaller, invisible. Her eyes never left the men. Loud voices meant trouble. This time, as usual, it was the leader. It seemed he didn’t like what one of the men had said and now the shouts were followed by something even more deadly. Silence. The moon slipped from behind a cloud and bathed the area in light.
She wished she could disappear but there was nowhere to go. Instead she was trapped by the frightening scene in front of her as the man pulled his rifle from his shoulder and hurled it. She watched as the smaller man, who it was meant for, lunged, missed the catch and stood. The moonlight disappeared again as the gun hit the ground and skipped twice along the battered rug she knew, even in the fickle light of the fire, lay on the desert sand.
Now the gun lay forgotten and their raised voices began to dissolve into shouts and yet another fight. It was a relief, for she knew the fights kept their attention from her.
The leader muttered a string of curses in Arabic before he launched himself into their midst, punching one and grabbing the other and throwing him to the ground. His voice was harsh and, as usual, louder than necessary. She closed her eyes and hoped they remained there—killing themselves in their fight would be ideal. But, as always, she knew this fight wouldn’t last long.
She prayed he’d stay away from her. Her prayers went unanswered as minutes passed, silence ensued and then came what she had hoped wouldn’t.
She could see him clearly as he approached. His face was highlighted in the moonlight. It was so familiar and yet so very strange. She dropped her gaze, not wanting to meet his eyes, hoping he would leave, change his mind. Instead the sand crunched beneath his heavy boots and he squatted beside her.
She looked up and met the odd yet gentle smile. The smile didn’t match the dark look in his eyes. She dropped her gaze to the sand. She could smell the sweat of him, like he hadn’t bathed in weeks or even months. He was too near and she fought not to move away for she had nowhere to go and little rope with which to do it.
She drew back, trying to make herself small. He wasn’t the man she remembered.
He chuckled as he ran a knuckle along her cheek.
She fought not to cringe or to move away. Although there wasn’t far to move; the rope gave her five feet of freedom.
This time she blew out a relieved breath as he stood to join the others.
“Do you know what stands between us and wealth?” she heard him ask. But it was his reply that made her cringe. “Death.”
She shuddered, trying not to think of whose death he might be implying. She watched as the moonlight reflected across his face and clearly showed the disfiguring scar that covered the left side. The scar made a mockery of what had once had been a handsome face. Close up, she knew the scar appeared raw, almost painful, despite the fact that it was clear it had been from wounds long healed.
But it was then that she heard the most frightening thing of all. His promise to take down the house of Al-Nassar, to take what it held most precious and to leave nothing to remind anyone it had ever existed.
“Kaher is on the fringe of the Sahara, like Zafir said. Not well used by tourists and hikers, but that might be to our benefit.” Even Kate could hear the trace of excitement in her voice. “What incredible luck that they have an airstrip.”
She ran her fingers through her hair and looked at him. His dark eyes were both grim and determined. “That information certainly came out of nowhere,” she added. “Let’s hope someone knew this guy. Like, who he was hanging with, what he was doing...”
“And we can find out who and what they know quickly,” Emir said.
“At least before first light,” she agreed, grimacing. “You’ve flown at night? I mean, you have experience at this sort of thing?”
“You doubt me?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Of course not. I was just surprised.”
“I’m a qualified pilot and I’ve flown at night often,” he assured her. “I’ll get us there in one piece, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Did I say I was worried?” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Let’s get moving.”
But before either of them could act on those words, her phone dinged, signaling a text message. She looked at it with a frown then back up at him. “It’s a blocked text—no identification.” She held up her index finger, warning him to silence. “This is odd.”
Outside, a siren broke the quiet; the distant sound knifing in through an open window. The flashing lights seemed to pulse through the night, as if forewarning them of something even more threatening than what they already faced.
Seconds seemed to tick away and the silence within the room wrapped around them in a thick, almost choking veil.
Her eyes met his and she pushed a button on the phone.
“It’s a video.”
She looked up, saw the perspiration dotting his forehead and wondered if the pressure of it all was finally getting to him. She dismissed the thought. He was strong, too strong. There were other words for men such as him... Just his nearness could take a woman’s breath away. She’d bet that he’d never had a woman turn him down. She remembered how, earlier, he had been outlined in his office by the city lights as he’d stood by the window, how his well-muscled form had been clearly defined by his T-shirt.
She was always in control and now, at a completely inappropriate time, her mind was running amuck thinking of...
She frowned and clutched the phone tighter. “It might be nothing—”
“Or it might be from them,” he said, cutting her off.
And
