then the sheikh’s attention was claimed by the giant. But she was left feeling thunderstruck. What on earth had just happened?
What had happened was he was moving on flanked by his goons, and she was still clutching the ring, she thought, cursing herself for her lapse. He was the richest and most powerful man in the country. That high-voltage look was probably part of his normal arsenal, hardly personal.
The royal party was heading for the luncheon laid on after the inspection, she noted. Access would be strictly controlled, but there must be some way she could get the ring to him, even if she had to slip it onto a tray of drinks being carried into the marquee.
Catching a movement out of the corner of her eye, she froze. A man in a business suit was making a beeline for her through the crowd.
As Markaz bin Kemal al Nazaari came down the steps of Al-Qasr’s main monument, he lifted his hand in the not-quite wave that acknowledged the crowd’s good wishes, but conserved his energy. The cheers gratified him. Not everyone in Nazaar felt kindly toward his government. The rebels were in a minority, but a troublesome one. And sometimes dangerous. Already today, he’d been informed of a bomb threat that had closed Raisa International Airport.
A commotion in the crowd had him bracing himself. Was the airport incident a diversion for an attempt on his life here? But his bodyguard Fayed remained relaxed as he leaned closer. “It seems you’ve caught the eye of a pretty tourist, Markaz,” he murmured for the sheikh’s ears alone.
Markaz felt his mouth curve. He and Fayed had grown up together, as close as brothers, and Markaz trusted the big man with his life. He sought out the source of the fuss, then felt something inside him catch. “I could do worse.”
“Indeed you could, my friend. She’s beautiful.”
Beautiful was too mundane a description, Markaz thought. Engaged in an altercation with a guard, the woman’s eyes flashed blue-green like the oasis at the sheikh’s desert lodge. Under a tinted sun visor, her short golden hair feathered around her animated face, her strong features and golden coloring also speaking of the desert. Who was she and where was she from, this exotic melding of east and west?
By tourist standards she was modestly dressed in an embroidered white peasant blouse gathered decorously at the neck and with long sleeves. The diaphanous fabric hinted at small, high breasts and a neat waist. He couldn’t see her legs beneath a flowing wine-colored skirt, but if they were as shapely as the rest of her…
Suddenly she looked straight into his eyes, fantasy made flesh. He felt the effect all the way to his groin, and his breath strangled. But she was more than sexy. She had fire. She reminded him of an Arab thoroughbred. Probably untamable, but an adventure to attempt.
Fayed chuckled. “This must be love. She’s come prepared with a ring.”
The flash of gold in her palm made Markaz blink. His people often tried to press gifts and flowers upon their sheikh, although not usually the tourists, and a ring was a novelty. A flick of his fingers brought Fayed’s head closer. “Find out what she wants.”
If he’d surprised his friend, Fayed was too disciplined to show it. “As you wish. Do you want her brought to you?”
Markaz’s power extended that far, but he shook his head. “Not in the way you’re thinking, my salacious friend. She looks troubled. Perhaps I can help.”
“And if it is love?”
“Then tell her diplomatically that my country has first claim on my heart.”
Fayed frowned. “No country can satisfy all of a man’s desires.”
This woman could. Markaz dismissed the thought as fast as it arose. Not so easily dismissed was the aching conviction that Fayed was right.
Chapter 2
Driven by a feeling of urgency she didn’t stop to question, Simone shoved the ring into her skirt pocket and plunged into the heart of the crowd, keeping her head down. The man looking for her was the same one who’d forced the American woman into her car, she was certain. Now he was after Simone.
Only when the crowd around her thinned out did Simone realize her pursuer had steered her away from the security of the throng toward a narrow alleyway. Footsteps pounding ever closer left her little choice but to head down the alley and hope it took her back to a more populous part of the ruins.
The buildings threw strange shadows and the unreadable inscriptions over the doors of the ancient houses made navigation challenging. She had no idea where the alley led and she couldn’t risk stopping to ask for directions.
The man was gaining on her as she ducked under an archway and across a courtyard into yet another alleyway on the opposite side. She was among the tombs now, she recognized from her earlier explorations. According to the guidebook, the houses had belonged to priests, embalmers and other workers in the funerary trade when most of Al-Qasr had functioned as a gigantic mausoleum for a long-dead civilization. No one had been buried here for millennia.
Hoping she wouldn’t be the exception, she plunged through a passage so narrow she could easily touch both sides. Then she emerged into an unrestored part of Al-Qasr, where fallen stones were piled haphazardly, although glimpses of intricate carving could still be seen. A notice in several languages warned her that this area was not open to visitors and was unsafe. Tell her something she didn’t know.
Chest heaving with exertion, she stopped long enough to see there was no refuge in sight. She needed to reach a more crowded area. And to spend a lot more time in the gym after she got home to Australia. If she got home.
Her parents had outwitted their enemies so the family could live without fear in another country. Simone wasn’t letting their sacrifice count for nothing by dying in Nazaar at the hands of some lowlife. She had no idea who her pursuer was or what he wanted, although it seemed likely he wanted to find out what Natalie had told her. Did the ring carry a message? Should Simone hide it or throw it away?
No time to do either. She saw the business-suited man appear in the unrestored area so she charged on, jamming her elbow against her side to relieve a stitch. Hearing the sounds of commerce somewhere to her right, she shot down yet another alleyway only to find herself facing a towering wall of sandstone.
A fissure like the eye of a needle opened to the left and she forced her way through it, hoping Business Suit was too bulky to follow. Popping out of the fissure, she looked wildly to right and left. Which way now? Then a hand grasped the back of her shirt and her feet dangled in air as she was lifted off the ground.
She fought back using moves she’d only practiced in her martial arts classes. It wasn’t supposed to matter that her captor was twice her size. It wasn’t Business Suit she saw, blinking to clear the sweat from her eyes. This attacker was bearded and wore a white dishdasha. An accomplice? Had she been herded into a trap?
Not waiting for an introduction, she brought her knee up to impact where it could do the most damage. The big man grunted in pain and doubled over, but he didn’t let go. One of the dinosaur types who took a while for messages to travel from their lumbering bodies to their tiny brains, she thought, aiming for his eyes with her stiffened fingers. He straightened and held her at arm’s length so her punches landed in air.
Muttering something in Arabic that didn’t sound repeatable, he flipped her around and slammed her against a wall, driving the air out of her body. Before she could regroup,
