stomach did another nosedive and goose bumps covered her arms. Irritably she rubbed at her arms, trying to ignore the crazy adrenaline ricocheting through her.
He hadn’t let her die in the desert. When she’d had her asthma attack he’d forced air into her lungs and then found her inhaler. He obviously didn’t want her dead. But then what did he want from her? And would anyone back in Seattle care if she never returned?
Don’t be a pessimist, she rebuked herself severely. You’re a freelance photographer, and maybe you’ve never deliberately photographed war, but you knew that life in the desert wasn’t without violence.
For a moment Tally felt calmer, stronger, at least she did until her tent flap snapped open and a dark shadow filled the opening.
Tally’s stomach jumped, her heart plummeted. God help her. The bandit was back.
Dropping her hair, she smoothed her white cotton shirt over the waistband of her khaki slacks and watched as he entered her tent. He had to stoop to get through the covered opening. Once inside he glanced casually around, as if taking stock.
Tally swallowed hard, hands knotted at her sides. “Can you tell me why I’m here?” she asked, trying to sound conversational, not confrontational.
The tent flap swished behind him, allowing in bits of the twilight. He’d changed, and his outer robe hung open over a loose shirt and fitted pants. “You’ve interesting friends,” he said, after a long tense pause.
“I don’t understand. What friends are you talking about?”
“The friends you’ve been traveling with.”
Her forehead furrowed. “I’m on my own. I’ve traveled with no one.”
“You had men with you this morning.”
“Ah.” Her expression cleared. Comprehension, as well as relief swept over her. “Those men worked for me. They’re Barakan. One was my translator. The other a guide.”
He said nothing so she pushed on, praying she sounded confident, reasonable. “I hired them in Atiq and they knew I wanted to visit the kasbahs on the other side of the Atlas Mountains.”
“How much did they pay you?”
Tally felt a prickle behind her eyes, pain that reminded her of the migraines she used to get when she was in college. “They didn’t pay me. I paid them. As I said, I hired them. Their names were given to me by the hotel and they came highly recommended.”
“And did they do what you wanted?”
“Yes. Until this morning there’d been no problem.”
He regarded her for a long silent moment. “Why did you want to come to Ouaha?”
“Is that where I am?”
“Don’t act so surprised.”
“I am surprised. I hadn’t realized we’d left Baraka. There was no border crossing—”
“A desert separates the countries, Woman.”
She flinched at the “woman” but didn’t contradict him. Instead she took a breath, suppressing her aggravation. “There was no plan to come to Ouaha. I merely told my guides what I wanted and they set the course knowing I needed to be in Casablanca by the first of October.”
“Why the first of October?”
“My visa for Baraka ends and I need to be in Morocco by then.”
His thickly fringed eyes narrowed, his angular jaw thickening yet again. “And so what exactly are you doing here, so far from your home?” His voice had dropped, and it was low, low and deadly.
“Nothing. Just sightseeing.”
“With rebels as your guides?”
Her pulse quickened yet again. She pressed her palms together, the skin damp, sticky. “I don’t know their politics. We never discussed—”
“But you paid them.”
“Yes. I needed them. This part of the world is remote, and often inaccessible for women. I needed experienced guides.”
“You’re sure they didn’t pay you?”
Tally would have laughed if the situation weren’t so precarious. “For what?”
He slowly crouched down in front of the bed until he was eye to eye with her. His dark gaze met hers, held, the set of his mouth anything but gentle. “Why don’t you tell me.”
His eyes were so dark, and the expression so intense that Tally felt her heart stutter, not just with fear, but awareness. She knew men and was comfortable with men but Tair wasn’t like men she’d ever known. There was an untamed element to him, a primitive maleness that made her feel increasingly small, fragile, female. And she didn’t like feeling small or fragile, she just wasn’t. Life had toughened her. She didn’t frighten easily.
Swallowing, Tally gathered her courage. “I have no idea what you want from me. I’m just a tourist—”
“Not just a tourist. You’ve spent two weeks with those men. Two weeks photographing, documenting.” His voice dropped even lower, deeper, and the husky ominous pitch slid down Tally’s spine.
“We’ll try this one more time,” he said slowly, quietly, “and I warn you, I’m not a patient man but I’m trying. So don’t test me. Understand?”
She nodded, because she did understand, and she also understood that things weren’t going well and if they didn’t come to some kind of agreement relatively soon, she would be in even greater danger. “Yes.”
“Now tell me about the men you were traveling with.”
“I know very little about them. They were quiet. They kept to themselves quite a bit. I thought they were good men.”
“You’ve been with them two weeks and this is all you can tell me?”
How did he know she’d been traveling for two weeks with the men? He’d either been told, or he’d been watching her. Either way she’d been followed. “I’m sorry,” she said, picking her words with care. If ever there was a time for diplomacy, this was it. “We didn’t speak much. They’re men. I was a foreign woman. There were cultural differences.”
“Cultural differences.”
She flushed, locked her fingers together. “I wish I could tell you more. I hadn’t thought I was doing anything wrong. I’ve always wanted to visit Baraka—”
“But you’re not in Baraka anymore. This is Ouaha. An independent territory, and this is my country, and these are my people and you entered my country with Barakan rebels. Men who have brought violence and destruction to my people.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I arrived in Atiq, hired these men as escorts, and yes, I have been traveling with them but that’s because
