airfield. She’d asked for an SUV, a vehicle with some muscle. But no! The Minister of Affairs in Jamala had made her travel arrangements, and Nasim thought big cars were un-princesslike. This silly little compact was his way of showing her who was the boss.
This time the joke was on Nasim. His insistence that she fly private rather than commercial allowed her to pack both of her handguns. If a firefight was necessary to rescue her brother, she wouldn’t hesitate. All she needed was one person in her corner—a contact inside the investigation who could point her in the right direction. She had hoped that ally would be Jake Wolf, but she’d blown it with the sheriff.
When it came to personal negotiations, especially with men, she usually got what she wanted. She’d played the princess card and failed to impress him. Then she’d attempted to flirt. Catastrophe! Why, oh, why, had she made that silly comment about the Navajo turquoise jewelry? Playing dumb wasn’t going to cut it with Jake. She should have known better.
Her internet research led her to surmise that Jake Wolf was incorruptible and unlikely to be swayed by bribes from those who had attacked her brother. She expected him to be a serious, responsible man.
What surprised her was his stunning physical presence. The internet photos hadn’t done him justice. His eyes held the depth and fire of black diamonds. His square jaw was perfectly balanced by a high forehead and strong cheekbones. And that body? When she saw him shirtless with his jeans slung low on his hips, he had taken her breath away. His lean torso, hard muscles and smooth bronzed skin had almost made her forget why she’d come to this desolate place.
She inhaled a breath and exhaled slowly through her nostrils. Anger was futile. Instead, she needed to be calm and controlled. She needed a plan.
Though she’d programmed the location of the very exclusive, very posh Wind River Ranch and Resort into the GPS navigator in her rental car, she still wasn’t sure if she should go there. The COIN royals wouldn’t be happy to see her. Sheik Efraim Aziz, her brother’s best friend, had been adamant about keeping her away. Too bad, Efraim.
It was time they all realized that she wasn’t a child anymore. True, she’d made her share of mistakes. Her reputation as a socialite who paraded down red carpets and danced until dawn at trendy L.A. clubs was somewhat deserved. But she had also graduated from UCLA, and she’d earned top grades in her first year of law school. If given a chance, she’d prove that she could contribute to the welfare of COIN.
And she could help in the search for her brother.
The car’s GPS navigational system said, “In two-point-four miles, turn left.”
In her rearview mirror, she noticed headlights approaching. Though it was difficult to make out any details on this unlit road, the vehicle behind her appeared to be a truck and it was coming too fast. Inappropriate driving; this asphalt road wasn’t the Swiss autobahn. Instinctively, she pressed down on the accelerator, hoping to make it to her turn before the truck caught up and caused her to crash.
Was this a drunk driver? Or a teenager out for a joyride? Saida was aware of the darker possibility. As a princess, she lived with the constant threat of being kidnapped for a royal ransom and had been trained in marksmanship, hand-to-hand combat and evasive driving techniques.
The headlights were on her tail. She was going fifty-eight miles per hour—an unsafe speed for making a ninety-degree turn on a narrow road.
“Turn left in one hundred feet,” the GPS said.
Saida saw the stop sign and the intersection. She tapped the brake, hoping the truck behind her would slow down. No such luck. Its front bumper kissed the back of her car hard enough to give her a jolt. The driver wasn’t following her by coincidence. He was pursuing her.
“Turn left now,” said the GPS.
She cranked the steering wheel and swerved. Her lightweight rental car fishtailed wildly. Centrifugal force threatened to flip her car into a death roll. She maintained balance, controlled the turn and leveled out on a straightaway.
“In one-point-three miles, turn right.”
The truck was still behind her. Even worse, another set of headlights appeared in the lane beside it and quickly pulled forward. If the second car got ahead of her, she’d be trapped between them.
She tromped on the accelerator. Seventy miles per hour. Seventy-five. Eighty. Going over a ridge, her vehicle was airborne. The car landed with a crash that stressed the shock absorbers.
“Turn right,” the GPS said.
But she couldn’t. It would be suicide to take the turn at this speed. The second vehicle—a dark sedan—remained in the lane for oncoming traffic. He pulled even with her rear fender.
The GPS system scolded, “You missed the turn.”
“Shut up!”
Her training told her to hit the gas and zip into the other lane to block the second car, but she didn’t have the horsepower to pull ahead. Panic flashed inside her head. Think, Saida.
In the backseat were two of the six suitcases she’d packed for this trip. Even if she could dig into the suitcase and reach her handguns, it wouldn’t do much good. Her weapons weren’t loaded.
The sedan passed her. Once it was in front of her, the driver slowed his speed. She was hemmed in with no room to maneuver, nowhere else to go. Beyond the shoulder of this road was a strip of land and a barbed-wire fence.
The truck pulled into the lane beside her. She lifted her foot from the accelerator and slowed. The truck matched her speed.
Before she felt the impact, she heard the grinding of metal against metal. He was forcing her off the road. Her tires crashed raggedly on the gravel shoulder.
Her foot jammed down hard on the brake.
The truck shot past her.
Her brake rotors screeched. She went into a skid.
The air bag exploded, blinding her and forcing her hands off the steering wheel. Her tires bounced off the road and over a ditch, throwing her car off balance. Before she tipped over, the car came to a full stop.
It was a miracle that she hadn’t flipped over, that she didn’t seem to be injured. Frantically, she batted at the air bag. Her fingers struggled to unfasten the seat belt. She had to run, had to get out of this car before her pursuers grabbed her.
The wail of a police siren cut through the air.
The bag deflated enough that she could see through the window. The taillights of the truck were zooming away from her. The other car had disappeared. They’d given up.
Adrenaline surged through her veins. She could have been killed, could have been kidnapped. Why was this happening? The inside of her head whirled in a dizzying tornado, and she gripped the wheel to stabilize herself.
The siren came closer, and she saw the flashing red and blue lights of a police vehicle.
Jake appeared outside her car window. He yanked on her door handle until it opened. “Saida, are you all right?”
Unable to speak, she could only nod.
When he touched her shoulder,
