The Sheikh Who Stole Her: Sheikh Seduction / The Untamed Sheikh / Desert King, Doctor Daddy

From the corner of her eye she saw Tariq roll down the window and return fire. Spent shells pinged to the floor at her feet. Oh, God, oh, God, help us. An acrid smell lingered in the air, which after a moment she realized was the smell of gunpowder from the weapon’s discharge.

Blood rushed in her ears, and her body vibrated with her growing panic. This couldn’t be happening. Had to be a dream.

On her first night in the country, she’d had a torrid dream of being abducted by a mysterious sheik, a story line straight out of a book. Now she was dreaming about a bandit attack because she’d been watching the regional news, which had reported the kidnapping of a group of journalists in Yemen, across the border. The terror around her couldn’t be real. The front desk would be ringing with her wake-up call any minute now.

Instead, their car slowed, sending her panic into higher gear. She glanced up and caught a glimpse of the driver draped over the steering wheel, half of his face missing. She squeezed her eyes shut, holding her breath.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she said, but nobody was paying attention to her.

Tariq exchanged some words with Husam in Arabic as the vehicle rolled to a halt in the sand. Maybe he was Beharrainian, after all. Or Beharrainian-American. She tried to focus on that instead of on the bile rising in her throat as she lurched to the floor, whimpering when bullets sprayed the side of their Hummer.

Jeff tumbled from the vehicle on the other side. “We have to run for it.”

She followed him out, then flattened herself on the sand, using the tires for cover.

The attacking truck was coming closer, Tariq still firing from his seat, his face a mask of concentration as he focused on the task. The scene would have easily fit into an action movie—dashing hero saving the day. Except that even motion picture heroes couldn’t win against an opposing force this overwhelming. A second truck had appeared behind the first.

Fear pushed her to flee from what she knew to be certain death. But where? Husam was outside now, keeping low to the ground and running. The driver of the first Hummer had realized that the second one had been disabled, and turned around, coming back for them.

“Let’s go for it.” Jeff grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up.

For a moment she hesitated, too scared to leave their cover. But maybe he was right. Husam had nearly reached the other vehicle already. Maybe they, too, could make it to relative safety. The Hummer was lighter and faster than the trucks. They might be able to outrun the attackers.

She pushed herself to her feet and sprinted forward, focusing on their goal. If she looked around, if she considered for even a moment the massacre surrounding her, she would have frozen, providing an easy target for the next bullet.

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Keep low,” Tariq yelled from behind them, covering them as best he could.

They were twenty feet away when Jeff stumbled and dragged her down with him. The sand scorched her bare palms as she put them out for support.

“Come on. Get up.” She pulled, keeping an eye on the beat-up military truck, which was dangerously close. When Jeff didn’t move, she glanced at him. His eyes were gazing into the distance, a frozen look on his face. He was dead, his fingers still locked around her arm. “Jeff?”

Dead. Gone. She stared at him, immobilized by mind-numbing horror, barely registering the sight of two men jumping off the back of the still-moving truck and running for her.

They wore camouflage uniforms, their heads completely covered with white headdresses. By the time she was fully cognizant of the danger and could act again it was too late. One of them grabbed her, rough fingers digging into her flesh, yanking her away from Jeff’s prone body on the sand. “No! Let me go!”

The other reached for her, too, but then crumpled to the ground with a surprised expression on his face. She spun around and saw Tariq running toward them. Her captor welcomed him with bullets.

Everything was happening too fast. She couldn’t think, didn’t know what to do, which way to run.

Blood spread on Tariq’s arm. He slowed, his expression even fiercer, more determined than before. He didn’t look like the type of man who would give up while his heart beat in his chest. And neither could she.

“Get away from me!” She whipped back to face her captor, kicking and screaming, though she knew it was useless. Tariq wasn’t going to reach her. She was only delaying the inevitable.

Sara had always wanted to see the desert. Now she had done so. It wasn’t nearly as romantic as she had thought. The place was scary and dangerous, and dashing heroes didn’t ride about saving damsels in distress.

“No!” She fought with her nails and teeth, her feet and elbows, even attempted to butt the man with her head. But her efforts were neutralized as easily as if she were a child. Bodies littered the sand now. She would be next, she thought, nearly hysterical with fear and breathless from her efforts.

She should be dead already, she realized then, in a moment of clarity. The bandits could have shot her at any time. They hadn’t. They wanted to take her. The recognition brought a fresh wave of panic. “What do you want from me?”

As she twisted away from her attacker, she expected to see Tariq sprawled on the sand next to the others. But miraculously, he was still coming. The sight of him, bloodied but undeterred, gave her new strength to claw at the menacing, gap-toothed bandit who held her in a viselike grip.

“You’re not gonna take me!” she grunted. “Let me go!”

Then Tariq was there, finally, and her captor fell dead at her feet the next second. Tariq grabbed her arm and ran with her toward the other Hummer, the closest cover. Bullets flew all around them, from men who fought on the sand and those who’d stayed on the trucks.

She ducked behind the car when they reached it, hoping there’d be someone there to join, to gain strength from numbers. But nobody was alive save for her and Tariq, and the vehicle had been shot to oblivion.

“Why are they doing this?”

Tariq didn’t answer. He was too busy returning fire.

His arm was covered in blood. He’d lost too much. How long would he be able to keep up the fight? Sara planned to take the gun from him and continue shooting if he wavered, but the handgun clicked with his next shot. Empty.

He glanced at her, his dark eyes swirling with barely restrained rage that softened as he held her gaze, the look turning into something akin to regret.

This was it, she thought. As good as he was, he could do no more without firepower. They had seconds at most before the bandits reached them. And then … She couldn’t bear thinking about what would happen next. Her mind was filled with the gruesome images of the men who had been mercilessly massacred already. Jeff …

Sand flew up around them. The bandits had plenty of ammunition and were not afraid to use it.

“Take off your jewelry.” Tariq cast his useless weapon aside, then rolled up his sleeves to pull off an expensive watch. He buried it in the sand, along with his cell phone, which had the No Signal message on its display. “Quick,” he said when she hesitated, wondering about his request.

She slipped off her two rings, although, facing certain death, those few grams of gold were the last things she was worried about.

He brushed sand over them, as well.

The bandits were shouting and moving closer, emboldened by the lack of return fire.

Fear squeezed her lungs, so tight she could hardly breathe. She dipped her head when a bullet came too close, and could all of a sudden see the oncoming attack through the gap above the tire. For a moment she was struck speechless, but then she asked, with all the desperation she felt. “What do they want from us?”

She didn’t get to find out. Something hard connected with the back of her head and her world went dark.

Chapter Two

“Are the charges set?” He looked at the pumps dispassionately. For a man to reach his goals, sacrifices had to be made. A goal as large as his required an equally large sacrifice.

“Everything is ready, Shah. We are just waiting for the young sheik to leave and the workers to go on break. He wasn’t expected here today.”

How fortunate that he had come, anyway. “Detonate.”

“Now?” The idiot was staring at him, wide-eyed with sudden fear and lack of understanding.

He simply glared at the gaunt young man. He was not going to have his orders questioned.

“Yes, Shah,” the man said after a long pause, his face several shades whiter than a few moments ago. He scurried off to the utility trailer where he’d worked for the past three months and disappeared inside.

The explosion that shook the desert with elemental force was followed by another, then another, the charges going off in neat order, obliterating the target and everyone around it.

He watched the clouds of sand with satisfaction, then the flames that shot to the sky. His man appeared as the dust settled, running for him, for the car. The shah lifted his pistol and aimed carefully. His ears were still ringing from the explosion, so he barely heard the shot. But he allowed himself, at last, a satisfied smile. It wouldn’t be long now before he would reclaim for his son what was rightfully his and fulfill their family’s destiny.

SARA WOKE WITH A HEADACHE, her mouth so parched her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. Sand, as fine as dust, ground between her teeth.

She opened her eyes, grateful for the shade of the busted Hummer she was leaning against. She lifted a hand to the back of her head and winced as her fingertips came in contact with a nasty bump.

Motionless bodies lay scattered on the sand. Fear and confusion washed over her as memories of the attack came back in a rush.

“Oh, God.” The words tore from her throat, followed by a horrified groan.

Faint clanging drew her attention, and she swung toward the sound, but it stopped almost as soon as it began. She pushed herself to standing and sneaked a peek over the car’s roof. The military trucks were nowhere to be seen. A man was working on the other Hummer, his upper body half-under the hood.

She recognized his powerful physique and the determination in his focused movements. Tariq.

She wasn’t alone. Thank God, she wasn’t alone.

“Excuse me,” she called out, her voice so raw she didn’t think he would hear her.

But he turned and glanced at her. “You’re awake. Good.” He scrutinized her with narrowed eyes.

She moved forward. Maybe all hope wasn’t lost yet. She stumbled to the closest man and sank onto her knees in front of him, turned his head, blanched at the fixed, empty stare, the dark lashes clumped with blood. The driver of the other Hummer. She recognized him before her gaze fell to his ring finger, which had been hacked off.

Tariq’s voice was tight as he spoke. “They’re all dead. I already checked.”

She drew her hands back. The sun was cooking her, the sand burning everywhere she touched it. A wave of dizziness assailed her. She was going to be sick, or faint or have a nervous breakdown. Surely all of those responses would have been appropriate under the circumstances.

“Have you called for help?” she asked weakly. Maybe he had walked around and found a spot where his phone worked.

“There’s no signal this far out. And they took the satellite phones from the cars. Took everything that could be sold at the nearest market. Get out of the sun.”

She stumbled back to the car to see if she could find some water, glanced through the window and gagged at the sight. One of the armed guards sprawled across the backseat, bathed in blood. Lots of it. She pushed away and lurched toward Tariq, fixing her eyes on the sand at her feet, not wanting to see any more dead.

He glanced at her when she stopped next to him. “You should drink.”

She couldn’t form the words to respond. Hardship on a business trip before had meant that the projector didn’t work. What had happened here was beyond all comprehension. She couldn’t begin to process and make sense of it.

She ran a hand over her body, scarcely able to believe that she had survived whole. Her brown skirt was speckled with dark stains, her top had been torn. She had bought the suit specifically for this trip because the skirt was longer than usual, the outfit suitably modest. She reached to her blouse, and found it stiff with dried blood. Not her blood; nothing hurt when she moved.

A faint sound in the distance startled her, and she launched herself against Tariq’s solid chest, thinking another attack imminent. Then she realized it was only the wind. She stepped back, embarrassed, away from the steadying hand he held out.

“Do you think they’ll return?” Her voice was shaky from nerves.

The look he gave her was an understanding one. “I don’t see why they would, but we better get out of here, anyway.” He walked around and pulled out a bottle of Evian from the back. He even twisted off the cap for her, before coming back and handing it over. “We’re lucky this rolled under the driver’s seat.”

“Thank you.” She drank sparingly, then tried to give the bottle back, but he wouldn’t take it.

Instead, he reached out and cradled her cheek in his hand, lifted her chin and rubbed something from her jaw with his thumb. Dry blood, most likely. The moment dragged out, and she stood still, surprised by the gesture, even a little breathless.

“You’ll be fine. Go sit behind the car, in the shade,” he said gruffly when he finally spoke.

His simple touch of comfort helped to ease her shock and fear. After a moment he let his hand drop, but she was reluctant to move away. She felt better near him, as if his strength somehow extended beyond his body.

He said nothing, but went back to work on the engine, wiggling a wire with one long finger until he got it into the position he’d been apparently aiming for. “This should work.” He went around, reached through the driver’s side window and turned the key. The motor came to life.

The sweetest sound she had ever heard. Her eyes nearly teared up with relief.

He shut it off almost immediately.

“You should sit and rest.” He pointed to the small patch of shade the car provided.

She looked at him, then to the car, noticing that he had already cleared out the back—no bodies there. Nor anything else. Their briefcases were missing. Hers had held her laptop, cell phone, all her money, her passport and her plane tickets. She sank to the sand. It was marginally cooler in the shade.

Tariq walked back to the front and slammed the hood, which had to be hot enough to fry eggs and sausage.

“Why did they do this to us?” she asked.

He gave her question some thought, although she was sure he must have considered it himself while he’d worked on the motor. “Could be we were at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Who were they?” She tried to rub dried blood off her hands.

He shrugged, the movement filled with tension. “Gun trade has been a profitable business in this part of the desert for the last couple of decades. Sex trade’s fading, but as long as there’s still some money in it, it won’t be completely abandoned. Drugs are always a possibility.”

Outrage unfurled inside Sara and nudged her out of her shell-shocked state. If they knew this, how could MMPOIL have brought them here? “So this happens all the time?”

“Not in the last four years, since the country stabilized,” he said darkly.

All she could think of was that they should have waited for the chopper to be fixed. She tried to make sense of the events of the past hour as Tariq took off two shot-up tires and replaced one with the spare, the other with an unharmed one from the other Hummer, refusing her offer of help. Then he got a short-handled shovel from the back and began digging in the sand a few yards from the vehicle.

She watched the shimmering horizon, petrified that the attackers would return. Only when the sound of digging stopped did she look back at Tariq. He seemed to be swaying. The heat of the sun was powerful.

“Are you okay?” She got up and walked to him, holding out the half-empty water bottle.

Instead of responding, he went back to digging again.

“I can help,” she said.

“Go back to the car.”

The arm of his dark blue shirt was soaking wet, she realized for the first time. Blood trickled down the back of his hand onto the shovel. And she remembered now that he’d been shot when he’d come to save her. How could she have forgotten that? She could barely think with all this death and destruction around them.

“You’re bleeding.” She handed him the water, trying to examine his arm.

“It’s fine,” he said through gritted teeth, but stopped for a second to take a few measured gulps.

“I’ll dig. You could bring over the bodies.” Now that the grave was taking shape, she’d finally figured out what he was trying to do.

She reached for the shovel, and at first he pulled away. But then he let her have it with a faint nod of appreciation, and started across the sand.

She could have been digging in talcum powder, she soon discovered. The sand flowed where it pleased, slowing her progress. She tried not to look at the dead as Tariq dragged them over one by one, but saw enough to register that they were all men who’d come with them. Her breath left her, her chest tightening painfully when she saw Jeff.

Jeff was dead. Jaw clenched tight, Sara kept digging.

It had been years since they’d been lovers, and God knew, they hadn’t been the best of friends lately. But they had history. She had been ready to have him out of her life for good, but not this way. She’d been hoping to scrape together enough money to buy him out. She felt the first tear roll down her face, quickly followed by an army of others that evaporated in the heat before they could reach her chin.

Tariq was by her side, taking the shovel from her. “Go back to the shade.”

Seven bodies lay in a neat row. She knelt next to Jeff and untucked her shirt to wipe his face with the clean part, straightened his tie and jacket, smoothed down his blondish hair.

She barely recognized her own voice, it sounded so hollow when she spoke. “Where are the rest?” She’d seen more men than this die in the fierce battle.

“The smugglers took their own. Cleaning up evidence.” He tossed the shovel aside and dragged the bodies into the shallow, wide grave, one after the other.

She helped as best she could, pushing sand over the fallen with her bare hands while Tariq used the shovel. At the end, he said a few words in Arabic, and she added a simple prayer, said a teary goodbye to Jeff. When she was done, she followed Tariq back to the car.

He picked up the driver’s kaffiyeh, then went to the other Hummer and brought a suit coat from there, laying them on the grave. “It’s an old Bedu custom, to pass on the clothes of the dead to some poor wanderer.”

“They were Bedouin?” She couldn’t consolidate the sharp business suits with her idea of desert nomads.

“We are all Bedu,” he said as they got into the car.

She tried to picture him in a goat-hair tent. It didn’t work. That West Coast accent threw her off.

“We can tell the families where they are,” she said as he put the vehicle into motion, feeling guilty for being alive. “The bodies can be found again, right? The other Hummer will be here.”

He drove in silence for a few moments before he responded. “My people are at rest. We believe that we come from the desert, so we go back to the desert when we die. No marked graves. The sand is sufficient.”

It did seem fitting. The vast desert in itself was a breathtaking monument. She was sure, however, that Jeff’s parents would want his body to be returned to the States. Guilt pushed deeper into her core. It didn’t seem fair that all these people had died and she was alive. Not that she didn’t feel grateful. She did. Then felt guilty about the quiet appreciation that she was still here to draw hot air into her lungs.

“How about the GPS?” Both Hummers were well equipped. “Don’t those things have panic buttons or locators or whatever?”

“The other one was shot to bits. This one I had hope for ….” He gestured at the display, at the small hole in the middle, then shook his head, his masculine lips pressed in a flat line.

From his expression she figured the damage was bad enough to render the unit unusable.

“Where are we going?” she asked after a while. “What’s closer, Tihrin or the well we were heading for?”

“Wouldn’t make it to either. A bullet nicked the oil pan. We have a slow leak.”

She looked at the profusion of holes in the door next to her and the dashboard before her. Everyone had been trying to take cover behind the vehicles, which had taken the brunt of the attack. That Tariq had been able to salvage one of them was a miracle.

“Without oil to lubricate the engine, it’ll overheat and stop. If we’re lucky, we’ll make it as far as the oasis,” he said. “We need more water. And we should get out of the open as fast as possible.”

She pictured palm trees nodding in the wind, green grass and a glistening blue pool where some underground stream surfaced in the sand. She would have given anything to be able to wash off the blood.

“Can we get in touch with the sheik somehow? He could send people to get us out of here.” She pictured robed men racing over the sand on beautiful horses, their swords drawn, the sheik at the very front. They would be brave and fierce, whisking her to safety.

She blinked that image away. Okay, so reality would most likely be a group of the sheik’s armed guards, sent in the chopper—when someone fixed it. Either way, she would be deliriously happy to see anyone who came to the rescue.

The look on Tariq’s face redefined grim. “In case this wasn’t a random attack, we need to figure out whom we can trust, before we do anything. But yes, there is a satellite phone at the oasis.”

She let herself relax a little. “I’m sure you can trust the sheik and the people at your company. And the authorities.”

She didn’t want to sit around in a desert full of murderers any longer than was absolutely necessary. The people they’d buried were an effective reminder just how dangerous the place was.

“We buried only seven,” she realized belatedly. “There were ten of us. Who’s missing?” She’d tried as much as she could not to look at the bodies as they’d buried the men.

“They took Husam. Perhaps he was injured at the end and could no longer fight. I didn’t see him.”

“And they tried to take me. Why?”

“Husam’s father is a wealthy man. They might have recognized the son. Could be they wanted you for themselves, or to sell at Yanadar or to ransom you to your foreign family.” Tariq’s face was getting darker and darker as he spoke.

Her chest tightened at the prospects he was enumerating. Yanadar? Did that have something to do with the sex trade he’d mentioned? She rubbed her arm where she’d been grabbed, and found her skin still tender. “But then why didn’t they take me? At the end?” She fingered the bump on the back of her head. She certainly couldn’t have defended herself.

“They thought you were dead.” He paused a beat. “Sorry about that.”

For a moment she didn’t understand. Then the hard object that had hit her made sense all of a sudden. He’d been the only person near enough to hurt her. He’d still had his gun back then. “You hit me?”

“I couldn’t be sure if you could pull off playing dead. I had no bullets left. They were closing in.”

He’d knocked her out, then draped his bleeding body over her and pretended the bandits had shot both of them. There’d certainly been enough blood to be convincing.

“I still don’t see what they would want with me. If they were going for ransom, why not grab Jeff, too? The sex slave thing …” She shook her head. “Seems too far-fetched, frankly.”