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

She glanced at the sky before they stepped inside. How long before morning? How much time did they have left in the relative safety of darkness? Couldn’t be more than an hour or two. She tried to glance at his watch, but couldn’t make out the dial.

“You think the bandits will find us once it’s light outside?”

“They might.” He let her go at last, and walked to the vehicle. “They could pile back on their trucks and drive out without ever looking around. Or they could be here for a couple of days, waiting for the handover of the drugs, if it’s been arranged for this location. If they wander around, they’ll see the trailer doors I busted. I think they come here often. They would notice the missing wood that we took for the windows. If that happens, they’ll come looking for clues as to who was here.”

She glanced at the Hummer. Even if the two of them could successfully hide, they couldn’t hide the car. And if the smugglers took it … God, she didn’t want to be stranded in the middle of the desert.

Tariq reached into his shirt, and only now did she notice the bulge there. She could have kissed him when he pulled out a satellite phone. Okay, she could have kissed him without much provocation at any time, but she was extremely relieved to see the phone.

He was dialing already. Then he spoke in rushed Arabic, before stopping to listen to the response from the other end. It couldn’t have been good news. His face turned darker and darker, his free hand fisting at his side. He barked several questions, scowling fiercely as he hung up.

He set the phone on the Hummer’s hood, then leaned against the car and rubbed his hands over his face. Then he swore. Heartily. In English.

When he was done, he looked at her and apologized.

“What is it?” Her heart clamored. Although she hadn’t understood a word of the conversation, she knew something was seriously wrong.

“My brother Aziz was killed,” he said. “The new well was blown up yesterday. Nobody survived.”

“The well we were going to?” She felt light-headed and decided to sit down.

He nodded, a stony expression on his face. “The fires are still burning. Emergency crews are trying to put them out and cap the well again. My brother Karim is coming with a chopper. I told him where we are.”

He picked up the tire iron he’d dropped as they’d come in, and she knew he was considering going back to fight those bandits, to find out if they knew anything about this, to take out his rage on someone.

But he wouldn’t stand a chance. She needed to distract him until he calmed down a little. She couldn’t begin to imagine what losing a sibling would feel like, but she had lost her mother at an early age, then more recently her father. She could understand the rage.

She stood and walked to him, placed a comforting hand over the one that held their sole weapon. “I’m sorry.” She stepped closer and laid her head against his chest. She could hear his heart beating madly beneath her ear. “Were you close?”

He nodded, then began talking with some reluctance. “When I was a child in the U.S., I lived with distant relations of my mother. Their sons were older, and didn’t much like the intruder they considered me. I spent a lot of time being ganged up on, or alone. I always thought of myself as the piece that didn’t belong, fantasized about my real family, how it would be when I returned. Perfect.” He gave a sour chuckle. “Then, after a while, I grew up and forgot that I’d ever wanted to come back. I suppose I was angry.”

“At your family, for sending you away?”

“Yes. My mother said she wanted to save me from danger, but she kept my twin brothers, who were born just before I was exiled. Only they didn’t call it that. Everyone said I was going to America to get a Western education. My father had sons from other wives. He could afford to send me far away to see if I learned anything useful to bring back to him. As a child, I was often dejected. Then over the years, teenage angst was added on top of that, and I convinced myself I didn’t care. And later I made a life for myself separate from my family.”

“What brought you back?”

“A call for help.” He drew a slow breath. “I thought myself so separate from them, but a call was all it took. My family and my people needed me. They needed someone to take over the company, someone who knew how to lead a large business the Western way, who could negotiate on the same level with the foreigners who poured into the country to make investments. I had this fantasy that everything would be perfect now. I’d be where I’d always belonged. It didn’t last long.”

“This place is so different from the U.S.” She could understand how someone who had lived decades away from it would have a hard time trying to fit back in.

“The same men who wanted me for my business skills didn’t trust me, viewed me as a foreigner. I wasn’t a perfect puzzle piece. I stood out. My own people didn’t trust me, because I’d been away for so long. People outside the tribe didn’t trust me, because I was half brother to the former king, Majid. The only thing that worked was my brothers.”

“They accepted you.”

“Without reservation. Despite the fact that, aside from a few brief visits, they didn’t know me at all. We were strangers, but bound by blood, and that proved to be stronger than I could ever have imagined.” Pain crept into his voice.

“You think this was an attack on your family?” He had told her other men among his relations had been killed before. In a subconscious gesture, she laid a hand on his forearm.

“It’s possible.” He dropped the tire iron and wrapped his arms tightly around her, buried his face in her hair. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’m going to make sure that you’re safe.”

“Take me to safety then.” Sara had a fair idea that he had other plans—plans that would put his life at serious and immediate risk.

“Karim is coming for you. He’ll make sure you get to the embassy and acquire new papers. He will guard you until you leave the country.”

Tariq was going to stay and fight, do whatever it took to gain information about the attacks.

“Come with me.” She drew back so she could look into his dark eyes, her heart aching at the raw pain in them.

“I cannot.”

And she knew that no matter what she said, he wouldn’t.

“Isn’t Karim’s coming here dangerous?” she asked. “The bandits have guns. They could take down a chopper.”

“He’ll pick you up two miles north of here. I’ll take you there.” Tariq pulled away reluctantly. “When I was out scouting yesterday, I found some oil they’d had on hand for the machinery during construction. I should be able to plug the hole in the oil pan and fill it up. Even if it leaks a little, we should be able to get to our rendezvous point.”

“And then you’ll come back here?”

He nodded.

“What about the authorities?”

He opened the hood. “My half brother was not a good king,” he said darkly. “Half the people in the current government spent time in his infamous prisons. He didn’t shy away from torturing political prisoners. People in power are not fond of my family. I don’t trust the authorities.”

“You’re not your half brother,” she said as he dropped down and crawled under the car.

He pulled himself out after a minute and searched around for several slivers of wood. He grabbed the tire iron, too. “The Tihrin chief of police lost his right leg in Majid’s torture chambers. He is not going to do anyone in my family any favors,” he said, back under the car again. His voice was filled with frustration.

He banged on something. Stopped.

“Do you have anything I can wrap around the iron so it’ll make less noise?” he called.

She stripped off her suit coat and passed it to him. The muted sound was a lot quieter. Hopefully, it wouldn’t carry as far as the smugglers.

He was done in a couple of minutes and crawled out, handing her back her jacket. Then he brought an earthenware jar filled with oil from the rear of the Hummer. When had he put that there? Probably when he’d been scouring the site for the satellite dish and carrying in water for their bath.

He filled up the oil pan, checked the level, then closed the hood. “Let’s get some water, then head out of here.”

She moved toward the door, stopping to look around before she stepped out. No one was in sight, except the camel, which was licking a discarded brick about two hundred feet ahead. Nobody said camels were smart.

She and Tariq moved quickly between the buildings without talking. He was carrying the tire iron again. Dawn was breaching the horizon. As soon as daylight arrived and the bandits could look around the construction sight, they would notice the boarded up windows and come searching.

“I need to go back to the trucks,” Tariq said once they were inside the villa. “I need a gun. I almost had it when the hyena came in, and then they were all awake, every gun in hand.”

“You got out. Don’t you think that’s enough of a feat? You can get a gun from your brother.”

“We’ll need one before that. No matter how quietly we move, there’s a chance that they’ll hear. I want to be able to defend you. And if I could find a knife and slice their tires, they couldn’t follow us at all.”

And as an added bonus, the smugglers couldn’t leave before he got back. That was part of his plan, too, no doubt. She stared at him, slack-jawed. “This is insane. You know that, right?”

“Most of them should be asleep again by now.” He shrugged. “They came in late last night.” He held her gaze, his mind obviously made up.

The only thing she could do was help. “What can I do?”

“Get the water to the Hummer and wait there. If anything goes wrong, drive north.” He pointed to show her which direction he meant. “As fast as you can. Even if you miss the meeting point, Karim will find you from the air.”

He meant if they killed him. Sara’s blood ran cold at the thought.

“You’ll make it,” he said in a reassuring tone.

She didn’t want to think about having to make it through the desert without him. She didn’t want to think of him dead. He was little more than a stranger, but he had saved her life. And there was some undeniable connection between them, a zing of electricity that she couldn’t begin to comprehend. She cared about him, felt as if she knew him, a lot more than she would have thought possible, given the short time they’d spent together. Of course, she’d seen him tested more than once, watched him endure incredible hardship. That had revealed his character and strength more than several months’ worth of a casual relationship would have.

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” she said.

“Not if I can help it.” He came back to her and drew her into his arms. “I’m going to find you when this is over.”

His head dipped slowly toward her. He was giving her plenty of time to pull away from the kiss. She rose to meet him instead. He didn’t waste time with being tentative. He kissed her with full passion and need, taking her breath away.

Through the mist that obscured all coherent thought in her mind, three things became increasingly clear. One: Tariq was a man like no other she had ever met, and she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted another. Two: they would be lucky if either of them lived through this. And three: life was incredibly unfair. They could have met while he’d lived in California. She went to California on business all the time.

I will find you when this is over. Considering the kind of man he was, she believed that nothing but death could keep him from that promise. She clung to him, aware of the precarious nature of their situation, of the fact that he was injured, of the incredible odds.

She fisted her hands in his shirt and kissed him as if it was the last time they would be together. He kissed her back with the same desperate need.

And would have kept kissing him, but a small sound outside penetrated the haze of pleasure in her mind.

She froze.

Chapter Six

The sound came again. Tariq listened, reluctant to end the kiss. Probably just the hyena coming to try its luck again. The damn beast was nothing if not persistent. Tariq had the tire iron somewhere at their feet. He figured he had another second or two of savoring Sara before he had to pull away and chase the stupid animal off again.

But with Sara in his arms, he couldn’t spare much thought for anything else. He wanted to protect her himself, and not trust her to Karim, even though he would trust his brother with his own life.

“Who the hell’s been out here?” a heavily rasping voice said in Arabic, just outside the villa.

Sara froze in his arms. Tariq held his breath.

“Probably some camel herd. Better look around,” another man grumbled.

They had about a second to hide. Tariq pushed Sara to the sand and draped a blanket over her, kicked sand over it, then dropped to the ground and wiggled in next to her. He barely had time to pull the satellite phone and the tire iron with him before the men came in.

SARA LAY WITHOUT MOVING, barely daring to breathe. Bandits scourged the villa, walking not a foot or two from them on occasion. If it weren’t for Tariq’s calm, solid presence next to her, and his restraining hand on her arm, she would have freaked out and betrayed herself a hundred times by now. She inhaled his masculine scent and soaked up the comfort of his strong, lean body, which he kept like a shield in front of her.

The men were talking excitedly in Arabic. She wanted to ask Tariq what they were saying, but would have to wait until they were alone again. The arm she was lying on went numb, but she didn’t move. If anyone was looking their way, the slightest shifting of the blanket would betray that someone was hiding beneath. How long could they hold out?

Not long, it seemed. The following moment something hard connected with her shoulder. She didn’t think she made a sound, but she must have, because someone yelled, a single shrill word. The next few seconds passed in a blur.

The blanket was lifted, and she saw two men. The one who must have kicked her in the shoulder was staring at her with a frightening grin on his dirt-smudged face.

Tariq rose with a roar, sand scattering all around him.

By the time she blinked most of the sand from her eyes, he had the guy who’d kicked her disabled. She could barely glance at him, where he lay on the ground with his head bashed in. Tariq, pipe held above his head, was running for the other man, ignoring the gun pointed at the middle of his wide chest.

“Run,” he yelled to her.

He was never going to make it.

She lurched forward on instinct, knowing there was nothing she could do, knowing that as soon as Tariq was gunned down, she would be next.

But he threw the pipe, knocking the gun aside, then lunged at the man, flying through the air and landing heavily on his target. A mountain lion, indeed. He could have been an action movie stuntman, except nobody yelled, “Cut!”

The men rolled on the sand, evenly matched. She hoped. How much would Tariq’s injury slow him down? Was the other guy smart enough to notice it and use it to his advantage?

She dashed back to the dead man and snatched his weapon, aimed it at the other bandit’s head as she moved toward him. “Stop!”

The men rolled, paying her no heed.

“Don’t shoot,” Tariq grunted as he flipped the guy again.

What did he mean, don’t shoot? Of course she was going to shoot. Just as soon as her target stopped moving.

“Too loud,” Tariq said on the next breath.

And she lowered the gun. He was right. It would be best if they kept quiet, so the rest of the bandits didn’t come rushing to join the fray.

Great, so she couldn’t use the gun. Okay, to be truthful, she wasn’t sure if she would have been able to hit the right man, anyway. But she wasn’t going to stand here, just hoping for the best. She tossed the gun out of reach of the men and looked around for a quieter weapon. The tire iron would have been perfect if they weren’t right on top of it.

Her gaze landed on the heavy pot made of some sort of tarnished metal. She retrieved it, and when the men turned again so that the bandit was on top, she swung it, whacking him over the head with all her strength.

“I got him.”

She didn’t knock him out, but the unexpected attack stunned the man enough that Tariq could gain the upper hand. He got the man’s knife from his belt somehow. He drew it up, and as they flipped, let his weight drive the blade home.

Both men went still the next second.

“Tariq?” She dropped the pot and rushed to untangle them. “Tariq!”

He sat up and looked at her, a quick grin spreading on his bruised but handsome face, though his dark eyes didn’t smile. They looked tired, but alert, and something else she couldn’t decipher.

“What is it?”

“You’re lethal with a pot. I’d hate to see you with a cast-iron skillet.” He pushed to his feet finally and retrieved the knife, wiping it on the bandit’s shirt before shoving it into his belt. Then he collected the guns, handing her the smaller one. “It’s time we got out of here.”

He strode to the door and peered out. She followed. A few other bandits loitered around the water pipes. Maybe they wanted to get an early start. Maybe they were in a rush, meeting someone at a given time, wanting to make up for the hours the sandstorm had forced them to linger.

“You should be able to get to the Hummer without them seeing you. Keep to the cover of the buildings,” he said. “Get in the car and stay down.”

“And you?” Sand that still floated in the air from the storm dimmed the sun a little. Not enough to keep it dark, but giving the light an eerie cast.

“I’m still going to see if I can slice a few of their tires.”

The idea just about stopped her heart. Was he insane? “There’s no time for that now. They’re awake,” she said, with an edge of desperation in her voice.

His somber gaze held hers, telling her he was fully aware of the severity of the situation, and didn’t like their options any better than she did. “We can’t have them following. We’d never make it to the chopper. Go. If you run into trouble, start shooting. I’ll come for you.”

Of that, she had no doubt. But she would have preferred a plan that didn’t include the use of any weapons. “Be careful.”

“You, too. If I don’t come for you, get in the car and drive as fast as you can.” He held out his hand and pointed. “Karim will find you. If he doesn’t, the closest village is a four-hour drive that way.”

He held her gaze for so long that she thought he might draw her to him. She wished for it, for the feel of his strength around her, a moment of comfort. But both realized they had no time for anything except the quickest possible escape. He handed her the satellite phone, but kept the tire iron, stepped back and took off in the direction of the bandits, keeping low to the ground, hidden behind the chest-high rifts of sand the storm had created.

She started in the opposite direction, watching out for bandits who might be searching through the site. How on earth was she supposed to get by them unseen?

HE HATED TO LEAVE HER alone, even if she was a fiercely independent woman. She was capable, he’d seen that. But she was in foreign territory. All the more reason for him to hurry and finish his mission, so he could get back to her.

Tariq cursed the dark shirt he wore, which would make him stand out from a distance. The bandits had camouflage uniforms made for the desert, the color of sand faded by the sun. He peeked around the corner of a building to judge how far it was to the next wall that would hide him.

Three men were smoking in the shade, about thirty feet away. They weren’t looking in his direction, but as soon as he moved, they would see him. He waited a minute or two, hoping they would clear out. They showed no signs of getting ready to move on.

“Take another wife,” the oldest of the men said.

“I have four already,” another said as he stomped sand off his boots. “The law won’t allow more.”

“Divorce one,” the third man advised with a sharp laugh. “It’s easy enough.”

“They all have children.”

“Boys?”

“Mostly. Only two girls from the first.”

There was a meaningful silence.

They were Beharrainian, their local accent unmistakable. Although most inhabitants of the Middle East and a large part of Africa spoke Arabic, the dialect changed from region to region, country to country.

Tariq didn’t recognize the voices, and hoped the men weren’t from his own tribe. But then again, he could hardly claim to know his tribe so well that he would recognize each voice. Other sheiks would have.

The thought pricked him with guilt.

Other sheiks lived their whole lives among their people. He’d been sent away at the age of five. Hardly his fault.

And yet everyone seemed to think so. Everyone expected more from him than he could deliver.

And four years after he had returned, as hard as he tried, he still didn’t fully feel like one of them.

What man would betray the honor of his tribe by selling drugs that debased his own people? What kind of man would wait among sand dunes to shoot innocents, blow up oil wells that fed tens of thousands? What kind of man would throw aside the mother of his daughters? How was Tariq supposed to relate to that?

He knew well enough what would await a divorced woman—disgrace and poverty. If she was lucky and her father was still living, she might go back there. Or a brother might take her in. If not … The chance of finding another husband was slim. Most men here wouldn’t dream of marrying anyone but a virgin.

Tariq winced, recalling the selection of sixteen-and seventeen-year-olds the tribal leaders had paraded before him, girls they’d expected him to marry to strengthen alliances. He might marry yet for the sake of his tribe, but by everything that was holy, if he did, he would wed a grown woman. Not one who had been forced into marriage by her male relatives.

His ideas did not make him popular among the conservatives.

He thought of Sara. If he had his way, if he were a man without obligations … He pushed the thought aside and drew back. The men didn’t look like they were going anywhere. He would have to find a roundabout way.

He moved as fast as he could, the sand making it easy to proceed quietly. He rounded the next building and surveyed the area ahead of him. Nobody there. He dashed across the open stretch of sand and pressed against the unfinished wall of what one day would be a five-star spa.

“There’ll be hell to pay.” The words came from somewhere behind him.

The place was crawling with bandits.

He slipped inside the building and ducked down, making sure he kept under the windows as he moved toward the exit opposite. But a name caught his ear—Karim ibn Abdullah, his brother. Despite the heat, a chill nested in Tariq’s chest. What had they done with him? He stilled.

“… the only one of the brothers left,” a man said.

“He’s a dark one,” another responded in a glum voice. “He will want revenge.”

“I’ll take out his other eye and see if he can find us then.” The first man laughed it off.

Karim had lost the sight in one eye in an unfortunate accident, at the same time as Aziz’s leg had been crippled, twenty some years ago. Tariq had often wondered if the “accident” had been meant to kill them. It ended up saving their lives instead. Their father had declared them unfit to rule, and therefore no competition for his favorite son, Majid, who had eventually wrested control of the throne.

“The shah probably has plans for him already. We don’t have to worry about him. Allah’s will be done.”

The other one grunted. “I wonder if all the money will be found when the brothers are gone, or if they will take their secret to the grave with them.”

“The shah will find a way to get the treasure. I wouldn’t mind helping him.” The man laughed. “He took care of Tariq and Aziz.”