Desert Justice

“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, her arms were yanked high up behind her back and her wrists cuffed in one beefy hand.

“Now will you be still?” he demanded in accented English.

“Go to hell,” she snarled, struggling.

“Whatever Sheikh Markaz saw in you, I hope it’s worth it,” the big man said, the statement sounding like a curse.

Confused, Simone stopped fighting. “You’re with the sheikh?”

“I am Fayed, his personal bodyguard. He sent me to find out what need was so pressing you’d risk arrest to reach him.”

She was still eating sandstone, and he hadn’t released his punishing grip on her arms. She’d been too busy resisting to recognize the giant who’d been glued to the sheikh’s side. “Let me go and I might tell you.”

“I want your word you will not attack me again or try to run away.”

“I’ll behave,” she said resignedly. A painful jerk on her arms told her this wasn’t good enough. “All right, I promise.”

The pressure on her abused shoulders eased as he released her. She grimaced and rubbed her upper arms with her crossed hands. “Did the sheikh tell you to rough me up?”

The massive man frowned. “He gave no such order. I only did so because you attacked me first.”

Her gaze acknowledged their relative sizes. “Your boss might find that hard to believe.”

“As do I,” Fayed said in his rumbling basso profundo voice. His pained expression and the careful way he moved made her think she’d damaged more than his pride.

Remembering her pursuer, she looked around nervously.

Fayed caught the look. “What is it?”

“There’s a man following me. I think he wants this.”

She fished in her pocket and pulled out the ring. Fayed’s eyes widened at the sight. “Where did you get that?”

“From a woman called Natalie. She asked me to give it to the sheikh.” Fayed reached for the ring, but Simone closed her fingers around it. “Uh-uh. If I give it to you now, you might abandon me to Business Suit.”

“Business Suit?”

“The man following me. He must have seen Natalie give me the ring.”

“Who are you?”

She had a feeling he didn’t want her life story. “Simone Hayes, from Australia.”

Fayed took her arm. “Come with me, Simone Hayes.”

“I’d rather take you to where I last saw Natalie.”

“My orders are to learn what you require. I am not leaving the sheikh alone any longer to go on a wild-goose chase on your behalf.”

“Even if the wild-goose chase is what I require?”

“We’ll let Sheikh Markaz be the judge.”

In the meantime, anything could be happening to Natalie. Held fast in the giant’s grip, Simone could only hope that she’d distracted Business Suit long enough to let the other woman get away.

Not sure if she should feel reassured to be in the company of a man built like a tank, or worried that he might be escorting her deeper into trouble, she had little choice but to trot at his side, taking two steps to every one of his.

They were almost back at the main monument where a group of officials, the sheikh an imposing figure in their midst, clustered beside the royal marquee. She must have been running in circles. “Do you know what the ring means?” she asked, gulping air.

Fayed wasn’t even breathing hard. “Sheikh Markaz will tell you what he wishes you to know.”

Remembering the electrifying look the sheikh had given her when their eyes met for the merest moment, she balked. He was the ruler of the whole country. She didn’t want to meet him looking as if she’d been dragged through a hedge. Not because of any feminine need to dazzle him, but because she didn’t want to give him a bad impression of Australian womanhood. Or so she told herself. “At least give me a few seconds to make myself presentable.”

“You will not cause any more trouble.” It wasn’t a question.

“Considering that my options comprise going with you, or dealing with Natalie’s attacker, I don’t have much choice.”

“Good.”

Crazy though it seemed, she was warming to this mountain of a man. His voice might sound like the earth itself opening up, and he had strange ideas of how to treat a lady, but his devotion to the sheikh was encouraging. Fayed would keep her safe for as long as his boss wished it.

The bodyguard steered her into a shaded area between two columns, but didn’t take his eyes off her as she brushed sand off her clothing and tucked her blouse back into her skirt. The sun visor was lost among the ruins, but she carried her shoulder bag slung across her body, so her purse had survived the ordeal.

Retrieving a comb and compact, she did what she could to tidy her hair, and blotted her streaming face. “Right, let’s meet His Highness,” she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.

Fayed appropriated her arm again. “You will not make any untoward moves, and you will speak only when the sheikh speaks to you.”

She could imagine the outcome if she made any move Fayed interpreted as threatening to his boss. “Count on it.”

The moment’s respite had allowed her to catch her breath so she wasn’t panting too obviously when Fayed led her to where the sheikh was holding court. She’d hate him to think she was breathing heavily on his account.

Fayed carved his way through the group until he reached the sheikh’s side where he made a salaam, the graceful hand gesture encompassing head and heart accompanied by a bow from the neck. “Your Highness, this is Simone Hayes, from Australia. I think you will be interested in what she has to say.”

He bent and whispered a few words in the sheikh’s ear, too low for Simone to hear. It was enough to bring a look of anger to the sheikh’s face, and he snapped out what sounded like an instruction in return. She saw Fayed nod then approach a pair of the sheikh’s soldiers and speak to them in turn.

The moment Fayed brought Simone Hayes to Markaz, he had the renewed sense of electricity arcing between them, as if she were more than an overexcited tourist who’d disrupted his inspection. He told himself he’d had a long morning dealing with his normal duties, the bomb threat at the airport, and now this visit. He was tired. He should have left Simone to the guards instead of sending Fayed after her.

But he owed the man his life a couple of times over, and trusted his judgment. What Fayed had already told the sheikh had shaken him. If his friend believed Simone’s story was worth hearing, then it was.

“Excuse us for a few moments,” he said now to the director of Al-Qasr, who’d been telling him more about the restoration work. The man regarded her curiously, but salaamed and moved away to join another group, leaving the sheikh and Simone in a small island of clear space.

Markaz was aware of Fayed returning to his side. “Would you get Miss Hayes a drink?” the sheikh asked him. “Coffee or something cold?”

Simone brushed a hand across her brow. “Cold, thank you.”

Fayed gestured to a passing waiter, who presented a tray of ice-frosted glasses to her with alacrity. The young woman accepted some sparkling water and drank half of it right away. Markaz felt a flash of envy for the straw between her parted lips. Such beautiful lips, sensuously full and rosy without any sign of artificial enhancement.

In an effort to stop staring at her mouth, he drained the bitter coffee in his thimble-sized cup, passing his hand over it to stop the waiter refilling it. He’d already drunk two cups out of politeness.

The woman lifted her head and smiled at him, her sea-foam eyes brilliant. “Thank you, Your Highness, I was thirsty,” she said, earning a frown from Fayed.

Sometimes his bodyguard was more of a stickler for protocol than Markaz himself, he thought. “Even at this time of year, the heat can be challenging if you’re not accustomed to it.”

She nodded. “Coming from Australia I should be, but I hadn’t planned on being chased all over Al-Qasr.”

The sheikh’s surprised look went to his bodyguard. His orders hadn’t extended to hounding her. “By Fayed?”

“No, by another man. Fayed rescued me from him.”

The gingerly way his friend was moving suggested there was more to the story, but now wasn’t the time to go into details. He would get them from Fayed later. “Who was chasing you?”

She cast a nervous glance around as if her pursuer might still be in the vicinity. “The man I saw abducting Natalie.”

At hearing his ex-wife’s name from this woman’s lips, slivers of ice pierced Markaz. Fayed had already told him she had been seen here, and he had dispatched men to investigate at Markaz’s request. Suddenly the ring Simone had tried to pass to him over the barricades assumed a more sinister importance. Could it contain the information he’d been told Natalie would deliver to him at Al-Qasr?

He masked his concern. “What is your involvement with Natalie?”

“She was feeling ill so I helped her back to the parking lot. As I was leaving her, I saw a man force her into the car. I tried to help, but he got away. I decided to approach you.”

He felt his gaze harden. “How did you know to come to me?”

“Natalie said your life was in danger, and gave me this for you.” Shifting the glass to her left hand, she fumbled in the pocket of her skirt.

But the sheikh closed his hand over hers. “Not here. Join us for lunch inside the marquee.”

Simone’s hand was still in her pocket, but the sheikh’s touch seemed to burn through the light fabric of her skirt. She was imagining it, just as she’d imagined his gaze fixated on her mouth, she assured herself.

She took her hand out of her pocket and pressed the palm against her thigh. “I’m hardly dressed for this company.”

He took her hand and lifted it close to his mouth, his lips whispering over the back of it. “You would be an ornament to any occasion just as you are.”

In a flash she worked out what he was doing. Sheikh Markhaz was reputed to have a roving eye. He certainly didn’t remain with any one woman for long. He was creating the impression that Simone had attracted his interest, so no one would be surprised if he kept her at his side.

Knowing his attention was an act didn’t stop her pulse from racing. It was all she could do not to rub the back of her hand where his courtly kiss had scorched her like a flame. “As Your Highness wishes.”

“My name is Markaz,” he murmured.

If Fayed had disapproved of her speaking to Markaz unbidden, at this he looked thunderstruck. Men and women mixed more freely in Nazaar than in many Arabian countries, but behavior was still conservative by Western standards. The sheikh could have called her Miss Simone without raising eyebrows, but inviting her to use his first name so quickly was a scandalous intimacy.

Was it? She’d been so sure he was putting on an act that she hadn’t let herself think what would happen if there was more to it. He was certainly the most attractive man she’d met in a long time. And she’d broken up with Nick a couple of months before leaving Australia, so there was no man in her life, either.

Stop this, she instructed herself before the fantasy could get any more out of hand. The sheikh had invited her to an official lunch, presumably so she could tell him what she’d seen away from public view. It was hardly an invitation to join his harem.

“I’d feel happier if you’d send someone to look for Natalie,” she said, feeling guilty for indulging in stupid daydreams while the other woman was in danger.

The sheikh looked grim. “It is already being done. As soon as Fayed told me she was here, I dispatched men to investigate. As of yet she has not been located.”

Now Simone understood the significance of his discussion with Fayed. “Her car was parked directly across from the entrance to the north parking lot. She was driving a dark blue coupe with rental plates. I didn’t get the number.”

Markaz’s gesture brought Fayed closer. Their Arabic was too soft for her to translate, although she hoped he was giving Fayed the extra information. The big man once more melted into the crowd.

“If Natalie is in the area, Fayed will find her,” Markaz said.

“You didn’t ask me what she looks like.”

“We already know. The item she gave you could only have come from my ex-wife.”

Suddenly Simone knew why Natalie had seemed familiar. She was the woman he’d married in America, and divorced soon after becoming sheikh. Photos of them together had been on the Web sites Simone had researched for her trip, but Natalie had changed enough in ten years to stop Simone from recognizing her.

She barely had time to absorb this information before Markaz led her into the marquee where long, low tables were covered by dazzling white cloths and more delicacies than Simone had seen in a department store food hall.

At the head of the official table, Markaz’s chair had a higher back than the others, gilded and padded in wine-colored brocade. At his insistence she seated herself at his right, aware of causing a flurry of rearrangements. Although the Al-Qasr staff tried to be unobtrusive about accommodating her, Simone’s presence had undoubtedly caused a stir.

Enormous platters of crepelike bread, mounds of glistening rice and fragrant lamb, smoked chicken, stuffed grape leaves, marrow and squash and salads were served. Simone heard almost no conversation not related to the magnificence of the feast, but she didn’t find this unusual. To the end of his days her father had never become comfortable with the Western habit of conversing over a meal. He’d preferred small talk to take place over coffee and tea before and after a meal.

“You are hardly eating,” Markaz observed. “If you don’t wish to offend our hosts, you should taste a little of everything.”

Natalie’s ring was burning a hole in her pocket, but she followed the sheikh’s lead and paid attention to the feast. Knowing that Fayed was searching for Natalie had eased Simone’s mind enough so she could absorb her surroundings. Unfortunately the royal guards hadn’t accompanied the guests into the marquee and would most likely be eating elsewhere. So she couldn’t use the opportunity to look for Yusef al Hasa.

However bizarre the circumstances, she was a guest of Sheikh Markaz bin Kemal al Nazaari, she reminded herself, picturing her mother’s response when she heard. Would it be enough to pierce Sara’s depression? Simone hoped so, because unless she located Yusef among the sheikh’s escort after the meal, she doubted she’d get a chance like this again.

Moving lightly for such a big man, Fayed appeared at his boss’s shoulder. Simone didn’t need to hear what was said to know the news wasn’t encouraging. Fayed’s expression was grim. He didn’t like disappointing the sheikh, she concluded. She doubted it was because Markaz was a demanding boss. He would be tough but fair, she assessed, having noted his courteous treatment of those assigned to serve him.

How had he come to marry an American, she wondered. Not that his personal life was any of her business. She was naturally curious. And why did his ex-wife want him to watch his back? The antiroyal forces in Nazaar were far less of a problem than in her parents’ time, or Simone would never have chosen to visit. Were they on the rise again as Markaz steered the country closer to full democracy?

He leaned toward her. “A short time ago the guards at the entrance to Al-Qasr observed a dark blue rental car speeding away with a man at the wheel and a woman apparently asleep in the passenger seat.”

Simone’s tension notched higher. “Natalie and Business Suit.”

He inclined his head. “Evidently.”

She pulled out the ring and pressed it into his hand beneath the table. “She wanted me to give you this.”

Recognition came swiftly. “It’s our class ring from Harvard. To alumni, the beaver is known as the brass rat.” He showed her a matching ring on his right hand.

Her disappointment showed. “Then the ring isn’t a message?”

He hesitated long enough to suggest that there was more to the ring than he was prepared to share with her. After being chased through the ruins with the item in her possession, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“The design is modified to reflect each class’s spirit and experiences. By sending our class ring, Natalie made sure her identity is in no doubt,” he said.

“Business Suit appeared before she could tell me any more, other than that your life is in danger.”

“As yours may well be now.”

Her startled gaze lifted to his. “But Fayed said the man left.”

“His people will want to know how much Natalie told you, and what you have shared with me. You should not return to your hotel tonight.”

This was more than she’d bargained for. “My bags are there and my passport’s in the hotel safe. Could you arrange their return, if I check in to another hotel?”

He looked amused and she had to remind herself of who and what he was. In Nazaar, he could do anything he wished. “One hotel is as risky as another.”

“Then where—”

He didn’t wait for her to finish. “Ideally I would have you placed on a flight home to Australia for your safety. But the airport is closed due to a bomb scare. Flights won’t be back to normal until tomorrow.”

She lifted her head. “In any case, I can’t leave yet. I have…business appointments,” she finished, knowing the explanation sounded lame. Instinct told her not to mention Yusef to the sheikh. He might not be so kindly disposed toward her if he knew she hoped to contact a former rebel. And she hadn’t come all this way to be packed off home without achieving her goal.

“No business appointment is worth your life.”

“You’re not leaving,” she pointed out, adding belatedly, “Your Highness.”

His wry smile acknowledged the title. “In my position, danger is a part of life. However, the influence of the rebels is waning. They are the ones fighting for their lives now.”

“Desperate people have been known to do desperate things.”

“True, and you have attracted their attention.”

She spread her hands wide. “What can I do?”

“Return with my party to the palace at Raisa where you will be under royal protection until it is safe for you to leave the country.”

Excitement bubbled through her, warring with an awareness of danger. She told herself she was excited because her chances of finding Yusef among the royal guard had greatly improved. Not because she would be spending more time around Markaz. “I appreciate the offer,” she said.