His destiny awaited in the desert…

“Get down,” Tariq commanded in a tone that bore no resistance, and she did so immediately.

The sound of a machine gun tore through the straining rattle of the engine that the driver was pushing to the limit. Sara’s brain screamed in disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. From the corner of her eye, she saw Tariq return fire, his face hard with concentration, his powerful body focused on the task.

Tariq grabbed her arm and ran with her to the closest cover. He looked 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.

Then he flattened Sara against a wall and stepped in front of her. Clearly he thought she would be safe here, out of sight.

“I am the sheikh. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I will find you when this is over…”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Author Dana Marton lives near Wilmington, Delaware. She has been an avid reader since childhood and has a master’s degree in writing popular fiction. When not writing, she can be found either in her garden or her home library. For more information on the author and her other novels, please visit her website at www.danamarton.com.

She would love to hear from her readers via e-mail: DanaMarton@yahoo.com.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Sara Reese – She came to the Middle East to do business. But when her convoy is attacked, she finds herself fighting for her life. Can she trust the mysterious sheikh who comes to her aid?

Sheikh Tariq Abdullah – He wanted Sara from the moment he saw her. But he’s afraid she’s getting in the way of enemy crossfire. He isn’t sure who the bandits are after, but he’s prepared to protect her with his life.

Karim Abdullah – Tariq’s brother. He lost sight in one eye in an early childhood “accident.”

Aziz Abdullah – Karim’s twin brother. His leg was permanently injured in the same “accident” that had left Karim blind in one eye.

Omar – Tariq’s mentor, the only man he can trust outside his brothers. Or can he?

Husam – A young executive who works for the sheikh. He wants Sara for his own. Does he want her enough to kill for it?

Sheikh Seduction

DANA MARTON

www.millsandboon.co.uk

With many thanks to Denise Zaza and Allison Lyons.

Prologue

“Tariq?” the sheika yelled as she ran through the palace, her bare feet slapping on the marble floor. “Have you seen Tariq?” she demanded of the guard at the end of the dark hallway, desperation squeezing her throat.

“Probably playing somewhere.” His gaze implied he thought her a hysterical female. He didn’t take her seriously.

They never did.

She ran on, knowing she could expect no help from the man—not from him, not from the others. She thought of the two sons she had already lost, and cold fear curled in her stomach. She wept.

“Tariq?” She opened one door after another and tried not to think of Habib, who at the age of four had been found after just such a night, crumpled at the bottom of the stairs.

A sleepwalker, they’d said.

She was his mother. She knew better.

Her giant belly hurt from the mad rush, and she put a hand over it, over the sons who waited to see the world. The sheik was happy.

The sheika had hoped for a girl.

She ran forward, down one corridor, up more stairs. The palace was riddled with passageways: some splendid, some used by servants, others secret and known only to the family. She hated to think of Tariq lost in the maze at night, hunted like a small animal by unseen enemies.

Her child.

Would none of her sons live long enough to pass out of the nursery? She cursed the greed of men, the line of succession and the fact that she was the sheik’s favorite wife, garnering more envy than she could defend her children against.

“Allah, let me find him hale tonight.” She whispered the same words she had said so many times before.

If Tariq made it past age eight and moved into his father’s care, perhaps he would be safe. Nobody would dare touch him that close to the sheik. She would hate to see him go, but was willing to give him up to save him.

She heard footsteps in the darkness and moved silently in the direction of the sound. Small steps. Tariq. She didn’t dare call his name. Heavy boots thumped on the marble behind her.

Her lungs were straining after her desperate race through the palace, and from being squeezed by the babies she carried. The air in the room was thick with the scent of incense that had been burned earlier, making it even harder for her to breathe, to think.

At the last second, she hid behind heavy brocade curtains, and when she saw the five-year-old who was the light of her heart stumble by, she reached out and pulled him in, put a hand over his mouth. He recognized her immediately—by scent or feel, she didn’t know. He didn’t make a sound. She wrapped her trembling arms around him, stifling the sob of relief that bubbled up her throat.

She had found him in time. Allah be blessed.

There was a secret panel behind her. She opened it and slid inside, pressed the wood back into place. Men entered the room, talking.

“Check everywhere. He’s small. There, under the divan.”

Keeping her arms tight around her son, she willed her heart to still. The men wouldn’t know about the secret hiding place. She waited, motionless and silent, clinging to that hope.

But there was a scraping noise on the other side of the panel, and it popped open, a flashlight blinding her. She couldn’t see the men who surrounded them. Fear slowed her heart as she slid in front of Tariq. They could only take him if she were dead.

But Tariq pushed forward, putting his small body between her and the men, trying to protect her. The gesture just about broke her heart. She pulled him back.

Tense seconds passed as her eyes adjusted to the light. She wasn’t surprised to see her own guard. The captain watched her, and she knew he was thinking about whether two accidental deaths would be one too many for one night.

Four, she thought, sliding one hand off Tariq’s shoulder to curl protectively around her stomach.

“There you are,” the man said, and moved back, allowing them room to step out. “We received word that Tariq was missing, and came looking for the child.”

She moved with effort, her enormous belly slowing her down. Wary of a trap, she didn’t dare feel relief, but kept her son close.

“We will return you to your rooms, Sheika. It is careless of you to roam the palace this time of the night.”

She nodded, noting how his eyes narrowed with displeasure, the disappointment of an interrupted hunt.

She didn’t take an easy breath until she was inside her quarters, where no man was allowed but her husband, the sheik. She closed the door behind her, locked it, although she knew it mattered little. She wouldn’t let Tariq’s hand go as she walked around and checked on her daughters, who were sleeping peacefully.

“You sleep with me,” she told Tariq.

For once, he didn’t argue that he was a big boy and too old for that.

They slipped into bed, and she held him against her, as close as her giant belly allowed. She had to get him out of the palace to save him, she knew.

At the birth of each of her previous sons, the sheik had gifted her with a boon, allowed her a request he’d promised he would not deny. The new babes would come soon. If they were healthy and pleasing to the sheik’s eyes…

Tariq had to go far, far away. If even the guards were hunting him now… None of them were safe, perhaps not even the sheik. His successor, a son by the first wife, was impatient for the throne.

But the old man wouldn’t see it that way. He had a favorite wife, and also a favorite son. And he was blind to the young sheik’s faults.

Little Tariq’s body gave a shudder in his sleep. His mother smoothed a hand over his thick, dark hair, hoping he would feel her presence and be calmed even in his dreams.

“Shh.” She placed a light kiss on the top of his head. “Whatever I have to do, whatever I have to give, you will be safe.”

Chapter One

Thirty years later

She’d been brought here to fail. It was expected of her. Hoped for.

Sara Reeves exited the conference room last, following the men, as was the custom in the region.Jeff had drilled that into her head. Whatever you do, commit no offense. He’d made it clear it was the most important thing he expected of her on this trip, the only thing.

“Let us go see the new well,” Ahmad Maluk, one of the three directors who represented MMPOIL at today’s meeting, said, gesturing toward the bank of elevators. “It’ll be a twenty-minute helicopter ride. Miss Reeves is welcome to stay at the hotel and rest if she so wishes.”

She wished they could meet the sheik. But they’d already been told that was not going to happen. “I’d love to see the well,” she said with respect, talking to no one in particular, not wanting to offend the men by addressing them directly.

“You rest,” Jeff said, solicitous as ever. “I can handle it.”

He could always handle everything—except the actual work. At schmoozing he was king. Hard to believe there’d been a time when she’d been in love with the man.

“Perhaps we should wait until tomorrow,” Husam, the man on Ahmad’s left, suggested. He was the youngest of the three Beharrainians, around thirty if that, with a sharp chin and nose, and even sharper eyes that he’d kept on Sara for most of the meeting.

She glanced away, hating the submissive gesture, but knowing that in this culture it was expected of women. One of the slew of oddities that made it difficult for her to stand on even ground for the negotiations.

They should have seen the well and been back by now, but Jeff had had stomach problems that morning and they’d had to delay their meetings. He had used her as an excuse, told everyone she’d been sick. The Arabs put a lot of stock in the strength of a man. If Jeff appeared weak for any reason it would be detrimental to their negotiations. And she could appear a little weaker, so as not to challenge their ideas of women and give offense. The world according to Jeff.

The best thing Sara had ever done for herself was to break their engagement. Unfortunately, untangling their business interests proved more difficult.

Jeff flashed her one of those smiles she had fallen for four years ago, before she’d realized that they, along with most things about him, were fake. “You could go shopping,” he said.

With admirable restraint, she kept herself from voicing the response forming on her tongue. “I’d prefer to see the well.”

Jeff shrugged with annoyance, but didn’t push further. Perhaps he’d given up on trying to manipulate her for the time being.

She zeroed in on the hallway to the left, where she’d seen a sign for a restroom on their way in. Since she knew they would be spending several hours in the desert today, she’d doubled her water intake. “Why don’t you go up? I’ll be with you in a second.” She nodded toward her destination.

Jeff scowled, as if her basic necessities were nothing but feminine whims he was forced to put up with.

She hurried down the hall, trying not to be too paranoid and obsess over what he would say this time to undermine her in her absence. Of course, with this potential customer, the fact that she was a woman was probably enough.

Glancing into the mirror as she exited the restroom two minutes later, she made sure her insecurities didn’t show. B. T. Reeves Studio, a public relations firm specializing in the oil industry, was as much her company as Jeff’s—more so, in her opinion. No matter how hard he pushed her, she was not going to relinquish her heritage. She wanted more than anything to regain control of the company and make it a success, a tribute to her father, who had started it.

Husam’s dark shape ahead caught her eye, his back half-turned to her. Was he waiting for her? She hadn’t liked the way he’d stared at her all through the meeting. She didn’t want to be stuck in the close quarters of an elevator with him. He was talking on his cell phone in Arabic, sounding nervous and angry at the same time.

Grateful for the soft carpet, which allowed her to remain undetected, she walked in the other direction. MMPOIL’s headquarters was a giant building. There had to be more than one bank of elevators.

She turned the corner and was relieved to see she’d been right. She pushed the call button and held her breath until the bell dinged and the doors opened. They were just starting to close behind her when a man stepped through. For a moment, all she registered was relief that he wasn’t Husam.

Oh, my. Definitely not. Wasn’t even in the same category.

This guy was close to forty and a good head taller than Husam. He brought a strong sense of presence with him as he stepped inside, so strong his body almost vibrated with intensity. The space in the elevator seemed to shrink, the air thinning all of a sudden.

There was a stark wildness to his masculine features, his tanned face and dark hair. Sara’s first impression had been of a hard-set, square jaw and wide shoulders stiff with displeasure, but that seemed to disappear as he watched her. His dark eyes held her gaze.

“Hello.” His deeply masculine voice was as spellbinding as the rest of him.

“Hi.” She should have looked away politely. She couldn’t, even with all her senses suggesting that this guy was several levels above Husam on the danger scale.

Husam hadn’t really done anything but stare at her. Maybe he wasn’t used to blondes, or women in a negotiating position. She was in a whole new culture. She had to adjust to certain oddities.

She fixed her attention on the closed doors, but couldn’t hold it there long before glancing again at the man next to her. He was staring at the sheet of paper in his hand, no longer looking at her, which should have made him seem less intimidating. It didn’t.

She acknowledged the fact, but wouldn’t let it bother her. She was used to intimidation on a daily basis.

“Do you know if this goes to the helipad?” she asked, unsure whether he would understand her. Anybody could say “hello.”

“I’ll show you when we get up there.” His U.S., West Coast accent surprised her. Another American?

“Thanks.”

She relaxed marginally, but then her business persona kicked in. “Do you work here or are you visiting?” If MMPOIL had solicited other U.S. companies to bid on the same project she and Jeff were here for, she needed to know.

“I work here,” he said, setting her mind at ease.

He folded the paper and slid it into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, then looked at her again. His gaze was sharp and intelligent, intense, but lacking Husam’s disquieting intrusion. “Are you here with the Dallas delegation?”

She nodded, wondering how he knew, and what his role was at the company. A subtle, pleasant scent of sandalwood filled the small space and surrounded her. He didn’t crowd her as people had tended to do since her arrival—apparently due to their different attitude about personal space—but stood back, detached.

“You work with the sheik?” she asked, registering at last that he hadn’t pushed another button. The fiftieth floor was still the only one lit. That meant he was going to the top, as well, which, according to Jeff, was Sheik Abdullah’s domain. And also the location of the only elevator that went to the roof. This way, access to the helipad was restricted. For security reasons, she supposed.

The man nodded with a short, deliberate movement of his head, power evident even in such small a gesture as that.

He worked with the sheik. A slide show of romanticized pictures flashed through her mind, straight from the sheik romance novels she’d read. “Is he here today?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose he doesn’t attend low-level meetings,” she said, hiding her chagrin pretty well, she thought.

“He doesn’t attend any meetings if he can help it.” Her companion had the bearing and self-assurance of a man in charge, but he wasn’t among the top tier of executives. Jeff and she had been introduced to them at a reception upon arrival.

She wondered if he might be a close, trusted assistant to the sheik, but his body language and air didn’t seem to fit the secretary image. He had a commanding physical presence, his form well-built and powerful. There was a watchful awareness about him that wasn’t typical of the average office worker. Nor was his impeccable suit.

And then it clicked. He was probably one of the sheik’s bodyguards.

The elevator stopped and he gestured for her to step out first, very atypical of her experience here so far. Maybe he hadn’t been in the country long enough for the local attitude to rub off on him. She wondered how long ago he’d been shipped in from the U.S. as a security consultant to the sheik. He had to be good at what he did to be brought all this way.

No doubt about it. She stole another furtive glance, not wanting him to notice her obvious interest. He looked to be the kind of guy who would be good at whatever he did. She couldn’t imagine him turning all that intense energy to a purpose and not succeeding.

He gestured at an elevator directly opposite theirs. “That’ll take you to the helipad.”

He held her gaze for another second, fire and mystery swirling in his dark eyes. God, this setting was making her ridiculously fanciful. Then, moving with an inborn elegance, he strode toward the opaque doors that closed off the short hallway from the rest of the floor.

She craned her neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of the sheik’s private offices. It would be neat to see a real-life sheik. She’d been disappointed when she’d realized their itinerary didn’t include meeting the man.

“What is he like, the sheik?” she couldn’t help calling after him. She pictured Sheik Abdullah in flowing white robes edged with gold, a kaffiyeh on his head, looking fiercely royal, surrounded by the splendor of his station. She was a little sketchy on the splendor part. Sometimes it showed up in her imagination as a gilded room in some palace, other times as a tent with priceless Persian rugs, set up at a breathtaking oasis in the middle of the desert.

He turned toward her and said, “Not someone you’d want to meet.”

Was that amusement glinting in his eyes?

“He’s a morose bastard.” He placed a tanned hand on the door. “Enjoy your time in Beharrain, Miss Reeves,” he said before he slipped through.

She blinked, then shook her head slightly and walked to the elevator, refusing to feel guilty for having made the men wait. She squared her shoulders as she stepped in, getting ready for the subtle manipulations she would have to deal with on the way to the well. Jeff was going to do everything he could to pressure her into remaining in the background at tomorrow’s presentation. She wasn’t going to let him. Nor would she ever allow him to get his hands on her share of the company.

Would he eventually give up?

But as the elevator door opened to the roof, and oppressive heat surrounded her, a second question popped into her mind, for a moment overriding the first. How did the sheik’s bodyguard know her name?

MAYBE SHE SHOULD HAVE gone back to the hotel. The temperature had to be well over a hundred degrees outside. The Hummer they’d taken was air-conditioned, but heat radiated through the window next to her.

They should have been at the well long ago, but the corporate helicopter had some problems, and the decision had been made to go by car. No more than a three-hour drive, they’d been assured. Sara’s teeth were still on edge from her fifteen-minute conversation with Jeff, who’d used this as an excuse to mount a new offensive, doing what he could to convince her to stay behind.

She sat next to him now, trying not to look at Husam. He had insisted on keeping them company on the road, while a second Hummer transported two other men from MMPOIL who were supposed to take the same chopper, plus two armed guards. The fact that bodyguards were necessary didn’t exactly put her at ease.

One sat in her vehicle, as well, next to Husam. The man from the elevator. He’d shown up at the last second—Tariq somebody. The driver had started the engine just as he got in, so she didn’t catch his full name.

“Water?” he was asking in that deeply masculine voice, pulling a bottle of Evian from the cooler and pointing toward the glasses.

“Yes, please,” she said.

Jeff shook his head. Husam declined with a respectful bow and an odd look on his face. Maybe he thought the direct contact between them was impolite.

Tariq poured, then handed her the glass, which she took very carefully to make sure they didn’t touch—according to her guide book that was a big no-no around here.

The man poured for himself, as well. He sat opposite her, the seats facing each other, and seemed to command Husam’s deference. At least the latter left plenty of room between them. Tariq was working directly with Sheik Abdullah, after all, and probably had the sheik’s ear. Other than respectfully greeting the newcomer when he arrived, Husam had not attempted to talk to him, though his appearance had clearly surprised him.

He even refrained from staring at Sara for the most part, which was fine by her. She hadn’t been overjoyed when she’d realized that they would be riding together.

“I love this car,” Jeff said in an overly cheerful tone. “Custom? Always said that the H2 and H3 can’t be compared to the H1 Alpha wagon.”

Husam perked up and the two embarked on a discussion about Hummers that she only intermittently understood. Which left her plenty of time to ponder her companions.

It seemed laughable now that a few hours ago she’d felt threatened by Husam. Next to Tariq, he seemed insignificant. Even Jeff, who was handsome in a softer, city-boy sort of way—he’d certainly gotten around among the women at the company office—couldn’t hold a candle to Tariq, whose raw masculinity seemed to jump across the short gap that separated his knees from hers.

She wished he would join the conversation so she could find out more about him and the man he worked for, but he seemed lost in the contents of the folder he’d brought along. Probably for the best. When he did look at her, his intensity made her feel painfully self-conscious, anyway.

“Any Bedouins around here?” Jeff asked, pronouncing the word “bad ones,” a private joke he’d made several times since they’d arrived, thinking nobody noticed.

But Sara saw the muscles tighten in Tariq’s jaw. If he took offense, however, he gave no other sign of it, didn’t even look up.

“Farther in the desert to the south,” Husam said.

She glanced out the window.

There was no road, only a faint track that wasn’t bad when they were going over sand. But when they hit rocky areas, she was afraid her kidneys would be shaken to bits by the time they reached their destination. She wanted to ask how much farther they had to go, but would have bitten off her tongue before doing so. If the men weren’t bothered by the ride, then she was prepared to pretend that she wasn’t, either.

She looked out over the dunes, daydreaming about Bedouin raids of the past, about horses flying over the sand, the treasures of the East packed on camelback, the shouts, the braying, the clashing of swords. Then she bit back a smile. Clearly, she’d read too many historical romances.

She wondered if Abdullah was anything like the sheiks of old, and the image of a breathtaking warrior atop a black Arabian stallion floated into her mind. But that picture was quickly replaced by the very real appearance of a beat-up military truck, the first sign of life they’d seen since they had entered the desert.

“Are we here?” she asked, full of hope.

Both Tariq and Husam were staring out the window, Husam’s face inscrutable, while Tariq’s grew dark as he reached behind his seat and came up with a handgun.

“What’s going on?” Her voice went squeaky, her heart thumping at the sight of the weapon.

“Get down,” Tariq commanded in a tone that bore no argument, and she did so immediately, putting her head between her knees.

“Oh, my God, oh, my God,” Jeff was saying, and did the same. “What’s happening? Are those bandits?”

Bandits? The air left Sara’s lungs. Nobody had said anything about bandits. Beharrain was supposed to be safe and a friend of the U.S., thanks to its American-born queen. That was one of the reasons Sara’s company had decided to do business here instead of some other country in the region.

Couldn’t be bandits. She’d seen those beat-up old army trucks all over the city. People bought them after they’d been decommissioned by the military, and used them for everything from furniture moving to selling Middle Eastern fast food on the streets.

The sound of a round from a machine gun—the truck was definitely not selling melon sherbet—sounded over the growling rattle of the Hummer’s engine, which the driver was pushing to the limit now. Bandits! her brain screamed in disbelief, as she shrunk instinctively, trying to make herself as small a target as possible.

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.”

“Don’t count on it.” He dug into his pocket, then held her rings out on his open palm. He could afford to take his attention off the road now. They were going over flat terrain, and it wasn’t as if he would cross the center line and veer into oncoming traffic.

“Thanks…for saving these,” she said, although her jewelry was pretty low on her list of priorities at the moment. She noticed suddenly that his watch was already on his wrist. He must be attached to it, she decided.

“If they saw anything valuable on either of us, they would have taken it. And if they had to grab us and move us around, they might have realized we weren’t dead. Or they would have…” He fell silent and looked back at the so-called road.

Would have what? She was about to ask when she thought of the driver with his finger missing. She nodded, grateful that Tariq had had the presence of mind to think of everything.

“Husam was at your meeting this morning?” he asked. “The more I think about it, the less I believe this could have been a random attack. They might have known he was coming, and lain in wait for him.”

“What about the two men in the other car?”

He thought for a second. “Minor managers. And nobody tried to take them. They were shot in cold blood.”

“An assassination? Maybe they were the true target.”

“But then why take Husam? I think that’s the real clue,” Tariq said.

She tended to agree with him. “When the others went up to the helipad, he stayed behind to make a call. He sounded…I don’t know. I didn’t understand anything he was saying. But he sounded angry and stressed. Maybe he told whoever he was talking to that he was headed for the desert. Maybe he was betrayed?” She didn’t much care for Husam, but she hated to think of anyone in the hands of ruthless bandits. God knew what they would do to him.

“Possible,” Tariq said, tight-lipped. “Did he know at that time that you’d be taking the cars instead of the chopper? You were still heading for the roof when we met.”

“I was told as soon as I got up there that the helicopter needed repairs. Someone could have called him already. Maybe that’s why he never went up.”

“Was there anything strange about your leaving? Do you remember him talking to anyone else in the hallway? Have you noticed anyone watching him?”

“No, but at the meeting…” She hesitated, not wanting to sound like a complete idiot.

“At the meeting?” Tariq’s gaze was sharp as he studied her face.

“He was looking at me. A lot.”

His expression softened, a corner of his mouth turning up. “For that, you must forgive us.”

Meaning what? That he thought Husam liked the way she looked, and maybe he shared that feeling? Husam’s interest left her cold, but the possibility that Tariq would be attracted to her sent heat skittering through her. There had to be another explanation to his words. She wasn’t about to ask.

She remembered another detail. “We were supposed to visit the well this morning. When we were delayed, Husam recommended that we not go until tomorrow. Jeff wouldn’t hear of it. Maybe Husam had a premonition.”

Tariq tapped his long fingers on the steering wheel as he considered that. “Why was Husam with you, but none of the others you met with?”

“The site supervisor was expecting us. We were supposed to take the chopper without escort. Husam decided only midmeeting that he would come along.”

They drove in silence for a while, until Tariq leaned forward and narrowed his eyes, gesturing toward the horizon. “The oasis. We are almost there.”

She stared ahead through the steam that rose from under the hood. Then stared harder still as the scene unfolded before them. Instead of the tourist picture her mind had conjured, straight ahead was an abandoned construction site in the middle of nowhere, a ghost town of steel and cement.

Tariq slowed and looked toward the west for a long moment, making her nervous. Did he see something? She searched the distance, looking for any dark spots that might be approaching trucks.

“What? What do you see?” Dread and fear were choking her. Don’t let it be bandits! Anything but that.

But when he spoke, the news he shared with her was even more frightening, his voice as grim as his expression.

“We better hurry. There’s a sandstorm coming,” he said as he stepped on the gas.

Chapter Three

He wasn’t the sort of man who dealt well with failure. Seeing the abandoned construction site that had been his pet project set Tariq’s teeth on edge. Yet it was nothing but a minor annoyance compared to the rage that he felt over the attack, over his men being killed, over Sara Reeves being put in danger. He was mad at himself, too, for not anticipating it, for being unable to do more.

The Hummer was barely rolling. At this stage, they would have moved faster on foot, but he didn’t want to abandon the vehicle in plain sight.

“This is the oasis?” Sara stared at him with incredulity in her expressive blue eyes that said she found the place hideous.

She, on the other hand, was beautiful, even covered with sand and blood. And what kind of man was he to notice things like that after what had just happened to his men?

“It will be,” he stated. He didn’t need one more person to question or make fun of his enterprise, whether she had the most beguiling eyes he’d ever seen or not. “Who was Jeff Myers to you?”

More than a business partner; on that Tariq would stake his life. He’d seen the way the man had looked at Sara when he thought nobody was watching.

She glanced away. “An old friend.”

He waited.

“We were supposed to get married. B. T. Reeves was my father’s company. Jeff brought needed capital and got half the firm for it. I inherited the other half after cancer took Dad.” She pressed her lips together as if she’d said too much. “Everything was supposed to work out perfectly with the two of us getting married.” She seemed compelled to explain, anyway.

“Except the wedding never happened.” Tariq wanted to know why, realized this wasn’t the time to ask.

“Where is the water?” She seemed eager to move off the subject.

There’d been plenty of tension between her and her partner; Tariq had read that clearly in the car before the attack. Judging from the man’s quiet resentment and sullen attempts to dominate her, she must have been the one who’d broken off the relationship. Jeff Meyers had wanted to regain control, probably to get her back. Tariq couldn’t blame him.

He thought of the tender way she had buried the man she no longer loved, no longer even liked, if their earlier interaction was any indication. But she had worried that his body should be found for his family. She was loyal to the end.

And right now, she was gazing at Tariq expectantly.

Yes, the water. “Under the sand.”

He pulled the Hummer inside one of the buildings, which had walls standing but no doors or windows yet. They hadn’t gotten that far with the project.

She jumped out. “There aren’t any palm trees.”

Her innocent remark pricked him more sharply than it should have.

He wasn’t daft; nobody needed to explain to him what an oasis should look like. Tariq tempered his irritation. He was getting too sensitive about this venture and all the questions that still swirled around it in the media—damaging publicity financed by his enemies.

“Can’t put in landscaping until all the heavy machinery is out of here.” He saw the place as it would be when the work was completed, this room a banquet hall fit for the most discriminating guests. He shook off the sense of frustration as he strode out the back of the building.

“It’s not what I expected.” She trailed after him.

He’d spent his life escaping other people’s expectations. He wasn’t about to start worrying about hers, regardless of whatever unreasonable attraction he felt for her. “The oasis will be a resort with a capital O.”

“Ah,” she said, but appeared uncertain still, her face softening, giving him a glimpse of what she was like with her defenses down. Of course, every expression was appealing on Sara Reeves.

“There was a real oasis here, but the well dried up about fifty years ago.” He searched for the best place to weather the storm, noticing as he did so that the satellite dish was missing. Probably knocked down by the unusually savage storm they’d had a week ago. “When we were looking for a site for a new project and had some surveys done, we found plenty of water. The water table is now deep below the bottom of the well our ancestors dug in the sand.” The desert had gotten drier and drier over the last century.

“So you’re from around here?” She gave him a searching look. “You talk like an American.”

“I lived in the States for a while.” Sometimes he thought it’d been too long, sometimes too short. He watched as her gaze flitted over his buildings. She didn’t seem impressed. It annoyed him more than it should.

“MMPOIL is branching out?” she asked.

“The oil won’t last forever.”

Now was the time to set up other businesses, to start to develop other industries. His people’s future depended on these initiatives, and he took them seriously, even though he’d received plenty of ridicule as a result. His generation had grown up oil rich. They’d seen nothing else, could imagine nothing else. They couldn’t fathom that the revenue and the lifestyle it brought would ever end. And if any such unpleasant thought did cross their minds, they took care of it with a shrug and an insha’ Allah—it’ll be according to Allah’s will.

“This place is huge.” She looked back at him finally. She had eyes the shade of the desert sky right after a rare rain took all the sand particles out of the air. A captivating blue that brightened further the few times she let her guard down, never longer than seconds at a time.

The top of her head was even with his nose. She was slim but strong, inside and out. She might bend, but she wouldn’t break. She had nearly maimed the bandit who’d grabbed her.

Tariq forced his gaze away from her lips, which might look soft if she ever relaxed. “Twenty acres. Someday it’ll be a five-star resort that will draw visitors from all over the world.”

He also had a convention center complex in mind for another location, closer to Tihrin, and a long list of other projects he fought with his enemies to bring to fruition. All things that were suddenly low on his list of priorities.

He headed toward the cluster of luxury villas, the most completed buildings. No doors or windows here, either, but the floors were tiled and the roofs finished, the sunken pools in the bathrooms set up with plumbing, if not yet hooked up to water.

“Wow, this is amazing,” Sara said, with a fair dose of surprise in her voice as she took in the brilliant colors of the mosaic tiles depicting scenes from nature, similar to those at the ancient ruins to the west of them.

“We’ll get water and look for the satellite dish.” The latter had to be near the tall building it’d rested on, probably buried in sand. They had used it during construction to amplify cell phone signals, since the nearest tower was so far away. Tariq needed to talk to his brothers, and let Omar, Husam’s father, know about his son’s abduction, although the kidnappers might have contacted him by now.

Tariq sympathized with the anguish the man must be in, and to a degree, he blamed himself. He should have noticed when the bandits took Husam, and done something to prevent it. He owed as much to Omar, an old family friend who had been there for Tariq’s father until the end. But Tariq had been so focused on Sara, and sure that Husam could hold his own…. No time to dwell on all that now. Before he could be of any help to Husam, he first had to save Sara and himself.

Water. Satellite dish. Car.

If for some reason he couldn’t get a connection, he would fix the Hummer with whatever scraps he could scrounge, and take Sara to the nearest town as soon as the storm blew over.

“You work with the sheik, you must have his direct line,” she was saying. “Even if you think someone from your company might be involved, we could tell him to send only his most trusted men.”

She’d be surprised to know just how few trusted men the sheik had. “Stay here,” Tariq murmured.

The building provided shade, the windows strategically placed so that even without air-conditioning the cross breeze would bring relief to the occupants. He moved through the villa, squinting against the sun when he stepped outside and headed for the trailers the workers had used before they left. Padlocked. He strode back to the Hummer for the tire iron and used it to bust the lock on one door.

The four cots inside made for cramped quarters, and the air was stale, still carrying the smell of sweat that clung to the bedding. He dug through a tin chest at the foot of one bed and took the single clean blanket. His next stop was the canteen. There, he got a twenty-liter pot, used the tire iron to break the Plexiglas in the vending machine, and filled the container nearly to the brim with small packages of snacks, before returning to the villa.

“Hungry?”

She was sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, eyeing the food he carried.

He tossed the blanket onto the floor and spread it out with her help, then poured his loot in the middle. “I’ll go get water.” And he’d keep an eye out for that satellite dish. On the off chance he had been the main target of the attack, he wanted to warn his brothers. If someone was after control of MMPOIL, they would be next.

“What can I do to help?” She stood gracefully, although she had to be exhausted both physically and emotionally. She walked to the door with him.

“See if there’s anything left in the car we might need while we’re here.” He hurried toward the main water pipe, keeping her in his line of sight as she made her way back to the Hummer.

She disappeared inside the building only briefly, soon coming back into view with what looked like an armload of garbage.

When the pot was filled, Tariq started to return, but something caught his eye near an outlying building.

“I’ll go look around,” he called out, waiting until she reached the villa before he did so. His gaze settled on the shapeless business suit she wore—probably in deference to the customs of his country. Idly, he wondered how she dressed at home, in her own element. His mind readily skipped to form-fitting, skin-revealing outfits he’d seen plenty of during his time in California.

He thought of those years with nostalgia. Nothing would ever be that simple for him again. He had grown an impenetrable shell in the four years since he’d been back in Beharrain, an armor needed to protect him from his enemies, from the pain of betrayals. Only lately had he been realizing that while it served its purpose of staving off attacks, his shield was also beginning to imprison him.

He set the water down and strode toward the distant lines in the sand. Sara Reeves had asked him to send for his most trusted men. Truth was, he did not, could not, trust anyone except Omar—the man who had been a mentor to him since his return—and his brothers. He would ask his brothers for help. He wanted to get Sara away from danger, wanted to be back in the city himself, back in his own element. Once the sandstorm passed, tracking the bandits would be impossible, all signs of them erased. He would have to use other avenues to investigate.

Omar and all his manpower and wealth were probably working on finding Husam already.

The tire tracks came from the west and disappeared into a partially completed building that would be a hotel someday, fashioned after a famous medieval palace that had stood along one of the caravan routes many hundreds of years ago. Tariq preferred modern architecture like his company headquarters, but the resort had been designed to please tourists and fulfill their expectations.

Clenching his teeth, he kept his eyes fixed on the ground. It looked as if a number of trucks had passed in and out during the last couple of days. Any earlier and winds would have swept away the tracks by now. This was the season for sandstorms.

Tariq entered the building carefully. Only the first two floors were standing, nothing but the load-bearing walls. He checked around, but didn’t find anything beyond some trash and cigarette butts. A gust of wind rose and pushed against him as he came out and strode across the sand.

“I got all the empty bottles,” Sara said as he walked in with the pot of water. “We can fill them up for the road.”

He nodded. In the desert, water was always the first thought—and the last.

“And I got everything that would burn,” she added. “In case we need to start a fire. I found a lighter.”

He listened to the desert for a few seconds, not liking what he heard. The winds heading for them were strong. “We’ll probably stay the night.” There was plenty of scrap wood around the construction site, and what she’d gathered would make perfect kindling.

She deposited her load in a corner, then gestured toward the door. “So what happened here? Why was this place abandoned?” She brought the bottles to him.

“Put on hold,” he corrected. He wasn’t the type to give up on something he’d started. Although some said his years of living abroad had washed the Bedu blood from his veins, apparently, enough remained. He would not give up the fight. “Permits were recalled.”

Suddenly, and without any explanation, about three months ago. Just like everything else he’d tried to do, this project had met an impenetrable wall. He had a hard time getting new businesses off the ground. And even MMPOIL, which tens of thousands of his people depended on for survival, was regularly sabotaged. Tariq had managed to keep the company together only with sheer will and unending vigilance.

He didn’t want to think that Omar had been right when he’d opposed the new projects. Tariq had put it down to the old man’s age. But perhaps Omar knew the country better and was more realistic.

A pang of guilt pricked Tariq at how much he owed Omar. And now he had let his mentor down by losing his eldest son.

“Did you have a bad builder? You’d think people who worked for a sheik would pay attention. Why were the permits revoked?” Sara tilted her head, exposing her graceful, slim neck, an expanse of creamy skin.

“Politics. Who knows?”

Her blue eyes hardened. She probably knew something about corporate maneuvering.

Tariq could go back at any time to the life and the company he had left behind in Sacramento. He’d been a valued executive there. Their doors would always be open to him, they had said. Staying there would have been easier. Certainly safer. But his fate, his destiny awaited in the desert he barely knew, and with the people who treated him as a foreigner. People whom, nevertheless, he loved. He cared little about the danger to his life, only to the degree that it would affect those who worked for him, and depended on him for their own safety.

His men had been killed today, Husam taken. The bandits had meant to take Sara, too. That had to be a coincidence. They’d seen her and wanted her; what man wouldn’t? He couldn’t fathom her being in any way connected to them. But he couldn’t let any option go unexamined.

“Is this your first trip to the Middle East?” He watched her closely as he unscrewed the caps.

“And likely the last,” she said. “No offense.”

He could detect no telltale sign of deceit in her gestures or her voice. She had clear, honest eyes. If someone wanted her kidnapped, it would have been so much easier to do from her hotel, at night when she was alone, rather than when she was with a convoy that included armed guards. And who would have known about them going by car instead of taking the chopper, anyhow?

He thought of something else. When he did make his call, he was definitely going to ask for the helicopter to be looked at for signs of tampering. Until he knew more about that, he would focus on their only clue so far: Husam.

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