Captive of the Desert King. Donna YoungЧитать онлайн книгу.
prince?” Murad took a moment to digest that bit of information. “What about Ramon?”
“He’s dead,” Oruk explained. “Roldo found him in the cockpit. Or what was left of him.”
“That’s not good enough, Oruk.” Murad eyes narrowed. “We had a deal. One that’s cost me a tremendous amount of money.”
Oruk studied the red tip of his cigar. “There is nothing to worry about. Instead of being on the plane, the king was in the desert with his son. An outing of sorts. Fate placed him and the boy in the vicinity of the crash site.”
“I don’t believe in fate.”
“Destiny, then.” Oruk smiled at his own joke. “Either way, it is good luck for us.”
Murad swore. “And yet the king is still alive.”
“Like I said.” Roldo shoved his knife back in his boot and stood. “My men have staked out the caves and are waiting to move in at daylight. The cliffs are too risky in the dark. I’ll lose good men.”
“Take the risk,” Murad snapped, his lips curling back on his teeth in anger. He stepped up to Roldo, going toe-to-toe with the mercenary. “We had an agreement. The king and his son dead. They’ve accommodated you by being together, don’t mess it up. We haven’t been able to get this close to him or his son in a long time. Understand me?”
“I understand that you will take care of the buyers and the shipments,” Oruk answered for Roldo. He walked to the bar cart to pour himself a shot of whiskey. “And I will take care of the Royals and your gambling debts once we have control of Taer.”
“I also provided the weapons,” Murad reminded him.
“And I provided the Al Asheera,” Oruk countered, then signaled Roldo to step away from Murad. When the little man moved, Oruk continued. “We are all doing our part.”
“I’ll believe that, Oruk, when Roldo takes care of the king and his son.”
“In my time, Murad.” Oruk’s tone hardened. “Not yours.”
“Time is running out,” Murad warned. “Soon Jarek will sign the agreement with the Americans.”
“Agreed.” Oruk flicked his ashes, let them fall to the rug. “But once we control the throne, it will not matter. The death of the reporter will only widen the rift with the Americans.”
“What about his cousin, Quamar? And Sheik Bari?”
“I imagine Quamar will be searching soon,” Oruk reasoned. “It will take time for him to notify Bari. By then, we’ll have the king and his son.”
“You had better.” Murad pulled back the tent opening. “I have a meeting in the city. Notify me when you have them.”
Roldo spat on the ground after Murad left. “He whines too much.”
“And you screwed up.” Irritation scraped at Oruk’s nerves, but he forced the emotion back. Understanding the mentality of the mercenary, made it easier to control him. “Bring me the Royals and you will have the pleasure of killing Murad when its time.”
“I would like that.”
The bed curtain flickered and Oruk’s loins grew heavy. He finished the shot of whiskey, then put down his glass.
“Screw up again, Roldo, and I will punish you myself.” Oruk held one side of the curtain open and stepped partway through before turning back to the little man. “Do you understand me?”
“Yes. I understand.” Roldo waited until Oruk disappeared, then he spit again.
This time in front of the curtain.
“WE’LL REST FOR A MOMENT and let the horses breathe a little,” Jarek ordered, then pulled on Taaj’s reins. He leaned down and whispered in his son’s ear, then pointed to a small niche in the wall a few feet away.
“It cannot be too much farther, Sarah,” Rashid told her as he slid off his father’s horse. “Once the path widens, I’m sure we’ll find shelter.”
Jared had stopped mid-height of the sandstone cliffs—a monument of jagged stone and sheered walls, all striped in burnt hues of rust and beige and black shadows.
The evening wind skittered across the dunes, now washed in golden hues from the fading sun.
“It really is beautiful, isn’t it?” Sarah murmured.
“Uncle Quamar says that for those who learn to respect the Sahara, her true beauty is revealed,” Rashid explained.
The little boy had dozed for most of the two-hour trip, leaving nothing but a tension-filled silence between Sarah and his father.
“Your Uncle Quamar seems to say quite a bit, doesn’t he?” Sarah slid from her saddle, happy to give her backside the respite.
“He certainly does,” Jarek commented wryly, then jabbed a thumb at the long wall of cliffs. “There are caves in between the rocks and crevices. We’ve only a little farther to go before we find shelter in one of them. But from here on, we’ll need to travel on foot,” Jarek instructed.
“I’m beginning to think, I’m more of the ‘wave down a taxi with air conditioning’ type of person, Your Highness. No offense to your horse, Prince Rashid.”
“I’m sure she isn’t insulted.” Rashid patted Ping’s neck, just to be sure then nodded toward the niche. “I have to…” He paused, then grinned. “Take care of business.”
“Oh, you do, do ya?” Sarah asked, totally charmed.
“An expression my aunt uses,” Rashid admitted.
Sarah glanced at the small crevice. “Very American, too.”
“Yes. It’s a good one.” This time when Rashid winked, he managed to flutter only one eye.
Sarah felt the familiar bump in her heart.
“You surprise me, Miss Kwong.”
“How?” she asked, her eyes locked on the little boy as he walked a few feet away.
“Rather than a taxi, I thought you’d be more of the ‘jump in the fire-red sports convertible’ type of person.”
The fury whipped through her, split-second fast and razor wicked.
She caught the speed, throttled the anger back. But the wicked broke free and curved her lips. “Actually, I drive a hedonistic black sports convertible. My father’s words, not mine.
“But when I step out with it—usually in a fire-red dress—I wear them both with class. Something my father said comes from good breeding and even better manners.”
She heard the hiss, a rasp of air caught between clenched jaws but she didn’t turn, simply because she didn’t care. Maybe it was the fact he’d come close to the mark, or the fact that she’d already spent the day surviving a plane crash and dodging madmen with machine guns. Or maybe she just couldn’t understand how a jaded man like Jarek could have such a wonderful little boy like Rashid.
In the end, none of it mattered. Even the possibility of being sent home on the next available flight out of Taer.
“I deserved that,” Jarek admitted on a sigh. “I apologize, Sarah. My father raised me better also.”
The sincerity caught her, another nudge, but unlike Rashid’s remark, Jarek hit her deeper, in the pit of her stomach.
“Apology accepted.”
“Thank you,” Jarek replied softly, simply. But his gaze, one that had the darkest part of his eyes flaring with awareness, wasn’t simple.
And suddenly, being sent home on the next flight from Taer didn’t sound so bad to Sarah.
STONES,