Dana Marton - The Sheikh Who Stole Her - Sheikh Seduction / The Untamed Sheikh / Desert King, Doctor Daddy

Tariq crouched by another tire and sank his knife into it.

“How did this happen?”

“Who is responsible?”

People were coming back from scouring the construction site, talking with vehemence. He listened, then swore when he caught bits and pieces of the diatribe. Some bodies had been found. The bandits were organizing a search of the buildings.

He glanced toward the other truck, in plain sight of the men. Couldn’t reach it without being seen … He had to get Sara out of here.

Unnoticed by the bandits who were milling about up front, shouting and shaking their weapons, he walked toward the other truck and stuck the knife in one tire. But he couldn’t do more without risking discovery, so he headed out, regretfully leaving behind the tire iron that had served him so well until now. He couldn’t afford to catch the bandits’ attention with anything that seemed out of place.

He kept his head turned away from them, but walked with brisk confidence, a man on a mission.

“You stay with the shipment,” one of them barked at him, apparently mistaking him for the man whose clothes he wore.

“Be back in a minute,” he said without slowing, making his voice scratchy, as if something was stuck in the back of his throat, or as if he’d just woken up.

The man grabbed him by the arm.

If he tried to explain his way out of this, chances were they would realize the voice wasn’t right, nor were the eyes. There weren’t so many of them that they wouldn’t know each other. So he simply turned and shrugged the man off with impatience.

He almost made it. It came down to a stupid bit of chance, a coincidence. As the guy gestured in displeasure, the barrel of his rifle got caught in Tariq’s headdress and pulled it off.

Tariq had just enough time to register that the game was lost.

The next second a dozen guns were pointed at his head.

WHERE WAS HE?

“Come on, come on, come on,” Sara whispered.

There was an awful lot of movement near the buildings, a lot of shouting. And the sounds were coming her way. She sat in the Hummer, expecting Tariq to come flying in so they could take off, but he didn’t appear.

If anyone came up to the building before Tariq got here, he’d be sure to check out the vehicle. Under the circumstances, this didn’t seem like the best place to hide. She got out, careful not to slam the door behind her, and looked around. No place to conceal herself here. She went to the back window. Bandits were running in and out of buildings, as if searching for something. It wouldn’t be long before they reached her.

Fear and desperation coursed through her as she grabbed the gun Tariq had left her. Her other hand held the satellite phone. She would do what she had to, but facing the men head-on would be suicide. And the first one would reach her within seconds.

She tucked the gun and the phone into the waistband of her suit—there was plenty of room, considering they’d barely eaten since yesterday—and rushed back to the car. Stepping up on the hood, she jumped and pulled herself up to the roof through a hole in the ceiling. At least, she tried to.

She was a businesswoman, one too busy to spend regular time at the gym. She bit her lip. It didn’t seem this hard in the movies. Where was her upper body strength? Apparently, working on a keyboard all day long did nothing for her biceps. And her skirt wasn’t helping, either. After a few seconds, it became abundantly clear why action flick heroines always wore pants.

Sara swung her legs and felt the gun slip, clenched her teeth with frustration. The only saving grace was that the weapon fell onto the sand instead of the car, making no noise at all. She swung harder on the next try and gained purchase with her feet at last, rolling away from the hole a fraction of a second before the first bandit rushed inside.

She held her breath, grateful that at least she still had the phone.

The man shouted for the others, who arrived in a hurry. She heard some banging. Were they kicking the car?

The engine started.

No, no, no. She and Tariq needed that to get out of the desert. What could she do? Distract the men until Tariq got there? What if he wasn’t coming? She didn’t want to consider that possibility. Lying low seemed to be the smartest thing for now. With some luck, they could get the car back once they regrouped.

Exhaust wafted up through the hole next to her. She fought not to cough.

Then the vehicle began to move, the sound changing as someone put it in gear and drove outside. They didn’t go far before they stopped. She crawled toward the partially completed wall that would frame the upper floor of the building someday, hoping to get a glimpse of what was going on. Gunshots went off the next second, freezing her to the spot. At first she thought they might have seen her somehow, but no bullets pinged anywhere nearby.

Tariq?

Then an explosion shook the building, deafening her. She lay flat on her stomach. Oh, God .

Those bastards had blown up the Hummer. Why? What sense did that make? But of course, the idiots didn’t need a reason. They were ticked off, and did whatever they damn well pleased. A peek over a low spot in the wall revealed a smoldering pile of twisted metal, confirming her worst fears.

Best case scenario—she and Tariq would manage to evade the bandits and survive. Yet they would still be stuck in the middle of the desert. Sara clung to the satellite phone, their only hope at this stage. The men were laughing as they strode back where they’d come from.

One of the trucks was rolling out of their headquarters. A couple of men jumped on, while others went inside. A few seconds later, two reappeared, dragging a man to the back of the truck. He was dressed like the others, but his wide shoulders seemed familiar. Tariq? Her heartbeat raced. She couldn’t make out the man’s bloody face. He seemed deathly still.

Fear and shock clutched her heart, and pain sliced into her chest. She waited for an eternity, her mind in turmoil, before the other truck appeared, as well. Then the bandits drove away. She waited some more, hoping Tariq would emerge from one of the buildings. When it became clear that he wouldn’t, she went back to the hole.

They had taken her gun. She stared at the bare sand at least nine feet below her. No other way down but to jump.

If she broke a leg, she was as good as dead.

Not that she would survive all that long up here in the beating sun, without water. She stuck the phone in the back of her waistband and leaned forward to make sure she wouldn’t fall on it. She would still be better off with a working phone and a broken leg than the other way around. She took a deep breath and jumped, yelping in pain when she landed hard on her feet and fell over, the shock reverberating up her shinbones.

She stood gingerly, testing her ankles. No major damage. She said a brief prayer of thanks as she limped to the door. The trucks were dark points in the distance.

She stared at the charred remains of the Hummer for a brief second, registering anew that she was trapped here. Then she flexed her ankles and started out in search of Tariq, scared of what she would find. The tension in her spine tightened with each empty building she walked through.

No sign of him anywhere.

Except for the bloodstain on the floor of the main building the bandits had slept in. They’d taken him. The realization was too scary to accept, but she couldn’t deny it. She was his only hope. She needed to get with the program and make a plan. Where would they take him? She wouldn’t allow herself to think that he might not be alive.

“Don’t let him be hurt,” she whispered into the empty air, fighting the desperation that threatened to engulf her. She was alone, without a car or a weapon. But she refused to think that all was lost. She had the phone.