Captive of the Desert King

by Donna Young

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know each other?” Jarek asked, even as his eyes rested on his son.

  Rashid hadn’t left Sarah’s side since they’d been rescued.

  “Yes, Your Majesty, we have mutual friends. Ian and Lara MacAlister.”

  “Ian. I’d forgotten.” Jarek frowned. “Did you find the plane?”

  “No,” the giant answered after a moment. “But if you have the coordinates—”

  “Ramon is dead, Quamar. We will retrieve his body at the first opportunity. But first I want to make sure everything is secure at the palace.”

  Jarek’s words were even, emotionless. But Quamar knew his cousin better than anyone. The loss of Ramon would’ve hit Jarek hard, but as in the manner of the king, he would grieve in private.

  “Understandable,” Quamar replied, his voice hushed as Rashid darted from Sarah to his father’s side. Already from the smiles, the soft pat of her hand on the child’s face, Quamar could see a unit formed between the three. He just didn’t know yet if it was a good thing.

  “Sarah saved me, Uncle Quamar.”

  “Yes, she did,” Quamar confirmed, his voice low, and just raspy enough to show the fear that still lingered inside him. It had taken them a half an hour to get the three of them off of the ledge and onto flat ground. A half an hour in which Quamar’s soldiers chased off the remaining Al Asheera rebels.

  “The rocks came down and hit me. I lost my balance and went over the side.”

  “And Sarah caught you?”

  “Yes.” Rashid held up both his hands where bruises dotted his wrists. “She didn’t let go even when the scorpion stung her.”

  “She is a hero.” Quamar stood beside his nephew, his own hands folded behind his back to cover their trembling. “If it were me, I would have saved you simply so I could lecture you about scaring myself and your Aunt Anna half to death with your disappearance.”

  “But my note told you where to find me,” Rashid said, but he could not hold his uncle’s gaze.

  “Yes, it did. Just in time, too,” Quamar agreed, then tipped his nephew’s chin up with a gentle finger. “And for that, we are all very grateful.”

  “Aunt Sandra!”

  Quamar and Jarek turned in unison. A woman, dressed efficiently in khaki cotton trousers and a short-sleeved blouse, approached. She was petite, looked to be no more than thirty years old with a short cap of dark hair that feathered at the ends.

  “Hi, handsome.” Dr. Sandra Haddad hugged Rashid to her. “Are you okay? Any concussions?” Sandra studied Rashid’s eyes for a moment.

  “He’s fine,” Quamar responded for his nephew.

  “Your Majesty.” Sandra opted out of the formal courtesy and instead, slightly bowed her head.

  “You’re quite a ways from your clinic, Sandra.” Jarek stepped forward and gave her a hug. “But I’m certainly glad to see you.”

  “Sandra was out in the field when we heard the news. I radioed her helicopter pilot with your location.” Quamar stepped back and gestured to Sarah. “Sarah Kwong, this is Doctor Sandra Haddad. Her father, Omar, is Taer’s main physician. Sandra grew up with us here. Sandra, Sarah battled a scorpion.”

  “Unfortunately, there is little we can do for a scorpion bite,” Sandra responded, setting down a black medical bag near Sarah.

  “Death Stalkers are the most poisonous in the desert,” Rashid commented. “Isn’t that right, Aunt Sandra?”

  “Yes, they are.” She took a syringe from her bag along with a few antiseptic wipes. “This is going to hurt, Miss Kwong.”

  “More than the sting does?” Sarah asked jokingly.

  “Possibly,” Sandra admitted with a twitch to her lips.

  “Then I guess you’d better call me Sarah. Because if it hurts too much, I might be calling you other names besides Doctor.”

  Sandra laughed, a deep feminine chuckle that had both men glancing their way. “I’ll give you something to take the edge off the pain in a minute.”

  “Anyone who can joke over pain will live a while longer,” Quamar commented wryly to Jarek. Then he caught his cousin’s face, the firm set of his jaw. He understood what both meant. “This wasn’t your fault, Jarek. If anything, you saved her from a horrible death. A sting from a scorpion is easier to survive than the strike of an Al Asheera sword.”

  “The pain will stay with her for a day or so,” Jarek murmured. “They bugged her purse. Either with or without her consent.”

  While they watched, Sandra wound a white bandage around Sarah’s arm, then tied the material off.

  “So the next time you want a morning to yourself, take a satellite phone and GPS unit with you,” Quamar reasoned. “I will not have to rely on a smoke signal to find you.”

  “I injected a synthetic anti venom,” Sandra interrupted. “Then gave her a sedative to help with the pain. She still needs to spend the night in the hospital for observation. Scorpion stings tend to cause nausea and fevers.”

  “Not the hospital. The palace,” Jarek ordered, then in a lower voice he added, “I want a twenty-four-hour watch on her.”

  Quamar raised his eyebrow, but said nothing.

  “Send some men to the northeast peak. We left the horses in a cave there. The one with the spring and rock trough.”

  “I will. I’ll have the pilot radio ahead to the palace.” Quamar looked at Sarah. “You will be well taken care of.”

  “ONE HUNDRED AND ONE,” Sandra observed and pulled the thermometer from Sarah’s ear. She popped off the plastic cover into a nearby wastebasket. “Still a little high. But with rest you should be fine. No more tangling with scorpions.”

  “Deal.” Sarah grimaced against the ache in her muscles and bones. Slowly she eased back into goose-down bed pillows.

  True to his word, Jarek had her delivered to one of the royal suites in the palace. Although she hadn’t seen more than the king-size bed covered and canopied in mixtures of dark claret and pale roses, the soft decadent combination of satin and cotton were nothing less than heavenly after two days in the desert.

  “You know, we met about four years ago. At one of your Las Vegas seminars on synthetic viruses.”

  “Really?” Sandra picked up the water pitcher from the table and poured some into a glass.

  “I was in a mob of reporters.”

  “I’m sure to remember you now,” she teased and handed Sarah two pills and a glass of water. “Take these. They will help you sleep.”

  “I doubt I’ll need much help.” Even with Sandra’s assistance, it had taken Sarah more than an hour to get cleaned up and put back to bed. Once she was there, the exhaustion took over. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “You had quite a reputation a few years back. One that extended out of your research. Then all of a sudden, you dropped off the radar. Why?”

  “Sometimes a job can consume a person,” Sandra answered easily. “Mine was one of them. So I decided to take a break.”

  “I see.” Instinctively, Sarah believed there was more to the story, but she decided to let it go.

  “You’ll have a slight fever for the next twenty-four hours and your arm will hurt for a few days. Keep it bandaged to avoid infection and after today, take aspirin for the pain. The swelling should be down by the morning.”

  Sandra placed her stethoscope in her bag and snapped it shut. “I have to say, I’m glad you’re the one who was stung. If that scorpion had gotten to Rashid, he’d be in a much more serious position now. Children cannot fight the venom as well.”

  “Hello, Auntie Sandra!” Rashid rushed in and threw himself at Sandra.

  “Hello again, handsome.” Sandra caught him against her legs and gave him a hug. “How are you?”

  “Good.” Rashid pulled away and sat on the bed, his hands hidden behind his back. “Sarah, Uncle Quamar saved Taaj and Ping. He said other than being hungry, they were no worse for their adventure.”

  “I’m glad, Rashid. Very glad.”

&n
bsp; “Does it hurt?”

  Sarah opted for a portion of the truth. “Some, but nothing like earlier.”

  “I’ll give her some medicine that will make the pain go away for a while.”

  “I’m glad.” Rashid smiled, his hands still behind his back. “Uncle Quamar says you are a hero and should be acknowledged at the Independence Ball, the day after tomorrow.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “He said he’s going to talk to Papa about it. After all, you saved the Prince of Taer.” Rashid pointed his thumb at his chest and giggled. “I’m important, you know.”

  Sarah laughed. “Yes, you are.”

  Sandra kissed his forehead. “I think that you had better start figuring out how you’re going to explain your actions to your father, now that you’re home safe and sound.”

  “Do you think he’ll forget?” Rashid’s small eyebrows drew together. “Papa has been very busy since we’ve been back.”

  “I seriously doubt it, Rashid,” Sarah said, silently adding it would take a long time for her to forget that kind of fear.

  Sandra caught her gaze knowingly. “So, young man, what are you hiding?”

  “A book.” Rashid pulled it out from behind his back. “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves.”

  “The story your Aunt Anna always reads to you when you’re sick,” Sarah remembered.

  “It always makes me feel better.”

  “It’s Anna’s favorite, isn’t it, Rashid,” Sandra acknowledged. “She even has a camel named Morgiana.”

  “The slave girl from the book,” Sarah inserted.

  “Yes,” Sandra replied. She took the book from Rashid and flipped through the worn pages. “Quamar calls the animal Anna’s pet. She’s had it since—”

  “Since she saved me from certain death when I was a baby,” Rashid interrupted. He climbed up next to Sarah’s side. “That’s what Uncle Quamar says.”

  “And that is exactly what happened.” Sandra ruffled the young boy’s hair.

  Suddenly shy, he asked Sarah, “Would you like me to read to you and see if you feel better, too?”

  Tears pricked Sarah’s eyes. If she hadn’t loved the little boy already, she would’ve fallen in that instant. She put her good arm around him and hugged him close. “I would like that very much.”

  “Then I’ll leave you both to it.” Sandra picked up her bag and kissed the young prince on the forehead. “Just don’t stay too long, Rashid. Even heroes need their rest.”

  “SO ARE YOU GOING TO TELL ME how you know Sarah Kwong?” Quamar asked as he shut the office door to allow Jarek and him more privacy.

  “Why are you so sure that I do?” Jarek leaned back in his chair and looked at the giant across from his desk. They’d grown up together, more brothers than cousins. Jarek trusted no other as much, besides his Uncle Bari, and understood no other could read him better. Still, the fact Quamar had noticed anything rubbed him wrong.

  “I have seen the way you look at her.” Quamar waved a dismissive hand. “And others will, too, if you do not take care.”

  Jarek sighed. “I met Sarah eight years ago in New York at a political affair hosted by President Robert Cambridge. A few years before Jon Mercer took office. She and her father, Dr. Shen Kwong, attended.”

  “Anna’s father,” Quamar murmured, trying to place the name. “I seem to remember that he and your father were good friends.”

  “Yes. Dr. Kwong is a well-known professor of history. He won the Pulitzer prize for his work on the early Chinese migration to the United States quite a few years ago,” Jarek replied. “My father had a passion for history. It was only a matter of time before they crossed paths.”

  “Small world,” Quamar commented. “My mother worked with Dr. Kwong several times.” Theresa Bazan, Quamar’s mother, was a well-known, Pulitzer-winning, Italian photo journalist who had died years before at the hands of the Al Asheera. “I can remember her speaking highly of him.”

  “I accompanied my parents to New York and attended the ball. Robert Cambridge introduced me to Sarah and her parents that night,” Jarek continued, shrugging. “I ran into Sarah alone later that evening on the balcony. One night turned into a romantic weekend.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. I discovered she was a journalist and so I left.”

  “Simple enough,” Quamar said wryly. “And mutual, I take it?”

  “No,” Jarek admitted with some reluctance. “I was angry she hadn’t told me, so I became…unavailable once I returned to Taer.”

  Quamar grunted. “Not your most diplomatic moment.”

  “At the time, it was more than I figured she deserved.”

  “That’s not like you, Jarek. You do not become judge and jury without getting all of the facts.”

  “This was different somehow,” Jarek acknowledged for the first time. “She was different.”

  “You were falling in love with her.”

  “No. Nothing liked that,” Jarek denied. “But I had expected the newspapers to be filled with articles of our affair.”

  “And were they?”

  “No.” Jarek lifted a casual shoulder. “But my father was still alive at the time and Taer did not become well-known until a few years later when we discovered the oil. I assumed her story got buried.”

  “Or there might never have been a story.”

  “It doesn’t matter either way,” Jarek stated. “Later that same year, I met Saree and we married.”

  “So Saree was your rebound from Sarah,” Quamar surmised. “Fate does have a certain way of interfering with love does it not?”

  “I did not love Sarah, Quamar.” But the doubt was there, mocking him.

  Quamar ignored the denial. “Out of curiosity. Who told you Sarah was a journalist?”

  Jarek stiffened. “Hassan.”

  Their uncle, Hassan, had been killed during the rebellion. But only after Jarek and Quamar had discovered he was the traitor behind the uprising.

  “You’re suggesting that Hassan wanted my marriage with Saree to take place, so he sabotaged my affair with Sarah.”

  “As I said,” Quamar murmured. “Small world.”

  “YOU SAW THE REACTION the people gave Sarah as they brought her from the plane. Do you remember anything close to that kind of loyalty toward Saree?”

  “Saree did not save her son from a cliff.”

  “No, she only gave birth to him.”

  “Damn it, Quamar. Enough,” Jarek snapped. “Is there anything else you wanted discussed?”

  “Yes.” Quamar accepted that he had pushed his cousin almost too far. It was time for a small retreat to let Jarek think about their conversation.

  “Anna and the children are leaving for Washington in two days. Right after the Independence Day Ball.”

  Ever since Anna and Quamar had married, Anna had acted as Jarek’s official hostess for most of Taer’s formal events.

  “Anna would also like to know if Sarah’s stay has been extended. And if she will be attending the ball?”

  “Yes,” Jarek answered, frowning. “I can’t see any way of not inviting her now that she is a local hero.”

  Quamar’s lips twitched with amusement. “You have been speaking with Rashid.”

  “No, I heard it from everyone Rashid has talked to. Including Anna.”

  “She can’t wait to meet Sarah,” Quamar commented. “The only reason why she hasn’t yet, is because Sandra had wanted Sarah to rest first.”

  “And has she?”

  “Yes, but only after Rashid read her a story.”

  “He did?” Jarek frowned.

  “It is harmless, Jarek.” Quamar reassured him. “Anna reads Ali Baba to the children when they are sick. Rashid is only doing what he knows.”

  Jarek nodded, but it was obvious he didn’t like the bond forming between his son and the reporter. “You have told no one of Anna and the children’s flight plan, right?”

  “Right. Neither has Anna. It will not be hard. The
plane is always ready in case of emergencies, so I will have no problem flying out without being seen until it is too late. And I will keep the aircraft at a high altitude.

  “I have a friend meeting us in Morocco with his leer jet,” Quamar added. “From there Anna will fly to the United States with the children, and I will return here.”

  “Make sure Anna does not discuss her plans with Sarah when she visits.”

  “I will. But I do not agree that Sarah is behind the plane crash,” Quamar stated with quiet strength. “Do you really think she would have risked her own life with that tracking device, simply to take yours?”

  “She is either the victim or the villain.”

  “A villain who saved your son,” Quamar commented.

  “We’ve just discussed the fact that we’ve been betrayed before. By those who supposedly loved Rashid,” Jarek stated, his voice emotionless. “If the Al Asheera found out the flight times and planted the device, they had help from someone here inside the palace.”

  “As your advisor, I would suggest Sarah is made a priority, not the enemy. Just for the time she is here. In this case, bad publicity might hurt our diplomatic relations with the United States.”

  “What do you suggest, that she accompanies me everywhere?”

  “That would be best. Leave her in the royal guest suite. The rooms are far enough apart to keep any rumors from starting, but close enough if the necessity rises, Your Majesty.”

  “You call me ‘Your Majesty’ only when we are in public or when you are reminding me of my position.”

  “And we are not in public,” Quamar admitted, then sighed. “We both were trained as soldiers, Jarek. You are qualified to keep an eye on her.”

  Jarek studied his cousin for a moment. “I will consider it.”

  Quamar nodded, hiding his smile until he turned away. It wasn’t going to be easy, but this might be what Jarek needed to be whole again.

  “Where is she?”

  “In her room. Safe,” Quamar said, his eyebrow raised. “I have posted two guards outside her door.”

  “Which two?”

  “Bash and Ivan.”

  Jarek nodded. They were seasoned guards having survived the rebellion five years before. “She has been here less than two days and she is already a problem.”