Surrounding the garden and protecting the women’s quarters were insurmountable walls, three times the height of an ordinary man. Within the house, guards patrolled the hallways.
Nesrin was trapped as surely as if she were back inside Rasheyd’s lamp. Her eyes filled with tears. If only Parker was here, he would find a way to release her. Thoughts of him these past two days had been like a disturbing furrow plowing through her fears. She ached for his presence, yet knew what she really sought was his love. A futile hope.
The jangle of gold bracelets announced the arrival of Rasheyd’s senior wife. Her nose was nearly as long as his, her dark eyes even more evil. Inside the confines of the women’s quarters, away from the eyes of strangers, she wore a Western-style sundress that hung from her bony shoulders like a dress on a hanger.
“My husband grows impatient,” Tuëma said. “You must tell him where the emeralds are.”
“I have said I know nothing of the jewels he seeks.” Actually, now that she was back in her homeland, she thought—given enough time and the ancient inscriptions on the lamp as guidance—she could find Rasheyd’s buried room. Not that she could be sure the jewels would still be there, but the possibility was a tantalizing one.
A wistful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she thought how the emeralds and rubies would be more than enough to save Parker’s ranch.
Tuëma’s scowl deepened. “I warn you, you have no cause to smile. Rasheyd is planning to have you dance for his friends this evening. Afterward, he intends something special for you.” She eyed Nesrin with little sympathy.
Nesrin’s stomach roiled at the possibility. “Then help me escape, Tuëma. I will find a way to go back to America.” To what? she wondered, remembering the bleak remoteness in Parker’s eyes. “Surely you do not wish your husband to—”
“I want the jewels as much as he does. Perhaps more.” Her narrow lips twisted into an ugly caricature of a smile. “If Rasheyd succeeds, he will see that I am well cared for.”
“At what cost, Tuëma? Do you think so little of yourself that you would willingly share your husband with another woman?” Nesrin could not bear the thought of Parker partnering with another, even if he were to give her a sheikh’s ransom in jewels.
Tuëma shrugged. “In that I have no choice.” Narrowing her gaze, she jabbed Nesrin’s chest with a long, bony finger. “Tell me now of the emeralds, or I shall do nothing to halt my husband’s plans.”
Nesrin felt sick at heart. She knew no matter what she said, Tuëma would do nothing to stop her husband. Unlike the women Nesrin remembered from her childhood, this woman was ruled by greed.
Only by denying any knowledge of the emeralds would Nesrin be able to escape the avarice of both husband and wife. She could but hope they would believe her ignorance and spare her the humiliation of submitting.
In spite of the midday heat, Nesrin shivered. Whatever happened, in her heart she would remember only the joy she had found in Parker’s arms when she had still dreamed he could love her.
* * *
IF A MAN KNEW WHERE he was going he’d be able to make his way through the maze of the town’s streets blindfolded. Every alley had a different scent—sawed pine dust where the carpenters worked, oil and grease an aromatic backdrop for automobile repair shops, all of which gave way on adjoining streets to coriander, turmeric, and the acrid scent of chickens, both living and dead.
Unfortunately, Parker didn’t quite know where he was going.
He’d been in this small desert country for two days. Using generous bribes, and a fair amount of arm-twisting, he had finally gotten an address of sorts for Rasheyd. Not that the houses had anything as simple as a number posted to distinguish one from the other. It turned out the guy was a minor sheikh, and had a reputation for acting like a school-yard bully.
He’d also been informed a big party was scheduled for that evening at Rasheyd’s, one where a new dancing girl would be on display. Nesrin, he was sure. And from the smug way the informant had told him, Parker guessed she would be in serious trouble if he didn’t get her out of there before the evening was over.
He wished he’d had more time to plan her escape.
Decked out in the local native costume of a flowing white robe and a turban wrapped around his head, Parker strolled along trying to look as if he belonged. There were no streetlights in this part of town. Typical of a country being dragged reluctantly into the fifteenth century, only an occasional smoky torch cast light into the darkness.
From the outside, the houses looked pretty much alike—whitewashed walls with the only entrances heavy wooden doors.
He spotted a taxi pulling up to one of the gates. Three robed men, their fingers weighted down with flashy diamond rings, got out of the car. A servant opened the door to the party goers, and the sharp wail of an ancient flute spilled out from somewhere inside.
Concluding he’d found the right house, Parker crept past the taxi and fell into step behind the three invited guests. With the studied disdain that seemed to mark the wealthy in this small sheikhdom, he ignored the servant.
A moment later he was inside the house. He took up a position at the back of a crowd of maybe twenty men, all of them dressed exactly as he was. Servants mingled among them, offering coffee as black as diesel oil, sweetbread and fruit. The smell of lamp oil and hashish hung thickly in the room.
At some unseen cue the guests quieted.
The flute took up a new tune, subtly erotic and blatantly sensual. Castanets fluttered rhythmically.
Parker sighed in appreciation along with every other male in the place when Nesrin appeared. She moved with incredible grace. Her dancing veils swayed and tantalized, her undulating body suggesting every pleasure a man could imagine.
Trouble was, Nesrin’s eyes were filled with fear.
This was no ordinary dance, he realized. She was scared to death of these men. Probably with good reason.
Parker broke out in a cold sweat.
He had to get Nesrin out of here.
Standing by the door he’d just come in were two hulking guards with scimitars that looked as though they had come right out of the Arabian Nights. Parker wasn’t eager to run that gauntlet with Nesrin in tow.
The only other exit was through a rear garden and over a wall that looked to be about twenty feet high. Taking a mental inventory of the assault gear he had hidden beneath his robe, he figured going over that wall was their best chance.
He edged around to the far side of the room. No one noticed him. Every eye was on Nesrin as the flickering torchlight cast arousing shadows across her flesh sheened with sweat.
When outnumbered, the military theorists argued, diversion is the key. Parker figured twenty-something to one weren’t bad odds, given his background in Special Forces, but he’d better go with the experts. This was just like a training exercise, he told himself. He’d traveled halfway around the world to rescue Nesrin because that’s what a man was supposed to do.
There was no deeper meaning, no hidden emotion that had his adrenaline pumping a little harder than it should. He was simply doing his duty to a woman who had sought his protection.
So Parker did what he’d been trained to do. He tamped down any trace of emotion that managed to struggle to the surface. He wasn’t capable of love anyway, he reminded himself.
Cautiously he lifted a torch from a wall holder. There were plenty of flammable materials around. Couches. Pillows. And the flowing robes the men wore. He ventured a guess nobody in this country had heard about fire-retardant fabrics.
He put the torch down close to a couch where a couple of guys were sitting, both of them so engrossed in Nesrin’s performance their tongues were practically hanging out of their mouths. They were about to get a rude awakening. He rather wished he could stick around to punch out their lights just on general principle, but Nesrin’s safety came first.
He worked his way toward her.
She missed a beat, and for an instant he thought
she had spotted him. If she gave his presence away all bets would be off. And probably both of their heads, as well.
Nesrin regained her rhythm quickly. She’d been so glad and relieved to see Parker, she had almost cried his name aloud before she realized that would place him in grave danger. These men would be very angry if their evening’s entertainment was disrupted. They might even become violent.
In her heart of hearts, Nesrin had doubted Parker would come for her. Certainly not so quickly. He must surely have been reluctant to leave his ranch when he was at imminent risk of losing it to the moneylenders.
She had no doubt he had the power to release her from her captivity, as he had from the lamp, but she did think he might welcome some assistance. And she had been forming her own desperate plan before his arrival.
She would cast just a small spell to divert everyone’s attention and cloud their vision. Then she and Parker could claim the brass lamp that held so many secrets, and escape from Rasheyd.
Swaying with the music, she closed her eyes.
The first shout came from the far side of the room. Not where Parker had planted the torch, he realized, but where another torch was spewing sparks like a Fourth of July Roman candle. A second torch went off in the same way, quickly followed by a third. The room turned to pandemonium.
Parker didn’t hesitate.
He raced to Nesrin. She flew into his arms.
“Oh, Parker...I am so glad you are here. Did you see what I did with the torches?”
“They’re going off like it’s a national holiday.” He pulled her out into the garden, then retrieved a rope with a grappling hook from under his robe. “Did you get a hold of some flash powder and iron filings?” A clever stunt that he wished he had thought of himself.
“No, it was my spell. Though I did not mean—”
He tossed the grappling hook over the top of the garden wall, then tugged to pull the rope taut.
“What are you doing?” Nesrin asked.
“We’re going over the wall. Climb onto my back and hang on tight.” He squatted down.
“I cannot go.”
His head snapped up. “What do you mean, you can’t go? Those guys in there are going to have the fires out in a minute. Then they’re going to be very upset.”
“Yes, I know.”
“We don’t want to be around when they figure out we’re to blame.”
“I cannot leave without the lamp, Parker.”
“Why the hell not?” He gazed at her incredulously. Didn’t she realize what those men had in store for her?
“It holds the secret—”
The chaos inside had simmered into a controlled rage. Orders were being given. Loud and angry.
“We can’t go back in there, Nesrin. We either go over the wall in one heck of a hurry, or we’re trapped right here.”
She eyed the top of the wall where the rope dangled, then her gaze darted around the garden. “We’ll hide.”
“Nesrin, no...” But she was already running across the garden into the deepest shadows.
She halted in front of a woven basket the size of the world’s largest laundry hamper. “Get inside,” she ordered. “They will think we have gone over the wall and will pursue us. When they have all left we will find the lamp.”
Parker sputtered his objection. Anybody who’d ever seen a B movie would know to look inside that damn basket. But it was past time for arguing. The goons with the scimitars had just shown up in the garden, and Nesrin had already disappeared into the basket, her flowing skirts vanishing out of sight.
Parker pulled his sheathed bayonet from his boot. If they lifted the lid, they’d get one hell of a big surprise.
He’d overestimated the size of the basket. Cramped didn’t begin to describe the situation.
“I had forgotten it would be so dark,” Nesrin said. Her voice trembled.
“We’ll be okay.”
With a grunt, he rearranged their positions so she was more or less sitting in his lap. She sucked in a quick breath. He suspected it was as much from nerves as from the fact they were squashed together and he didn’t have any place to put his hands except in enticing locations. Delightfully interesting places if the situation had been different.
Hell, he’d gotten as aroused as every other man in the room while she danced. She was hot, seductive and provocative—an advanced class in erotica.
She also smelled of rich spices—frankincense and myrrh, he imagined. Inhaling deeply, he buried his face in the silken strands of her hair. God, he’d missed her.
His body clenched with wanting. He admonished himself. This was hardly the time to lose control.
With his legs beginning to cramp, he hoped the thugs in the garden would get bored pretty soon. There was a riot going on. Shouting and yelling. He didn’t need to know the language to understand curses and translate the words of irate bosses blaming their apologetic subordinates.
“Thank you for coming,” Nesrin whispered in his ear, her breath like a warm breeze that flows unseen across the desert.
“Shh. Don’t talk.” He didn’t want to risk giving their position away.
“I was very afraid.”
“We’ll be okay. Just keep quiet.”
“Are the children all right?”
“They’re with Louanne.” A man of action, Parker figured the best way to silence her nervous chatter was with a kiss.
He found her parted lips and claimed them. The sweet warmth jolted him with memories—Nesrin lying naked on his bed, the spill of her dark hair across his pillow, the satisfied smile curling her lips. She had been gone only for a couple of days, yet he felt as though it had been an eternity.
But he didn’t have time to dwell on what he’d like to be doing right now instead of being crammed inside a laundry basket. Or on the pleasures he would have to forego because he’d been a damn fool and told her the truth.
He kissed her until the ruckus in the garden grew quiet.
Drawing a deep breath to steady himself, he cautiously lifted the lid of the basket. Nobody in sight. Amazingly, Nesrin’s idea of hiding had worked. So far.
“Let’s go.” He hefted her out of the basket and quickly followed suit.
“The lamp is in Rasheyd’s private quarters.”
“We don’t have time to mess with that now. The guards will figure out in a minute that we didn’t go over the wall.”
“The lamp will lead us to the jewels.”
“What jewels?”
“The ones I saw when the original Rasheyd condemned me into the lamp.” She slipped away and hurried through the corridors.
Damn, she was still obsessing about being a genie. Hadn’t she figured out yet that magic didn’t exist? Not hers or anyone else’s. Whatever she had experienced was a trick, nothing more than sleight of hand, just like torches turned into Roman candles by adding flash powder and a few metal filings to the flames. No supernatural forces working there.
When she found the lamp, she hugged it to her and smiled up at him. She was the most stubborn woman he’d ever known, and the most beautiful.
He took her hand. “Now! No more excuses. We’re getting out of here.” Assuming they could get safely away from Rasheyd’s house, getting out of the country was still going to be quite a trick.
As they made their way toward the front of the house, Parker heard voices. He shoved Nesrin into a shadowy alcove and held his breath. Two guys in white robes wandered by, talking excitedly. He waited till they were out of sight, then tugged Nesrin at a run toward the door.
They made it to the street before someone spotted them and shouted the alarm.
There were few people on the streets and even fewer places to hide. Parker and Nesrin raced past the closed shops of silversmiths, and down an alley that smelled of turpentine. Heavy footsteps pursued them.
A car turned into the alley, its headlights blinding, and Parker ducked down an even smaller passageway, dragging Nesrin along behind him. They nearly collided w
ith an old man who was hobbling along with a walking stick.
“Alms for the poor?” the old man asked, his hand extended.
Parker waved him out of the way.
“Parker! You have to give the man a coin.” Nesrin dug in her heels. “He asked very nicely.”
“Don’t you remember what happened the last time you made me give money to some bum? He broke into my house.”
“That was in your country. Here our beggars are honorable men.”
Parker rolled his eyes. There wasn’t time to argue, particularly when he knew damn well he’d lose. The approaching voices were getting louder. And closer.
He fumbled under his robes, found his pocket and came up with a little loose change.
“May Allah bless your kindness,” the old man said.
“I’ll be happy if I can just get us away from those goons with the swords,” Parker mumbled as he pulled Nesrin farther into the narrow passageway.
It was like running through a maze with no idea of the way out. The place was unmapped and unposted, traversed more by instinct than any real sense of direction.
“Parker, please...”
At Nesrin’s breathless plea, Parker halted and gathered her into his arms. His heart was beating uncomfortably fast, and hers was fluttering like a hummingbird. He couldn’t go on dragging her through an unfamiliar labyrinth of alleys and streets. There had to be somewhere they could hide out, but he’d had no time to arrange for a safe house.
For now, the pursuing voices seemed a little more distant. Maybe they’d taken enough twists and turns to lose them.
Just as they had both managed to catch their breath, torches appeared at the end of the alley where they were hiding.
“We have to go back the way we came,” he said.
They turned and fled, through air redolent with spices and pine, and finally sharp with turpentine again. They were right back where they had started from, Parker realized in dismay.
“Alms for the poor.” The old man was there again, hand extended.
“I gave at the office,” Parker said grimly. He looked over his shoulder. They weren’t going to get away unless he was willing to create a serious international incident. He hated to do that to his buddy in Washington. In another minute, though, he wouldn’t have much choice.
The Cowboy & The Belly Dancer (Heartbeat) Page 13
