by Dana Marton
He stopped to listen for a few moments, then grabbed her hand and broke out in a dead run. “Sandstorm.”
She put everything she had into it, her lungs burning, but she wasn’t fast enough. The sandstorm was upon them in minutes, blinding them. The fast-flying sand felt harsh against her face, as if someone were trying to sandpaper her skin off. She could see nothing, so she squeezed her eyes shut to spare them and followed blindly as Spike pulled her forward.
“We have to reach shelter before the worst hits.”
She could barely hear his words, which were blown away by the wind before they could fully reach her ears. She couldn’t imagine this getting worse.
After an eternity, she tumbled into him. He’d stopped. They’d reached the cliff. She searched the stone wall for any indentation as they rounded it to get to the other side where the ridge would block some of the wind that was still growing in strength with every gust.
Her eyes, ears, nose and mouth were full of sand, small grains of it grinding between her teeth. She cupped her mouth to keep from more getting in and coughed. Spike pulled her forward and straightened her when she stumbled.
They reached a gap at last, more of a crevice than a cave, although it was big enough to allow both of them in. Spike crawled in first, reached the back at once and
turned around. The place was just barely big enough for them to sit, with her practically on his lap, the ceiling too low to stand.
He brushed the sand from his’ face and she did the same, turning sideways so she could see him.
“How long do you think this will last?”
“No telling. Could be hours or days.” He shrugged. “Nothing we can do about it. Damn.” He shook his head. “I hoped we’d be able to cover some distance tonight.”
She blinked, trying to get some of the sand out of her watering eyes without touching them with her dirty fingers. Things just seemed to get worse and worse, everything conspiring against them. Every time she felt the slightest ray of hope, something happened to set them back.
“Relax,” he said, too close to her ear.
“I’ m having a little trouble relaxing,” she snapped at him. They were stuck in the desert in a sandstorm with nothing but a few gallons of water.
He cupped her face in his hands, his brilliant blue eyes shining in the dim cave.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You know that, right?” His voice was low, tender.
And when he said it like that, she believed him.
“Sorry.”
Spike closed his eyes for a moment. “Me, too. For getting you into this.”
She stared at him, one emotion after the other flickering across her face. “I’m willing to shelve the issue in the interest of our mutual survival.”
“Good. You can yell at me when we’re back at the Hilton. Ceasefire?”
“Ceasefire.” She nodded.
The wind howled outside.
“The storm is not all bad, you know,” he said. “It’s erasing our tracks.” And although the sandstorm slowed them down, it also slowed their pursuers.
“So you’re in some kind of an antiterrorist unit?”
“I understand that you’re frustrated, but I can’t discuss this with you.”
“You dragged me into this. I want answers. Where is the rest of your team?”
He said nothing.
“So you can’t tell anyone? Not even your family?”
“I don’t have a family.”
“None?”
“My parents immigrated to the U.S. from Sweden. Dad was a cop, killed in the line of duty when I was six.” He swallowed at the memory of that night—people at the door, the crying.
“It must have been difficult for your mother to raise a young child on her own.”
“Mom was the super of this run-down tenement building we lived in. One day, the power went out, which was an everyday occurrence. If two people used their hair dryers at the same time, it’d blow a fuse. She couldn’t find her flashlight so she took a candle to the basement instead to see if she could fix things. Turns out, on top of the glitch in the electricity, we also had a gas leak. I was at the top of the stairs and got blown clear. She didn’t make it.”
Abigail’s expression softened. “That’s terrible.”
He shrugged. He didn’t need anyone’s pity.
“What happened to you after that?” she asked.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Well, you have to talk to me about something. You won’t talk about your work.”
“I was about ten. I went into foster care.” There was this old Italian guy, Giuseppe, who lived in their apartment building who had wanted to adopt him. He had watched him now and then, but Social Services wouldn’t go for it. They considered him too old, plus he was living on a very small retirement income.
Her eyes swam in sympathy.
He hated it. “I managed. Had some good families and some bad ones.” He’d learned street fighting because of the latter. Then one day, he had defended himself too effectively against some drunk bastard who had only taken him in for the money from Social Services, which he pissed away on booze. He was sent straight to juvenile hall after that. Giuseppe had passed away by the time he’d gotten out.
“Is that why you went into the military? It must have been hard to have nowhere else to go.”
“I went to college, actually.” One of the counselors took him under his wing and straightened him out,helped him get scholarships. “I was good at languages.” He’d supported himself by translating for a couple of agencies.
“You speak Arabic amazingly well. You must have spent a lot of time in this region.”
“Some.” He nodded.
“So what happened after college?”
“I got a job.” At the FBI.
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me more about that?”
He shook his head.
“Have you ever looked for your relatives in Europe?”
“No.”
She seemed surprised. “Why not?”
“I’ve never known them.” His parents had made enough money to support the family, but certainly not enough for European vacations.
“Are you ever going to?”
“Probably not.” He was a loner. Not because nobody wanted to hang out with him, but because he preferred superfluous relationships. He didn’t get attached to people easily. And considering his work, that suited him just fine.
He didn’t want the responsibility of a family. Didn’t want to have his kid standing in the doorway listening to some stranger tell him his father was dead.
“So what do you do when you’re not saving the world?” she asked
“Some car racing. It’s the perfect stress release. You have to watch every second what you’re doing, be in the moment one hundred percent to avoid injury. It doesn’t let your brain think much about anything else.”
She nodded as if she knew what he was talking about. “That’s what I used to love about skiing.”
He could definitely get into skiing, he thought as he looked at her. In fact, a snowy mountainside just about anywhere sounded like heaven right now. He needed a vacation. In his mind, he could see himself flying down the mountain and then relaxing in a hot tub afterward. He went absolutely still. Because in the picture conjured by his mind, Abigail was sitting in the hot tub with him.
He shook his head. No way was he going to entertain fantasies of Abigail in the hot tub or making love with her in front of the fireplace. Damn. Where had that come from?
“Are you okay?” She was looking at him, concerned.
He took a deep breath. “Fine.”
She smiled and leaned against him. “I think I’ll try to get some sleep.”
Just what he didn’t need-having Abigail nestled into his arms seconds after she had made a grand appearance in his fantasies. He was aware of every curve pressed against h
im, his fingers itching to touch her.
He shifted a little and sat on his hands.
NIGHT FELL BY the time Abigail woke. Spike’s chest rose and fell evenly under her. The air was quiet. “The storm’s gone,” he said.
She stirred and tried to pull away from him, but his arms tightened around her. “Stay still.”
“Shouldn’t we start out?”
“We have a visitor.”
Suhaib had found them! She whipped her head toward the opening of the cave, but saw only endless sand outside. Confused, she turned back to Spike.
“Next to my foot.”
Her gaze settled on a length of thick rope, tightly coiled, covered with a fine dusting of sand. And then all at once, the realization hit her. She scrambled back, practically climbing onto his head to get as far away from the snake as possible.
So much for not moving, she thought, panting, when she finally stopped.
Thank God, the snake remained still. “What is it?”
“I’ve been trying to decide. Could be an Egyptian cobra or a puff adder.” He kept his gaze on the snake. “Or a well-fed viper. In that case we have further options: McMahon’s, Palestinian, sand, saw-scaled or horned desert viper.”
She was really, really beginning to hate the desert. “All those snakes live around here?”
“In this part of the world, yes, but not necessarily in this very desert. I could probably identify it if it uncoiled.”
“Are we in his cave?”
“It’s probably trying to get warm. The rocks hold heat longer than the sand. Snakes love caves at night.”
“Now you tell me.
Some of the sand rolled off the snake as it moved ‘”You’re choking me” he said.
“Sorry.” She relaxed her arm around his neck and watched in horror as the snake uncoiled. The four-foot monster was yellowy brown, with dark brown bars. “Puff adder.”
“Is that bad?”
“Dangerously poisonous. Could be worse, though. At least it’s not an Egyptian cobra.”
“Lucky us.” She rolled her eyes, but then couldn’t help asking, “What’s the difference?”
“Cobras are deadly poisonous”
“Meaning we’ll be dying a slow and painful death instead of an instant one?”
“Nobody’s dying here except the snake.” He turned his rifle slowly into position and then stopped.
“Not to rush you or anything, but what the hell are you waiting for?”
“A good shot. I don’t want to ruin all the meat.”
As if understanding the words, the snake lifted its head in protest, looked right at her and stuck his wiggling tongue out. Then it lurched forward.
She screamed at the top of her lungs.
The sound of the gun going off in the small cave was deafening.
She could barely hear Spike when he said, “Damn.”
“What?” She looked at the bloody bits and pieces scattered outside, covered in sand.
“I was hoping I could just shoot the head clean off.” He pushed her off his lap and out of the cave.
She was careful not to step on anything and moved back, scarcely believing her eyes when Spike began to sort through the remains.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“We have to eat.”
“I’m not eating this thing. And if you are, you’re never kissing me again.” Did she just say that?
A grin split his face as he pulled up one eyebrow and dropped the chunk of meat. “Then you do have plans of kissing me in the future, provided I give up supper?”
She swallowed. “Not exactly plans. More like, you know I’m not counting out the possibility.”
“So you got the hots for me?”
She bit her lip, but some sounds escaped from the back of her throat.
“I like it when you growl at me like that.” His grin widened. “It’s very sexy.”
She wished she had something to throw at him, but the only items at her disposal were snake chunks. Then the thought hit her. “Are we going to starve?”
“Unlikely. People have been known to survive for as long as ten days without food. Water is our bigger problem. At these temperatures, if we run out, it’s two more days after that at most.”
“Thank you for that uplifting thought.”
“We’ll be out of here long before our water is gone.”
“You think?”
“I know. Why don’t you stay here while I check out what I can see from up top?”
She nodded. That made sense. She sat on an outcropping and watched as he climbed, stepping carefully from foothold to foothold, his movements not nearly as smooth and graceful as a couple of days ago. The ribs had to hurt. In fact, it was hard to believe all he was doing. She wondered how much longer he’d be able to go on like this-injured and without any sustenance. Truth was, she admired his strength, and she was only too well aware that she depended on it.
Without him, she wouldn’t stand a chance of making it out alive.
And yet, there was more to it than that. She worried for him as he climbed, and not only because she depended on him. She had come to care about him, God help her. It was as ridiculous as it was twisted. He had lied to her, used her, put her life in danger, for heaven’s sake. And yet…
She had to be crazy. The heat had addled her brain.
Chapter Nine
Spike scanned the horizon in vain. Damn. He’d expected to be in Tihrin by now. The flat desert was turning into an area of undulating landscape in front of them, expanses of sand alternating with strips of rockier terrain, hills and valleys carved by wind and longago water, which were harder to walk through with limited visibility. In the dead desert, they could see for miles and miles. Going ahead now, they wouldn’t be able to tell what was behind the next hill or tall sand drift. He didn’t like it. “The camp might have been farther west from the city than I thought.”
Abigail switched the rifles from one shoulder to the other and rolled her neck, keeping pace with him. She hadn’t complained once—not about the heat or the forced march or lack of food.
“Want to trade?” He offered the can. “This one is pretty light.” They were running out of water fast. “I’m fine. Are we lost?”
“Technically, no. We’ll reach civilization sooner or later if we head north. But if the camp was directly south of Tihrin we should be able to see—” He listened to the unmistakable sound of an approaching car. “Get down”
She threw herself to the ground at once, and he on top of her to cover her black abayah with his camouflage uniform. He threw a couple of handfuls of sand on top of himself for good measure.
The camels came into sight first, about two dozen or so, then the red Toyota pickup truck that herded them. “Bedouins.” He jumped up and waived his kaffiyeh at the two men in the truck’s cab, yelling at them to stop. Unfortunately, they were angled away from him and still too far to hear him over the noise of their vehicle. “Stay down. ” He grabbed a rifle and shot into the air.
Then he dropped the weapon and raised both hands to the sky.
The truck stopped. The Bedouins returned fire.
He stood motionless until they stopped shooting.
They weren’t going to hit him from that distance. Nor did they look like they were trying too hard. They were just showing him they had guns, too, and were not unprotected in case he had mischief on his mind.
The guns fell silent. The pickup moved toward them. “This is not good, is it?” Abigail still lay on the sand behind him.
“On the contrary. We’re saved. Stand up slowly.”
“Is it safe?”
“They won’t shoot at a woman.”
Justifying his optimism, the two men lowered their rifles as soon as they saw her.
“Assalamuh alaikum,” he called out a greeting as soon as they were within hearing. Peace be with you. The pickup came to a halt.
“Walaiku
m assalam.” And upon you peace. A man, about thirty or so, got out with rifle in hand and then after a moment of hesitation, swung it over his shoulder.
Another man, younger than the first by a handful of years at least, came around the truck. They looked enough alike that he assumed they were brothers, both wearing the colorful flowing clothing of the Bedouin. They looked him over, but averted their gazes from Abigail. He figured the decimated hem of her abayah showed more leg than they were comfortable with.
“We were kidnapped a couple of days ago and taken into the desert,” he said. “We escaped.”
The men’s faces grew dark.
“Lots of evil in the southern desert these days,” the older of the two said. “Come, we’ll have shelter and food for you at our camp.”
“Shukran.” He inclined his head. Thank you. Then, ignoring the pain in his side, he jumped into the back of the pickup and helped Abigail climb up next to him.
Dust flew around them as they returned to the camels, which began to disperse. As soon as the men got the herd together again, they started off toward camp, slower than he would have liked, following the meandering animals. Night was falling when they finally reached the tents, about thirty of them, scattered on top of the sand.
An older Bedouin, wearing a white robe and kaffiyeh, a curved dagger tucked into his belt, greeted them. “Assalamuh alaikum.”
“Walaikum assalam.” Spike jumped onto the sand and helped Abigail down.
The old man showed them into one of the larger tents. “Ahlan wa sahlan.” Rest as in your home.
He sat on a priceless Persian carpet that covered the sand and invited Spike to join him, while two women led Abigail behind a cloth that hung from the tent’s ceiling, dividing it into separate rooms.
He was immediately offered food, water and coffee, and had to tell his story to Abdullah, the clan’s leader, and five sons who soon gathered in the tent. They listened gravely and apologized for their countrymen’s behavior. Then he was shown a place to rest, assured that he and his wife would be taken care of. And for once he slept well, in the relative safety of the camp, knowing that even if El Jafar’s people found them, the Bedouins would not easily give up their guests.
