Captive of the Desert King

by Donna Young

  “I WANT TO SEE SARAH NOW, JAREK,” Cain MacAlister ordered the moment Trizal escorted him and his two companions into the office.

  Jarek nearly smiled over the arrogance. A trait he’d seen many times before. No protocol. No niceties. But in truth, he hadn’t expected any.

  Cain was the head of an American black-ops division called Labyrinth. And although it had been nearly two years since Jarek had seen his friend, he noted he hadn’t changed.

  Born with the lean, aristocratic features of his ancestors, raven-black hair and steel-gray eyes, Cain MacAlister was still the best person to have at your side during any emergency.

  “Sarah’s in her suite under house arrest.”

  After Cain, came Ian MacAlister, his hand extended. Jarek grabbed his hand and was immediately pulled into a bear hug. “Heard you need help, Your Majesty,” Ian said before his brother could respond to the house arrest comment.

  Unlike Cain, Ian MacAlister, was more meat and muscle. With light brown hair, laser-blue eyes and at least three days of whiskers, Jarek thought Ian fit the image of a California beach bum, more than a retired government agent.

  “Bloody hell, Jarek. Did you need to wait until disaster struck before you decided to ask for help?” Jordan Beck, the third man, joked and slapped Jarek on the shoulder.

  “I didn’t ask for help. Jon Mercer decided I needed it,” Jarek said wryly. Of the three, Jarek was the closest to Jordan. With a lean frame and sharp features, Jordan was a British blue blood. Born the Earl of Beck, the ex-agent came from a long line of English aristocracy, one that left him twenty-eighth in line to England’s throne.

  “I’ll send for Sarah so you can all see for yourself that she is not being mistreated.”

  Without warning, Quamar burst into the room. “That will not be possible, Your Majesty.”

  At one time, Quamar had worked for Cain as a Labyrinth agent. He considered all the men in the room friends, so he did not mince his words.

  “Sarah is gone.” Quamar glanced at his cousin. “We found Ivan unconscious. And this note on her nightstand.”

  Jarek ripped open the end of the envelope and pulled out the letter. His eyes quickly scanned the message. “The Al Asheera have no desire to kill the American reporter. We only wish to negotiate with our King.”

  Jarek tossed the paper onto his desk. “The drilling site. Come alone.”

  “That’s original,” Jordan commented dryly.

  “And not going to happen,” Ian added.

  Jarek looked at his friends. “I will take no chances with Sarah’s life.”

  Cain raised an eyebrow. “That sounds personal. Especially for a man who had Sarah under arrest for treason.”

  “It is personal. Very personal.”

  “Now I understand why Jon Mercer sent us all here,” Cain reasoned. “To keep you from doing something stupid.”

  “I think he’s already done the stupid part.” Jordan whistled softly. “I accused my wife, Regina, of being my father’s mistress the first time we met.”

  “She forgave you,” Ian mused.

  “Mostly,” Jordan answered, then turned to Jarek. “But if I had her arrested? I’d still be sleeping with the dog.”

  “Shut up, Beck. She was under house arrest. And I did it for her own good,” Jarek said gruffly, not letting the other men see what the words did to the knot in his chest. He’d met Regina, a quiet rather soulful woman. Beautiful in a bookish manner. Nowhere near the temperament of his Sarah.

  His Sarah.

  “That’s not the worst of it, Jarek,” Quamar warned. “Rashid is missing, too.”

  “What?”

  “Does the note mention him?” Cain asked, frowning.

  “No.” Fear jarred Jarek’s spine, made his hand shake. “Have you searched the grounds?”

  “The guards are searching right now.” Quamar gestured to the window. “But my gut is telling me—”

  “He’s with Sarah,” Jarek interrupted.

  Quamar glanced at the note. “Whether they know it or not.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sarah woke to the rumble and bump that echoed the pounding in her head.

  “So you decided to join us.”

  She looked up and saw Murad sipping a glass of wine from a nearby couch. She took in the red velvet, the brocade wall paper, the stained glass lamps.

  A train. They were on a train.

  “I always thought I was born in the wrong century,” he commented, as if reading her thoughts.

  “I question the fact that you were born at all,” Sarah answered with derision. “More like spawned, maybe.”

  “Oh, I can assure you I was born.” Murad stood, straightened his suit. After taking a moment to brush a piece of lint off of his tie, he stepped over to Sarah.

  Without warning, he backhanded her across the face. Pain exploded through her cheek, knocking her off the couch and onto the floor.

  “Do you need any more convincing?” Murad gripped her arm, his bony fingers dug into her skin. “Or have you decided to keep your mouth shut?”

  Sarah nodded and nearly gagged on the metallic taste of blood against her tongue.

  Murad picked her up and shoved her back onto the couch. “Good. I hate to repeat myself.” He poured himself more wine from a corner bar and sat back on a nearby settee. “Jarek has been informed of your predicament. We’ll see if he comes and saves you.”

  “He hates me. You’re wasting your time if you’re using me as a bargaining chip.”

  “Let me go!” The scream ripped the passenger car. The little hairs on Sarah’s neck stood at attention.

  The car door burst open and Oruk walked in holding Rashid by his waistband.

  “The brat followed her from the palace.” With a flick of his wrist, he tossed Rashid against Sarah.

  “Sarah.” The little boy hugged her.

  Sarah’s heart skipped a beat. “How did you get here?”

  “I heard Nashemia on the phone telling Murad to meet you both at the train. That once she had you, my father would come for you.” Rashid looked at Sarah. “I was too late to warn you so I snuck into Nashemia’s car.” The boy wiped the tears with the back of his hand. “I was going to help you but Nashemia had too many bad guys on the train. One of them caught me climbing from the top of the passenger car.”

  “Sweet Lord.” Her heart jumped to her throat.

  “It seems the little prince wants to be your hero, Miss Kwong,” Murad observed wryly.

  “Sarah, we are going to Papa’s drilling site. We are almost there.”

  “The boy pays attention, doesn’t he?” Oruk commented. “Even when he should mind his own business, maybe?” He took his knife out from his boot and pointed it at Rashid. “Sometimes, little boys who eavesdrop get their ears cut off.”

  “Stop scaring the prince, Oruk.” Nashemia walked in. Gone was the white servant caftan. In its place was a slim-fitting suit, scarlet-red and tailored with enough cleavage and thigh showing to be this side of vulgar, Sarah thought, derisively.

  Nashemia sauntered over to the little boy and patted his cheek. “He’s too cute to mutilate.”

  “You’ve set a trap for my papa, haven’t you?” he demanded. The royal in him more apparent than ever.

  “Yes,” Nashemia admitted, amused. “But don’t worry, we won’t kill him right away. We need him alive for a while. That’s why you and Sarah are so important to us.”

  Oruk grabbed Rashid’s hands and placed them around Sarah’s right arm. He bound the boy’s wrists together with a plastic zip tie, linking the woman and child together.

  “My father will stop you,” Rashid threatened.

  Nashemia’s lips peeled back over her teeth. “I suppose. If I gave him the chance. But that is unlikely.”

  Sarah shifted, pulling Rashid closer to her.

  “You give him more comfort than his mother ever did,” Murad observed negligently. He handed Nashemia a glass of wine.

  “She is maternal
, isn’t she?” Nashemia rolled the stem of the wineglass between her fingers. “Too bad Saree never was.”

  “How do you know my mother?” Rashid demanded.

  Nashemia smiled into her wineglass before taking a sip. “I actually know quite a lot about your mother.” She glanced at Oruk. “He told me.”

  Oruk smiled and put away his knife. “Did you know that your father shot your mother dead while she held you in her arms, Rashid?”

  Rashid stiffened. “You liar!”

  Sarah realized instantly that Oruk told the truth. Jarek’s reactions. His distrust. The fact he never mentioned Saree’s name.

  “Rashid. Listen to me, not them,” Sarah said urgently. “Your father loves you. More than anything on this earth. He was tortured because he wouldn’t tell men like Oruk where your uncle Quamar had hidden you.”

  “But my mother,” Rashid begged, tears already gathering in those big, brown eyes. “Tell him it’s not true about my mother, Sarah.”

  “I wish more than anything that I could, honey, but I don’t know what happened that day,” Sarah answered honestly. “All I know is that your father loves you, Rashid.”

  “Isn’t that sweet?” Nashemia caught Rashid’s chin in her hand. “Your mother made a deal with the Al Asheera. If they would help her kill your father, she would rule the country with her son at her side. And make sure both she and the Al Asheera grew rich in the process.”

  “That’s a lie!” Rashid screamed. “I don’t believe you!” He tugged at his bound hands, trying to break free.

  “Unfortunately, for Saree, your nanny managed to get you safely out of the palace with your Aunt Anna. Your father refused to give up your whereabouts, so your mother had him tortured. When that didn’t work, she had a woman put in the cell next to his. Your uncle Hassan told Jarek that the woman was your mother. All night long, your father listened to the woman scream as they tortured her.”

  “It took her ten hours to die,” Oruk added with a smugness that brought bile to the back of Sarah’s throat.

  “Of course, at the time, Jarek had no idea the extent of Saree’s betrayal.” Murad stood up and poured himself another glass of wine. “He didn’t find out until he escaped from his cell and found her in his office holding you. Perfectly healthy. No marks or abrasions on her face.”

  “You’re all lying,” Rashid argued, but the sobs were coming full force and Sarah knew he believed them. “She would not. She was killed by the Al Asheera—”

  “She was the leader of the Al Asheera. Her and your uncle Hassan. And your father’s cousin, Zahid.”

  “Your father killed her,” Murad repeated. “She begged him not to shoot her, but he smiled and pulled the trigger anyway.”

  “That’s not true!” Rashid screamed and jerked on Sarah’s arm, trying to free himself. “My father is king of Taer! He is royal. We protect our people.”

  “Your father can’t even protect you.” Nashemia laughed. “Your father is a murderer. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “SARAH,” Rashid whispered, his breath coming in short gasps between hiccups.

  Five minutes had passed since Nashemia, Murad and Oruk had left them to prepare for their arrival at the drill site.

  “Yes, honey?”

  “What Nashemia said about Papa, it isn’t true.”

  “Parts are not true, Rashid. Your father is not a murderer.”

  “He will save us, right?”

  “Yes, but we should try and save ourselves, so they can’t make a trap for him.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know yet, but I’m working on it, kiddo.”

  “I have to tell you something.”

  “What?”

  “I took your jade necklace. I wanted you to stay and knew that it was special to you. I figured you wouldn’t want to leave something you loved so much. And if you stayed long enough, you and Papa would fall in love. Then we would be a family.”

  “Oh, Rashid. Love doesn’t work that way.” Sarah leaned her cheek against the top of his head and closed her eyes against the tears. “Even if your father and I never get along, I will love you forever. And I will always be a part of your life, if you let me.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.” She rubbed her cheek against his hair. “When this is over we’ll figure out a way to spend time together.”

  “What are we going to do about my papa, Sarah?” He scooted around until he could see her face. “I’m scared he will die.”

  “He won’t,” she reassured him, hugging him close. “We’ll figure out a way to help him. But whatever we decide, promise me you will do as I say from here on out.”

  “I promise.”

  The rumbling of the train slowed, then came to a stop. Suddenly, a light flipped on in the compartment.

  “Now isn’t this touching?” Murad shook his head. “It looks to me like you have stolen the young prince’s heart, too.”

  With a flick of a knife, he severed their bonds. “Let’s go.”

  Once outside, Murad pushed Sarah and Rashid off the stairs of the train and onto the dirt.

  Two of the Al Asheera reached down and dragged them to their feet. Sarah looked up and gasped at the laser-blue eyes that flicked over her.

  “Come on,” the man growled.

  Al Asheera rebels were everywhere. Spread out in small groups throughout the drill site. Red scarves draped their faces, leaving only their eyes glinting, like rabid wolves, in the darkness.

  In the middle lay Booker McKnight and about thirty of his men. Each on their stomachs, their hands bound by plastic zip ties behind their backs.

  “Are they dead?” Rashid whispered to Sarah.

  “Not yet,” Murad answered for her. “But they will be. Just as soon as your father gets here.”

  Sarah slid her hand over her pockets, seemingly wiping them on the cotton. “Why do you need Jarek here?”

  “News will break tomorrow that a group of men led by Booker McKnight took over the site, killed the workers and threatened the king.”

  Booker let out a stream of curses. One of the soldiers, a big man, yanked Booker up by his hands then slammed him back onto the ground. “Be quiet.” The order was low and guttural.

  Murad nodded at his soldier, pleased. “Booker McKnight is a suspected member of the Al Asheera. He and his men killed everyone. Including you, Miss Kwong, an innocent bystander who happened to be on a tour with the king and his son.”

  “They have him!” Oruk yelled the warning from the rear of the train.

  “It’s about damn time.” Murad stood to the side as two rebels entered the circle and threw Jarek to the ground. Like Booker, his hands were bound behind his back with plastic ties at the wrists.

  “Did he come with anyone?” Murad asked, his eyes searching the perimeter.

  “No, he flew the plane in himself,” one of the men answered. “Arrogant, isn’t he?”

  “He might be arrogant, but he’s not stupid.” Murad snorted. “He wouldn’t come by himself. Quamar is around here somewhere. Tell your men to spread out over the area and find him.”

  “Quamar isn’t here. He took his wife to the States.” Jarek sat up. He spit blood into the sand.

  “Jarek,” Sarah whispered. Her eyes traveled over him, looking for injuries in the firelight but saw none.

  “Are you both okay?”

  When she nodded, he turned back to Murad. “You’re wasting your time if you send men out there. I came by myself. I wouldn’t risk the life of my son.”

  “You won’t be offended if I don’t believe you, Your Majesty.” Oruk nodded to all but a few men. “Do as Murad says. Patrol the perimeter. I want Quamar found.”

  “Send them all, Oruk. We can keep these few covered. If Quamar isn’t caught, our plans are destroyed.”

  Oruk nodded to the four remaining, including Blue Eyes. “Go on.”

  Reluctantly, they lifted their weapons and headed out.

  Feeling his stare, Sarah stole a
glance at Blue Eyes and nearly choked when he winked at her.

  “The first man that comes back with his body will receive a huge reward,” Murad added for good measure.

  The guards grunted in satisfaction. One slapped another on the back.

  “You’ll have them bloodying each other for the prize now,” Oruk observed, disgusted.

  “Don’t I know you?” Jarek’s eyes narrowed on the Al Asheera leader.

  “You’ve seen me before, under similar circumstance but we were never formally introduced, Your Majesty.” Oruk bowed his head in a mock salute.

  Suddenly, Jarek remembered. “You were the guard. The one that worked with Hassan and Saree. The one who tortured the woman in the cell next to mine.”

  “I am.” Oruk lifted a negligent shoulder. “You could say I was learning the ropes from your uncle Hassan.”

  “You are behind this, then?”

  “No, Your Majesty…” A woman stepped from the edge of the darkness, her smile cynical, her gun held level at Jarek. “That would be me.”

  “Nashemia,” Jarek murmured. “Now I am surprised.”

  “It seems your life will always be cluttered with women who hate you,” she smirked. “Including Miss Kwong.”

  “Is that why you framed her for the espionage? Using the tracking device, then later the recorder?”

  “Oh, yes, the recorder.” Nashemia crouched in front of Jarek. She ran the tip of the pistol down his nose, then over his lips, in a light caress. “I’ve never considered myself a voyeur before, but I have to admit I was disappointed when Trizal spoiled your little tête-à-tête with her.”

  She straightened and pointed the gun at Sarah. “Ramon put the tracking device in your purse just in case we weren’t able to kill you both in the plane crash. Of course, I didn’t know at the time Jarek dodged your meeting to take a ride out in the desert.”

  “If that’s the case, why did Ramon avoid the rockets? Why did he try to save Sarah?” Jarek prodded. “Did he decide you weren’t worth dying for?”

  “Ouch, now that hurt, Your Majesty.” But her mouth slid into a sly smile. “Maybe you’re right. Once he got up in the air, he had a change of heart. Maybe he liked you, Sarah. Maybe he liked you more than me. Which would be surprising, actually.”