Desert Kings Boxed Set: The Complete Series Books 1-6

by Jennifer Lewis

Sam froze. Had Osman just claimed her?

  No. Already he and Allan were lifting it back over her head. Still, her heart had skipped at least three beats, and something very strange was going on in other parts of her body. Osman had—accidentally—raked his fingertips along her arm has he lifted the garland over her head again. The effect was deeply unsettling.

  Allan’s face grew white with irritation. Lips pressed together, he got into position and did a couple of practice swings. Then he stepped forward, hurled the garland into the air, and they all watched it disintegrate into a cloud of loose petals that floated slowly toward the stone floor.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Stunned, Sam kept waiting for the garland to reach her. At that moment, the sun vanished and a cold shadow descended across the balcony. “Sunset,” she murmured, looking down at the petals now covering her sandaled feet.

  “They’re not very sturdy, are they,” growled Allan, staring at the mess of petals.

  “They’re only meant to be thrown once.” Osman looked directly at Sam. His gaze stole her breath. “They’re fragile.”

  “Like love,” said Sam. She regretted the words the moment she’d said them. Was her love for Allan so fragile that it could crumble away like the garland?

  She turned to look at Allan but a sudden flare of light on the horizon caught her gaze. Followed by a loud boom very close at hand.

  “Get down!” shouted Osman.

  She crouched low to the stone floor. Screams and shrieks pierced the air from the frightened crowd below.

  “What was that?” she whispered.

  “Sounded like a rifle shot,” whispered Allan, glancing around.

  “Did you see that flare of light out by the mountains?”

  “Nope.” He started to climb to his feet. “And that bang was probably just a car backfiring. Lets go find a hotel.”

  She looked for Osman, but he was nowhere to be seen. The four men had disappeared as well, leaving them alone in the tiled chamber open to the balcony, with its fountain trickling away as if nothing had happened.

  “Where’d they go?” She looked around. She hoped Osman wouldn’t put himself in danger. Then again, maybe it was just a car backfiring. She should stay focused on their work. “I’m glad you got great footage. I have a really good feeling about this whole project.”

  “I’m glad at least one of us does,” he muttered. “I can’t wait to load this footage onto the Internet so at least we have a backup copy. I feel like I don’t know what’s going to happen from one minute to the next around here.”

  She realized she was kneeling in the pile of half-crushed rose petals. “Don’t feel bad about missing me with the rose garland.”

  He stared at her for a moment. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t. Are you going soft on me? You don’t seem like you’d be into that kind of sentimental garbage.”

  Indignation flared in her chest. “It’s an ancient rite. There’s something mysterious and powerful about it. And why did you agree to take a week out of your life to come here and shoot the festival if you thought it was sentimental garbage?” She’d been planning this project for over a year and probably done nearly a thousand hours of planning, grant writing and organizing to get to this point. Now he was dismissing it as? “Don’t you have any feelings at all?”

  She realized she’d almost shouted her last question.

  Allan looked up and raised a brow. “Yes, actually, I do. I didn’t much like seeing some pompous sheikh claim my bride as his own.”

  “You know that doesn’t mean anything. He just wanted to help you throw it right.” If he thought the whole thing was pointless, then what did it matter? Yet she knew in her heart that it did matter, and that this romantic misfire would come back to haunt them, possibly for the rest of their lives. It was the kind of thing that would be brought up during arguments, and presented as evidence that they were never meant to be together. She’d heard enough of those arguments between her parents, shouted over the third bottle of wine, to last a lifetime.

  “I’m sorry my throwing isn’t adequate.” Allan zipped his camera back into the bag. “Now I have fresh admiration for all those lanky teens who managed to get it right.” He looked at her and frowned. “Can we get the hell out of here?”

  Where had Osman and his men gone? Of course now that they were in Nabattur they could go find a hotel and film the rest of the festival without any help from Osman. Not that a hotel was likely to have any space right now, with everyone and their donkey in town for the festival. Their reservation must have been given away, since she never called to cancel or change it due to her phone being dead. Even in the center of town, their phones still didn’t work.

  “I don’t think we can just leave.”

  “I know. He’s holding our stuff hostage in his palace. Not to mention our car. But I can’t stand to wait here like one of his servants.” Allan looked forlorn, and she rubbed his back to soothe him.

  The crowd below the balcony seemed to have almost forgotten the loud noise, probably excusing it as something innocuous the way she and Allan had. Flaming torches lit up the night, and people started to dance to music made by musicians roaming through the crowd with drums and horns and flutes.

  “I wonder if we should go down there and film some of this.” She loved the way the dancers swayed almost like flickering candle flames. Many of the women still wore their garlands, which disintegrated aromatically and cast rose petals in all directions.

  “Let’s go.” Osman’s voice boomed from behind them. “Hurry.” His tone urgent, he grabbed her by the hand.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “An explosion just outside the walls. The car is destroyed.”

  Sam gasped. Allan dropped a curse. “Who would do that?”

  “Someone who’s trying to send me a message.” He scowled into the darkness.

  “Are they trying to kill you?” Fear clawed at Sam’s gut. She wasn’t as tough as she liked to pretend.

  “If they are they’re not doing a very good job.” He lifted a brow and she saw that familiar flash of humor in his eyes. “My men are fetching another car. We’ll also leave by a different gate just in case there’s someone lurking in the dark.”

  “I hope we haven’t brought you any trouble.” She glanced at Allan.

  “I’m sure it has nothing to do with you.”

  “But you wouldn’t be at the festival if it wasn’t for us intruding on your life.”

  “I’m glad to have attended the festival today.” He squeezed her hand gently and she tried not to notice the flare of warmth inside her. She also avoided his gaze, which she could tell was firmly planted on her face. He must have known it would be awkward and embarrassing for her if he managed to throw the garland over her head when her own fiancé couldn’t.

  She really should be mad at him. Right now, however, she had other things to worry about. “Do you think there will be more explosions?”

  He let out a ragged breath. They walked—fast—down a long corridor that must lead along the inside of the city walls, which curved directly to their left. “In general, the pattern is just one. This is the fourth incident since I returned home for my father’s funeral. But we don’t know what caused that flare of light in the mountains at the same time. We’ve not seen anything like that before.” He squeezed her hand again, and she felt her heart constrict a little at the same time. “This way.”

  He let go of her fingers and pointed to a ladder leading directly up the wall to their left. The ladder was made of sticks bound together with what looked like twine and seemed far too tall for such insubstantial construction. He noticed her hesitation. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right behind you.”

  “I’ll be right behind her,” growled Allan. Spurred on by his irritation, she put one foot on the ladder, then the other. It didn’t wobble, so her confidence grew as she rose higher, one rung at a time. She glanced down to see Allan mounting behind her.

  In truth, she was glad Osman still stoo
d on the ground. She wouldn’t admit it aloud, but she’d feel safer falling into his sturdy arms than into Allan’s. Her fiancé might be a genius, but he wasn’t exactly built for power and strength.

  “You okay, sweetie?” She felt guilty about her treacherous thoughts.

  “I’m fine, babe. Keep going.”

  A man leaned over the edge above her and held out a hand to encourage her. When she neared the top he grabbed her above the elbows and hauled her up over the wall. She found herself standing in a kind of exposed corridor running right along the top of the crenellated city wall.

  As her eyes grew accustomed to the moonlight, she could make out mountains in the distance, their craggy peaks bathed in silver. A grassy plain spread out around the city like a rumpled silver sheet. The whole landscape looked empty and magical, with headlights making tiny pricks of light on the road winding toward the city.

  “Allan, you must get some shots of the view from up here. It’s like something out of a fairy tale.”

  She watched Osman’s men haul him over the wall. “Too dark. It’ll be grainy.”

  Sam thought about arguing that they could fix it in postproduction but decided not to. “How do we get down the other side?”

  Osman climbed over the wall and pulled the ladder up after him. He grinned in the darkness. “Same way we came up.”

  Going down was a lot more hair raising than going up, but Osman led the way and seeing the flimsy ladder bear his impressive physique she knew it could handle hers. Soon they were all at the base of the wall, standing in pitch darkness.

  “What are we going to do now?” Allan was trying, not too successfully, to conceal his frustration.

  “We can’t use any light.” Osman’s deep voice came from the shadows. “Since we don’t know if the bombers are still at large. A car is almost here.”

  The quiet purr of an expensive engine grew louder, though the headlights were turned off so they couldn’t see it approach. The men who’d calmly carried their bags all day now bore semiautomatic weapons, pointed out into the darkness. The fun and festive day had taken on an atmosphere of menace, and for the first time since they’d arrived, Sam wished she were back in her bed in Brooklyn.

  “You’re shivering.” Osman spoke softly into her ear. She hadn’t noticed him come close.

  “Just tired. And a little scared.”

  “Don’t worry. My men will protect you.” His confidence should have been reassuring, but she began to get a sense that he was about to touch her and that made the tiny hairs on her arms stand up, which was unnerving. The moon shone on the other side of the city, and the high walls cast them into deep shadow where you could barely see people’s eyes in the blackness.

  “Are you okay, Allan?” She looked for his familiar outline amongst these big, strapping men in their long robes. He probably wouldn’t be too pleased about Osman crowding in on her again. She wanted to let him know that he was still her main man.

  “I’m fine,” he said curtly.

  “You’ll have some interesting stories to tell the guys at your poker game.” She thought it would cheer him up to remind him of something he enjoyed.

  “If I ever see them again,” he growled.

  “Of course you will,” boomed Osman. “The car is armored. There’s little danger.”

  “I was kidding.” Allan seemed to be in very ill humor. Sam wished she could glare at him. There was no point in being snippy with Osman when their safe passage out of here depended on him. “I’ve spent my whole life in New York City. I’m hardly quaking in my boots over a few yahoos with Molotov cocktails.”

  Sam smiled at his display of backbone. “Sometimes I forget you’re used to tough characters.”

  He didn’t respond. This thick darkness was disconcerting. She’d heard the car arrive, but now she couldn’t see or hear it.

  “This way,” Osman’s breath heated her neck, and she felt his cupped hand under her elbow. The sensation made her catch her breath. Why did he have this effect on her when she couldn’t even see him? In the daylight his looks were admittedly breathtaking, all dark olive skin and piercing green eyes, but even now he was getting her hot and bothered.

  He led her to an open car door and helped her in. All the lights in the car were turned off, but she felt the dashboard in front of her and knew she was in the passenger seat. She heard the men speaking low just outside, and Allan climbing in, then Osman climbed in.

  His scent in the darkness only threw her further off-kilter. Not perfumed or artificial, but somehow both masculine and exotic at the same time.

  “Is our car fixed?” Allan must be leaning forward as he spoke almost right into her ear as the engine purred to life again.

  “Not yet.” She sensed Osman turning to face him. “It requires a part that has to be ordered from Tabriq. One of my men set out to retrieve it and should be back tomorrow.”

  “Goodness, I’m sorry you’re having to go to so much trouble for us.” She tried to catch Allan’s eye in the dark—she could feel his quiet fury—but he was avoiding her glance and staring straight at Osman. “It’s so kind of you to help us. I’m not sure how we’ll ever pay you back.”

  “I look forward to watching your film.”

  “It’s a video,” muttered Allan. “We’re shooting it on video, not film.”

  She glared at him. If this was jealousy, it really wasn’t that cute. He came across as surly and ungrateful. This trip was supposed to be their honeymoon and cement their union, but it was having the opposite effect. Allan fiddled with his phone again, trying fruitlessly to make a call. Why couldn’t he just accept that there was no cell coverage here?

  They drove in the dark without headlights, headlong through the empty desert, which felt like a metaphor for her life. This trip had not gone as planned. Their filming goals were on track, but she felt like something more important had gone right off the rails.

  She glanced out the back window but couldn’t see any sign of the other men following in a car. They also didn’t appear to be heading back to his palace. If anything, they were going further in the other direction, toward the more distant mountains.

  “Where are we going?” She tried to keep her anxiety out of her voice.

  “Somewhere safe.” He stared straight ahead. Probably needed all his concentration to drive so fast in the dark.

  Allan shifted in his seat, straining to look out the window. “Hey, what’s the meaning of this? You can’t just take us anywhere you feel like.”

  “No?”

  Sam stared at Sheikh Osman, blinking. Was this a joke? His noble profile betrayed no sign of humor or even sympathy. Fear pricked at her stomach. “I think you should take us back to Nabattur.”

  “Someone blew up my car. We don’t know who they are, and we don’t know how many there are. The route back to the palace could be booby-trapped. It’s only prudent to take cover somewhere unexpected.”

  Allan leaned forward until he was almost whispering Osman’s ear. “I think you should take us back to Nabattur. As American citizens we have rights and we—”

  “Sit back.”

  Allan didn’t budge. “You have basically abducted us and have kept us your prisoner for a solid twenty-four hours now—”

  “That’s not true,” Sam cut in. “He’s very graciously escorted us around the festival.”

  “Did you not have freedom to roam around and film at will?” Osman’s voice was so deep it was barely audible.

  “Within reason, I suppose.” Allan’s voice was ice cold. “But now you’re taking us off into the empty desert without even asking us. If you don’t take us back to Nabattur right now, I’m going to call the American Embassy and—”

  “With what?”

  “Tell them that some sheikh has kidnapped us and—”

  Osman didn’t even turn around. “You’re going to call the American Embassy with what?”

  Her eyes had adjusted to the dark enough to see Allan’s hand close tighter around his u
seless phone. “He’s holding us captive.”

  His words sounded foolish, yet Sam frowned as unease crept over her. She wished she could soothe him, but nothing Osman had said was truly reassuring. He still drove at breakneck speed through the pitch-dark desert, with only one hand on the wheel. As her eyes adapted to the darkness, she realized that the other hand lay poised in his lap, fingers wound around the dark metal casing of a large handgun.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Uh, why are you holding a gun?” Sam tried to keep her voice from shaking. She didn’t expect him to answer, but she wanted Allan to know about the weapon.

  She heard Allan swallow and shrink back, his bravado waning. “We’re American citizens,” he said more quietly. “You can’t just make us disappear.”

  She watched Sheikh Osman’s face for a reaction. It was slow in coming, but it arrived as a loud guffaw of laughter that made her jump.

  “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you’re not being very nice.” She sounded like an angry sixth grader, but dammit, she was getting mad.

  “I’m trying to drive in the dark, Samantha. It’s taking all my concentration.”

  “It might help if you used two hands.” She managed to sound calm. “Would you like me to hold your gun?”

  “No, thanks.” He shot a sideways glance at her, and she saw his eyes flash in the dark. “I suspect I have more training in how to use it effectively if I need to defend us.”

  Maybe he was just trying to keep them safe. Still, she didn’t like the high-handed way he took charge. “Where are your men?”

  “They’re taking another route to the same destination. I’m following the less obvious path around the outside of the city.”

  “How do you know where you’re going in the dark?” She couldn’t see a thing out the window except the silver-outlined peaks of the distant mountains.

  “The mountains guide me. I hunted these plains a thousand times as a boy. I know them like I know the contours of my own body.”

  “Oh.” She let out a shaky breath, trying not to think about the contours of Osman’s body. “At least there are no trees to crash into. And I suppose the animals run away when they hear the car coming.” The luxury sedan covered the grassy terrain with surprising ease.