Captive of the Desert King. Donna Young
“Let’s hope they aren’t in there now.” Jarek took one of the glow sticks from the survival pack. “Sometimes there are lions in the caves, as well as vipers and scorpions. Stay here while I check to make sure it is safe.”
Sarah heard the snap of the stick and suddenly the entrance was dimly lit with neon green light.
“So you like Ali Baba, do you?”
“The story is my Aunt Anna’s favorite. She reads it to me and my cousin Kadan when we are sick.”
“It’s clear.” Jarek stepped out of the cave and gestured them in with the horses.
Eight foot in height, the crevice opened into a cave more than thirty feet deep and ten feet wide.
“This is huge,” Rashid murmured, leading Ping through.
“I don’t know about huge,” Jarek mused, tugging Taaj forward. “But it will provide protection from the cold.”
The scent of stale earth and dust caught in Sarah’s throat, making her cough. But it was the dankness of the rocks that made her rub her bare arms.
“Why is it damp?” Sarah forced her eyes to focus through the shadows. “Is there water in here?”
“Yes.” He led her to the rear of the cave. A small stream trickled down the back wall into a natural basin of rocks at the floor.
“You’ve been here before.” It was a statement, not a question, but Jarek chose to answer Sarah anyway.
“Quamar and I spent quite a bit of time out here exploring when we were younger.” Jarek took a few more of the glow sticks out of the pack, snapped them, then tossed them onto the floor.
“This will have to do for light. We cannot start a fire. The rocks at the entrance would conceal the flames, but not the smoke.”
“We should have energy bars or something in the survival kit.”
“Rashid, we’ll leave the horses saddled, just in case. But I want you to help me bring them back here to drink some water. After, we’ll return them to the front of the cave. They’ll give us warning if anyone approaches.”
“Yes, Papa.”
While father and son took care of the animals, Sarah grabbed the backpack and sat down on the ground.
Laughter caught her attention. A rich, deep chuckle that made a woman’s breath hitch, her heart beat just a tad faster.
Deliberately, she turned her back to the pair and sorted through the survival kit.
After a while, Rashid joined her at the wall. “Papa’s finishing Taaj’s feeding bag.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Not really,” Rashid said, his voice rough with fatigue. He rubbed his eyes. “I had oat cakes while we rode on Taaj.”
“Want a place to sleep?” She scooted back, until her back bumped the wall, then patted her legs. “I’ve heard my lap is pretty comfortable.”
Jarek watched from a distance as Rashid snuggled against Sarah.
He was almost too big for her slight frame, but she wrapped her arms around him and managed to tuck his head under her chin.
Within moments, Rashid’s body relaxed and his breathing deepened.
“Asleep?” Jarek crouched next to her. His knuckles brushed his son’s cheek. “I want to check the perimeter one more time. When you get tired, I’ll take him from you.”
Surprised at the gentleness in Jarek’s voice, Sarah glanced at him. “You’re not going to order me to put him down right now?”
Jarek nearly smiled at the suspicion in her voice. Sarah Kwong was no pushover.
“No, not right now.”
“What happens next?”
“We wait to see what morning brings.” He sat down next to her, stretched his legs out and leaned back against the wall. His muscles flexed, trying to shed the fatigue and the strain from the constant vigilance that had kept them tight for the last twelve hours. “If we have to, we’ll circle back to the city or head toward my Uncle’s caravan. Either way, I will get us there.”
“Can I ask how? The Sahara is almost as large as the continental United States. We can go days without seeing anyone.”
“You forget, this is my backyard.”
“A backyard that has been infested.”
“That’s a very good analogy,” Jarek replied. “The Al Asheera have scattered, then hide in the sands, like vermin. It makes it difficult to flush them out into the open.”
“Have you ever tried rat poison?”
“No, but I might.”
“Will your cousin look for you?”
“Yes,” Jarek laid his forearm across his eyes. “But still it will take time. Until then we must keep safe.”
For the first time that day, she realized she actually did feel safe.
“Who is Roldo, Your Majesty?”
“I have no idea.” Jarek didn’t open his eyes. “Why?”
“Just before he died, Ramon told me to run from Roldo.” She shifted Rashid just a bit to look at Jarek. “He also said to tell you he was sorry.”
“Did he say why?”
“No. Actually, he didn’t say anything after that. Those were his last words.”
Jarek said nothing for a moment. Only the tightening of his fist indicated he’d heard. “Could Ramon have been delirious when he spoke the name?”
“He was aware enough to hand me his gun for protection.” Her eyes lingered over his profile while his eyes remained closed. The green hue of light didn’t detract from the carved features, but somehow it softened the line of his mouth, the line of his jaw. Just enough to give her a glimpse of where Rashid’s boyish features came from.
“Did the Al Asheera think you were on the plane?”
“It’s highly likely,” Jarek answered. “But even if they didn’t. The death or torture of an American reporter would not go well with Jon Mercer’s and my diplomatic efforts. The fact that you are his daughter’s friend only adds to the prize.”
“I didn’t get this job because I was Lara’s friend,” she pointed out.
“If I thought you had, you wouldn’t be here,” Jarek retorted. This time his mouth twitched with amusement over her quick defense. She was a woman with pride, and maybe a little vanity.
Both were fine if well deserved. And from what he’d seen of Sarah Kwong’s files, both were deserved.
“The president holds a tremendous amount of respect for you.”
The primness in the tone, made Jarek open his eyes.
“But you don’t.” Jarek turned his head until he faced her. Without thinking, she rubbed her cheek against Rashid’s temple. “My opinion isn’t the question here.”
It had been a long time since a woman had held his son. Even Anna didn’t come near as much anymore, Jarek realized. Emotion raced through him.
“No. Just my integrity, it seems,” Jarek responded. “Tell me, is your low opinion simply because I did not meet you in Morocco?”
“No,” she admitted. When her hair fell in a curtain over his son’s shoulder and neck, she automatically brushed it back. “I tend not to trust people who keep secrets. It comes with the job.”
“And you believe I have a secret.”
“No,