Undercover Sheik

The leader shot him a glance that shut him up and had him looking away, but did not berate the young man for his hotheaded outburst. He seemed to share Ahmed’s concern.

“She stays with us,” he said. “There’s fire in that one that’s not broken yet.”

One of the men made a suggestion as to how Nasir could manage that, and others laughed, the tension suddenly broken.

“Shukran.” Thank you. Nasir nodded to the leader and gave proper respect, then hurried out of the tent to save the American doctor’s life.

ANGER WAS SLOWLY replacing her fear.

Sadie tore her arm from the man’s grasp, nearly toppling to the sand before she caught her balance and swirled back, hoping to catch him by surprise and ram him hard enough to make him drop the rifle. Screw dignity.

She was too freaked to pull it off anyhow, to stand there in the middle of the desert looking all noble and unperturbed, to think of some profound parting words her executioner wouldn’t understand in any case. Following orders and being suitably submissive not to rouse anyone’s anger hadn’t gained her freedom. It was time she started to fight.

She wasn’t doing well at it, she thought as the guard knocked her to the ground.

Keep coming up.

That was the key. She struggled to her feet and charged at him again.

He wasn’t taking her too seriously, hadn’t even bothered to call out to the others. He seemed undecided on whether to be annoyed or amused. She rammed her head into his stomach, hard enough so he staggered back.

Then his rifle barrel was pressed to her temple as he shouted at her in Arabic. Game over. Looked like he’d had enough entertainment.

Another shout came from behind her, then was repeated in English. “Stop.”

She swallowed at the sight of Nasir striding over the sand, his long black robe billowing ominously behind him like a giant hawk descending on its prey. Fearsome. His face was unscarred, his nose straight, unbroken, unlike most of the rest of the men’s. He was the tallest and toughest bandit in camp, but that wasn’t what made him seem the most dangerous. He had something cold and hard within that showed in the set of his strong jaw, in his intense sable eyes. She found the overall effect chilling.

He yelled again, and she realized with surprise that he was yelling at the guard and not at her. Had the camp leader changed his mind? Hope rushed to her head.

Then Nasir reached her, and his long fingers closed around her arm. Without another word to the guard, he dragged her off—not back to the main tent, nor to her makeshift shelter-slash-prison… She slowed and dug her heels into the sand when she realized their destination was his black tent.

“No,” she said like she meant it, as if her knees weren’t trembling under the worn abayah they made her wear. “No, please.” She feared Nasir more than she feared execution. At least a shot in the head would have been quick.

Some of the men leaving Umman’s tent stopped to watch as Nasir dragged her on effortlessly, paying no attention to her struggles. One shouted something in Arabic. Nasir didn’t respond.

Then they were inside the tent he alone occupied—he did not share like the others—and he let her go so suddenly that she sprawled onto the carpets.

He stepped toward her, but she scrambled away, looking frantically for a weapon. She dashed for the rifle that hung from the tent pole.

He got there first.

Her breath lodged in her throat. Fear raked its sharp talons down her skin.

“Take it easy,” he said in near perfect English. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Her body went still as she stared. Other than a few grunted words, he’d never spoken her language before. A few seconds passed before she gathered enough courage to address him, moving slowly as far from him as the tent allowed.

“You’ll wait for the money? How many days?” Even if all they gave her was a single extra day, she’d have tonight to escape.

“I wouldn’t recommend running away,” he said as if reading her thoughts, and sat to block the tent’s opening, his rifle laid across his knees. “It’s safer here. Nobody will hurt you now.”

What part of her hostage-waiting-for-execution position did he consider safe? Surprised, she looked into his face, then quickly away when she realized her mistake. She’d been beaten by one of the other men for that in the beginning. She was to speak when spoken to and keep her eyes on her feet when not on her work.

But Nasir didn’t become outraged. After a moment, she glanced back, hoping to read his true intentions in his expression.

“Why?” she asked cautiously.

He held her gaze for a while, his sable eyes burning into hers, his features hard with a large dose of displeasure. “Because you’re mine.” The words fell from his lips slowly, distinctly.

“Ah… What?”

“I claimed you in front of the others.”

Mother of God, help me now. She could only imagine what he’d claimed her for.

“No.” She squared on him, prepared to fight. If she could disable him, maybe she could stay hidden in his tent until nightfall then take off—provided that he didn’t have any visitors in the meanwhile.

“It’ll buy you time,” he said mildly.

“For what?” Was he playing with her? Was it some sick game he wanted before he pounced?

“To find a safe way out. I’m here for some information. As soon as I have it, I’ll take you to the nearest village.”

Was he lying so later he could catch her off guard? She watched him cautiously and weighed his words. He hadn’t hurt her, not once. Her fear of him stemmed from watching him with the other men. Emotions ran high in camp, and the bandits were often at each others’ throats. Nasir hadn’t started any fights, but he finished many.

“Are you—” She sat back down, trying to put the pieces together. “Are you an undercover policeman or something?”

“Hardly.” He gave a rueful grin that softened his face.

She stared, a second or so passing before she said, “But you’re definitely not going to hurt me?” She wanted to make sure that was nailed down.

“You are safe in my tent.”

She would consider believing that if she was still alive and untouched by the end of the day. She eyed the curved dagger tucked into his sash. “So, who are you exactly?”

“Nasir.”

She’d been hoping for something beyond that.

“A spy?” The question slipped out as it occurred to her. He had said he was here to gather some kind of information.

“I’m here on my own business.”

And she would just bet his business wasn’t the good kind. She hadn’t been mistaken when she’d seen murder in his eyes. But as long as it didn’t involve her and he would help her out of here, she was willing to overlook it.

“How long before you leave?”

“As soon as I have the information I came for.” He stood, set down the rifle and pulled up an extra carpet, fastened it to the poles so it neatly divided the tent.