were possible, even more gut-wrenching.
“Emir?”
Kate’s voice was calm yet husky in a completely feminine way. She’d taken him out, literally flipping him onto his back, but it was her voice he knew could be his undoing. Now it was all he needed to bring him from his thoughts and into her presence.
“When was the last time you spoke to Tara?”
“Yesterday afternoon. It was a quick call. She told me that she planned to meet some friends—she mentioned the local nightclub. That was it.” He shook his head, his eyes not meeting hers. He didn’t need that distraction, that allure—he needed to focus and she was making it difficult. “All I told her to do was have fun. Instead, I should have...”
“Should have what, Emir?” Kate interrupted. “You’re not psychic. You did what you could—better than most. She’s a grown woman. She made her own decision and, unfortunately, the consequences were nothing anyone could anticipate. The only thing we can do now is get her home safe.”
She was right. He needed to quit thinking in the past unless it was something that would help. Although Kate hadn’t said any of that, he could read it in her tight stance, the accusing spark in her eye and the set of her chin. She wasn’t putting up with any emotional swaying on his part. She was making him toe the line—and it was exactly what he needed. Ironically, he was the most unemotional of his brothers, the least likely to act on emotion despite the circumstances.
But the thoughts wouldn’t be stilled as he contemplated the horrible thought that Tara knew her attacker. That the perpetrator who had planned this crime knew his sister. That he had her trust. It seemed more and more likely that that was the only thing that made sense.
Four questions—who, why, what and where—and no one had the answers.
He glanced at his watch. If his calculations were right, Tara had been gone for over fourteen hours.
They’d hypothesized enough. Time was running out.
* * *
AT THE SOUND of his voice, Tara cringed and pulled her knees up to her chest, as if making herself smaller would make her invisible. She pushed her back against the sand-crusted cliff.
“I should have never listened to him. Cousin or not, he’s an idiot,” the man said, continuing his one-person tirade.
She made herself look at him, at the horrid scar that brutalized one side of his face, at the dark hair slicked with gray—at the person who threatened her very life. She needed to find out everything she could to help her brothers get her out. She’d known since the beginning that this man was in charge. What was frightening was that he was no stranger to her. But he wasn’t the man she remembered, either.
She watched as he wiped the back of his hand across his stubbled chin as another man, slimmer and taller, walked past. He muttered something and the man she had come to loathe, and who led them all, cuffed him across the back of the head.
“Stop that,” he snarled. He spoke in his native Berber and it was unclear to Tara, and she suspected to the man he had just accosted, what it was he should stop.
Silence settled for a few seconds in the small oasis that had become her nightmare. She looked around, conscious that he was sensitive even to her silent scrutiny. She was doing as little as possible to draw attention to herself. The thought of her brothers is what kept her strong and would get her through this. But the leader’s next words frightened her like no others could.
“I’ll bring the bloody house of Al-Nassar to its knees.” He chuckled, the sound as dry as the endless sand that swept around them, flirting with the boundaries of the only greenery for miles. “Soon I will be a rich man.”
He turned so that he partially faced her as he coughed and scowled.
“What are you staring at?” he snarled.
“Nothing,” she said with oomph in her voice. For the one thing she’d learned since her kidnapping was that the man she would now think of only as he, detested weakness.
She stared at him before he finally turned his back to her.
The word he snarled as he stormed away was as evil as all the others he’d cursed at her. She knew the anger wasn’t directed at her but at the house of Al-Nassar and everything he thought it stood for. He’d made that clear in the first miserable hours when they’d taken her and all the hours since.
Tara breathed a sigh of relief and prayed, for she didn’t know how much longer she could keep the evil at bay.
Monday, September 14, 7:00 p.m.
They had agreed that there was nothing they could do until daylight. The Sahara wasn’t welcoming during the day, never mind at night. There was no need to push the limits, especially as there had been no further communication from the kidnappers.
That worried Emir.
“The airport attack had to be tied to the kidnappers. But why?” Kate asked. “Something doesn’t fit.”
He paced and tried to ignore the pulsing headache. He’d already popped a couple of aspirin and an hour ago he’d admitted to himself that there was no hope for it, the headache was there until Tara was brought home unscathed.
“We should have gotten a final demand by now. None of this makes sense,” he said, knowing it could make perfect sense. But maybe it all made sense and it was that last, unspoken option he didn’t want to contemplate.
“Could their plans have gone somewhat awry?” Kate mused. “We were attacked at the airport by men who we believe were part of Tara’s kidnappers, but why attack us?” She shoved her hands into her pockets as she paced the room. “They’ve got to be connected—the kidnappers and the airport attackers. And they had to have a motive for the attack. Is it possible they’re working at odds with each other?”
Emir heard the reluctance to believe her own theory in her voice. Like him, she knew that if she was right, if there were problems among the kidnappers, that could only mean problems for Tara. It wasn’t the usual kidnapping pattern, but for every norm there was the deviant. These kidnappers were obviously true deviants. And that only made him angry and fearful at the same time, fearful that they wouldn’t find Tara alive.
“She’ll be fine, Emir. We’ll make sure of it.”
He took a breath, focusing on what could be done now.
He had to think about practical things. Things that needed to be done by morning—gathering supplies that would see them through a journey into the desert. He’d already set staff to complete that task. But there were other things. They needed to eat, rest and prepare for what lay ahead.
Whether they heard from the kidnappers or not, whether her abductors returned Tara voluntarily or not, they would face justice and Emir would be the one leading that charge.
His stomach rumbled, reminding him of a more immediate problem. But already that problem was also on the edge of resolution. He’d sent word to the kitchen and ordered Moroccan omelets for both of them. It was a light meal enhanced with the subtle tastes of various herbs, tomato and onion, perfect for not making one so satiated that lethargy set in. They couldn’t afford that.
There was movement in the doorway, followed by a hesitant knock.
He looked up and saw Baz, the son of one of his estate security. The teenager hesitated in the doorway as he held a tray of food Emir had ordered less than twenty minutes ago.
“On the desk would be fine, thanks.” He eyed the boy. “You’re off duty soon?”
The slight yet gangly, dark-haired youth nodded. “I’m sorry about Tara, I...” He dropped his head and backed up, his hands behind his back. “Can I help? Find her, I mean.”