have made your point.”
The stranger released Anna. “As of this moment, they are my property. But I am more than willing to…sell them for a price.”
“If you care about our cause, you—”
“I have no allegiance to your crusade. I care only about their worth in ransom.”
Surprised, Anna glanced up. So the man wasn’t Al Asheera. He might work for another faction of terrorists, but it did not matter at this point. Escaping from one man would be much easier than escaping from a dozen.
“We will escort you into the palace,” Zahid responded. “And I will personally see you are rewarded.”
The man’s laugh was no different than his words, low and raspy. He nudged Anna behind him. The temptation to run prodded her, but she managed to quiet the urge. If she ran now, they would have no alternative but to shoot.
“I will find my own way to the palace.” Steadily, they backed away, the giant’s body now shielding her and the baby, his gun never wavering on the mob that followed. “Tell your father, Zahid, I will be in contact.”
The giant swung his machine gun toward the jeep and let go a burst of gunfire. An explosion shattered the air, the jeep burned in a ball of fire, putting a wall of flames between them and the soldiers.
Two of the rebels screamed in rage and rushed through the fire, but their robes caught the sparks and ignited. Some tried to save them, while others cried out and ran from the blaze.
The giant fired into the remaining Al Asheera even as he pushed her back toward the vent.
“Go through,” he ordered. “Now.”
Zahid grabbed a man, using him as human shield. Bullets struck the man’s chest. Still Zahid held him.
“Go!” When the giant’s weapon jammed, he threw it to the ground.
Anna hit the dirt, clutching Rashid. She slid back through the open vent, losing her slippers in the process.
For a big man, the giant moved with an eerie swiftness. She hadn’t risen to her feet before he stood beside her. Once again looming over her.
Desperate, Anna kicked the back of his knee and sent him crashing to the ground. Without waiting she started running, dragging her hand along the wall to keep her balance. His curses filled the air, but she didn’t let the viciousness deter her. Adrenaline pumped through her system. Her chest clenched, the panic swelled, threatening to collapse her already shaky legs.
While the walls were brick, the ground was still dirt. Sharp pebbles bit into her feet, causing her to stumble more than once, but sheer willpower kept her from crying out.
Suddenly, she was grabbed and pushed toward the wall. The giant’s body, hard and immovable, covered her and Rashid.
Behind them an explosion hit the air, the tunnel shuddered and the earth trembled. The wall collapsed in a roar of rocks and dirt.
Before she could gather her thoughts, he jerked away and grabbed her arm. “Grenades. Go!”
They ran through the obscurity—him leading the way with unnerving accuracy.
Only after long minutes did he stop.
A cloak of darkness surrounded them, its air clogged with dust and smoke. Anna tried to draw in a breath, ease the weight of fear in her chest but there wasn’t enough oxygen in the air.
“Shallow breaths.” The whispered order brushed her ear while his body pressed closer to her, its hard lines, the breadth of chest defined against her naked shoulders. A shiver of—what?—anticipation, fear—ran through her.
“We are safe for the moment. I detonated the grenades to stop them.”
“You’re sure?” She struggled to find his outline in the pitch-black, unnerved by the detached voice floating above her head.
“Yes, I am sure,” he answered with derision. “We are under the city. Far enough away to rest a moment. But only a moment.”
“Good.” She snagged her knife, jabbed the point into his stomach, backing him up a step. “Now, if you don’t let me go, I’ll kill you.”
Chapter Three
“You are being foolish,” came the irritated reply. Anna couldn’t see him, but she felt him, his body vibrating with barely suppressed anger. “Without my help, you risk yourself and the baby.”
“I have no reason to trust you or anyone else.” Another jab. This time the giant hissed. “So back off.”
“I am Quamar Bazan, Miss Cambridge. Do you remember me?”
“Quamar—” Her jaw snapped shut.
Of course she recognized the name. Quamar Bazan had worked as an agent with Labyrinth, a black ops organization connected with her father. One she hadn’t found out about until recently. “I’m supposed to take your word for that? When I can’t see your face?” She jabbed at him again for emphasis.
Quamar quickly grew impatient. “I can prove it, if you will allow me.” It was one thing to distrust him, quite another to keep poking at him with her blade. “But I must reach into my pocket.”
“All right. But slowly or you’re going to lose some fingers.”
Quamar heard the tremor in her voice, then the bite as she clamped down her fear. She was terrified, yet she maintained her stance.
She has courage, he admitted silently, almost reluctantly, as he pulled his light out of his pocket. And she would need it to see her through the next few hours.
He thumbed the switch, igniting the lighter. The dim fire cast an amber glow between them.
Beautiful, he thought, before he could stop himself. Even the streaks of mud over her brow and across the soft curve of her cheek didn’t detract. She studied him with blue eyes that were big and set apart, wide enough to balance the feminine cut of her chin, soften its stubborn edge. Her lips were full and wide with the balance toward top-heavy. Enough to entice most men, he imagined, to taste.
Slowly, she lowered her knife.
“Quamar.” There was no relief in her voice or fear. Just anger.
And his name trembled with it.
Since he’d expected the relief, her anger surprised him. But it shouldn’t have. He had been critically wounded a year ago while on an assignment to protect Anna’s grandmother from an assassin. And he had failed.
He, more than most, understood that past transgressions were never forgotten.
“You could have told me earlier.” She brushed her hair out of her face. Mud-splattered, it spilled down her back in a stream of blond tresses that curled between her shoulder blades. Thick enough to bury a man’s hand under its weight.
When his fingers itched to do the same, he tightened them on the lighter. “When was I supposed to tell you?”
“Outside, where I could’ve seen you.”
He growled, a harsh grinding of his vocal chords. “If I had, I would be dead. And you would be Zahid’s prisoner,” he snapped with more abruptness than intended, resenting her anger and the connotation behind both. “Or dead, too.”
“I could have killed you,” she said, her tone matching his. With jerky motions, she sheathed her knife in her waistband.
So, he thought, that is where the anger came from. Her fear of almost hurting him.
Not from their past.
“No, you could not have,” Quamar responded, his mind back on their position. It had been years since he’d explored the tunnels. Erosion could have weakened the passages for all he knew.
“In the future, do