Seized By The Sheik

He had ripped Fahad’s shirt open as soon as he’d found him. Now he pushed the tattered and bloody fabric aside and pressed the slick side of the raincoat against the wound. Grasping the bandage roll in sticky hands, he strapped it across Fahad’s chest, fitting the slicker tight against his skin. It was far from sterile, far from ideal, but it was the best he could do. He just prayed it would work.

Something scraped rock and Callie slipped to her knees by his side.

“I told you to stay—”

“It will go faster with both of us.”

He shook his head and peered down at the badlands below. “You have to go back down the slope.”

“I know you’re trying to protect me. But faster is better. For Fahad and for both of us.” She set her chin and gripped Fahad’s shoulders. “Now, are you going to help me sit him up or not?”

He helped her tilt Fahad toward him. Callie wrapped the rest of the slicker around his side and over the exit wound in his back. They wrapped the bandage around his chest, securing the slicker as tightly as possible to the wound.

Fahad gasped again and again, but this time he seemed to be getting air. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and trickled down the side of his face and into his beard. Beads of sweat bloomed on his forehead.

“Fahad, who did this?” Efraim asked.

“Followed you.”

“Who?”

He shook his head, the movement barely perceptible. “Don’t know.”

Efraim’s pulse beat in his ears, loud as gunfire. Any second another shot could crack through the canyon, a bullet could plow into one of them and end it all.

“Have you spotted the shooter?” Callie asked.

He took a quick glance around the canyon formations. Between the hoodoos, crumbled cliffs and pocks of vegetation, he couldn’t pick out the form of a man. All he had to go on was the trajectory of the shot that had missed his head. “I think he’s to the north. And I think he’s somewhat below us because he didn’t see me until I stood.”

“Your horse. The gunshot spooked him.”

He glanced up. He’d assumed both horses had run. “Just mine?”

She nodded. “I’ve competed in shooting competitions on horseback, too. Sasha’s used to it. She’s waiting at the bottom of the slope.”

He let out a breath. At least one thing had gone right in all this. They’d need a horse if they hoped to get Fahad out of here and to someone who could help him.

“The horse will probably head for one of the ranches around here. My dad’s. Helen’s. He’ll be all right.”

Efraim hadn’t been thinking of the horse. He’d been more concerned about their being all right. But he gave her a nod all the same.

Callie grabbed another bandage from the saddlebags, this one a self-adhesive horse wrap. They wrapped until they’d covered Fahad’s back and shoulder.

Now came the tricky part. “We need to move him, get him down to the horse. And we’re going to have to stand up to do it.”

“Maybe not.” She reached for the saddlebag. Opening the second side, she pulled out a small thermal blanket. “We can drag him.”

“Do you have everything in that bag?”

“I was a Girl Scout.”

He must have missed something. “A Girl Scout?”

“They teach you to be prepared. Always good, because around here, people are few and far between.”

They spread the blanket and lifted Fahad onto it.

The canyon was quiet, nothing but the wind whistling through rock formations. Efraim would like to think that meant their shooter was gone, but he doubted that was the case.

Keeping low, Callie picked up one corner of the blanket near Fahad’s head. Efraim took the other, and they slid him across rock to the three-foot drop down to the incline.

At the base of the steep slope, the palomino mare stood, reins draped to the ground, shifting her hooves in the dust.

Efraim jumped off the rock shelf. His boots skidded on loose rock and debris. He went down to a knee before catching himself.

“You okay?” Callie said, her voice breathless.

He nodded. “I’ll take him from here.” He gathered Fahad in his arms as if cradling a baby. Fahad was only five feet eight inches tall, but he was built like a bulldog. A muscled bulldog at that. Efraim’s arms ached with his limp weight. At least the sucking noise had stopped. His cousin’s breathing was still labored, but he was breathing.

Efraim half skidded, half ran down the slope to the horse, Callie right behind him. The place she’d left the horses was protected on several sides. Except for the rock shelf above, most of the canyon plummeted downward from their perch, and afforded a decent view of the area. Not that there was anything to see.

And that made Efraim nervous.

He lowered Fahad to the ground and hunched down beside him.

“How is he?”

“He’s breathing better but unconscious.”

“The pain. The blood loss. It probably got to be too much.”

An understatement. He’d never had a gunshot wound, not in all his years in the military. But years ago, he’d helped a soldier who’d been shot during an uprising in Nadar. He knew how painful it could be.

He squinted up at the sun in the western sky. They were running out of time, and there was still someone out there gunning for them. He had to figure out what to do next. And he couldn’t afford to make another mistake. “This ranch of your family’s, how far?”

“A few miles.”

“Can we still make it before nightfall?”

“Maybe. Or just after.” She glanced at Fahad. “We’ll have to take things slow.”

The sun beat down, hot on his skin. Sweat stung his eyes. He wiped the back of his hand across his brow, realizing too late he had blood up to his elbows. And now, no doubt, all over his face. “You take Fahad on the horse.”

“And you?”

“I stay here. Cover you.”

She shook her head, her hair blowing in the wind and lashing her cheeks like whips. “No. That’s not going to happen.”

“What, then? We have an injured man, one horse and someone trying to shoot us.” He wished she had another answer, a better answer, but he doubted one existed.

“You take him. I cover you.”

“That is not going to happen.”

“But this shooter, if he’s targeting you—”

“Targeting me? And what if he is? You’re not law enforcement. I suppose you’re planning to use diplomacy?”

She stepped to her horse and tapped the stock of her prize rifle for an answer, throwing his earlier gesture back at him.

“Shooting targets is one thing. Engaging an enemy is another.”

“You thought I was good enough a few minutes ago.”

He shook his head. He hated to break it to her, but a few minutes ago, she’d been relatively protected. The riskier job had been climbing up to help Fahad. “I’m sure you’re a fine shot. But this isn’t the same thing.”

She blew a frustrated breath through pursed lips. “COIN can proceed without me. It will die without you.”

So that was it. He should have known. The COIN summit was obviously more important to her than her own life. Good thing that wasn’t true for him. “That’s not the way it works, Callie.”

“Is this some sort of macho thing?”

“It’s some sort of practical thing. You said your family’s ranch is the closest place to get help. I have no idea how to get there. I can, however, hold a gunman off and catch up with you once I know it’s safe.”

She pressed her lips into a line, her chin set.

He didn’t know Callie McGuire very well, but he already knew that look.

She met his eyes. “We’ll both go. Together.”

“Then we’ll both get killed. And Fahad will die from his injuries,” he said in a low voice. He glanced at his cousin. Fahad’s breathing was labored, but the slicker looked to have done the trick. For now. But with every second they spent arguing, he was getting weaker and the sun was dipping lower in the western sky. “If you want to keep Nadar in the COIN compact, we need to keep Fahad alive. His death will only give the dissenters in Nadar fuel for their movement.”

“And your death?”

“I’m not going to die.”

She shook her head.

“Fahad is losing blood with each minute we spend arguing.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll do this your way.” Her eyes focused on him like blue lasers. “But you have to promise me you’ll catch up. That you’ll be okay.”

The slight tremble in her voice held a desperation that made his breath hitch, and for a moment, he wanted to believe she was concerned about him, personally, not merely politics and business negotiations, but him as a man.

“Promise me,” she repeated.

“I give you my word.”

She scrambled to her feet. “Then help me get him on the horse.”

Chapter Three

This whole thing was wrong. All wrong.

Callie swung onto Sasha’s back. When she’d ridden out to Rattlesnake Badlands at Prince Stefan’s request, she’d been aiming to talk Efraim into going back to the resort where he’d be safe. Instead, he was risking his life for his cousin’s, for hers. And unless she was willing to let Fahad die, she couldn’t do a damn thing to change it.

“Fahad,” Efraim said, kneeling next to his cousin. “Can you hear me?”

Fahad mumbled something Callie couldn’t quite catch. His eyes fluttered and opened. His face twisted in a grimace of pain.

“I am going to lift you onto the horse. It might get a bit rough. Hang with us, okay?”

Fahad just kept breathing, in and out, as if anything else was beyond his grasp. It probably was.

Efraim glanced up at her. “Ready?”

She wasn’t sure how they were going to pull this off. Fahad couldn’t lie on his back across the saddle. Nor could he drape over it on his belly, letting blood rush to his head. She slipped behind the saddle’s cantle and sat on the stiff, leather skirt. “He’s going to have to sit on the seat. That’s the only way this is going to work.” Even then, she wasn’t sure they could manage.

Efraim knelt down. Fitting his hands under Fahad’s shoulders and knees, he lifted the man from the ground and climbed to his feet.

Callie reached down from the saddle, and Efraim hoisted him onto the seat. Callie guided his leg over the saddle until he sat astride. She settled him on the seat and leaned his body back against her. She could feel him groan, the sound shuddering through her body. She steadied him with one hand and held Sasha’s reins with the other.

“Do you have him?”

Good question. With a man who had the strength of a rag doll sitting on her lap and her legs dangling at her mare’s flanks, Callie had a challenge ahead of her. She was grateful the horse was Sasha. The palomino mare could read Callie’s shifts of weight almost as if she was reading her mind.

She looked down at Efraim. The thought of him out facing the man who did this to Fahad chilled her to the core. If only she could do something.

He had his pistol, but a pistol wasn’t going to do much good unless the shooter was close. Balancing Fahad against her chest, she tapped the stock of her rifle. “Take this.”

He shook his head. “You’ll need it.”

“Between balancing Fahad on the saddle and keeping control of Sasha, I don’t have enough hands to use a rifle. Give me your pistol.”

He unbuckled his holster. Reaching up, he helped her strap it around her waist. She pulled the rifle from its scabbard and handed it to him.

His hand closed around hers. He lingered for a moment, then took the rifle. “Go.”

She clucked to Sasha and the horse moved forward. Callie kept her eyes on the horizon in the direction of the Seven M Ranch, resisting the need to look around, to see Efraim taking cover among the hoodoos and cliffs, to watch as he faded into the distance.

Two gunshots cracked and echoed off the rock.

Callie kept Sasha moving forward. She knew the shots were likely Efraim drawing attention to himself, trying to let her ride away unnoticed. She forced herself not to think of what might happen next, but her imagination niggled around the edges anyway. Efraim shot… Efraim lying in Rattlesnake Badlands alone while the life drained from his body… Efraim sacrificing himself to make sure she could escape.

A sob stuck in her throat.

In all the times she’d spoken to him before today, she’d had to remind herself to be professional. Speak about COIN and the future of Nadar. Don’t get too personal. Don’t hold his gaze too long.

She’d been attracted to him from the first time she’d laid eyes on him, at a reception in Kyros, his hair nearly as black as his tuxedo. Each time she’d spoken with him since, she’d felt on the edge of giggling and blushing. She’d had to force herself to remain professional.

And now?

Now she just wanted to talk to him again. She just wanted to look in his eyes and feel that blush one more time.

Sasha cleared the badlands. The landscape flattened into sage-pocked plains and abrupt, flat-topped hills called benches. The mountains loomed closer on the northern horizon. The scent of pine tickled the dry wind.

The going was slow, even on the more even ground. With each sway of Sasha’s stride, Callie could feel Fahad’s weight tip to one side or the other as he grew weaker and even less able to hold himself steady. He was a big man. Not as tall as Efraim, but thick and muscled. If he tilted too far to either side, she wouldn’t be able to hold him.

The sun dipped lower in the western sky, its aurora kissing the blue shadow of mountains before starting its slip behind. Soon she would have to navigate by the glow of twilight. She needed to keep moving. Among the mountains, twilight seemed to last forever. But when night finally fell, it was blacker than a nightmare.

“Efraim.” Fahad’s voice was low, a harsh whisper.

Callie leaned her face close to his. The rusty scent of blood filled each breath she took. “He’ll catch up with us. He’ll be okay.”

“You let him…”

She finished the rest of his sentence with her imagination. An extra shard of guilt dug into her. “I didn’t let him. He insisted on protecting you, protecting me.”

“You care only for your negotiations.”

His words hit her like a slap. “That’s not true.” She’d been telling herself that that was all she should care about ever since she’d first met Efraim. That she should be professional. That she should think only of her job. Now a part of her wished she’d never listened.

“He shouldn’t die…”

His voice was growing weak. She leaned closer. “…you should.”

“I should what?”

“Die.”

The vitriol in his one word shook her to the core. She’d faced opposition before in her job. Hatred for the United States. Distrust. She’d faced some of the same from the people she’d grown up with. But never had someone wished her death straight to her face. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“You have polluted Efraim.”

“Polluted?” Words gathered in her mind, bitter words she longed to throw back. She bit the inside of her lip. Pouring gasoline on this kind of fire would only make it burn brighter, hotter. She would let him have his say.

“You, your country…let him go.”

Let him go? “Efraim does what he feels is best. I have no hold on him.”

“Let him go.”

All her experience as a diplomat, and she had no idea what to say to the man. She could find no words. “Efraim makes his own choices.”

“Then may you both…” A rasping sound vibrated through his chest and back. He strained backward, against Callie, as if struggling to breathe.

She shifted him to the side.

“Your family and his…may both be destroyed.” He slumped heavily against her. He gasped in a labored breath, then another.

She grasped the saddle’s fork and held on.

“Whoa, Sasha.” Reaching around the other side of him, she transferred the reins into the hand gripping the saddle. She threaded her free hand along the man’s neck and felt for his pulse. His skin felt clammy. Sweat soaked his hair, his beard. A faint, thready rhythm beat against her fingers.

Still alive, but for how long?

She picked up the reins again and clucked to Sasha. Eyes on the horizon, she searched for the telltale signs of the creek that wound through her family’s ranch while the sun slipped behind the mountain range.

EFRAIM HELD HIS GUN at the ready and strode toward the flash of movement he’d seen between clumps of sage. Probably an animal. A pronghorn antelope darting across the land or a coyote scrounging for food or scampering after a rodent. But deep down he feared it wasn’t something so innocuous. Whoever had shot Fahad was still out here. Watching him. Following. He sensed him.

At least he hoped the gunman was following him and not Callie and Fahad.

He could no longer see them. He hadn’t been able to for quite a while now, even over this open stretch. But he could see her horse’s fresh tracks among sagebrush and prickly pear. And at his pace, he had to be closing in on her. Of course, with only the faint glow of the sun from beyond the mountains, seeing anything was becoming a challenge.

A slight rustle carried on the dying wind.

Ahead, vegetation grew a little taller, a little more lush. A clear indication of water. Probably a creek. He pulled out Callie’s rifle. Lifting it to his shoulder, he peered through the scope and scanned the area.

No horse. No man. But also no animal. At least not one he could see.

Whoever was out there was very good. Either someone who knew the land, or someone trained to disappear. He could be lining Efraim up in his sights right now, and Efraim wouldn’t even know he was there.

Not until the bullet hit.

He tried to clear his mind, to focus on what his senses told him, not what his imagination could invent. Whoever was out there had been following Callie or him or both since Fahad was shot. He hadn’t shot back since his second attempt in the badlands, but that didn’t mean killing them wasn’t his aim. Efraim just wished he knew why the man was playing with them like a cat plays with its prey before devouring it.

Dry soil crunched under his boots. The wind had died down with the fall of night, and the air was still, making every sound loud as gunfire. He breathed deeply, searching for the scent of burning tobacco, the sharp tang of a man’s sweat, something, but all he could detect was the ever-present fragrance of sage flavored with a distant hint of pine.

He lowered the rifle. Another thing he hadn’t seen was any sign of a ranch, and that had him worried. It couldn’t be too much farther, could it? He hoped it was as close as Callie thought. And he could only pray Fahad was still alive and strong enough for it to matter.

The hiss sounded from the prairie floor, like the shake of a maraca, louder than the wind.

Oh, hell.

He looked down at the earth in front of him.

The black coil of a rattlesnake lay near a clump of sage. Again, it sounded its deadly warning.

Efraim took a slow step backward. Then another. In all the riding and climbing he’d done in Rattlesnake Badlands, he hadn’t seen a single one of the reptiles. They’d probably been hiding from the hot sun. This one had ventured out to enjoy the cooler evening air.

He took several more backward steps.

The rattle faltered, then stopped. He’d barely drawn a breath when another sound came from behind him. The unmistakable clack of a rifle chambering a round.

“Turn around and I’ll blow your head off.”

The voice sounded American. A local, or at least a pretty good imitation of the accent. A slight tremor vibrated under the words.

Efraim gripped the rifle. He slid his finger to the trigger guard.

“Throw the rifle down.”

Could he spin around, aim and fire before the man could take him out? He doubted it. He’d proven himself quite a marksman in the canyon. Now, with what sounded like only a few yards between them, hitting Efraim would be child’s play.

“I said throw it down.”

It would be smarter to wait for a better chance. He just prayed it would come before the bullet did. He tossed Callie’s rifle to the ground.

“Put your hands up.”

Efraim complied. Hands raised, he scanned the area, straining to see in the dim light. Sagebrush hulked in low, gray mounds, but he could see little else. Nothing he could use for cover.

Boots crunched on dry ground. The steps came closer, moving up behind him.

Efraim held his breath. He could feel the man closing in. Only eight feet away. Four. Two. Efraim no longer had his pistol or Callie’s rifle, but that didn’t mean he was unarmed. He slowed his breathing, focused his mind, ready to move.

The footfalls stopped. Efraim could sense him bend down, hear him grab Callie’s rifle.

Now.

Efraim slashed a hand downward, grabbing for his belt. The dagger decorating the buckle looked like simple ornamentation, but it was anything but. His thumb found the release button at the same time his fingers hit the tiny dagger. He pulled the small blade clear and spun around.

The man was a dark silhouette, the last glow of twilight behind him.

Efraim slashed, hit flesh.

The man let loose a guttural sound.

Efraim reversed direction, bringing the blade back, striking again.

This time his enemy was ready. He lifted the rifle. Blade hit barrel.

The dagger wrenched from Efraim’s hands. The rifle barrel numbed his hand and plowed into his side.

Pain shot through his ribcage, making it hard to breathe. He struck out with his bare hands. His knuckles glanced off the man’s chin.

The rifle hit again.

His whole chest seized with pain. Gasping, Efraim hunched forward, trying to protect his ribs, trying to breathe.

The man was on him in a second. His knee drove into Efraim’s back. Dirt and grit ground into his cheek. He struggled for air but nothing came.

“Hold still.”

Efraim finally choked a breath into his lungs. Dust came with it. He coughed, his side on fire. The entire middle of his body wreathed in pain.

His dagger.

It had flown out of his hand when the rifle barrel hit. It had to be here. Within a few feet. He scraped the ground in front of him with his free hand, but hit nothing but sagebrush and prickly pear.

“Hold still.” The man shoved his knee harder into Efraim’s back. “Right now, or I’ll blow you away.”

Each inhale seared like a hot poker in the side, but at least he was breathing. He felt something hard press into the back of his head.

“Is he dead?”

“Who?” Efraim managed to choke out.

“The one I shot.”

Efraim dug his fingers into the dirt. He didn’t know if Fahad was alive or dead, but either way he would strangle the man with his own hands. He would avenge his cousin. His blood. Fahad would do no less for him.

“Is he?”

“No.”

He let out a breath with a whoosh. “Why are you here?” The man’s voice cracked.

Efraim smiled. It was one thing to gun a man down from a distance. Looking through a rifle scope made everything seem unreal, like watching a violent movie or playing a video game. Americans loved their violence as long as it was at a distance. Pretend. Or in someone else’s country.

Efraim knew how to deal with it close up.

He had to be calm, to clear his mind. He’d struck too fast with the knife. Played it too recklessly. He’d assumed he was faster than his enemy. As fast as he had been years ago when he’d fought for Nadar. He’d been wrong. But he didn’t need to be faster. He was smarter. This time he needed to think. And when he got an opening, he needed to make it count.

The guy had him pinned to the ground, but his weight rested too much on Efraim’s back. In that unstable position, Efraim could throw him off balance and flip him. He’d already proven himself more fond of throwing threats around than bullets. He’d give Efraim another chance. Cracked rib or not, Efraim could take him. He tensed, ready to make his move.

“Efraim?”