Bodyguard Lockdown(15)

Booker broke into the clearing, his face gray, his body sluggish. “Get on the horse, Doc,” he ordered grimly. “Nothing left here.”

She stopped herself from reaching for him. Knowing if she offered to help, the argument from him would make his head worse and drain more of his strength.

Once Sandra was on, Booker mounted up behind her. He leaned into her, more deadweight than not.

He took the reins, tugged, and the horse started toward the foothills.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Is it worth three men’s lives to save yours?” Booker snapped. “Yes.”

She’d wrestled with her conscience during the time she waited. Those men were going to kill Booker.

“No,” she said honestly. “You’re hurt. We could’ve used one of those jeeps right about now.”

“I wanted to make sure they weren’t going anywhere with you,” he acknowledged, then patted the horse’s neck. “And Sam came back for me.”

* * *

THE MALAQUO OASIS WAS little more than a water hole surrounded by indigenous plants and trees. It fed into wells across the foothills where villages lay.

Still, it provided plenty of shelter and water to help them recover. And privacy.

Booker’s skull throbbed, but he hung on to his consciousness. He forced his eyes to focus on the area. “We’ll stop here.”

He slid off the horse, but his legs didn’t support him. Pain shot through his hips as his knees slammed into the ground.

Darkness edged in on his vision. He fought it off.

“From the looks of you, we have little choice,” Sandra said impatiently. “We should have stopped hours ago.”

“We needed water and shade.”

“What you need is rest, Booker,” Sandra shot back. “And that’s doctor’s orders.”

When he took a step, his legs gave way. Sandra was there, catching him under his arm just before he pitched forward.

“Hold on, big guy,” she murmured.

He grabbed the back of her neck, the weakness in his fingers proof of his fading strength.

Slowly, he brought her face to his. His mouth found hers. A butterfly kiss that fluttered, then settled into a promise of something more, something deeper.

If he’d been rough, she would have resisted. But a whisper of a kiss? One that left a longing for a time she’d never forgotten. Where she lay in his arms, their bodies entwined...

Sandra pulled back, locked her knees. Forced her thoughts back to the present. “Don’t, Booker.”

Twenty-four hours of watching her being tied up, beat up, shot at, was enough for any reasonable man to question his sanity. Never before had he lost all control, never had he wanted to strangle and make love to a woman at the same time.

He’d definitely lost his mind.

She lifted her chin, just a bit, but couldn’t hide the sheen of tears. He wasn’t having it. Those hurt puppy eyes weren’t going to touch his heart this time. Or any other time.

But when he looked in them, he saw more than hurt. For the first time, Booker saw real fear. She’d faced the guns, the fire ants, a kidnapping, and not once did she show fear, except when she thought he would be killed.

“I needed to put a stop to your bossiness,” he muttered. “It worked, didn’t it?”

It worked. But that wasn’t his typical “stop arguing” kiss. That was...

What?

Loving, he admitted.

“You’re very lucky, McKnight. You’re in no condition to rationalize,” she warned, but the words were soft. “Otherwise, you’d be very afraid of me right now.”

“Your anger doesn’t scare me, Doc,” Booker admitted, still tasting her on his mouth. “Not as much as...”

“As what?”

“Your stupid heroic ideas,” Booker bit out, his frustration getting the best of him.

“Stupid—”

“You buried me...alive.”

“You were unconscious!”

“Why didn’t you use some of that ammonia in your medical bag to wake me up?”

“From a concussion? Seriously?” She shook her head. “I carry the ammonia to confuse any tracking dogs—” She froze midstep, her brows raised. “How did you know the contents of my bag?”

“I searched the bag while you were asleep on the horse,” he muttered.

She took a few more steps, her movements stiff, jerking with anger.



“Not so rough, Doc.” Jackhammers thrashed the inside of his skull. “I don’t have my legs under me yet.”

“If I wasn’t a doctor, I’d drop you on your head,” she replied, her words sharp, but her arms instantly gentled around him.

“As long as I’m sitting down first.”

“Fine,” she agreed. “You had no right to search my things.”

“I had every right,” Booker corrected. “I’m trying to keep you alive, damn it. If you had the cylinders, we wouldn’t even be having this discussion and I certainly wouldn’t be dealing with the damn headache.”

“Sit here.” She settled Booker in a small clearing near the lagoon. Relief replaced her anger. At least he hadn’t found anything in the bag.

“Take care of Sam, will you?” Booker lay back and shut his eyes against the sun. “Just lead him to the water—he’ll do the rest.”

“Why did you name him Sam?”

“After someone I once knew,” he drawled, “who didn’t come back for me.”





Chapter Nine



Quamar stormed into the palace’s main office. “You cannot do this, Jarek. You cannot issue an order for your guards and secret service to join in the search for Sandra.”

“You forget I am king. I do what is necessary,” Jarek snapped. “Sandra has been missing for over twenty-four hours. I want her found. She hasn’t left the country through the checkpoints or airports. It means she’s still out there.”

“We do not have the manpower to protect the palace and to search the desert,” Quamar reasoned. “She is with Booker.”

“With our wives and children sent to the States for protection, we need no one else.”

“Your duties—”

“Have been canceled, damn it!” Jarek said, his patience gone.

“Uncle Bari has offered the men from his caravan,” Quamar offered.

Bari Al Asadi, even after abdicating, still had many men who stayed with his nomad ways, following his caravan. Men who fought against the Al Asheera years before.

“They were once soldiers...most are too old now. They are no longer able to fight off trained mercenaries.”

“He has a hundred men—”

“We need ten times that many, Quamar,” Jarek replied slowly. “I convinced Cain to send some American troops here to help.”

“And?”

“Someone on Capitol Hill blocked his order. Cain flew back this morning to find out who.”

Quamar knew Cain well enough that heads would be rolling once he hit the States. “Is President Mercer aware of this?”

“No. Cain suspects whoever blocked the order might be the same person who helped Trygg escape. And might deal directly with the Oval Office.”

“When Mercer finds out Cain is keeping him in the dark—and he will—Cain will be flayed alive.” A strategist, Cain’s reasoning was always sound. But President Mercer had an Irish temper that never fit in any equation.

The intercom clicked on. “Your Majesty.”

Jarek hit the button. “Yes, Trizal.”

“Dr. and Mrs. Omar Haddad are here to see you.”

Jarek glanced up at Quamar. “Do you want to explain our problems with manpower to them?”

Quamar sighed. “No, I do not.”

With a curt nod, Jarek hit the button again. “Send them in.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Omar Haddad wasn’t a tall man, but he was fit for his age, with dark eyes and silver-gray hair that covered most of his head. Dark skin, with deep lines marring his features—more from worry, Quamar imagined, than the Sahara sun.

“Your Majesty.” Omar’s tone cut with censorship. “We are sorry to disturb you, but we couldn’t wait around our quarters any longer without hearing a word from you.”

Jarek acknowledged Omar’s frustration with a nod, but it would not change his position on the matter. As a precaution, Jarek had ordered the Haddads to the palace and placed them under guard. He did not want Trygg using them as a weapon against Sandra.

“Have you found out anything, Your Majesty?”

“Not yet.” Jarek took Elizabeth’s hand in his and frowned at the icy feel of her skin. He covered it with his other hand to add his warmth. “Elizabeth, if there was news I would have sent it over at once.”