Guarding the Princess - By Loreth Anne White Page 0,31

of Sa’ud were dangerous.

Brandt knew this for a fact—he had inside information about those two Egyptian killers. While doing covert intelligence work in Libya, he’d seen proprietary photos of the two men, and in intelligence circles, those men had both been known assassins.

This gave him a whole other reason to keep his hands off Princess Dalilah Al-Arif—it was for her own protection. Because he had little doubt that if Sheik Hassan found out Dalilah was messing about with some hot-blooded, bush-addled ex-merc, it could be the death of her.

And him.

Oddly, this realization also stirred a protectiveness in him, which didn’t make sense. He glanced down at her again, and softness stole into his heart in spite of himself. There was something so gentle and vulnerable about her in sleep, her fiery energy blurred. He wondered why she’d actually chosen to marry Sheik Haroun Hassan in the first place, why she wanted to give up her independence, the charity work she was doing in Africa. Probably prestige, he thought. The Kingdom of Sa’ud was far more wealthy and politically influential than the Kingdom of Al Na’Jar—Haroun was a catch. With these thoughts came a whisper of disrespect.

For whatever reason Princess Dalilah had promised herself to the future king of Sa’ud, it was the choice she’d made. And in wearing that ring she’d made the man a promise.

A promise was something Brandt took very, very seriously.

He’d been burned himself by broken promises—he knew what that could do to a man. Brandt reached for the bottle of whiskey and took a hard swig. As the burn flushed through his chest he glanced down at Dalilah again, and this time he managed to feel nothing. She was just a principal. A package. He’d deliver her to her brother, and he to her prospective husband. No coddling. Talking only when absolutely necessary.

Just a job—for more reasons than he could count now.

* * *

Jacob held up his hand, calling the hunt party to a halt. A hint of light was creeping into the sky and he could just make out the glint of a small plane on the grassland below.

He and Jock had been leading the hunt posse through the night, assisted by Amal’s tracker and followed by four men on horses and six men in jeeps, including Amal. Jacob crouched to quietly watch the plane from the ridge and assess the situation.

But as Mbogo caught sight of the plane he whooped, hitting the accelerator of the jeep he was driving. Swerving around Jacob, Mbogo barreled his vehicle down the ridge and out over the plain toward the aircraft. The other jeep and three of the men on horseback bombed after him. One man on horseback remained to guard Jacob, his gun ready lest the tracker tried to take the gap and flee.

These men were stupid, thought Jacob as he began to proceed after them, slowly on foot, watching Jock carefully as he moved. They would miss signs by going straight for the plane. As he got to the bottom of the ridge, Jacob noticed Jock alerting to scent. He followed Jock until the dog alerted again.

Crouching, Jacob examined the ground with his flashlight, the man on the horse behind watching him. The rest of the party was circling the plane and he could hear snatches of voices carrying over the grassland. But his interest was in a series of holes in the ground. In some of the holes were tiny flecks of gold that reflected in his beam. The marks of gold stiletto heels, he thought. And one of the heels had been broken.

The princess had been here, crouching. There was a faint handprint, too. Jacob cut for more sign around this area and found a boot depression pooling with water. Slowly he glanced up and studied the plane in the distance. In the increasing light he saw it had no propeller, no doors.

The man who took the princess must have been planning to take to the air. But his plane had been robbed. No supplies, no transport, broken shoes on the woman. They would not get far. If the pilot was sharp, he’d go first to look for transport, food, water, before moving on.

Jacob looked up into the sky. If the pilot came over the Tsholo River in his plane, like a bird he would have seen the bush camp that lay to the north.

“Soek, Jock,” Jacob whispered to the dog, showing him the ground to initiate another search. The dog soon led him