Guarding the Princess - By Loreth Anne White Page 0,7
Moor’s son—he’s alive?”
Her assailant threw her an odd look and was silent for a beat.
“You didn’t know?”
Dalilah stared at him, thinking of the Arabic words she’d heard back at the lapa.
He gave a snort. “Figures your brothers might keep that from you. Amal Ghaffar has been hiding in Africa for the past two years, ever since your other brother Tariq shot off his arm in France and he got himself onto the world’s most-wanted list. Omair has been hunting him via an underground mercenary network, but every time Omair’s men get close, Amal and his pack move first.”
Her abductor held his hand out to her.
Dalilah stared at it, anger curling into her chest.
“You’re saying my brothers knew all this time that Amal was out here, alive?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying, Princess. Look, we need to move. They’re going to be up our asses as soon as day breaks and they find our tracks.”
Dalilah got awkwardly to her feet. He caught her arm as dizziness spun her world and she stumbled. She held on to him, steadying herself as pain sparked through her head. She realized her cocktail gown was ripped up to her hip, her legs scraped. One of her stiletto heels had broken in half. But all paled in face of the words he’d just uttered.
“Why would they keep this from me?”
“Why don’t you ask them yourselves once we get out of here.” He tried to usher her forward, but she yanked free.
“Those other men—”
“They’re all Amal’s, a band of rogue mercs, and they want your blood, Dalilah. Omair got wind via the underground that a bounty has been put on your head. Amal wants it, literally, on a plate if he can’t kill you himself.”
Blood drained from her face. “How...how do I know you’re telling the truth, that you’re not—”
“You don’t,” he said brusquely. “But make up your mind fast, Princess. Because it’s me or those men, and I’m not waiting.” With that he spun around and started marching down the ridge alone, not even bothering to glance over his shoulder to see if she was coming.
Fear propelled her after him, her lopsided stiletto heels spiking deep into soft, drought-dry sand and making her stagger wildly. Thunder clapped suddenly overhead and Dalilah ducked, wincing as the sound reverberated right through her bones. Black clouds were beginning to blot out the stars—the storm was closing in.
“Wait!” she yelled, trying to run faster, floundering even more on her uneven heels. But he kept moving ahead of her at a clip.
“Storm’s coming,” he called over his shoulder. “Need to get the Cessna up and over the Tsholo River before it hits!”
“Where are we going?”
“Botswana.”
“I—” She lurched forward suddenly and slammed to the ground. She cursed, eyes watering as she scrambled back to her feet and ran after him again. “I need to go to Harare! You’ve got to take me to Harare!”
He stopped suddenly, spun round. “Got to?”
“I have to sign a major deal tomorrow.” She was panting now, breath raw in her throat. “For ClearWater. I need to—”
“You don’t get it, do you, Princess?” He pointed back up the ridge. “At first light—if not before—Amal and his men are going to find our tracks, and they’re going to follow them right here! If we don’t get into the air and over the border before that storm hits, or before they arrive, we’re outnumbered and outgunned, and you’re dead. I’m here to see that isn’t going to happen, which means the only place you’re going right now is to Botswana where I can protect you until Omair or his men come and take you off my hands.”
Anxiety, fear, desperation, failure—it all swamped through Dalilah at once, overwhelming her. “This deal,” she said softly, all the fight going out of her. “I’ve been working on it for four years now. If we don’t sign tomorrow...I...the villagers won’t get water....” Her voice cracked and tears spilled down her face. She sunk to the ground and buried her face in her hands.
Something seemed to shift in him, because he crouched in front of her and touched her arms, his palms rough against her skin.
“Dalilah,” he said quietly, “Those delegates aren’t signing anything tomorrow. They’re all dead.”
She couldn’t breathe. She started to shake as it truly sunk in what had just happened at the lodge.
“They died because they were there with you—those men mean business. Come, we need to move. Now.”
“Clean water,” she whispered. “Those people need water. This mining-rights deal was our way in