Guarding the Princess - By Loreth Anne White Page 0,85

the sand. No horses, just as he’d figured.

Brandt waited until they got a little closer. Then he turned the knob on the camp stove and lit the gas. The bullets would explode and the men would think they were being fired on from behind. He ran back to where he’d left his handmade grenades.

Taking one of the bottles out of the box, he readied his match. The headlights came closer and he could hear the purring of the engines. His heart jackhammered. Across the ridge, he caught the gleam of Dalilah’s hair in the moonlight. Tension whispered through him, but he settled it—putting his mind in the zone, a place he was familiar with. And waited for his prey to arrive.

* * *

Jacob felt something was wrong as soon as the jeeps entered the dark gorge—the sixth sense of a hunter. A sense of foreboding. This was a trap—he was sure of it. But he said nothing from his seat in the back of one of the jeeps. Jock’s head rested on his lap. Amal sat in front of him.

Jacob scanned the black cliff faces that were closing in on either side of them. Then suddenly a glint of reflected moonlight up on the ridge caught his eye. His heart began to pound and sweat beaded on his brow. Still, Jacob said nothing to the man in the front seat, but he quietly removed the leash from Jock’s collar so the dog would be able to flee.

Suddenly gunfire sounded in the ridge behind them. All the men in the two jeeps spun around. Amal yelled for his driver to speed up.

The drivers gunned forward, but the cliff walls grew very narrow. Jacob heard a sharp whistle. Then a flare of orange fire came arcing down from the sky. The fireball hit the bonnet of their jeep and a bottle exploded into a raging burst of flame.

Another fireball came down from the other cliff wall, hit behind them. Then more bombs, followed by gunfire. The jeep engine caught fire. Amal and his men dived out of the vehicle, seeking cover in the rocks.

Jacob bailed, leaping from the backseat. Jock followed him. Mbogo was barking orders, trying to shoot up at the cliff face from behind rocks on the canyon floor.

More Molotov cocktails rained from the sky. The second jeep exploded into flames.

One of the men caught a bullet in the neck, and fell, his gun flying from his hands. Jacob scrabbled over the sand, grabbed the automatic rifle. And from the cover of a rock he aimed at five of the men now huddled in a group behind an outcropping to avoid being shot from above—they were sitting ducks the instant they moved. Jacob squeezed the trigger, his thin, old body jerking as he raked a barrage of bullets over the men. Then he shot them all again, to be sure.

Breathing hard, he stilled. Jacob quickly did the math—there’d been eleven men in total in the posse, including the one-armed Arab and his giant sidekick. But four of the men on horses had headed south when they’d been stumped by a series of cattle grids.

He’d shot five. There were two left somewhere. Jacob’s heart hammered. Where were the others?

Suddenly a gleam caught his eye—the shiny bald pate of Mbogo climbing the cliff, using rocks as cover from whoever was above, and he was moving fast. Jacob’s gaze shifted farther up the cliff face. His pulse kicked—the woman. He saw her move, moonlight on her hair, the shape of her silhouette as she darted from one rock to another.

Mbogo had almost reached her.

An explosion rent the air as one of the jeep’s fuel tanks blew. Bitter smoke billowed through the gorge as flames roared and crackled. Jacob crept quickly through the shadows and smoke, wanting a clear line to Mbogo. He’d lost sight of the Arab who’d leaped from the vehicle without a gun.

Crouching, Jacob pressed the rifle stock to his shoulder, aimed and squeezed the trigger.

The big man’s body jerked and spasmed under a hail of bullets. Then he tumbled, thudding down like a giant rag doll between the rocks.

But before Jacob could move, he heard Jock’s low, throaty growl, and suddenly the animal was beside him, snarling. Jacob realized too late why—the Arab leaped down from a rock above him. And he felt the dagger go deep into his side.

Amal yanked the dagger out, but before he could plunge it in again, Jock lunged at the man’s throat. Amal screamed,