Desire In The Desert. Ryshia Kennie

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СКАЧАТЬ the pressure of an invisible clock ticking and the betrayal of a friend thousands of miles away. Adam knew the customs, the inherent sexism that still wove through the ancient traditions of the desert tribes. He knew it all and, still, he had sent her.

      “I know,” she interjected. “It’s the customs, the tribes outside the city, the—”

      “It won’t work,” he interrupted, thinking of the desert and where he suspected Tara’s kidnappers were hiding. He’d always been an equal opportunity employer and supported his sister, Tara, in her fight for change. It was a man’s world. It didn’t matter how much he disliked the fact, it was a truth that, for now, wouldn’t change.

      “Look, I know what I’m getting into. I’m qualified,” she said, her bag swinging from her shoulder, her eyes bright with passion. “I specialized in Middle Eastern studies—an exchange student.” She waved one delicate, well-manicured hand at him.

      Just looking at that hand confirmed every doubt he had. It wasn’t just about customs, she was female and because of that and so many other things, she was the wrong person for the job.

      “I’ll help you find your sister. You just need to trust me.”

      “No!” The word came out with all the pent-up fury that had built since the fateful call from Tara’s kidnappers and now the full impact of it sparked in his eyes as his temple pounded and his fists clenched.

      “No,” he said with less edge but with no room for negotiation. He was wasting time, had wasted time, first waiting and now in a senseless airport run. “I don’t care what you specialized in. You’re a woman and because of that you’re going home,” he said bluntly. “I’ve wasted enough time. I’ll speak to the pilot and we’ll get you out of here.”

      “You’re not being fair.”

      “I’m not being fair,” he repeated, emphasizing each word. If she’d been a man he would have had her by the collar up against the wall, his face in hers. But she wasn’t and that was the problem. “You’re useless to me. I’d have to watch out for both you and me. That’s a distraction. Look at you—you couldn’t swing a punch or...”

      One minute he was seething, glaring at her, and the next he was flat on his back.

      “You bloody flipped me,” he snarled, leaping to his feet.

      “As you can see, I know martial arts as well as being an excellent marksman.”

      “Do that again,” he said in a slow, measured tone, “and you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

      “That’s it?” she asked, one eyebrow quirked. “That’s all you’ve got?”

      “This isn’t going to work. None of it matters. Whatever your skill set, it comes down to you’re a woman. Useless to me in this environment.”

      “You don’t have a choice. It’s me or no one,” she said and glared at him.

      His jaw clenched.

      “Oh, and by the way, your attitude about women sucks. I feel for your sister.”

      “Keep Tara out of this,” he snapped, realizing it was a ridiculous thing to say when it was all about Tara.

      “This might not just be about money. I think you already suspect that.”

      He held his surprise back. He hadn’t expected that; it was an idea he and Adam had only briefly touched on.

      “Adam told you.”

      She shook her head. “Tara is the heart of your family. Without her, it’s broken.”

      She was bang on and he wished she wasn’t for it changed everything, including his decision to send her home.

      “These could be men with a grudge against the House of Al-Nassar. After all, your family has a long and deep history in Morocco. Someone has more than likely been hurt along the way. What better opportunity than a chance to bring you down by taking the sister you and your brothers adore and bleeding you for some cash.” She shrugged. “Simplistic, I know, but not improbable.”

      “Don’t make me sorry,” he said, hoping that by not escorting her back to the plane he wasn’t making the biggest mistake of his life.

      “There’s no time to waste,” K.J. said, swinging around and striding ahead of him. She didn’t stop talking and her comments trailed behind her.

      With no choice but to follow, he did, even as his eyes drifted downward and he found, in spite of the situation, that he couldn’t take his eyes off the endless length of her legs, which were enticing despite the fact they were covered by faded, beige-cotton pants. That and the generous curve of a hip only confirmed that in no way could she be mistaken for the man he had only minutes ago hoped she was. He pulled his gaze away. He was engaging in exactly the kind of behavior he abhorred and the behavior his sister, Tara, would have berated him for. No playful calls of “it’s a guy thing” would ever quiet her criticisms and attempts to get him and his brothers to toe the line. But all of those looks and comments in regard to the opposite sex, at least in Tara’s presence, had only been made in jest, brotherly teasing of a sister they all adored.

      “The first twenty-four hours are critical,” K.J. said over her shoulder, as if telling him something he didn’t know. She stopped, pivoted on one heel and faced him with more determination on her face than he’d seen on anyone in a long time. “You know that time is a luxury you don’t have and I’m a problem you didn’t factor. That’s why you’re angry, and I don’t blame you.”

      The admission and her logical, calm attitude in the face of what he knew had been insulting, even contentious words, surprised him.

      “Whether you want me or not, I’m here. There’s no time to get a replacement and I have knowledge you don’t have and objectivity that you desperately need. I believe that’s why you made the call to bring me here. Am I right?”

      “What do you know about the Middle East other than your studies?” The words revealed all the disdain and upset he was feeling. “What experience do you have?” Her education meant nothing. It wasn’t experience and therefore, to him, not real. “You grew up—” He was going to say in Midwestern America; the truth was in the way she said certain words.

      “Morocco.” She cut him off and he guessed she was being deliberately vague. He could hear the edge in her voice.

      “Really?” he said and didn’t soften the sarcasm that laced the word.

      “Really,” she repeated and turned to face him. “At least, a few years anyway. Six years total—as a child and then a number of years in my last years of high school.” She seemed to draw herself taller. “My father was an economic counselor in the American Embassy in Rabat. A few years later he returned, accepting another position in the Moroccan Embassy.” She eyed him with a challenge in her eyes. “Are you done?”

      His jaw tightened. She was right, there was nothing more to say.

      “Good,” she said and began to walk away then stopped. “By the way. Call me Kate.” She threw that over her shoulder as if it were an afterthought. “One phone call?”

      “So far.”

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