Desert Justice. Valerie Parv

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      “Go to hell,” she snarled, struggling.

      “Whatever Sheikh Markaz saw in you, I hope it’s worth it,” the big man said, the statement sounding like a curse.

      Confused, Simone stopped fighting. “You’re with the sheikh?”

      “I am Fayed, his personal bodyguard. He sent me to find out what need was so pressing you’d risk arrest to reach him.”

      She was still eating sandstone, and he hadn’t released his punishing grip on her arms. She’d been too busy resisting to recognize the giant who’d been glued to the sheikh’s side. “Let me go and I might tell you.”

      “I want your word you will not attack me again or try to run away.”

      “I’ll behave,” she said resignedly. A painful jerk on her arms told her this wasn’t good enough. “All right, I promise.”

      The pressure on her abused shoulders eased as he released her. She grimaced and rubbed her upper arms with her crossed hands. “Did the sheikh tell you to rough me up?”

      The massive man frowned. “He gave no such order. I only did so because you attacked me first.”

      Her gaze acknowledged their relative sizes. “Your boss might find that hard to believe.”

      “As do I,” Fayed said in his rumbling basso profundo voice. His pained expression and the careful way he moved made her think she’d damaged more than his pride.

      Remembering her pursuer, she looked around nervously.

      Fayed caught the look. “What is it?”

      “There’s a man following me. I think he wants this.”

      She fished in her pocket and pulled out the ring. Fayed’s eyes widened at the sight. “Where did you get that?”

      “From a woman called Natalie. She asked me to give it to the sheikh.” Fayed reached for the ring, but Simone closed her fingers around it. “Uh-uh. If I give it to you now, you might abandon me to Business Suit.”

      “Business Suit?”

      “The man following me. He must have seen Natalie give me the ring.”

      “Who are you?”

      She had a feeling he didn’t want her life story. “Simone Hayes, from Australia.”

      Fayed took her arm. “Come with me, Simone Hayes.”

      “I’d rather take you to where I last saw Natalie.”

      “My orders are to learn what you require. I am not leaving the sheikh alone any longer to go on a wild-goose chase on your behalf.”

      “Even if the wild-goose chase is what I require?”

      “We’ll let Sheikh Markaz be the judge.”

      In the meantime, anything could be happening to Natalie. Held fast in the giant’s grip, Simone could only hope that she’d distracted Business Suit long enough to let the other woman get away.

      Not sure if she should feel reassured to be in the company of a man built like a tank, or worried that he might be escorting her deeper into trouble, she had little choice but to trot at his side, taking two steps to every one of his.

      They were almost back at the main monument where a group of officials, the sheikh an imposing figure in their midst, clustered beside the royal marquee. She must have been running in circles. “Do you know what the ring means?” she asked, gulping air.

      Fayed wasn’t even breathing hard. “Sheikh Markaz will tell you what he wishes you to know.”

      Remembering the electrifying look the sheikh had given her when their eyes met for the merest moment, she balked. He was the ruler of the whole country. She didn’t want to meet him looking as if she’d been dragged through a hedge. Not because of any feminine need to dazzle him, but because she didn’t want to give him a bad impression of Australian womanhood. Or so she told herself. “At least give me a few seconds to make myself presentable.”

      “You will not cause any more trouble.” It wasn’t a question.

      “Considering that my options comprise going with you, or dealing with Natalie’s attacker, I don’t have much choice.”

      “Good.”

      Crazy though it seemed, she was warming to this mountain of a man. His voice might sound like the earth itself opening up, and he had strange ideas of how to treat a lady, but his devotion to the sheikh was encouraging. Fayed would keep her safe for as long as his boss wished it.

      The bodyguard steered her into a shaded area between two columns, but didn’t take his eyes off her as she brushed sand off her clothing and tucked her blouse back into her skirt. The sun visor was lost among the ruins, but she carried her shoulder bag slung across her body, so her purse had survived the ordeal.

      Retrieving a comb and compact, she did what she could to tidy her hair, and blotted her streaming face. “Right, let’s meet His Highness,” she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.

      Fayed appropriated her arm again. “You will not make any untoward moves, and you will speak only when the sheikh speaks to you.”

      She could imagine the outcome if she made any move Fayed interpreted as threatening to his boss. “Count on it.”

      The moment’s respite had allowed her to catch her breath so she wasn’t panting too obviously when Fayed led her to where the sheikh was holding court. She’d hate him to think she was breathing heavily on his account.

      Fayed carved his way through the group until he reached the sheikh’s side where he made a salaam, the graceful hand gesture encompassing head and heart accompanied by a bow from the neck. “Your Highness, this is Simone Hayes, from Australia. I think you will be interested in what she has to say.”

      He bent and whispered a few words in the sheikh’s ear, too low for Simone to hear. It was enough to bring a look of anger to the sheikh’s face, and he snapped out what sounded like an instruction in return. She saw Fayed nod then approach a pair of the sheikh’s soldiers and speak to them in turn.

      The moment Fayed brought Simone Hayes to Markaz, he had the renewed sense of electricity arcing between them, as if she were more than an overexcited tourist who’d disrupted his inspection. He told himself he’d had a long morning dealing with his normal duties, the bomb threat at the airport, and now this visit. He was tired. He should have left Simone to the guards instead of sending Fayed after her.

      But he owed the man his life a couple of times over, and trusted his judgment. What Fayed had already told the sheikh had shaken him. If his friend believed Simone’s story was worth hearing, then it was.

      “Excuse us for a few moments,” he said now to the director of Al-Qasr, who’d been telling him more about the restoration work. The man regarded her curiously, but salaamed and moved away to join another group, leaving the sheikh and Simone in a small island of clear space.

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