The Sheikh Who Stole Her: Sheikh Seduction / The Untamed Sheikh / Desert King, Doctor Daddy. Dana Marton

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      The men were talking excitedly in Arabic. She wanted to ask Tariq what they were saying, but would have to wait until they were alone again. The arm she was lying on went numb, but she didn’t move. If anyone was looking their way, the slightest shifting of the blanket would betray that someone was hiding beneath. How long could they hold out?

      Not long, it seemed. The following moment something hard connected with her shoulder. She didn’t think she made a sound, but she must have, because someone yelled, a single shrill word. The next few seconds passed in a blur.

      The blanket was lifted, and she saw two men. The one who must have kicked her in the shoulder was staring at her with a frightening grin on his dirt-smudged face.

      Tariq rose with a roar, sand scattering all around him.

      By the time she blinked most of the sand from her eyes, he had the guy who’d kicked her disabled. She could barely glance at him, where he lay on the ground with his head bashed in. Tariq, pipe held above his head, was running for the other man, ignoring the gun pointed at the middle of his wide chest.

      “Run,” he yelled to her.

      He was never going to make it.

      She lurched forward on instinct, knowing there was nothing she could do, knowing that as soon as Tariq was gunned down, she would be next.

      But he threw the pipe, knocking the gun aside, then lunged at the man, flying through the air and landing heavily on his target. A mountain lion, indeed. He could have been an action movie stuntman, except nobody yelled, “Cut!”

      The men rolled on the sand, evenly matched. She hoped. How much would Tariq’s injury slow him down? Was the other guy smart enough to notice it and use it to his advantage?

      She dashed back to the dead man and snatched his weapon, aimed it at the other bandit’s head as she moved toward him. “Stop!”

      The men rolled, paying her no heed.

      “Don’t shoot,” Tariq grunted as he flipped the guy again.

      What did he mean, don’t shoot? Of course she was going to shoot. Just as soon as her target stopped moving.

      “Too loud,” Tariq said on the next breath.

      And she lowered the gun. He was right. It would be best if they kept quiet, so the rest of the bandits didn’t come rushing to join the fray.

      Great, so she couldn’t use the gun. Okay, to be truthful, she wasn’t sure if she would have been able to hit the right man, anyway. But she wasn’t going to stand here, just hoping for the best. She tossed the gun out of reach of the men and looked around for a quieter weapon. The tire iron would have been perfect if they weren’t right on top of it.

      Her gaze landed on the heavy pot made of some sort of tarnished metal. She retrieved it, and when the men turned again so that the bandit was on top, she swung it, whacking him over the head with all her strength.

      “I got him.”

      She didn’t knock him out, but the unexpected attack stunned the man enough that Tariq could gain the upper hand. He got the man’s knife from his belt somehow. He drew it up, and as they flipped, let his weight drive the blade home.

      Both men went still the next second.

      “Tariq?” She dropped the pot and rushed to untangle them. “Tariq!”

      He sat up and looked at her, a quick grin spreading on his bruised but handsome face, though his dark eyes didn’t smile. They looked tired, but alert, and something else she couldn’t decipher.

      “What is it?”

      “You’re lethal with a pot. I’d hate to see you with a cast-iron skillet.” He pushed to his feet finally and retrieved the knife, wiping it on the bandit’s shirt before shoving it into his belt. Then he collected the guns, handing her the smaller one. “It’s time we got out of here.”

      He strode to the door and peered out. She followed. A few other bandits loitered around the water pipes. Maybe they wanted to get an early start. Maybe they were in a rush, meeting someone at a given time, wanting to make up for the hours the sandstorm had forced them to linger.

      “You should be able to get to the Hummer without them seeing you. Keep to the cover of the buildings,” he said. “Get in the car and stay down.”

      “And you?” Sand that still floated in the air from the storm dimmed the sun a little. Not enough to keep it dark, but giving the light an eerie cast.

      “I’m still going to see if I can slice a few of their tires.”

      The idea just about stopped her heart. Was he insane? “There’s no time for that now. They’re awake,” she said, with an edge of desperation in her voice.

      His somber gaze held hers, telling her he was fully aware of the severity of the situation, and didn’t like their options any better than she did. “We can’t have them following. We’d never make it to the chopper. Go. If you run into trouble, start shooting. I’ll come for you.”

      Of that, she had no doubt. But she would have preferred a plan that didn’t include the use of any weapons. “Be careful.”

      “You, too. If I don’t come for you, get in the car and drive as fast as you can.” He held out his hand and pointed. “Karim will find you. If he doesn’t, the closest village is a four-hour drive that way.”

      He held her gaze for so long that she thought he might draw her to him. She wished for it, for the feel of his strength around her, a moment of comfort. But both realized they had no time for anything except the quickest possible escape. He handed her the satellite phone, but kept the tire iron, stepped back and took off in the direction of the bandits, keeping low to the ground, hidden behind the chest-high rifts of sand the storm had created.

      She started in the opposite direction, watching out for bandits who might be searching through the site. How on earth was she supposed to get by them unseen?

      HE HATED TO LEAVE HER alone, even if she was a fiercely independent woman. She was capable, he’d seen that. But she was in foreign territory. All the more reason for him to hurry and finish his mission, so he could get back to her.

      Tariq cursed the dark shirt he wore, which would make him stand out from a distance. The bandits had camouflage uniforms made for the desert, the color of sand faded by the sun. He peeked around the corner of a building to judge how far it was to the next wall that would hide him.

      Three men were smoking in the shade, about thirty feet away. They weren’t looking in his direction, but as soon as he moved, they would see him. He waited a minute or two, hoping they would clear out. They showed no signs of getting ready to move on.

      “Take another wife,” the oldest of the men said.

      “I have four already,” another said as he stomped sand off his boots. “The law won’t allow more.”

      “Divorce one,” the third man advised with a sharp laugh. “It’s easy enough.”

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