Seized By The Sheik. Ann Voss Peterson

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      He took a quick glance around the canyon formations. Between the hoodoos, crumbled cliffs and pocks of vegetation, he couldn’t pick out the form of a man. All he had to go on was the trajectory of the shot that had missed his head. “I think he’s to the north. And I think he’s somewhat below us because he didn’t see me until I stood.”

      “Your horse. The gunshot spooked him.”

      He glanced up. He’d assumed both horses had run. “Just mine?”

      She nodded. “I’ve competed in shooting competitions on horseback, too. Sasha’s used to it. She’s waiting at the bottom of the slope.”

      He let out a breath. At least one thing had gone right in all this. They’d need a horse if they hoped to get Fahad out of here and to someone who could help him.

      “The horse will probably head for one of the ranches around here. My dad’s. Helen’s. He’ll be all right.”

      Efraim hadn’t been thinking of the horse. He’d been more concerned about their being all right. But he gave her a nod all the same.

      Callie grabbed another bandage from the saddlebags, this one a self-adhesive horse wrap. They wrapped until they’d covered Fahad’s back and shoulder.

      Now came the tricky part. “We need to move him, get him down to the horse. And we’re going to have to stand up to do it.”

      “Maybe not.” She reached for the saddlebag. Opening the second side, she pulled out a small thermal blanket. “We can drag him.”

      “Do you have everything in that bag?”

      “I was a Girl Scout.”

      He must have missed something. “A Girl Scout?”

      “They teach you to be prepared. Always good, because around here, people are few and far between.”

      They spread the blanket and lifted Fahad onto it.

      The canyon was quiet, nothing but the wind whistling through rock formations. Efraim would like to think that meant their shooter was gone, but he doubted that was the case.

      Keeping low, Callie picked up one corner of the blanket near Fahad’s head. Efraim took the other, and they slid him across rock to the three-foot drop down to the incline.

      At the base of the steep slope, the palomino mare stood, reins draped to the ground, shifting her hooves in the dust.

      Efraim jumped off the rock shelf. His boots skidded on loose rock and debris. He went down to a knee before catching himself.

      “You okay?” Callie said, her voice breathless.

      He nodded. “I’ll take him from here.” He gathered Fahad in his arms as if cradling a baby. Fahad was only five feet eight inches tall, but he was built like a bulldog. A muscled bulldog at that. Efraim’s arms ached with his limp weight. At least the sucking noise had stopped. His cousin’s breathing was still labored, but he was breathing.

      Efraim half skidded, half ran down the slope to the horse, Callie right behind him. The place she’d left the horses was protected on several sides. Except for the rock shelf above, most of the canyon plummeted downward from their perch, and afforded a decent view of the area. Not that there was anything to see.

      And that made Efraim nervous.

      He lowered Fahad to the ground and hunched down beside him.

      “How is he?”

      “He’s breathing better but unconscious.”

      “The pain. The blood loss. It probably got to be too much.”

      An understatement. He’d never had a gunshot wound, not in all his years in the military. But years ago, he’d helped a soldier who’d been shot during an uprising in Nadar. He knew how painful it could be.

      He squinted up at the sun in the western sky. They were running out of time, and there was still someone out there gunning for them. He had to figure out what to do next. And he couldn’t afford to make another mistake. “This ranch of your family’s, how far?”

      “A few miles.”

      “Can we still make it before nightfall?”

      “Maybe. Or just after.” She glanced at Fahad. “We’ll have to take things slow.”

      The sun beat down, hot on his skin. Sweat stung his eyes. He wiped the back of his hand across his brow, realizing too late he had blood up to his elbows. And now, no doubt, all over his face. “You take Fahad on the horse.”

      “And you?”

      “I stay here. Cover you.”

      She shook her head, her hair blowing in the wind and lashing her cheeks like whips. “No. That’s not going to happen.”

      “What, then? We have an injured man, one horse and someone trying to shoot us.” He wished she had another answer, a better answer, but he doubted one existed.

      “You take him. I cover you.”

      “That is not going to happen.”

      “But this shooter, if he’s targeting you—”

      “Targeting me? And what if he is? You’re not law enforcement. I suppose you’re planning to use diplomacy?”

      She stepped to her horse and tapped the stock of her prize rifle for an answer, throwing his earlier gesture back at him.

      “Shooting targets is one thing. Engaging an enemy is another.”

      “You thought I was good enough a few minutes ago.”

      He shook his head. He hated to break it to her, but a few minutes ago, she’d been relatively protected. The riskier job had been climbing up to help Fahad. “I’m sure you’re a fine shot. But this isn’t the same thing.”

      She blew a frustrated breath through pursed lips. “COIN can proceed without me. It will die without you.”

      So that was it. He should have known. The COIN summit was obviously more important to her than her own life. Good thing that wasn’t true for him. “That’s not the way it works, Callie.”

      “Is this some sort of macho thing?”

      “It’s some sort of practical thing. You said your family’s ranch is the closest place to get help. I have no idea how to get there. I can, however, hold a gunman off and catch up with you once I know it’s safe.”

      She pressed her lips into a line, her chin set.

      He didn’t know Callie McGuire very well, but he already knew that look.

      She met his eyes. “We’ll both go. Together.”

      “Then we’ll both get killed. And Fahad will die from his injuries,” he said in a low voice. СКАЧАТЬ