On the Run

  Mom, are you okay? It’s ten o’clock.”

  Grace slowly opened her eyes to see Frankie’s worried face before her. “Is it?” She sat up on the cot and shook her head to clear it of sleep. “Sorry. I must have been more tired than I thought. When did you get up?”

  “Two hours ago. I checked on the colt and then I came back here. I thought you’d wake up any minute.”

  “I’ll be right with you.” Lord, she was stiff. She felt like she could barely hobble as she started for the shower. “I have to clean up and then eat something. I collapsed when I got in here. Will you dig in the knapsack and bring me something to wear?”

  “Sure. Anything particular?”

  “Jeans.” She went into the stall and started to strip. “And the khaki shirt.”

  She’s wearing the khaki shirt,” Kilmer said into the telephone to Donavan. “That means she’s trying to warn us of a change.”

  “What kind of change?” Donavan paused. “Escape attempt?”

  “I don’t think so. Not with all these guards hovering around her. No, I think they’re moving out and coming your way.”

  “Why would they— My God, she rode the stallion?”

  “Last night.”

  “Hot damn. I wish I’d been there.”

  “So do I. It nearly killed me. It took her most of the night.”

  “Shit, I’m proud of her.”

  “She’s trying to give us warning. Don’t waste it. Get things ready there. I’ll join you as soon as I verify that they’re heading for the oasis.”

  “I’ll be as ready as I can get.” He hung up.

  Kilmer put away his phone and raised the binoculars to his eyes again. Grace was in the paddock, and the interaction between her and the stallion seemed to be a repeat of last night.

  No, not really. He was letting her mount him.

  She stayed up for only a few minutes and dismounted. Then she walked away from him and climbed the fence, talking to him.

  Fifteen minutes later she went to him and mounted him again.

  Shit, I’m proud of her.

  Donavan’s words came back to him. No more proud than Kilmer. Now that some of the terror in the interaction between the stallion and Grace was abating, he could let the fierce pride come to the forefront. Strong and brave and smart. What a woman she was. . . .

  His woman.

  His? If she could read his mind in that moment, she would probably cut his nuts off. Yet he couldn’t banish that surge of possessiveness he felt for Grace. He had been part of the creating of the woman she was now. Nine years ago he had taught her things she didn’t know, but she had no idea how much she had taught him in return.

  Enough. No matter how much he wanted to stake a claim in the making of the exceptional person who was Grace Archer, when all was said and done she was her own woman.

  And he had to make sure that woman and his daughter stayed alive during the next few days.

  They arrived at the oasis at four this morning.” The Sheikh made a face. “With a caravan of RVs, horse trailers, and trucks filled with Marvot’s private army. He’s a blot on the landscape. Do you remember when I told you that we were being pushed out of our habitat? This is what I can expect everywhere in my desert in the next few years.”

  “Maybe not,” Kilmer said. “Marvot is a criminal, stampeding his way through life. Anyone else has got to be less intrusive.”

  “But the intrusion will still exist. And there will always be Marvots in the world, just as there will always be evil to balance the good.” The Sheikh unrolled a map on the worn leather-covered table. “He’s already sent out sentries to try to locate anyone who might get in his way.” His lips tightened. “As if he could find us if we didn’t want to be found. We know this desert. But we’re breaking camp in an hour, so let’s get this over with.” He pointed at a spot on the map. “This is the oasis. It’s the one that Marvot uses as base all the time. He had a corral and a lean-to built when he first started to bring the horses there. There are several large tents at the camp, but Marvot occupies a fine air-conditioned RV.” He stabbed his finger at a spot in the center of the camp. “Here.”

  “And surrounded by the army you mentioned. How many?”

  “My man counted twenty-seven. Where is the map you stole from Marvot?”

  Kilmer pulled the pouch from his pocket and drew out the map. He spread it next to the Sheikh’s map. “Where does Marvot usually go when he takes the Pair into the desert?”

  The Sheikh pointed out a quadrant on the map. “Here. It’s mostly dunes except for a small deserted village. But two miles north you start running into the foothills of the Atlas Mountains.” He pointed at a spot on the map. “There’s water in the village, so your Grace might stop to water the horses.” He smiled crookedly. “The horses should be right at home in the village. That’s where they were taken out of the trailers and that’s where they stayed. Marvot couldn’t make them budge.”

  “Is there a possibility that the engine was hidden in the village?”

  “No. Marvot tore the village apart looking for it. The Pair were just too stubborn to move.”

  “Or too well trained.”

  The Sheikh shrugged. “It’s possible. Burton was a total fanatic about the training of the Pair. He took them away for seven months and I don’t know what he did to them.” His lips tightened. “Maybe I don’t want to know. But they were totally obedient to him when he brought them back to the camp.”

  “I’m not sure the Pair were any better off with him than they are with Marvot.” Kilmer glanced down at the village on the map. “Any place here we can set up a meeting with Grace?”

  “A few. But Marvot will send his men in ahead to scout it out. He always does.”

  “We can avoid them. As long as they don’t trail along with Grace.”

  “Not unless Marvot wants to blow any chance he has of the horses cooperating. The reason he brought her in was because the horses were totally uncooperative around his men. One hopes he’s learned his lesson over the years.” The Sheikh paused. “But she’ll be observed all the time from a distance. Binoculars, telescopes . . . She’ll be like a bug under a microscope. If she disappears for a minute, Marvot will be on the move. You bring in a helicopter and he’ll be all over you.”

  “I know that. I might have to take out his base camp. Do you know where he’s keeping Grace and Frankie?”

  “A tent on the outskirts of the oasis. A very well guarded tent. And do you know what will happen if Marvot believes he’s going to lose Grace?”

  “I know. It’s not going to happen.”

  “That’s what I said when Marvot stampeded over my encampment and killed my trainer.”

  “It’s not going to happen,” Kilmer repeated. “Grace and Frankie have to be away from the oasis when the attack takes place.”

  “I agree.” He sat down and stared thoughtfully at the map. “Not easy. But there may be a way. . . .”

  “What?”

  “Let me consult with Hassan. He gave me an interesting bit of news this morning.”

  “What news?”

  “There is going to be a sirocco sometime in the next few days. We may be able to work with it.”

  “A sandstorm? How the hell does he know? Sandstorms are unpredictable as hell.”

  “He knows this desert. He’s eighty-nine years old and lived here since the day he was born. A sandstorm is a great danger to my tribe. We have to know when we can move with safety. Hassan doesn’t often fail us.”

  “But it does happen?”

  “It happens. He’s not a seer, after all. He can only feel it coming, smell it.” His brows lifted. “That doesn’t surprise you?”

  “No. Grace has that kind of instinct. She could always tell when rain was coming.”

  “I believe I’m going to like your Grace.” The Sheikh smiled. “Then she’ll believe you when you tell her that she’ll have cover if she can manage to get your daughter out of that encampment?”

/>   “Can you get a message to her?”

  The Sheikh shook his head. “I won’t tell any of my men to go into Marvot’s camp and contact her. It’s up to you.”

  “Can you at least tell me when that sandstorm is supposed to strike?”

  “He thinks maybe day after tomorrow. Usually Hassan knows more the day before it hits.”

  “That’s comforting. And how’s Grace supposed to delay Marvot until Hassan is certain it’s a go?”

  “That’s your problem. And a woman who can tell when rain is going to come should be clever enough to block a slimy toad like Marvot.”

  “He’s not stupid.”

  “True.” He paused. “I’ll tell you. I’ll send a distraction to Marvot this evening if you want to try to get information to her.”

  “How?”

  “There are caravans of tradesmen coming through the oasis occasionally. They’ve visited Marvot before when he was there. It won’t be too suspicious if a small caravan appears. I’ll give you a lookout and appropriate clothes so that you can blend in. You won’t have much time before Marvot throws them out, but it may be enough.” He tapped the tent again. “Remember the guard at her tent.”

  “I’m not likely to forget him.” He turned toward the tent entrance. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d keep on Hassan to narrow down that window of opportunity. You haven’t given me much to tell Grace.”

  “Kilmer.”

  “What?”

  “You haven’t mentioned the engine. Have you given up on it?”

  “Hell, no. I won’t let Marvot have anything he wants,” he said curtly. “But I won’t risk Grace and Frankie to take it away from him. There’s always another day.”

  “Very wise. I hope you get them away from Marvot safely. And I hope you find your engine.”

  “Because you don’t like the oil cartel?”

  “Partly. Have Fatima stain your face and body before you dress tomorrow.” The Sheikh grinned. “She’ll enjoy it.”

  “I’ll do it myself.” Kilmer left the tent.

  Donavan straightened when he saw him. “When do we move? How much help do we get from him?”

  “Not a hell of a lot. I think we can count on him when we need him. Until we go for the push, he’s not risking anyone.” He grimaced. “But he’s donating the services of his tribe’s weatherman. So I guess I shouldn’t complain.”

  “Weatherman?”

  “I’ll explain as we walk back to my tent.” He looked at the sky. It was crystal clear and dotted with stars. No sign of a cloud or any hint of a disturbance. “I hope to hell this Hassan is as good as Grace at weather predictions. . . .”

  17

  Charlie’s trying to break down the corral,” Frankie said as she ran into the tent. “And the colt’s scared, Mom.”

  “I’ll be right there.” Grace threw down her washcloth and ran out of the tent.

  Frankie was right. Charlie was screaming with rage, and his hooves were striking at the wooden bars. One was already broken, and the mare was becoming agitated. In a moment she’d be joining in the destruction.

  “Stop him.” Marvot was striding toward the corral. “He’ll hurt himself. I didn’t go through all this trouble to have him break a leg.”

  “Your consideration is heartwarming.” Grace was already unfastening the gate. “I’ll stop him. Keep your men away from him. He probably thinks he’s been betrayed. He recognizes this place. I could see it when I took him out of the trailer.”

  Another board broke as Charlie’s hoof struck it.

  Stop it. You’re not helping, Charlie. It’s not what you think. No one is going to hurt you or Hope or the colt. We have to pretend to play their game for a while. It will be the last time, I promise.

  Another rail splintered.

  Charlie . . .

  She went into the corral and started toward him. His eyes were glittering wildly as he reared. Then he was running toward her.

  She stopped and waited.

  He swerved just in time.

  I promise, Charlie. Just give me a chance. We can work through this together.

  He ran toward the fence where Marvot was standing.

  Marvot took an involuntary step back as Charlie skidded to a stop.

  She smothered a smile. Good for you. At least you know the target. Now calm down and get some rest. We may need it.

  He kicked in one more rail and then trotted to the far side of the corral.

  Good. But don’t kill any stable hands when they’re trying to repair the corral. I don’t want any of them trying to hurt any of you. You may be strong, but the colt is weak.

  She turned and left the corral.

  “You’ll have to do better than that tomorrow,” Marvot said. “You didn’t exhibit much control.”

  “You’re not dead, are you? He was just toying with you.” She fastened the gate. “Tomorrow? We’re going to set out in the morning?”

  “There’s no reason for waiting.”

  “The horses need to rest. They’re stressed.”

  “They’ll survive.” He turned away. “The jury’s still out on you and your daughter.”

  She stared after him as he walked toward his RV. The jury wasn’t out. Marvot had already made up his mind when he’d brought them to El Tariq.

  “Mom, may I go into the lean-to and see Maestro?” Frankie asked.

  She nodded absently. “But stay away from Charlie.”

  “I will. He doesn’t like me.”

  “He’ll learn. But this isn’t the time. He’s nervous.”

  Frankie said dryly, “Yeah, I can see it by the way he tried to hammer down the corral. I was sorta nervous too.”

  Grace watched her carefully skirt the area where Charlie was reigning and hurry over to the lean-to, where Hope and the colt were huddled. There was no question Frankie would be fine with them. She’d been accepted by Hope, and the colt practically thought of her as a second mother.

  She turned and walked back to her tent.

  Bells.

  Shouts.

  Clang of metal on metal.

  What the hell?

  A guard was suddenly in front of her. “Into your tent and stay there.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “A caravan of tradesmen.” He pushed her forward into the tent. “You’re to stay in the tent until they’re gone.”

  She glanced over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of an RV, several riders on horseback, and, for God’s sake, camels.

  The guard pulled down the flap of the tent, leaving her in musty dimness. A caravan? Too much of a coincidence? Marvot would surely suspect any intrusion into—

  Hands clamped on her shoulders from behind. “Don’t cry out, Grace.”

  Kilmer!

  She tore away and whirled to face him. “You idiot! I was just thinking that this was suspicious. Marvot will catch you and hang you out to dry.”

  “I missed you too.”

  She threw herself into his arms. “Get out of here. You can’t help us now. There are too many guards and the—”

  “I’m going to get out of here.” His arms tightened around her. “If you’ll shut up and let me talk to you.”

  She buried her face in his shoulder. She wasn’t about to let him go yet. My God, she had missed him. She hadn’t realized how alone she’d felt until she’d touched him. He smelled funny. Like suntan lotion and walnuts and something sweet. . . . “Talk.”

  “When are you supposed to start searching with the Pair?”

  “Tomorrow. If Charlie doesn’t break a leg trying to tear down the corral.”

  “Charlie?”

  “That’s what Frankie wanted to call the stallion. The mare is Hope.”

  “You need to stall. We have to have another day.”

  “May I point out that I don’t have much choice? Why?”

  “There’s going to be a sirocco day after tomorrow. It will make it easier for us to get you and Frankie away.”

  “I can see
that. But how the devil do you know there’s going to be a sandstorm? There’s nothing more unpredictable. Siroccos come out of nowhere.”

  “That’s what I said. But Adam has his own weatherman guru in the tribe. According to him, if Hassan says it’s going to happen, it will happen.”

  “When? What time?”

  “That’s where it’s a little iffy. Hassan thinks it’s going to be in the afternoon.”

  “And if it’s in the morning then I won’t even be able to start out.”

  “Then we’ll think of something else.” He paused. “How’s Frankie?”

  “Wonderful. You’d be proud of her.”

  “I am proud of her. And of you.” He let her go and stepped back. “I’ve got to get out of here. Adam said I couldn’t have more than a couple minutes.”

  She didn’t want him to leave. Jesus, she was frightened for him. “Any idea how I’m going to delay Marvot?”

  “Yes.” He reached in his pocket and handed her a packet. “It will make you sick as hell for twelve hours. Vomiting. Diarrhea. Stomach cramps. It will be clear to Marvot that you can’t function.”

  “Gee, thanks,” she said sarcastically as her hand closed around the packet. “I guess it beats a cyanide pill.”

  “You may not think so tomorrow.” His lips tightened. “I don’t like giving it to you. If you can find any other way, do it.”

  “I will.” For the first time she noticed his native dress and stained skin. “You look like something from ‘Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves.’ ” She wrinkled her nose. “And you stink.”

  “I thought a bit of pot would add an authentic touch. Though Adam’s people aren’t allowed to touch it.” He was heading for the opposite end of the tent, where he’d loosened the ties to crawl under the tarp. He glanced back at her. “It’s going to be okay, Grace. Just try to get him to let Frankie go with you. We’ll be able to scoop you both up at one time.”

  “And if he won’t let her go?”

  “We’ll have to send another group to come and get her. Since he won’t be sure that we’ve got you, it will make it easier.”

  “As long as this miraculous sirocco blows up out of the blue.”

  “It will.” He was lifting the tarp. “I think we deserve a miracle.”