Tahir stepped forward and stuffed a piece of cloth into her mouth, then wrapped another around her jaw, giving her no chance to spit out the foul-tasting rag. The three goons walked away.
Her mind raced with a mixture of curses and pleas for help. With one cheek pressed into the sand, she watched Amina, who knelt on the ground, her hands also tied and head lowered. Sickened by the sight, Leila averted her gaze. The thugs tore everything out of their bags still hanging from the camels’ saddles. Rope, glass jars, a notebook, and all their flatbread went flying. All of their equipment and supplies fell into the sand, unwanted. Leila knitted her eyebrows together. They weren’t just trying to steal their food and things. They were looking for something.
A few more minutes of wild searching passed, until finally one of the thugs turned to Tahir and raised his hands, empty. “It’s not here.”
“I figured as much.” Tahir stomped over to Amina, her wide eyes revealing her fear. “Tell me where the map is, or I’ll shoot her.” Tahir jabbed a finger in Leila’s direction.
Leila’s breath caught. How could he possibly know?
“W—what map?”
Tahir backhanded Amina with a loud smack. Her head whipped to the side. He stepped forward, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and yanked her head up. “You’ll give me the map, or you both die.”
Amina’s round eyes filled with tears. Guns pointed at them from every angle—the man clearly wasn’t joking. She hung her head. Her headscarf had fallen around her shoulders and her curls stood out in all directions, framing her cheeks, reddened from the blows. Yet she remained silent.
Tahir waved at one of his goons, who stalked toward Leila, holding his rifle with both hands.
The urge to scream was overwhelming, but what good would it do out here, while gagged? She locked her gaze on Amina, pleading with her to tell Tahir. It wasn’t worth it. The thug stopped in front of Leila. She fixed her gaze on his grubby boots, which blurred as she fought back tears. A click came from above her. Amina sobbed.
“It’s… it’s in one of the bottles.”
The thug turned away from Leila. She slumped into the sand. All she really wanted was to curl up into a ball and cry, but first things first. She had to figure out an escape. Moments later, one of the men handed a plastic bottle to Tahir.
“So, you really do have it with you. I’m surprised your brother would send you off with it, so… unprotected.” He popped the lid and glanced inside, another rat-like smile forming on his face.
“Finally, we’ll find out if the rumors are true.” He pulled out the roll of papers and smoothed them flat. His eyes darted back and forth as he read it over.
“What the devil is all this?” With his gaze locked on the pages, he walked toward the jeep.
“Aren’t you going to let us go?” Amina croaked from her spot on the ground.
Tahir pivoted to face her and threw his head back with a laugh. “Why?” He spread his arms wide, as if this was the most illogical idea in the world. “I might still have a use for you. And big brother isn’t here to stop me.”
“You can’t do this. No, no, n—” Amina’s screams were cut off as one of the thugs stuffed a wad of cloth into her mouth.
“And you.” Tahir turned to Leila. “A failed assassination. Amazing. Your head will bring me another hundred thousand.”
Her blood turned to ice as he looked down at her with his beady black eyes. A large grin spread across his face, then someone grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the vehicle. She squirmed but it was no use. She couldn’t break free. Giving up was the only option. They had the guns, so what choice did she have? Cooperate now, live, escape later.
A blast cracked through the air. The man holding Leila dropped her face-first into the sand. She rolled over. Another deafening bang, and her captor crumpled to the ground. A chorus of gunshots rang out and she squeezed her eyes shut. What was going on? Another ambush? A rescue? Xander? Yells were drowned out by more gunshots. She pressed herself into the ground and prayed Amina was okay. The shooting stopped and an eerie silence fell over the desert. Leila slowly opened her eyes. Dust swirled in the air around the legs of a dark figure, standing alone among motionless lumps in the sand. The lower half of his face was covered by a black scarf that matched the one over his hair.
He stepped through the fine cloud, a long gun tucked in the crook of his arm, his gaze scanning the bodies scattered over the ground and kicked at one—Tahir. The smuggler’s arm flopped limply back to the earth, his hand still clenching the roll of papers. Either ignoring the document or not noticing, the newcomer stepped over Tahir’s corpse. His head turned in Leila’s direction.
Too slow to clamp her eyes shut and pretend she was dead, their eyes met. A long breath of relief escaped from her nose and her body relaxed. Even if fury blazed in his dark eyes, even if he held a smoking gun in his hands, even if she knew he hadn’t come for her sake, Abdullah had rescued her again. Without a word, he turned and crouched next to Amina. After untying her, he removed her gag and they sat together in an embrace. All Leila could hear were her sobs.
Though her limbs still shook, she squirmed into a sitting position. Did that really just happen? Had they been that close to being dragged off to spend the rest of their short lives in torment? Her stomach lurched, threatening to release all of its contents.
Abdullah left his sister’s side and knelt by Leila. He sliced through the zip-tie with his knife, leaving the gag for her to remove. Glad no one was paying attention to her, she choked out the cloth, grateful for the warm, dry air passing through her throat.
Three bodies. Three dead bodies. And Abdullah had shot each one of them. Her mouth dropped open as the realization sank in. Here she was, stuck in the desert with a woman out for gold and a man who killed three men without hesitation. And she had no way to call anyone for help.
Except… Her gaze shot to Tahir, his glazed eyes still wide in alarm. Would he have brought his phone with him? She stumbled forward until she fell onto her knees beside him, trying not to look at the blood seeping from his wounds onto the sand. Someone had already retrieved the papers from his cold hand. A quick pat down—avoiding the blood—proved he didn’t have his phone on him, either. Energized by determination, she pushed herself to her feet and faced the jeep. That would be the next best place to look.
But were there only two other men? She was sure she had seen two in the backseat. Or had she? Someone could still be inside, lying low, waiting. Probably with a gun. She spotted her knife half-buried in the sand and dug it out. With slow, deliberate steps, she approached the vehicle, holding the knife in front of her as she inched alongside the jeep until she reached the door.
The jeep sprang to life with a shake and a rumble. Before she could react, a large hand landed on her shoulder and pulled, forcing her to stumble back. Her heart in her throat, she caught a glimpse of the bulging, fearful eyes of the man behind the wheel. The jeep jolted forward, spraying sand into the air.
Pulse racing, she glanced up at Abdullah, who stood beside her with his gun raised, the tip of the barrel following the vehicle. A moment passed. Instead of shooting, he lowered his gun and watched until the jeep retreated into the mountains. His upper lip twitched. Then he walked away.
CHAPTER 21
It was as though only a few seconds had passed when Xander opened his eyes again. His body swayed as if he was still on the boat on the Nile. Only instead of fish, it was now the sterile scent of alcohol that assaulted his senses. Slowly, the bright room came into focus. Above him, the white-now-yellowed ceiling paint cracked and peeled. A soft beep iterated at his side. He lifted one hand to his head, his elbow joint twinging, and he rubbed his temple to soothe the pounding in his head.
What just happened?
He swallowed but his mouth felt like it had been stuffed full of cotton. A glass of water would be nice.
It took some effort to sit up, his back and arms ached, though the discomfort couldn’t compare to the sharp pains shooting through his skull. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and fire shot up and down his left leg. He groaned and shut his eyes.
So this is what it feels like to be hit by a lorry.
After filling his lungs to full capacity with a few deep inhales, he opened his eyes again and studied the IV tube sticking in his arm. The events of the night before came back to him. The phone call, the meeting, jumping off the bridge, the woman injecting him with who-knew-what. Whatever, he was alive and well—aside from the splitting headache. It didn’t matter. The woman had told him exactly where to find Leila. Now every minute spent in bed was a minute wasted.
He saw a flash of green from the corner of his eye. His gaze shot up as a scrubs-clad man strode into the room. Another man wearing a long white coat entered behind him, clipboard in hand. The nurse pushed down on Xander’s shoulders. His spine gave in way too easily and he flopped back on the bed.
“You need to be resting,” said the man in white as the nurse set down a small, clear plastic cup on the bedside table, then twisted open a bottle of water.
“You’ve had a rough time,” the doctor continued, lowering the clipboard. “We found high levels of gamma hydroxybutyrate, a central nervous system depressant, in your blood. Plus there were traces of the sedative zolpidem. That combination knocked you out pretty good. Take a deep breath for me.”
