Danger in the Desert

To her profound relief, she saw Hanif break away from the cluster of tourists and lope down the plateau in her direction. No, not Hanif. Another guard, this one in jeans and a lightweight sport coat.

He moved fast, thank goodness! Within minutes, he was close enough to shout something.

Startled, the driver twisted around in his saddle. When he spotted their pursuer, he muttered what sounded very much like a curse. Producing a short, braided whip from the folds of his robe he slashed the neck of his camel while yanking on the reins of Jaci’s.

Her mount brayed and made an awkward lunge.

Jaci yelped and tumbled sideways.

Chapter 2

Talk about timing!

The moment Ace had cleared security at the Cairo airport, he’d contacted Kahil. As promised, his friend had obtained an updated itinerary from the local agency handling the tour for the University of Florida group. Ace had jumped in a rental car and arrived at the most touristy of all locales—the camel circus on the plateau above the Giza pyramids—just in time to spot his target lumbering off.

He’d hung back, mingling with the crowd while he observed this supposed messenger from Ma’at. It didn’t take him long to decide the goddess had to be pretty hard up for emissaries. Jacqueline Marie Thornton looked just short of ridiculous with a greasy headdress tilted over one eye and an overstuffed canvas tote thumping against a hip while she bobbed along.

“Oh, dear.”

That came from a smallish woman wearing a visor decorated with a University of Florida Gator. She was standing a few yards away, her worried gaze on the camels.

“I hope Jaci doesn’t go too far,” she said to another member of her group. “The tour leader warned us about these drivers.”

With good reason. Ace had spent enough time in Egypt to know these guys had a real racket going here. They dressed like Bedouins, but most had never trekked across a desert. They also raked in so much from the hordes of tourists that many sported Rolexes and Air Nikes under their robes. Even the tourist police on their distinctive white camels rubbed their fingers together, demanding payment for every digital photo snapped by a gawking visitor. More money probably changed hands here at the pyramids than anywhere else in Egypt. And from the looks of it, his target was just about to be taken for double the usual fee.

She knew it, too. She’d contorted in the saddle and was pointing repeatedly toward the buses. The incipient panic on her face elicited a twitter of dismay from her older traveling companion.

“Hanif!” The woman turned to an Egyptian in a cheap green suit ringed with sweat at the armpits. “Jaci wants to come back. Do something!”

The man—a guard assigned to the group, judging by the weapon bulging the back flap of his suit coat—cast a glance at the duo.

“Do not worry. They will return.”

Ace hid a predatory smile. Perfect! He’d just been handed the ideal opportunity. His instructions were to get close to the target. What better way to win her trust than to rescue her from an unscrupulous camel driver?

He took off at an easy lope. Luckily, the sand on the plateau had been packed hard by centuries of tourists and plodding camels. Ace barely broke a sweat before he got within shouting distance.

“Stop, you son of a flea-bitten dog!”

It was one of the more useful Arabic phrases he’d learned from Kahil. Very handy when dealing with pickpockets and Cairo’s suicidal taxi drivers.

The driver jerked around and cursed. Ace bit out an oath of his own when the man lashed his beast with a whip. The lead camel stretched his neck and broke into a hump-rolling gallop. When the second beast did the same, its rider shrieked and toppled sideways.

Christ! The woman was going to fall right out of the saddle!

Ace sprinted the last three yards and caught her just as she tumbled to the ground. He broke her fall, but she took him down with her. Grunting, they hit the sand and sprawled there, hips and legs tangled, while the driver and his camels galloped off.

“I … uh …”

Scrambling for purchase, the target dug an elbow into Ace’s sternum. She levered up, then used her free hand to shove back the rankest turban he’d ever smelled.

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“I will be.” Manfully, he repressed a grimace. “As soon as you remove your elbow.”

“Huh? Oh!”

She squirmed, digging the bony joint in deeper.

“Sorry.”

Her face brick-red, she wiggled off him. She managed to mash her breasts into his chest in the process. The connoisseur in Ace didn’t fail to note they were as lush and ripe as her lips even as the undercover operative took full advantage of her obvious embarrassment.

“No problem.” He rolled to his feet and held out a hand. “Here. Let me help you up.”

“Thanks. I … ouch!”

Her leg folding, she almost went down again. Ace kept a grip on her hand and slid his other arm around her waist.

“Your ankle?”

“My knee. I banged it coming down.” Biting her lip, she took a tentative step. “It’s not bad. Just a little …”

When she broke off, wincing, Ace almost didn’t believe his luck. He couldn’t have scripted a better scenario.

“Better let me carry you back to your bus.”

“No, really. I’m okay.”

Ignoring her protest, he scooped her into his arms. The foul-smelling turban fell off, thank God. They left it in the dirt and started up the slope.

“I’m Jaci.” Self-consciously, she hooked an arm around his neck. “Jaci Thornton.”

“Deke Griffin.”

“You’re an American.”

It was a statement, not a question, but he nodded anyway. “Yep.”

“Are you on a tour, too?”

“Business.” His civilian occupation provided the perfect cover. “I flew over to do some consulting. Just got in today and decided to stop by the pyramids on my way into town.”

She gave him a sheepish smile. “I’m certainly glad you did.”

Whoa! The woman’s passport photo hadn’t done her justice. Ace could see himself in her eyes. The irises were greener than they’d appeared in the photo, almost as deep and verdant as the palms lining the Nile. Her shy smile and the light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose gave her a kind of girl-next-door appeal.

Definitely not his style. Aside from the fact she was his target and therefore off-limits, Ace went for less wholesome types. But he had to admit she made for a nice armful. Firm thighs, slender hips, narrow waist. The behind pressing against him wasn’t bad, either. Not bad at all.