The ground fell away, and he made a sharp right turn on the goat track that would take him to the bottom of Wadi Wasmi.
Julia gasped as the Jeep fishtailed, the tires spitting out sand and rocks, before getting traction on the bumpy trail.
Harrison gave the sedan a fifty-fifty chance of making the turn. He grabbed second gear, bouncing wildly in his seat. Julia was staring straight ahead at the headlight beams flashing on rocks, sand and the occasional boulder or outcrop.
He wrestled the steering wheel, keeping them on course, until they finally made it to the relatively smooth surface at the bottom. Then, he dared to glance in the rearview mirror, pressing on the accelerator, and bringing the Jeep up a gear.
The sedan had made the turn, but it was forced to slow down on the trail. Good. He was bringing them out on the dunes behind Hebba Hill. He hoped they’d have radio trouble after they got stuck.
Julia turned to watch him.
“You’re crazy,” she said.
He couldn’t help but grin. “Are you wishing you’d taken your chances with the police?” He watched carefully for the signs of the track that would take them up the other side of the wadi.
She glanced at the headlights behind. “Not exactly. But this isn’t looking so good.”
“I have a plan,” said Harrison, as he spotted the trail.
He jerked left on the wheel, bouncing them up a trail equally rough and steep. Julia shut up and hung on, while he glanced at the tachometer to optimize each gear.
They were down into first before they crested the hill. It was a short fifty meters before the rocks and packed dirt gave way to full-on sand. Harrison used the time to get his speed up, hitting the dunes, fishtailing for a moment before he settled in, then streaking off across the unbroken desert.
“Watch out behind us,” he told Julia. “Tell me what happens.”
She swiveled in her seat, stretching her arm across the back.
“Nothing,” she said. Then, “Wait. I see headlights. They’re out of the valley. Speeding up. Coming.” She paused.
“Did they make it to the sand?”
“I think they might be stuck.”
Harrison smacked the steering wheel with his palm. “Yes!”
She turned to him. “That was your plan?”
“That was my plan.”
“What about planes?”
He shook his head. “Planes are unlikely. Even if they wanted to send one up, it would take quite a while to get it here, and this is a very big desert. They have no idea which way we’ll go.”
All in all, he was feeling pretty satisfied.
Then her small hand covered his on the gearshift.
He warned himself not to react to her touch, nor to react to the contrast of her pale, delicate hand against his rough, larger one.
“I can’t let you do this,” she said in a voice that was both brave and terrified at the same time.
“It’s done.”
“No, it’s not done. They know who you are. They know where you live. You’re a fugitive from justice.”
“I’m taking a pretty girl out for a ride in the desert. I don’t believe there’s a law against that.”
“Nobody’s going to believe you didn’t notice the police car in high-speed pursuit.”
“Who’s to say that was a police car?”
She compressed her lips, eyes narrowing in annoyance.
“Seriously, Julia. We do not know that was a police car.”
“It was. And eventually you’ll have to go home. And I can’t let you put yourself in trouble for me.”
“As I told you before, I have options.”
She drew in a shuddering breath. “Turn around, Harrison. Let’s go back.”
He chuckled. “Right. Because I’m not already in trouble.”
“You can tell them-”
“Julia.”
“You can explain that-”
“Shut up.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket, extracting the red booklet he kept on him at all times.
He tossed it into her lap. “Get out of jail free card,” he told her.
Her hand left his, and she picked the booklet up. “What?”
“Diplomatic passport.”
“Who
He took a breath.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “The Right Honorable Lord Harrison William Arthur Beaumont-Rochester, Baron Welsmeire.”
“I get a kick out of the fact you can remember all that.”
“Why do you have a diplomatic passport?”
“I’m a special ambassador to the UAE.”
“And they can’t put you in jail.”
“They can’t put me in jail. They can send me home. But that’s a pretty big gun. They would run the risk of causing an international incident by sending me back to Britain.” This time, he reached out and covered her hand. “I can’t see them doing that over charges of attempted horse theft. Particularly when I was the victim.”
But then Harrison frowned to himself. Truth was, he couldn’t see them chasing Julia and him through the desert over those charges, either. Something strange was happening here, and it was something that had little to do with the enforcement of law in UAE.
Somebody was after Julia. And, Alex was right, Millions to Spare and Leopold’s Legacy had to be involved. Either Julia knew something, or somebody thought she knew something. Either way, Harrison had to keep her out of their hands until he could figure out what was going on.
Brittany was grateful when Alex finally decided the horses were getting tired. She’d been exhausted for an hour, and her inner thighs were burning from the friction of the leather saddle. She gritted her teeth, dismounting slowly and painfully.
The horse grew impatient, and shifted, and she grabbed for the saddle horn.
“Whoa.” Alex was beside her in an instant, bracing her from behind.
She gasped as one of his hands contacted her chafed skin. But his support allowed her to get safely to the ground.
“You okay?” he asked, stepping back to stare worriedly down at her.
“Fine,” she told him, brushing off the skirt and settling the soft shoes back on her feet. She was sweaty and sticky, and her thighs were going to take days to heal. Not to mention the fact that she smelled like a horse.
This was not what she’d pictured when she’d agreed to visit Harrison. She sucked in a thick breath of the sultry midnight air. It wasn’t what she’d pictured at all.
“We can stow the saddles.” Alex nodded toward an abandoned hut on the opposite side of the dusty road. “And put the horses in the paddock. I’ll call Nuri later and let him know where to find them.”
Then he gazed up and down the dark road. “What do you think? We’ve come fifteen, twenty miles?”
“I have no idea,” said Brittany, debating whether to unsaddle Cedar Twist or leave that chore for Alex.
“I think we’re a little way west of Route Eleven. But I’m not sure how far…”
“Are we lost?” In the end, she took pity on the horse, edging carefully over to it and reaching for the cinch.
“We’re not lost. I’d just like to give the taxi a precise location.” He flipped open his cell phone.
Brittany’s heart sighed at the thought of a taxi. A lovely, soft-seated, air-conditioned taxi that would take them back to Cadair and her lovely, large bathtub. She’d have something tall and cool, an iced tea, or maybe champagne and orange juice. They’d served some flakey almond croissants earlier, and she was starving. The party was probably over by now, but surely they could rustle up something.
