Millions To Spare

“He is Muwaffaq. And he has connections.”

Organized crime? “To whom?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Harrison clenched his jaw. This was definitely a bigger problem than he’d expected. “Do you have any idea what he wants?”

Ahmed shook his head.

“Harrison?” Julia appeared at his elbow.

Ahmed looked startled by the interruption. He might be a thoroughly modern Arab man, but he was still an Arab man, unused to women as complete equals.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“We’re just about ready to go,” said Harrison, deciding there was no advantage in worrying her any further.

“Go?” asked Ahmed.

“To Ruwais,” said Harrison. “We’ll get a boat from there.”

“To Ruwais?” Ahmed gave Harrison a look that clearly questioned his sanity.

“We’ll take extra fuel,” said Harrison.

“You can’t cross the desert.”

Harrison gave Ahmed a hard look.

“Why not?” asked Julia.

“Muwaffaq is raising a mob to chase you.”

Julia’s face blanched. “Muwaffaq?”

“No-nose,” Harrison admitted, rebuking Ahmed with his eyes. Ruwais might be a risky move, but it was still the best move.

“A mob?”

“You’re not helping,” Harrison told Ahmed.

“You can’t leave,” said Ahmed.

“Well, we can’t stay,” said Harrison. “How long do you think it’ll take desert telegraph to let him know we’re here?”

Ahmed’s gaze darted from Harrison to Julia and back again. “There is another way,” he said.

Julia looked eager.

Harrison was listening.

“We arrange a new passport for her.”

“Oh, no,” said Julia with a shake of her head. “I’m not traveling through the Middle East on a forged passport. That’s a real crime.”

“I wasn’t referring to a forgery.”

“I’m a U.S. citizen,” she said. “My name is Julia Margarite Nash. There’s no way you can change that.”

“Yes, there is.”

Harrison struggled to understand Ahmed’s logic. They didn’t have nearly enough time to change Julia’s name.

Ahmed gave Harrison a searching, speculative look. “We get her a diplomatic passport. From the British High Commission.”

Harrison rocked back, words failing him.

“What?” asked Julia, easily picking up on the unspoken tension between the two men.

And then she understood, and her eyes lit with hope. “Ohhh. Your get out of jail free card.”

“No way,” Harrison barked, and they both blinked at him.

He couldn’t get married in a Bedouin settlement in the middle of the Arabian desert. His grandmother would have a heart attack for one.

“It would solve your problem,” said Ahmed. “Even if they caught her, they couldn’t hold her.”

“A marriage certificate is not some cold, utilitarian document you sign to get a good piece of identification.”

“We’d get divorced,” Julia offered. “Right away if you want.”

“There’s protocol,” said Harrison. “My family.”

“Brittany,” said Julia with a sigh, the hope going out of her eyes.

“Never mind Brittany. I’m Lord Harrison William-”

“Arthur Beaumont-Rochester, Baron Welsmeire,” she finished for him.

“It’s not a curse,” he told her. “But it is an obligation.”

“I understand,” said Julia. “Forget about it.”

Ahmed compressed his lips, and Harrison could feel the man’s disapproval.

“The decision is not mine alone,” he tried to explain. Divorce was strongly frowned upon by the royal family and the Church. Harrison could taint his marriage to Brittany, their future children, perhaps even his family’s title.

“I said to forget about it,” Julia repeated. “We’ll find another way.”

He opened his mouth to argue again, but then he caught her expression. She wasn’t angry or upset. She was genuinely letting him off the hook.

He gave a nod. “Ruwais,” he said.

“Suicide,” Ahmed muttered under his breath.

Harrison glared at him.

Packing up the Jeep for the run to Ruwais, Julia fought hard to keep her fear at bay. Ahmed must have been exaggerating the danger. Otherwise, Harrison wouldn’t be willing to drive her across the desert.

She understood Harrison’s position. He had to get married in St. Paul’s Cathedral amidst the pomp and circumstance expected of a man of his station. He owed it to Brittany, and he owed it to his family. His behavior had been nothing short of heroic in this, and it was unfair of her to expect more.

The rich lived by a different code of conduct, and she had to accept that reality.

She squelched her disappointment and promised herself everything would be okay. They’d take back roads across the desert. They had plenty of fuel, plenty of water, and food to sustain them on the journey.

They wouldn’t have to stop in any towns, so the odds of anyone recognizing them were practically nil. The odds of Muwaffaq running into them on the road again were similarly small. There was no point in ruining Harrison’s life when there was another perfectly good option.

He could drop her in Qatar, and she’d make her own way to London. From there, it was a simple flight to any number of cities on the eastern seaboard. She’d be fine.

They got in either side and buckled up. They’d conserve fuel by forgoing the air-conditioning once again. But this time, Julia had light cotton clothes. She’d also brought along a translucent head scarf in case they came across any travelers. She’d draw less attention to herself if her head was covered, and it would help camouflage the fact that she was a Westerner.

The Jeep was packed tight with the supplies they’d need. They also had two spare tires, extra belts and a small tool kit.

Harrison turned the key and started the Jeep.

Julia tightened her ponytail and stared determinedly down the dusty road. Ahmed had described the route to them. It was pretty much due south, though they’d have to eventually veer east. But they’d wait until they were well clear of Abu Dhabi to avoid the increase in traffic around the capital city.

Julia waited for the Jeep to move.

She waited.

She glanced over at Harrison.

His jaw was clenched, and he was staring at some unseen point on the horizon.

She squinted ahead.

He shut off the Jeep.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He twisted in the bucket seat, crooking his knee around the gearshift. “If we do this…”

If? Weren’t they about to leave? Like, right this minute?

“You can’t tell a soul.”