Out of Control (19 page)

It never ended. He won a few battles. I won a few. But no one ever won the war.

And my sisters drifted further and further away, until we were strangers to one another.
By the time Tissa married Rory, I was a senior in college about to graduate with a
degree in engineering. I never wore makeup, kept my hair in a long, fat braid, and
lived in ratty jeans and T-shirts. Unlike my other sisters who’d all asked me to be
a bridesmaid in their weddings, Tissa didn’t, and I knew then we’d never heal the
rift.

I was so hurt, I didn’t even go to the wedding. Five weeks later I graduated and took
the job at Lacrouix and Book. Six months after that, I married A.J. Every one of my
sisters called and tried to talk me out of it, but I wouldn’t listen. I told them
to butt out of my life, that I was no longer a little kid, forced to play by their
rules.

But I
was
still a kid, although I didn’t know it at the time. I thought I was so grown up.

It had been seven years since I’d seen or talked to Wynne, or Courtney, or Tissa.
How had that happened? How did sisters grow so far apart?

I scanned the endless dunes stretching ahead of me in the soft light of the moon and
faced the reality that I’d never see them again. I wondered how they’d react when
they learned I was dead. Would they feel the same deep pangs of waste and regret that
I was feeling?

Out of nowhere, Deke’s mom’s voice came to me.
Life is so short. Think of all the things we miss because we’re afraid, or mad, or
just plain lazy. I reckon we always think we’ll get a chance later, but maybe we don’t.

I wish I’d listened just a little harder.

…

Sometime close to noon the following day, many hours after the last of the water was
gone, I lost my grip on reality. I’d never known what it was to be thirsty. Really
thirsty. The need for water made me nauseous, but I couldn’t throw up because there
was nothing at all in my stomach. My mind played tricks on me, making me think Robichaud
was talking to me, even though his eyes were closed and his lips didn’t move. It made
no sense that he could speak without moving his lips, but I heard him say, “Sugar,
I love you, and I’ll see you soon, I promise.”

I talked back, and laid my heart out. Under a parachute tent, with his head in my
lap and combing my fingers through his hair, I rocked back and forth and murmured
things I know I’d never have said if he was awake and I hadn’t lost my mind.

The desert faded away and we were in the cool grass of our own yard, behind the house
we lived in, listening to the mockingbirds in the old oak soaring above us, letting
night fall around us before we went inside to make love to each other.

It was over, and even in my crazy state of mind, I knew it. I lay down to sleep beside
Nick, knowing I was never going to wake up.

Chapter Twelve

I heard soft, feminine voices and felt gentle fingers spread a soothing chill across
my burning face, arms and legs. My head was raised and cool water offered against
my lips, which felt too big, the skin stretched thin, making the edge of the glass
awkward on my mouth.

I wanted to open my eyes, but couldn’t, so I lay still and listened to the ebb and
flow of the soft voices until I slept, once again.

The voices returned along with the scent of cooking food and wood smoke. My mouth
watered and was rewarded with a small bite of something warm and delicious. More cool
water followed, then another small bite, and another. Delicate fingers smoothed the
lovely chill across my skin, and I sighed with contentment before I faded off into
the ether.

The scene repeated itself many times, and it wasn’t until I was able to open my swollen
eyes that I became fully aware of my surroundings, or even my own humanity. I’d floated
in a dream world, surrounded only by soft voices that brought me nourishment and comfort,
blissfully unaware of anything else at all.

Then I opened my eyes and reality came screaming back with a vengeance. I turned my
head and took in waving walls of dark, heavy material. Pillows of all sizes and colors
dotted the rugs covering the ground. A tent. Opposite ends of the tent were open,
allowing a breeze to move through, swaying the strand of unlit light bulbs strung
from one side of the tent to the other.

Where was I? And how did I get there?

A young woman in a black scarf and colorful robe came into my line of vision, her
eyes filled with concern as she reached for my face and gently stroked my cheek. She
said something in Arabic, and I shook my head so she’d know I didn’t understand.

Nick. What happened to Nick? Had they left him out in the desert?
Oh, God, please, no
. I imagined him lying out there, dead, exposed to the elements. Just like his brother.
I touched the woman’s arm. “The man who was with me, where is he? Did you bring him
here? Did you bury him? Please, you’ve got to tell me.”

She patted my hand and spoke again. She didn’t understand me any more than I understood
her.

I clutched her sleeve. “Nick
can’t
stay out there. I have to get his body. Have to take him home to his family. Please
tell me,
where is he?
”

Looking enormously sympathetic, but completely clueless, she disengaged my fingers
from her sleeve and got to her feet, moving away from me. I tried to get up to follow,
but my ribs screamed in protest, my shoulders felt like they’d been burned with a
branding iron, and I had all the strength of cooked spaghetti.

I also realized I was naked as the day I was born, covered only by a thin sheet of
some kind of gauzy stuff that reminded me of mosquito netting.

Falling back, frustrated and eaten up with grief, I swore at the movable ceiling above
me.

The opening of the tent darkened with a silhouette and I knew for sure I was off in
the Twilight Zone again. It looked just like Nick. He came close, knelt beside me,
and reached for my face. For an hallucination, he looked amazingly real. His jaw was
covered with several days worth of beard, his skin was burned beneath his tan, and
his lips were cracked like mine.

He leaned over and kissed my cheeks, each in turn, then kissed me on the mouth. “Thank
you,” he whispered.

Only then did I realize I wasn’t imagining him. He really was there, close enough
to see every inflection in his liquid eyes. Awed and filled with an emotion I can
only describe as a major God moment, I touched his face. “You’re alive,” I said, my
voice cracking. “Oh my God, you’re
alive
.” Fighting the resistance of my body, I struggled to raise myself up, reaching for
him with one arm, trying to get leverage with the other.

He slid his arms beneath me and lifted me as he eased himself down onto the thick
carpet, cradling me against his chest while I cried into his neck, babbling incoherently.

“Shhh, it’s all right, sugar. Everything’s going to be all right.”

I have no idea how long he sat there and held me, but it’s a wonder I didn’t dehydrate
again, I cried so much. It all came back to me, the days and nights, the certainty
he would die, that I would die, and the total pointlessness of it all. That we were
both alive was nothing short of a miracle, and I can honestly say I’d never known
the meaning of pure joy until that moment.

We’d been given another chance, and I would never shy away from anything again, whether
it was making up with my family, or diving headfirst into an affair with Robichaud.
Screw the consequences. If things didn’t work out, I’d deal. No matter what, I’d grab
life with both hands and make the most of it.

When I was able to speak in some semblance of a voice he could understand, I asked,
“How did they find us?
Who
found us?”

He shifted my weight and settled me into his lap, his arms still wrapped around me.
“We’re with my old friends who sell guns and hand grenades. They’ve come a long way
since the last time I was here. They have generators now, and computers and a satellite
dish, which gives them the ability to track their people wherever they go, using GPS.
If anything goes wrong, they can find them quickly. They also have more vehicles,
and a helicopter.”

Bedouins with helicopters? “Is that how they spotted us?”

“They picked up my OPS on their tracking system and sent a guy out to see what was
up.”

“The Obnoxious Piece of Shit?”

His cracked lips curved. “Did it beep?”

“A lot. I couldn’t figure out what it was.”

“It’s given to every operative for emergency situations. If we’re on a job and something
happens that puts us at risk, like maybe the government is overthrown or there’s a
major terrorist attack, the OPS is tripped and it beeps, indicating I need to get
the hell out. If I turn it off, they know I got the message. If I don’t, they assume
I’m dead, or that I lost the device. Jamie probably triggered the alert when we never
arrived in DC, and these guys picked it up on their system.”

“So Jamie knows where you are right now?”

“Yes, but he probably assumes I’m dead because I never turned off the unit. Even if
he knows I’m alive, there’s not a lot he can do about it. I have to figure out how
to get us out of here on my own.” He held me a little closer. “Nawaf found us over
forty miles northeast of here. After he put us on the ’copter and brought us to camp,
he went back and stayed on a northeast course, looking for any sign of how we came
to be there. Because of the attack at Ras Tanura, they’re naturally nervous about
crackdowns on their business, so he was looking for military personnel.”

I rubbed my eyes and snuggled into the crook of his neck. “He didn’t find any, of
course.”

Nick brushed my hair away from my face and continued to gently stroke my head. “No,
but he did find a couple of empty parachute packs.” His voice grew deeper. “He said
they were over twenty miles from where he found us. How you managed to walk twenty
miles through the dunes, in summer, hauling me along behind, I can’t even imagine.”
He rained kisses all over my face and I’m pretty sure he was close to tears. “They
all think you’re a blessing from Allah.”

Naturally that made me cry again.

Lifting me, he laid me back on the pillows then pulled the gauzy sheet over me. He
sat next to me, cross-legged, in a white cotton robe that was much fuller and softer
looking than his
thobe
.

“How’s the cut on your arm?”

“Good, thanks to you changing the dressing. Nawaf’s wife said it was clean and dry
when I arrived.”

I peered up at him, wiping new trickles of tears. “I was so scared for you, Nick.
You wouldn’t wake up.”

He kissed my forehead. “I finally did this morning. Nawaf found us late yesterday
afternoon. His wife and their daughters have been taking care of us. They have a special
salve for sunburn, and some herbal stuff that helps with dehydration.” He touched
the back of his head. “Still have a goose egg from when Tim Fresh beaned me, but it’s
going down. I must have had a concussion.”

“You were really out of it, saying all sorts of ridiculous things. Then you passed
out and I couldn’t get you to wake up again no matter what I did.”

“I’d be dead if not for you.” He shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Tell me everything that happened.”

Gathering myself, I did, from the minute Tim and Hakeem came into the cabin, until
I lay down to sleep for what I thought was the last time. I even told him some of
his crazy talk, and expected him to smile, because it was kind of funny, but he didn’t.
He just listened, and didn’t ask any questions, his gaze never leaving my face, his
hand holding mine. When I was done, he lifted my hand and pressed a kiss against my
palm. “Just for the record, I really would kill the fucking shark, buy you some shrimp,
and make love to you under a palm tree.”

I moistened my lips with my tongue so I could smile without making them bleed, and
noticed they felt weird. I touched them with my fingers and grimaced. “I must look
like a war refugee.”

“You look amazing. You
are
amazing.”

“I bet you say that to every girl who pushes you out of an airplane.”

He smiled then. “You’re right, I do.” Leaning over, he kissed me again, softly, barely
brushing his lips across mine. “When we get home, let’s really go to Vegas and get
a room with a private pool.”

“Why not Idaho?”

“Sugar, we can go anywhere you want, just so long as it’s only you and me, and you’re
naked.” I kissed him back. Then he got to his feet and said, “I’m going to get you
some food and lemonade. Wait here.”

I started to mention that I had no choice—being naked—but he was already halfway out
the tent.

When he came back, he helped me sit up and handed me a plate filled with roasted goat,
flatbread, and dates. I enjoyed it more than any other food I’d ever eaten. I drank
the lemonade and thought nothing had ever tasted so good.

“When you’re up to it, I want to introduce you to everyone. They’re anxious to meet
the woman who took on the Rub al Khali and survived.”

I licked my fingers inelegantly and set the plate aside. “Are the men the same ones
you met before?”

“A lot of them, yes. They say it’s the will of Allah that I’m back, and that I’m blessed
because of you.”

“I don’t know about that. It’s kind of the big circle thing, really. If you hadn’t
been there, I’m not so certain I’d have tried as hard to live.”

He leaned back against one of the big pillows, resting his weight on one elbow. His
gaze moved south and I looked down, realizing I was no longer covered by the gauzy
fabric. I pulled it up and wrapped it around, tucking the end in my cleavage.

“Whatdja wanna go and do that for?”

“I can’t help it. I was raised to be modest.”

“Killjoy.” He grinned at me, then laughed. “Do you feel kind of weird? Like everything’s
new and amazing? Like anything’s possible?”

“Absolutely. That’s why I’m going to Las Vegas with you.” I looked at him, stretched
out in the white robe he must have borrowed from one of our hosts, and thought that
no man in the history of men had ever looked as good. “It’s also why I think we should
figure out a way to save the port at Yanbu.”

His smile faded, replaced with concern. “Are you sure you’re up for it, Blair? I was
thinking maybe you should stay here and let me go see what I can do.”

“Are you serious right now?”

“Not really. I was just giving you an out if you didn’t want to jump into the middle
of things again because, I mean, who could blame you?”

“I’ve come this far. There’s no way I’m not seeing it through to the end.”

“I was hoping you’d feel that way.” He sat up and crossed his legs again. “Nawaf has
contacts in Riyadh, one of them a confidante of King Abdullah’s brother, Crown Prince
Sultan. He says Al Qaeda has been ruled out as responsible for Ras Tanura, along with
other known terrorist organizations, so they’re concentrating on Saudi citizens who’ve
openly criticized the government. Faisal’s at the top of the list.”

I pulled a face. “So Hakeem’s father really did submarine him.”

“It looks that way, but thankfully the king isn’t taking anyone’s word for it. They’re
digging deep to find credible witnesses, somebody who knew the barnacle scraper and
might know who recruited him. The man had a family, and they all say they knew nothing
of his plans, but they’re spending a lot of money. Much more than what a man can earn
scraping barnacles for a living.”

“Can they trace the money?”

“Doubtful. The family has no bank accounts, so the payment must have been in cash.
But they can examine their suspects’ accounts for large withdrawals and I feel sure
they’re looking closely at Faisal’s.” His expression was solemn and serious. “Because
we were guests in his home when the port blew, they’re looking at us as persons of
interest.”

“That’s ridiculous. What reason would we have for blowing up Ras Tanura?”

“We wouldn’t, but we might know something that could implicate Faisal, and the fact
that he rushed us off to the airport the day after the explosion looks suspicious.
What looks more suspicious is that our plane was found yesterday in a hangar at a
landing strip close to the Al-Fulani’s vacation home outside of Jiddah.”

I became short of breath, I was so pissed off. “They hijacked the plane, planning
to dump us where no one would ever find us, then left it there so it looks like we’re
still hanging with Faisal. That he’s hiding us.”

“Or holding us. Either way, they’re looking for us, and if we show up in Yanbu, we’ll
be hauled in for questioning. By the time we get anyone to listen to us, let alone
believe us, the port will be toast. I’m guessing Hakeem has a solid plan for Yanbu
and it won’t be just one arm of the port that’s damaged.”