Millions To Spare

Chapter Eleven

“Did Alex have a plan?” asked Julia, standing by the window to watch the mesmerizing sand grains blow past. At least she knew No-nose wasn’t lurking out there in the brutal storm.

“Not so far,” said Harrison, crouching to browse through the small bank of cupboards in one corner of the twenty-by-twenty-foot room.

“Maybe I should turn myself in.” At the moment, No-nose seemed a lot more dangerous than the police. If she was in custody, the U.S. embassy might help her. Maybe Harrison could even help get her out of jail again. She truly didn’t want to take her chances with a man who was willing to kill a horse.

“Not until we find out what they want,” said Harrison, extracting a butcher knife and contemplating it.

Julia got the horrible feeling he was arming himself.

He straightened. “If the same person influencing the police also hired No-nose, he could be capable of anything. And the police might turn you over to him.”

Julia’s knees grew weak, and she reached out to steady herself on the back of a chair.

Harrison caught her movement. He set down the knife and crossed the room, pulling her into a hug. She felt safe for a moment, but she knew it couldn’t last.

“We’ll come up with a plan,” he promised.

“Plans fail.”

“Are you going to get pessimistic on me?”

“I’m not a pessimist, I’m a realist. There are crazy men out there gunning for me-”

“And there’s a sane one in here protecting you.”

A lump formed in Julia’s throat, and she couldn’t speak.

His arms tightened around her, and she rested her cheek against his broad chest, closing her eyes for a moment.

He gently kissed the top of her head.

“I know you’re scared,” he said. “But we have a very long list of options that we haven’t even tried yet.”

Part of her wanted to ask what the options were. Another part was afraid they were laughably weak. Maybe it was better to pretend Harrison had a long list of rational courses of action that would save her. Denial might not be such a bad thing in this case.

“We should sleep,” he said.

“I know.” They’d been up virtually all night, and she was dead tired. “You should sleep, too.”

“There’s only one bed,” he pointed out.

She glanced at the colorful jumble of blankets and pillows. “It seems a little silly for me to go all Victorian on you now.”

He kissed her hair again and pulled back to smile. “There are things about you I like very much, Julia Nash.”

“There are things about you I like very much, too.” Specifically, at the moment, she liked that he felt like a barrier between her and the world.

He turned off the light above the cupboards.

Ahmed had thoughtfully provided Julia with a plain, white cotton nightgown, so she slipped into the tiny bathroom to wash up and change.

When she came out, a single light glowed next to the bed, the sand was invisible where it rattled against the dark windows, and the ceiling fan turned lazily above.

As she padded across the room to the small bed, she could feel Harrison’s gaze on her. But without looking in his direction, she lay down, tucked her head against a pillow and pulled up a single, thin sheet.

She heard him cross the room.

A rustle as he discarded his clothes.

She assumed-hoped-he slept in his boxers as he lifted the sheet to join her.

The bed was too small to stay away from each other. And, after a minute or so of hopeless attempts to find a politically correct position to sleep in, Harrison wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her, spoon style, against his body.

It seemed to her that she should argue. But then, she felt safe and comfortable in his arms, and it wasn’t as if they hadn’t already touched every inch of each other that could possibly be touched. So, instead of putting up a fight, she relaxed against him.

He rested his chin against her hair, and his hand grew warm where it splayed across her belly. She could have easily turned in his arms, easily kissed him, touched him, made love with him all over again.

“Can we talk about Brittany?” she braved.

He drew a breath. “I really don’t know what to say about Brittany.”

“I feel like the other woman.”

“I’m not with Brittany yet.”

Yet being the operative word. But Julia didn’t say that out loud.

“You’re before Brittany,” said Harrison with conviction. “Not at the same time as Brittany.”

He was obviously trying to make both of them feel better. On one level, it worked. On another, it made Julia sad. Harrison had a destiny with Brittany. He was simply biding his time with Julia.

Her chest tightened in pain. Then she told herself to buck up. She and Harrison had been thrown together in an artificial situation. Their emotions were magnified. Neither of them was even thinking clearly.

When it was over, they’d go back to their regular lives, and this would all be a fond, or maybe a frightening memory-depending on how things turned out.

But, for now, she had to focus on the moment. And, at the moment, Harrison was helping her. He said he had options, and she was going to believe him.

And that was all that mattered.

With Julia sleeping in his arms, Harrison tried to conceive a plan to get her safely out of UAE. Unfortunately, her warm skin, her sweet scent and especially her soft bottom pressing against him were more than a little distracting.

The storm had settled into a steady hum outside. They were safe for now, but as soon as the storm passed, they ran the risk of being discovered.

He redoubled his efforts to focus on something other than his desire to make love with her all over again.

He could rent a helicopter. But even if the police hadn’t put the airlines on alert, they ran the risk of being shot down if they tried to cross the border without clearance. Same problem with driving across a border; they could easily run into a patrol. And, even if they made it into Oman or Saudi Arabia, they might find more trouble there than they’d left behind.

He could take her south to the coastal town of Ruwais, find a boat of some kind and make the short crossing to Qatar. He turned that approach over in his mind. It was probably their best bet. But he’d have to get her there. And he didn’t dare make arrangements over the airwaves. They’d have to take their chances on finding a willing captain once they got to the town.

Mind made up, he realized he needed to sleep. It might be his last chance for a while. He’d ask Ahmed for a gun in the morning, pack as much fuel and water as the Jeep would carry, and make a run down the back roads of the desert past the dead zone.

He gathered Julia close, wrapping his body protectively around her as his eyes fluttered closed.

He woke up with a start, arms automatically tightening around her. The storm had passed, and the village was eerily quiet.

And then he heard it.

The sound of a diesel truck.

Carefully extracting his arm from beneath her, and his leg from where he’d thrown it over her hip in the night, he slipped out of bed. He crossed to the window, and cautiously peeked out. The engine sound grew louder as the driver geared down, and Harrison realized it had to be a semi. Probably not a threat then.

A tanker truck came into view on the main road of the oasis, then it passed behind a building and kept going. Harrison took a precautionary glance around the village before returning to the bed.

Julia’s eyes were open and wary.

“Everything okay?” she whispered.

Harrison nodded. “But we should get moving.”

She pulled herself into a sitting position. “Where are we going?”

“Ruwais. It’s a small town in the south. We can get a boat to Qatar.”

“What about the border?”

“It’ll look like we’re taking a day trip when we leave. To the authorities in Qatar, we’ll look like a couple of Western tourists.”

Julia smiled, and the glow of gratitude in her eyes did something to his stomach.

“Get dressed,” he advised, hoping she’d do it quickly, before he said or did something really stupid. “I’m going to pack a few things in the Jeep.”

She scooted out of bed, and he had to force himself to drag his gaze from the thin cotton that molded itself to her body as she moved. She was naked under there, and he remembered exactly what a sweet sight that was.

“Do you need any help?” she asked on her way to the bathroom.

“Ahmed will have breakfast for us. Could you pack it up? Then we can eat on the road.”

She nodded, pausing with the door half-closed. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” And he meant it.

As the door clicked shut behind her, he realized just how much he was willing to do for her, and how often he was willing to do it.

He pulled on the loose, cotton pants and shirt Ahmed had provided, then slipped his feet into the sturdy sandals. No point heading out into the desert in his wingtips.

He waited until Julia was ready, then he escorted her to the main house, watching carefully around them as he went.

Ahmed was up, as was the rest of the family. And, as Harrison had predicted, a breakfast of fruit, breads, cheese and strong coffee was laid out on the table.

Harrison gratefully accepted a cup of the coffee, then asked Ahmed if he had a weapon available.

Ahmed drew him aside.

“You’ll need more than a handgun,” he said in a low tone, glancing toward the women.

“Do you know something?” asked Harrison, turning his back, but feeling Julia’s stare on him.

“The man with no nose.”

Harrison raised his eyebrows.

“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.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. Was he worried about the consequences of transporting a fugitive?

“I mean it. When I get married next year in London, our divorce is between me, you and God.”

Divorce?

“And we do it as soon as possible.” He pulled the key from the ignition and reached for the door handle.

“Wait!” She grabbed his arm.

“What?”

“Are you saying you changed your mind?” Was he offering to marry her?

“Yes.”

“What about Brittany? All that stuff about your family name and obligations?”

“I’m not about to kill you to protect my family name.”

“But you can’t be-”

“What good is protecting my family name,” he continued as if she hadn’t even spoken, “if doing so costs me my family honor?”

“You don’t have to do this, Harrison.”

It was a grand gesture. It was an amazing gesture. But the odds of success were with them. They could drive through the desert and accomplish exactly the same thing, without screwing up his life.

“Yes, I do,” he said.

“No, you-”

“Yes.” His tone was implacable. “Ahmed is right. I marry you, and you’re home free.”

“But you’re not.”

“I’ll manage.”

“Harrison.”

“I said I would manage.”

“I won’t let you do this.”

His dark eyes became uncompromising. “You’re in the Middle East, Julia. A willing bride is not a prerequisite to a successful wedding.”

She felt her spine stiffen. “You wouldn’t.”

He opened the door to the Jeep. “Watch me.”