She had to keep it together, she told herself firmly. Melanie and Robbie must be looking for her. They’d have talked to the authorities by now. Eventually, hopefully within the next few hours, they’d find her and contact the embassy. Surely getting trapped in a horse trailer wasn’t a heinous crime even in Dubai.

Oh, God. She had to pee.

She gritted her teeth, lowering herself onto one corner of the mattress then bending over to keep her muscles tight.

Footfalls sounded in the corridor. An Arabic voice again. But this time a man’s.

“Ms. Nash?”

She jerked her head up to see a tall man standing outside her cell door. He was Caucasian. And he spoke English. Thank goodness.

“Are you from the embassy?” she rasped.

He shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

Her need was humiliating. But she was past caring. She couldn’t even think about anything else for the moment. “Is there a bathroom?”

He searched her expression then said something in rapid Arabic to the matron beside him.

The matron unlocked the door, and Julia rushed to the opening. The woman then escorted Julia down the hall.

The restroom was a cramped, dingy stall with cracked porcelain and corrosion-encrusted plumbing that was a relic of the fifties. There was no seat, and toilet paper didn’t appear to be one of the amenities. But Julia had never seen anything so beautiful in her life.

Afterward, she thanked the stern, cold-eyed woman then walked back down the hall, pulling together the few shreds of dignity she could muster.

The man still stood outside her cell.

Her feet froze at the doorway, everything inside her screaming to break and run. But she knew that would only make matters worse. She forced her rational mind to override her primal instincts.

“You speak English,” she said, still hovering at the open doorway.

“I’m British,” he responded.

Of course. The accent was obvious. And there was a definite aristocratic look about him. He had a straight nose, a slight cleft to his square chin, and dark eyes that matched his neatly trimmed hair. His suit was Armani, the shirt and tie likely Richard James. Whoever he was, he had money and style.