He threw open the heavy metal door and went down the steps of the Learjet. Zilah saw that he said something over his shoulder to Hakim, who was following close behind him, and then laughed. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. Animals. They were animals, and she mustn’t let Hassan’s words touch her.
It was so hot in the cabin that she could scarcely breathe. Perspiration was running down her back, causing her short-sleeved white shirt to cling to her like a second skin. She opened her eyes and stared numbly out the window at the desolate wasteland of sand. Nothing but dunes and sky as far as the eye could see, and the heat was rising from those dunes in shimmering waves.
She wouldn’t be afraid. There must be some way she could escape Hassan and his men if she could rid herself of this debilitating fear. The last twenty-four hours had been a nightmare of terror. Yet she couldn’t let them use her like this. David had done so much for her; she couldn’t allow herself to be turned into a weapon against him.
The throbbing chug of a motor caused her to straighten swiftly and lean closer to the window. A jeep had halted a good fifty yards from the plane and the driver lithely swung to the ground. His hands rose quickly above his head. “Daniel Seifert,” he called.
He should have looked cowed and intimidated in that position, but there was nothing in the least tame about the man who was standing with his legs astride beside the open jeep. He was a giant of a man, at least six foot five or perhaps taller, and dressed in khaki trousers that outlined the powerful muscles of his thighs and calves. His khaki shirt seemed barely able to contain the sleek biceps of those massive arms. Auburn hair blazed in the sunlight and a closely trimmed mustache and beard were of the same fiery hue as his hair. He was a wild, barbaric figure and reminded her vaguely of a painting she’d once seen of a fierce Viking warrior.