Mostafa was talking about a search party and the coming night—and a thunderstorm.
A thunderstorm. Sandstorms in the desert were bad enough, but rain was the true danger. It was such a rare occurrence that when it happened, the rain created floods in the wadis—and the sand turned to sludge. Sludge that could trap anything in its path and annihilate it.
Rain was the true enemy of the desert, and a woman alone on a horse in unfamiliar territory—even if she did survive the brutality of a night exposed to the cold and sand, the jackals and scorpions and lions—was no match for a thunderstorm.
Rashid dressed quickly and then strode from the tent, calling orders as he went. Someone saddled a horse at the same time the Bedouin men emerged from their tents where they’d been preparing for dinner. Rashid and two dozen other men swung into saddles simultaneously. Arabian horses pranced and pawed and snorted, but ultimately they were ready for a ride into the night.
Sheridan could be anywhere out there, but Rashid knew the direction of the city and he knew the most traveled routes. All who were raised in the desert did. Rashid spurred his horse into a gallop and twenty-four men did the same. It was still light, though only barely, the sky a pink stain across the horizon. The moon was full tonight and they would have it for a couple of hours once it rose, until the predicted storm swept in off the gulf and wreaked its havoc.
Rashid only prayed they would find Sheridan before that happened. Because if they did not, if she had to endure a storm in the desert alone... His breath caught painfully in his lungs as the truth hit him full force: if they did not find her soon, there was no way she would survive.
* * *
It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, Sheridan thought. She’d been going to the stables so often that no one had thought anything of it when she went again. Even Daoud had relaxed his guard because he was accustomed to her visiting the stables. There were still a couple of the puppies who were waiting for their forever homes, and she wouldn’t stop playing with them just because Rashid had given her Leo.
It had been ridiculously easy to saddle a horse and ride out of the barn. She hadn’t been thinking too much at the time, but she’d known from listening in the palace that the Bedouin were only a few hours away by horseback. Had she really thought she could ride out to the oasis and find Rashid?
Fatima had told her he was in a place called the King’s Oasis, and she’d described it in great detail. Sheridan wasn’t an idiot. She had a map and a compass—handy devices, those, and still quite necessary. She’d located one in the palace after a bit of inquiry. All smartphones had them these days, but of course there were battery and satellite issues to contend with.
So now she was riding along a ridge on a delicate Arabian mare, with the desert a sea of sand in front of her and the city a speck behind her, and beginning to come to her senses. Not only that, but darkness was also falling fast and she had no idea how she was supposed to keep riding in the night. To her left, there was a dark wall of clouds in the distance, and she didn’t know if they were headed her way or not. They looked ominous, though, like thunderheads off the coast in Savannah.
The occasional brightening of those clouds told her that was exactly what they were as lightning sizzled through them and painted parts of the bank white and pink. She’d never realized there were thunderstorms in this area of the world, but why wouldn’t there be? Her only comfort was that this was a desert and therefore they would lose their destructive power long before they arrived. Or so she thought, since a desert by definition was dry.
She was tempted to turn around, but the compass told her she had gone past the point of no return. If she stayed on track, she would reach the oasis in two more hours.