Guarding the Princess(35)
Dalilah swatted at a cloud of insects, tension coiling tight inside her.
HaHa-di-Daaaa!
Brandt flicked open the glove compartment, took out a plastic tube and tossed it to her.
“Bug repellent.”
Silently Dalilah opened the tube and patted the white cream around her neck, the chemical scent making her feel queasy.
Hah hah haaaa! Di daaaaaaa...Ha! She willed the bird to shut up as she scanned the trees for sight of it. But she couldn’t locate it.
HahaHaHaaaa!
Again, that ominous feeling of being observed by unseen eyes came over her. As if their progress was being communicated and telegraphed ahead of them as they went, as if the bush was a whole sentient thing, merely allowing them passage. But always watching.
“Do you think they’ve found our tracks on the Zimbabwe side yet?” she said.
“Yup. But they’ll be held up by the river for a day or so. Once they cross and find our camp, however, they’ll come fast.”
Dalilah’s thoughts turned to their campsite the previous night. The leopard. The baobab. Him.
“What did you mean, Brandt, about a vow never to kill again?”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not noth—”
“It’s not your business, okay. Don’t worry about it.” His words were clipped.
“I was just wonder—”
“Forget it, Dalilah. I just said it to drive home a point, to get your mind back on track. It’s got zip to do with you.”
Irritation spiked through her. Every now and then it was as if his guard came down, and she felt she connected with this guy, felt that they shared a bond. Then it was as if he flicked a switch.
“It’s got everything to do with me,” she snapped. “You said as much yourself—that rescuing me forced you to kill a man back there at the lodge. You said I made you break a vow not to kill another man, or woman. Did you kill a woman, Brandt? What woman?”
Any hint of congeniality vaporized instantly as a cold hard anger altered his features and his hands fisted around the wheel. Right away Dalilah knew she’d hit the nerve in Brandt Stryker. He had killed a woman.
Part of her brain screamed to drop the subject right here. But she couldn’t.
“Who was she, Brandt? What happened ten years ago?”
“Dalilah,” he said very quietly, “I’m not looking to make friends, nor tell my life story. My mission is to get you to a safe place, and to call your brother. He will either come fetch you, or send someone to take you off my hands.”
“So I’m just a package to be picked up and dropped off.”
“Yes,” he said. Then, as if he couldn’t stop himself, either, he said, “And then you can be nicely handed over to King Haram.”
“Haroun!”
“Whatever.”
She glared at him, her blood starting to boil, her face going hot. “Where do you know my brother from, anyway?” she demanded.
“I told you, Omair and I used to work together.” His voice was going tighter, lower, even quieter. Warning flushed through her. But she was like a runaway train now, unable to pull the brakes, heading downhill no matter the cost.
“And you said you owe him—why?”
Brandt flashed her a fierce look, his wolf eyes like slits, warning her to back down. “I told you already. Omair saved my life. So let’s drop it.”
“How did he save your life—what happened?”
He fixed his gaze dead ahead, fists clenched on the wheel, as he negotiated a particularly rocky section. “Look, Princess,” he said, the jeep swaying, “save your energy, because you’re going to need it. This is not a social trip. You don’t need to know me, and I don’t need to know you. Let’s just get this over with.”
She muttered in Arabic, repressing the urge rising in her to punch him, to beat out the information, make him drop the damn barriers. One trait she’d never managed to outgrow was curiosity and dogged determination to ferret out the truth, especially if someone tried to thwart her from doing so.
He swerved sharply as the jeep cut too close to another acacia tree and the branches raked down the side of the vehicle, slapping inside. She ducked back, but not in time. A thorn ripped through her sleeve, splitting open her skin. Blood welled. Dalilah’s eyes burned with pain and frustration.
“I told you to keep your hands in!” he snapped.
“I did! You’re doing this on purpose. You’re a pig!”
“Yup.”
“I know you care—I felt you care!”
His gaze shot to her, eyes crackling. She was getting to him, rattling his cage. Things were shaking loose inside—she could see it in his eyes, in the set of his features, the tension in his neck.