She was talking about moving to Sa’ud, the upcoming marriage, Brandt was certain of it. But he didn’t want to go there, not now. He removed the coil of rope from his pack that he’d cut from the jeep canopy. “I’m going to use this to fashion a harness around your chest, and I’m going to remove your sling for now, just in case you need balance from that other hand, but go easy on it.”
He began to loop knots as he spoke. “The idea is for me to climb up a boulder or two, find a secure perch, then haul you up. You’ll help by using your good arm to pull and your legs to climb and leverage against my resistance. We go this way rock by rock, step by step. When you’re tired, tell me, and we rest. Then when your mind is clear and focused again, then—and only then—we take another step.” He paused, assessing the rock face. “And from the top, we’ll see right across this plain. We’ll see if Amal is coming.”
He removed her sling and looped the rope around her back, and under her arms above her breasts, securing it with knots. But when the side of his hand brushed against her breast, her eyes ticked up to his, and the memory of their kiss suddenly hung briefly in the heat between them.
“There.” He cleared his throat and stepped back, smiling as encouragingly as he could. “Ready?”
She inhaled deeply, nodded.
But exactly what she was ready for, Dalilah wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she had to take the first step, get up over that first rock—and she was going to have to place her full trust in Brandt.
She believed he would not let her fall, that he’d help her up over this hurdle. But the other hurdles that would come after?
Once she got “home” she was on her own. And for a brief insane instant, she didn’t want to scale this cliff. She wasn’t ready to go home.
* * *
Amal stared over the wide, roiling Tsholo at the Botswana bank on the other side. Rage as violent as the floodwaters seethed inside him.
It was already afternoon, and jeep tracks showed his quarry had crossed the river right here. Before the waters had come down. Who was this bastard that had taken the princess? How had this person known that he was coming for her?
When Amal found him, he was going to disembowel the bastard, hang him from a tree for the jackals to tear at his innards while he was still alive. He’d make him watch what he was going to do to the Al Arif woman.
“There’s a bridge,” the old tracker was saying quietly at his side.
Amal spun to glare at him. “How far?”
“North, maybe half a day or more in the jeeps. But sometimes the first flood of the wet season washes parts of the bridge out. And there’s border control there, on the Botswana side.”
Amal glowered at the old man. He hated Jacob’s eyes, the way they seemed to harbour a quiet, secret knowledge. Amal didn’t trust him, but he needed him. Once he sighted his quarry, he’d kill the old man and that dog in a flash.
“Screw border patrol,” he snapped. “It’ll be sundown soon. We drive through the night, fast.” He marched over to Mbogo.
“Mark that spot over the river on the GPS,” he said, pointing to the high bank on the Botswana side. “If we make good speed we can be there by dawn tomorrow. We’ll pick up their tracks there. They won’t get away.”
* * *
Halfway up, Dalilah looked down. Mistake. Far below, the plain stretched—brown and gold, grasses, acacia scrub, stunted Mopani. Dizziness swirled, heat and dehydration taking their toll. Her muscles began to shake and sweat dripped from under her hat.
She slipped, rope digging into her skin as she jerked out and crashed back into rock, breath slamming out of her chest. Above her, Brandt braced, taking the brunt of her drop with the rope. He held still for a moment as she hung there, small stones skittering out from under his boot heel as it began to slip. A shower of stones clattered down on top of her.
“Grab that branch near your face!” he yelled. “Dig your toes into that crevice above your knees—just feel your way. And don’t look down!”
She groped for a piece of twisted old root. Grasping it, she found purchase with her boots, dug her toes in, and took some of the weight off Brandt. He hauled her up as she helped by pulling on bits of bush and roots. Once over the ledge of the rock, Brandt grabbed her and held her body tightly against his. Dalilah’s heart jackhammered. She could feel his heart, too, pounding against his ribs. Their bodies were drenched with perspiration.
“I got you,” he whispered, his breath hot in her ear. “Take it easy, okay? Calm down. Just relax. If anything kills a person out here it’s panic, got that? You’re in control of your own mind.”