Hidden Sanctuary, page 7
I wished I had time to explain, but I’d have to leave that to Efra. Even as I spoke, the tiles’ energy dwindled. If I waited much longer, their energy signature would disappear, and both Pauline and the tiles would be impossible to find. Grabbing the gearshift, I resolved to drive through the village slowly.
I did not need another incident, no matter how minor.
Griffin stared down at me, his mouth pressed into a tight, angry line. “We don’t even know if she took the tiles.”
I struggled to control my raging emotions. I saw Efra in my head. On the ground. Hurt. Her brown eyes almost black with pain. And my sense of injustice took over, making me see red. “Are you saying Efra lied?”
“I’m saying she is old and was hit from behind. It could have been anyone.”
“No,” I countered, wishing it was true, but knowing that Efra was right. “The tiles are gone. Pauline’s gone. I, for one, do not need to be hit over the head to put it all together. We’re also wasting time.” I shifted the vehicle into Reverse.
Reaching through the window, he grabbed the wheel, and I held back the urge to peel his fingers off. Around us, a few more people had stopped to watch the escalating argument.
Or they were waiting to stone me. Either way, I wanted to leave.
“She went for help. Are you going to convict her for being a Good Samaritan?”
It sounded so convincing, but then so was Efra. And there was the matter of the tiles. How could I tell Griffin that I knew they were being moved? “How well do you know Pauline?” I asked. “I mean, really know her?”
“Mainly hearsay,” he admitted. “But I know her kind, and she isn’t the type to hit someone. She might break a nail or something.”
Under any other circumstance, I’d agree. Wealthy women like doe-eyed, twig-thin Pauline bought antiques, they didn’t steal them.
But these were no ordinary antiques and Pauline was not an ordinary affluent woman.
As if to emphasize my thought, the energy from the tiles disappeared. Cut off.
The sudden absence felt like a punch to the gut. “Oh my God,” I whispered, gripping the steering wheel for support. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the mother of the boy I’d shot. Almost hidden by the group, she was pointing at me and whispering something to the man next to her.
This was going to get bad on many levels if we didn’t leave soon.
“What’s wrong?” Griffin leaned in closer, his hands still gripping the wheel.
“Nothing.” I reminded myself that I needed to remain calm or I’d end up explaining things I’d best avoid. “I have to get to camp.”
“Talk to me.”
I glared at him. I needed to get moving before the tiles were so far away I’d never find them. “Let go or get in.” I tried to pull Griffin’s fingers off the wheel. He tightened his grip, not even bothering to acknowledge the fact I was trying to leave.
Part of me wanted to gun the engine and just go, but knowing Griffin, he’d hold on and I’d end up dragging him across the desert—with him lecturing me the entire way.
I rested my forehead against the steering wheel and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” I said, forcing the words past my mouth and hoping they sounded more sincere than they felt. “I’m worried, and we’re losing time.”
His fingers relaxed. “I know,” he said. “I’m worried, too. We might think these tiles are ordinary, but Efra and her people believe they have special powers, and that’s enough for me.”
Relieved, I sat up. He was watching me, his eyes deeper than I thought possible. My breath caught, and for a moment, we simply stared at each other. If the circumstances weren’t dire and immediate, I knew I’d kiss him and damn the consequences.
And he’d return the sentiment.
But Pauline was getting away.
I nodded to the passenger’s seat. “Get in. We have to go now. If Pauline is the thief, we’ll get the tiles. If not, then we’ll prove her innocence.”
Griffin pulled the door open. “Move over.”
I yanked it closed again. “You wish.”
With an annoyed huff, he began to walk around to the passenger’s side. Through the rearview mirror, I saw him stop at the back of the Rover, hesitating. “Come on,” I yelled out the window. “She’s getting away.”
He came around, and the Rover shifted as he got in next to me. “We need to hurry,” he said, buckling himself in.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.” Reaching across me, he buckled me in, as well. “Look behind us.”
I stuck my head out the window. On the horizon, the sky was dark, the color of an intense orange sunset. It looked almost liquid with movement.
But it was early afternoon, and the movement I saw wasn’t rain. My stomach dropped as I realized what it was.
Sandstorm.
The villagers scattered. Doors slammed and windows closed. Within seconds, we were alone.
I pressed the accelerator. We raced down the road with the sandstorm roaring in behind us. We might make it back to camp before blowing sand obliterated visibility. Or we might spend the storm sitting in the Rover.
At least Pauline wouldn’t be able to fly away. There was no way for a helicopter to take off with a sandstorm coming in.
The sky continued to darken, and I pressed the accelerator to the floor. As long as there was a hint the dirt road, I wasn’t slowing down. The Rover fishtailed around a corner and went into a skid on the loose stones that covered the hard-packed earth.
“Turn into it,” Griffin said, gripping the dash.
“I am,” I exclaimed, working to keep control of the vehicle even as he spoke. Within seconds, I’d aligned the Rover and floored the accelerator again.
“You might want to slow down,” he suggested as the car caught air when we topped a hill.
“Stop backseat driving,” I said, glancing at the sky through the rearview. The orange cloud was getting closer. Fast. Would we make it to camp before it hit?
“I’m not. Just trying to keep us alive.”
I ignored the jab at my driving skills and kept my eyes on the road. Men.
We crested another hill and the oil rig came into view, silhouetted against the sky.
And the familiar energy of the tiles touched me. The force was faint, but unmistakable. And came from the direction of my camp. Thank God.
“Turn off the road. Cut across the desert,” Griffin said, half turning in the seat to watch the progression of the storm. “It’ll save time.”
I yanked the wheel to the right and raced across the sand.
“Are you trying to kill us?” He stomped his foot on an imaginary brake as I dodged a rock the size of a couch.
“This was your idea,” I reminded him. And a good one, though I wasn’t about to admit it aloud.
“Just don’t get us killed.”
“We won’t be, unless a satellite drops out of the sky and smashes us flat.”
“Sometimes you’re an odd woman,” Griffin said. I glanced sideways and caught him rolling his eyes.
“You have no idea,” I replied, but slowed down as I went around another rock.
“Just be careful.”
“I am.”
Then the sky tumbled, pain shot through my head and I heard a scream.
It was mine.
When I opened my eyes, the sky was gone. The world looked tilted and awkward.
I took a deep breath, trying to get my bearings and inhaled sand. Pulling up the neck of my T-shirt, I covered my mouth.
I realized that the world wasn’t tilted. It was the Rover. It seemed I’d hit a hole.
I groaned. I knew I’d never hear the end of it. I shifted until I faced Griffin. His eyes were closed, and his head lolled against his chest. The passenger window was cracked from impact, and when I felt his skull, I found a growing lump behind his ear.
But his chest rose and fell. He might be unconscious, but he was alive. “As long as you’re breathing, I can deal with the rest,” I muttered.
As much as I hated it, the tiles would have to wait. The storm was worsening. We’d have to sit it out in the Rover. I’d deal with Pauline when the world was back to normal.
Leaving Griffin buckled in so he wouldn’t pitch forward into the dash, I managed to pull his shirt over his mouth.
My feet sloshed as I moved around.
Sloshed?
I squinted at the floorboards, but even though the Rover was keeping the worst of the sandstorm out, the air was thick with dust. Reaching down, I touched water, and I knew what it was without having to see it. My pulse kicked up.
Quicksand was one of those weird phenomena that, as a child, I’d associated with swamps. It wasn’t until I started working in the desert that I discovered it occurred in some of the most arid places on earth.
We had to get out of the car before it sank and we drowned in sand and water.
“Griffin.” I shook him. “Wake up.”
He remained limp.
I patted his cheeks. Pinched his arm hard enough to leave a mark. Screamed at him.
No response.
“Hell.” It would be up to me to get him out of the Rover. Moving a conscious person was difficult enough. With Griffin’s height and mass, moving him would be impossible unless I had help. But by the time I returned with it, Griffin and the car would be beneath the murky water.
I’d have to do it myself with whatever I could find.
I crawled into the backseat, trying not to jostle the vehicle. So far, it seemed stuck. Perhaps the back end was hung up on a rock.
I wanted to keep it that way.
Eyes squeezed shut against the gritty air, I felt around the seats and through the back until I found the supply box. Opening the lid, I went by touch.
I found tools, the metal smooth and cool. Lose screws and nails. What felt like a lightbulb.
My fingertips skimmed something braided. Rough.
Rope. I breathed a sigh of relief. Rope I could use. I seized it, tossing it into the front seat. I continued to feel around and found a pair of glasses. No, goggles. Quickly, I slipped them over my head.
I blinked sand from my eyes and observed the world through yellow-tinted lenses.
Weird.
I went back to the box and found another pair. I grabbed them and hung them around my neck. Griffin might not need them now, but he would when he woke up.
There wasn’t much else. Water. Compass. Shop rags. I tucked the compass in my pocket, then grabbed the rags and tied them together.
Crawling back to the front, I tied a rag around Griffin’s mouth to keep the sand out, then slid the rope around his waist and tied it in a sturdy figure-eight knot. “Griffin?” I asked, praying he’d wake up.
Still out cold.
I felt the bump behind his ear. It seemed larger. I prayed I hadn’t killed him.
I should have stuck to the road.
The vehicle shifted, and I squeaked at the sudden movement. It was time to get out of here. “Hang in there,” I whispered in Griffin’s ear.
With the free end of the rope in my hand, I crawled to the back of the Rover, braced myself and opened the hatch, letting the wind in.
Instantly, sand filled the car. I yanked my shirt back over my mouth, coughing.
Crawling out the back, I entered the storm. Between my yellow goggles and the orange of the storm, the desert seemed foreign. Alien. Otherworldly.
I stood in the howling wind and peered through the sand, searching for anything I could tie the rope to. If I could find something strong enough, I might be able to secure the Rover.
Fifteen feet away, I saw a dark shape. Fighting against the wind, I trudged to it. A Nubian dragon tree. Its spiky leaves topped the spindly branches like a crown. I knew these trees were an endangered species. They were also tall and tough. Wrapping my hands around the trunk, I touched fingertips. I frowned. The tree was smaller than I’d hoped. Too small to be useful for much of anything I worried. Unfortunately, there wasn’t another tree—or much of anything at all—in sight.
It’s a desert tree, I told myself. That made it strong enough. Besides, it didn’t have to pull out the Rover. Just Griffin.
Looping the rope around the trunk, I held the free end and followed the line back to the sinking vehicle.
My fingers hurt from gripping the coarse braided hemp that was Griffin’s lifeline. Tilting his seat back until it was horizontal, I braced my feet against the headrest and pulled on the free end, using the tree as a pulley.
Griffin slid toward me, halfway up the backrest.
Beneath us, the Rover started to sink again.
Panic roared through me. “Come on,” I screamed at Griffin. Myself. The freaking car. “Come on!” Within seconds, he was in the back of the Rover.
The vehicle sank faster now. I kept pulling, fighting to keep ahead of the rising quicksand. The beating of my heart and the harshness of my breathing drowned out the sounds of the storm.
We cleared the window, and I braced my feet against the back of the car, using it for leverage one last time. I pulled Griffin free.
The Rover sank into oblivion with a giant sucking sound.
And reality set in. How was I going to drag Griffin out of the quicksand with nothing to brace against? His head fell forward. Floundering, I gripped his hair in my fist and yanked his face out of the sandy water.
Dark eyes blinked, then focused on me.
“Griffin?” I wanted to cry with relief. Instead, I pulled him to me and kissed him. Hard. Intense. A primal, joyous response at seeing him awake.
He hesitated, then his mouth pressed into mine. Just as fierce. Just as needful.
Warning bells echoed in my head, reminding me that now was not the time. I pulled away. Griffin touched his lips, as if unsure whether or not the kiss was real. “What happened?” The question barely penetrated the howl of the storm.
I assumed he meant the wreck. “We’re in quicksand,” I shouted, handing him the extra pair of goggles from around my neck. He slipped them on and I nodded approval. “Less talk. More action,” I shouted.
The change in his appearance was immediate. My sight was limited, but I felt the sureness in his touch as his hands searched under the water, feeling the ropes. He tied my end around my waist.
“At the same time!” he yelled.
Pulling on the rope at the same time to keep the tension even, we inched our way out of the quicksand and to freedom. Once the sandy earth was firm against our backs, I breathed a sigh of relief.
But we still weren’t safe.
My skin stung from the sand. It was painful but not lethal, and I prayed it didn’t grow that strong.
Worse than the sand was the dropping temperature. With the sunlight blotted out, it was already cooler. If we were still out in the open without protection when night fell and the temperature dropped to freezing, we’d be dead by morning.
“We need to get to camp!” I shouted in his ear.
Looking toward what I thought was the direction of camp, I barely made out the oil rig in the deepening storm. Another fifteen minutes and it would be swallowed from sight. I pointed toward it. “Come on!”
Griffin wrapped his arm around my waist. I grabbed him in return, and we stumbled toward our haven on the horizon.
When we arrived in camp about an hour later, Griffin was on his last legs. It had been a silent trek, but I guessed his head wound was sucking the energy from him, making him unsteady.
What if he had a fracture? A concussion? Bleeding in his brain?
There were many ways to die in the desert that didn’t involve dehydration. Sometimes, they involved careless, stupid driving….
Once in camp, we made our way to my tent. The full force of the storm was on us now and the sand was scouring my bare arms like a wire brush.
Unzipping the canvas door, we stumbled in and I led Griffin to my cot. “I’ll get Pete.”
He grabbed my arm. “I’m fine. You shouldn’t go out there.”
I’ve thought it before and I’ll think it again. Men. “You were knocked out for at least five minutes, possibly longer. You could have a concussion.”
“I said I was fine,” he growled, yanking off his goggles. I glanced at his eyes in the dimming light. His pupils looked to be the same diameter, but it was hard to be sure.
“Do you want to be macho or do you want to be dead?” I asked.
“I’d be fine if you’d learn to drive,” he retorted.
I stared at him, refusing to rise to the bait.
After a few seconds he waved me off. “Go ahead. Get Pete if it’ll make you feel better.”
Catching Pauline would make me feel better, but I couldn’t tell that to Griffin.
“It will.” Grabbing a large cotton scarf, I wrapped it around my head and over my mouth. I hesitated at the flapping door and looked back to see Griffin stretched out on my bunk.
I realized it would make me feel better to get help. Griffin might work for Dynocorp, and he might be a well-muscled pain in the ass, but we’d worked together for months now. I wasn’t about to lose him.
Besides, it was my fault he was hurt.
I worked my way through camp, using the rows of tents as a guide. I arrived at Pete’s living quarters but didn’t bother to call out, knowing he’d never hear me through the growling storm. So when I unzipped the door to his tent and stepped in, he looked startled as hell.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“A cheery hello to you, too,” I said. Closing the flap behind me, I unwrapped my scarf.
“I thought you’d wait this out at the village.”
“Something came up,” I said, not telling him about the tiles. The fewer who knew, the better. As it was, I was having a difficult time keeping the truth from Griffin. “Is Pauline here?”
“No. I haven’t seen her.”
I’d known the answer. Felt that the tiles were not in camp. But still, I was disappointed. “Damn.”
He squinted at me, then touched my cheek, and I winced. “What happened to you? You’ve got a nice bruise there.”
“I wrecked the Rover,” I explained, reminding myself why I’d come to Pete. Everything else could wait. “Griffin’s hurt. I need you to check him out.”
