The Erotic Expeditions - Complete Collection (19 page)

There was another print. He stopped and knelt down, took off his sunglasses.
 

Half-toe.

Whether this male had lost part of the digit in a trap or a fight, his paw print was unique. The outside left toe of the left paw was missing. He was probably the alpha male of the pack and the widest ranging. That was a good sign. If he was nearby, then the den was probably still near the oasis.
 

Quinn hadn’t risked finding it. That might have spooked them before the WWF could make a conclusive sighting. Even so, he knew in his gut the den would be there because that’s where he would put one. It’d be in an existing termite warren, deep in the cool sand, not too far from water, and in the shade of a tree or shrub. Other animals would have to come to the oasis to drink and that’s where the predator could wait.

He bent low and sniffed the print.
 

Half-toe all right.

If Lou were here, he’d have her take a photo of it. He’d wondered if it had been Half-toe that he’d captured in the nighttime infrared shot.

He stood and peered behind him.

Where was she?

He put his sunglasses back on and took his water bottle out, keeping an eye out toward the south. She’s probably about fifty yards back and, knowing her, she hadn’t taken a break.
 

He took a slow sip of water but a tiny kernel of worry started to form in his stomach.

As he put the water back into the net pouch at the side of his backpack, he kept looking toward the south. He could trace his route, a meandering line that tracked back and forth along a straight one that would lead to the oasis.

He glanced behind him as if to confirm. And also with the foolish thought that, when he looked back, he’d see Lou.

He looked back.

But she wasn’t there.

He started a calculation in his head. He’d probably been in this spot for four minutes. In four minutes, she’d have easily been able to cover fifty yards. Even if she’d been one hundred yards behind, he’d see her by now. When
was
the last time he’d seen her? He couldn’t say for sure and that troubled him.

He started to head south.

In the beginning, he’d checked on her often. But as he’d gotten into the tracking and the beauty of the surroundings, he’d managed to put her from his mind for ten minutes at a stretch. Then he’d checked less.

“Lou?” he called.

He should be seeing her by now.

He started to walk faster.

“Lou!” he yelled.

If this was some type of game, he was really going to be mad. You didn’t play games in the Sahara.

“Come on,” he muttered. “Lou!”

He started to trot.
 

She wouldn’t play games. He knew her at least that well. And he really ought to be seeing her by now.

“Lou!” he yelled. “Lou!”

He dipped into a small depression in the rocky slope and quickly crested. The landscape was empty.

He stopped.

He shaded his hands with his eyes and scanned the entire vista. It didn’t make any sense. He was breathing hard and his heart was racing. Sweat was pouring from his face but not from the heat.

Okay, slow down.

Think like a tracker.
 

He took in a deep breath and looked down at the ground. He took a few steps forward, sweeping his gaze. There. That was his footprint. He kept sweeping his gaze. His footprints were easy to track. If she’d had any sense at all, that’s what she would have done.

He looked to the horizon. If she had stumbled or her head injury had suddenly worsened–or any number of things–she might be laying in a low area and it’d be easy to miss her. The sun was nearly overhead. That was no help. There would be no long and easily visible shadows.

He looked back down at the ground, tracking. His feet raced along, even though he was nearly doubled over. He looked up again.

There!

“Lou!” he screamed.
 

But as he neared, he realized it wasn’t her.
 

“No,” he muttered.

It was only her backpack and the camera.
 

What–

He stopped several yards away from it. Several scents assailed his senses. Lou’s, a camel, and…a man. He looked down at the ground. No tracks.
Good
. He hadn’t obliterated anything yet.

He carefully approached, keeping low, sweeping his gaze, flaring his nostrils, opening his mouth and inhaling. There, beyond the backpack, there were a number of footprints. Quickly, he went to the pack, touched it. It seemed intact and…it still had her water bottle.

Damn
.
 

He left it and went to the prints. Yes, a man, a Berber judging from the traditional foot gear, about five foot seven based on the stride, of average weight given the depth. And here, Lou’s print. Much deeper because of the pack. There were scuffle marks and prints on top of prints. This was her impression. She’d been laying here. He jerked his head up and looked around as the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

She’d been dragged away from the backpack behind him and laid here. He looked left and right, reconstructing the scene. Somehow she’d been unconscious, the pack removed, and her body dragged here and then…there, the man’s prints. One set approached and one departed, in a different direction, and much heavier. The man was carrying her.

She’d been kidnapped.

• • • • •

Lou’s head was absolutely splitting.

And her stomach hurt.

What is going on?

She realized she was moving and opened her eyes.

God, what is going on?

Her head was bobbing, hitting something, and she was upside down. She tried to push upright but her hands wouldn’t move. In fact, now she realized her wrists hurt. Below her, she could see that they were tied with a rough, thick rope and even further below that, the desert floor was moving past.

It felt like her head weighed fifty pounds but she managed to lift it and look right.
 

Oh my god. I’m on a camel.
Though she couldn’t see its face, she was clearly looking at its neck and the side of its head. She looked left, squeezing her eyes shut at the sudden pain in her head. Then she remembered.

She’d been knocked unconscious.

She opened her eyes and saw the camel’s rear, its tail twitching from side to side. She was strung over some type of blanket and saddle arrangement.

She turned her head back right. She was alone on the camel. Then, on the ground, she saw the shadow–another camel ahead of hers. Its silhouette was clear. A single man was riding there, a man wearing a turban.

Where were they?

In front of them stretched the sands of the Sahara. They were headed west. She looked behind them. There were the Ahaggar Mountains, seeming so small.
 

Oh my god. Quinn is back there. Is he okay?
 

She tried to remember the last time she’d seen him as the camel kept rocking back and forth. She’d been hiking behind him. He’d gone out of sight. That’s when the man on the camel must have seen his opportunity.
 

She had to stop him. They had to stop moving away from Quinn. He’d have noticed by now–whenever now was. She looked down. The shadows said it was after midday. She looked back toward the mountains.
 

He’d follow. If he was okay, he’d follow. She
knew
he would but the camels must be outdistancing him. She had to stop them and she had to do it now.

• • • • •

“Dammit,” Quinn muttered.

He could see now where they were headed–Tamikrest, along one of the traditional Berber trade routes. It was a small desert spring, nothing more than a well this time of year.

The problem with Tamikrest was that it was in a straight line from here and Lou and her kidnapper were heading directly for it. There’d be no shortcutting to get ahead of them.

The camels were easy to follow. The man probably didn’t think he was being trailed, especially by a single man on foot. Even if he did, there wasn’t much he could do about leaving tracks. And the kidnapper obviously knew about leaving tracks because he had tracked Quinn.

Quinn kicked himself.

The tracker had been tracked.
 

And it was just one man. Of that, Quinn was sure. He’d loaded Lou on a camel, not far from where he’d subdued her.

He kept up his jog, even with the heavy backpack. Nearly everything in it was essential for survival. He’d also taken all Lou’s water. He took another drink. He was playing a dangerous game. At this high rate of consumption, he’d need to replenish the water quickly.
 

The going was slow in the sand. Each step sank in. If the kidnapper had meant to make it hard, he was doing it. But Quinn suspected that a pursuer was the last thing on the man’s mind. Either he was a poacher who was going to use Lou to make a point or he was a trader who’d found something very valuable to trade.

Quinn kept his feet moving. Camels weren’t fast but they were steady. Their endurance, however, was something he’d never match. If he didn’t catch them by the time they left the desert spring, Lou would be lost forever.

• • • • •

Lou decided her feet must be tied to her wrists. Trying to raise her hands only pulled her feet lower. And that hurt. Everything hurt.

“Hey!” she screamed.

The camel kept moving as though it hadn’t noticed.

“Hey!” she tried again.

This time she bucked in the saddle as best she could, trying to bounce.

The camel snorted and looked back at her but kept plodding.

She tried to kick it but that was awkward, to say the least. Her feet were too low and she kicked air instead of the underside of the camel. So she raised her feet as high as she could, even though the ropes tugged on her wrists, and kicked it in the side.

Now it made a sound and she felt it jerk.

The man on the camel in front yelled something and the camel came to a stop.
 

“Hey!” she yelled.

The shadow of the man on his camel got larger. He was coming around to her side. She saw the feet of the camel come into view first as she raised her head up. There he was. He was dressed in beige clothing but his face and head were covered in a dark blue turban and scarf. The rope that he used to lead her camel was tied to the pommel of his ornate saddle.

“Hey!” she yelled. “Untie me!”

He came closer.

“Untie me!” she yelled again.

Her camel shifted and snorted as she tried to kick it.

“It will bite you,” he said, in thickly accented English.

“Then untie me so I can sit up,” she said, struggling.

“Why?” he said simply, looking at her, his eyes amused.

Good question, she thought. Her mind raced but she drew a blank. Why in the world would he care?

“Because I’ll be thankful,” she said suddenly. His eyebrows went up. He hadn’t expected that any more than she’d expected saying it. She plunged ahead. “And I’m thirsty,” she pleaded. “I need water.” He seemed to be watching her. “Please,” she said, making it sound very real, since she really was thirsty. “Please. I can be…nice.”

He seemed to be considering it. She tried to raise her head and look directly at him, and hoped she was showing some cleavage.
 

It occurred to her what she was doing.
It doesn’t matter. You’re not there yet.
She had to slow them down. Quinn must be following. He
had
to be. He was her only hope.

“Please,” she said again. Then, without meaning to, she started to cry.

“You waste water,” the man said.

She could only nod.

She heard his camel start to move and lowered her heavy head as she continued to cry.

“Stop,” he said.

He was circling behind her camel.

She watched the camel’s feet through blurry eyes and then they disappeared.

“Stop!” she heard from behind her and something hit her butt. Hard.

She cried out and did her best to stop crying.

The man made a harrumphing sound but she heard his camel grunt and the shifting of the animal’s feet, the creaking of the saddle. He must be settling to the ground. For several moments there was silence and then his hand was on the back of her thigh. She jerked with surprise and the man chuckled. He slid it up over her butt and then slapped her, as if she were a horse.

He said something in Berber and slapped her again.

She ground her teeth against the pain and the indignity but, if it meant they stayed in one place, she didn’t complain. She had to stall for time. No matter what, she had to delay their progress–maybe even escape.

She felt him untying the ropes at her ankles as she tried to compose herself. Whatever opportunity came up, she needed to be ready. She felt him grab her at the hips and tug down. As she slid off the saddle, she discovered how high off the ground she was–a long way. When she landed, she fell backward. With her hands still tied together, there was no way to brace her fall. With a thud, she sat down hard, and then her back and head hit the sand.

Suddenly, there was a sharp tug on the rope and she was sitting up. The bandana was gone and her hair fell in her face. He grabbed some in his hand.

“You will fetch much money,” he said, rubbing it between his fingers.

She wanted to scream but bit her lip against the impulse.

“Water,” she whispered, slumping over.

He harrumphed again but let her hair go. As soon as he moved away, she looked up. She’d landed between the two camels. His back was to her as he headed for the skin of water, hanging from the pommel of the saddle. Tucked into a long holster next to it was a rifle.

Lou scrambled to her feet.

He was only a few feet away.

Quickly, she dug in the side-pocket of her pants but it was awkward with her hands tied together.

The man had the water.

She pushed one hand in as far in as it would go and finally found it–the mace canister. As he turned to her, she unsnapped the leather holder and held it up.

He had a second to look at it, not understanding what it was and then she pressed down on the button. The stream was off target but she quickly re-aimed it and, at the close distance, hit him squarely in the face. He screamed and dropped the water skin, raising his hands in front of him. In moments he was down on his knees and the stream of mace died. But rather than try to wipe his face, he reached blindly for the rifle.