Lord of the Desert by Diana Palmer Read Free Book Online Page B

well,” he reminded her.
    â€œYes, old Victorian homes with exquisite gingerbread woodwork. I’ve seen those. In fact, our ranch house is built like that. It isn’t luxurious or anything, but it’s rather pretty when it’s freshly painted.”
    He studied the gleam of her platinum hair as they went back out into the sunlight and back out the gates of the old city and onto the streets. “Do you ever wear your hair down, Gretchen?” he asked softly.
    â€œIt’s very fine and flyaway,” she said with a smile. “Besides, it gets in my face in the wind, especially the sort they have here in Morocco. It blows constantly.”
    â€œHow long is it?”
    She searched his curious eyes. “It comes down a little past my waist. Why?”
    â€œI know another woman, also an American, with hair much like yours.” He grimaced. “She cut hers. I imagine her husband encouraged her,” he added darkly. “He knows how much I admire long hair.”
    Her eyebrows arched. “Her husband?”
    He glared. “They have a son, almost two years old.”
    â€œShe turned you down, I gather?”
    His chin went up. “I would not offer marriage,” he said evasively. “He did.”
    â€œWhy, you rake,” she teased.
    He didn’t smile. If anything, he looked grim and introspective.
    â€œSorry,” she said at once. “I suppose she meant something to you?”
    â€œShe was my world,” he said abruptly. “But there again, fate robbed me.” He glanced beyond her and frowned.
    She turned, in time to see the man in the beige suit now standing with the bodyguards. One of the two men in black suits on the side of the street was making an urgent gesture with one hand. The man in the beige suit motioned to Philippe.
    â€œWe must go at once,” he said, propelling her down the walkway to where their guide was waiting with the black-suited men. He was quite suddenly someone else, someone who exercised authority and expected instant obedience. When they reached the black-suited men, they were standing with the one in the beige suit—the man Philippe had described as an employee of a Saudi prince. But the man wasn’t behaving like royalty at all. In fact, he was acting in a totally subservient manner, almost pleading from the tone of his voice.
    Philippe snapped out questions and then orders in a language that sounded different from the one he’d used in these shops. He glanced down at Gretchen with concern and guided her back toward the car, with their guide in front and the other three men behind and to the side of them.
    Gretchen didn’t speak. She had a sense of urgency and danger which made her move quickly and keep quiet. She felt Philippe’s quick, approving gaze as they made their way back to the car and got inside. The suited men got into the car behind them, another Mercedes she noticed, and they pulled out into the street and quickly back onto the highway that led to Tangier.
    In scant minutes, she realized that they were gaining speed and that a third car was apparently in hot pursuit.
    She glanced at Philippe with visible apprehension. He had pulled a cell phone from his pocket and was speaking into it rapidly in a foreign tongue. The car behind them, apparently following orders, suddenly whirled and blocked the narrow road so that the pursuing car had to swerve or hit them. As they raced away, the sound of rapid gunfire echoed behind them. Gretchen’s hands clenched so hard on her plastic bottle of drinking water that she almost burst it.
    â€œIt is all right,” Philippe said in a soft, comforting tone, his face hard and somber. “We are perfectly safe. You react well to a crisis,” he added with gentle praise.
    â€œThat was gunfire!” she said breathlessly.
    â€œIt was not meant for us,” he said nonchalantly. “We have only helped the young man in the beige suit avert a