His word of honor.
With a twist and a rip, he yanked the rope off her ankles. His own legs trembled as he rose to his feet. He clenched his hands at his sides, his body tight and aching for what he could not have.
“I shouldn’t have tied you up,” he said in a low voice. “I should have told Tark to go to hell and just let you scream curses at me for two hours.”
“No kidding.” She stared at him, waiting, then she gave a crooked smile. “So are you going to say you’re sorry?”
“Mistakes were made,” he said tightly, and that was the best he could do.
Her smile widened. “You’re not used to saying you’re sorry, are you?”
“I don’t make it a habit.”
“Too bad for you. It’s a big habit with me. I say it all the time. You should try it.”
“It’s been a while.” Kasimir’s throat burned as he remembered the last time he’d apologized. Ten years ago, he’d arrived in St. Petersburg to discover his “interview” was all over the business news. He’d immediately phoned his brother, still in Alaska. Kasimir still writhed to remember the pitiful way he’d groveled. I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was a reporter. Forgive me, Volodya.
But his brother had just used his confession against him, convincing Kasimir his mistake was a betrayal and they should end their partnership immediately. And all along Vladimir had secretly known a billion-dollar mining deal in Siberia was about to come through.
“How long has it been since you apologized?” Josie asked softly.
Kasimir shrugged. Saying sorry was tantamount to admitting fault, and he’d learned that humbly asking for forgiveness was a useless, self-destructive exercise, like flinging your body in front of a speeding train. It could only end in being flattened. “Ten years.”
Her jaw dropped. “Seriously?”
“I have to go.” His shoulders felt tight in his suit jacket. “Just stay here, all right? I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Where are you going?”
“To change out of these clothes. And take a quick shower.” From the corner of his eye, he saw her immediately glance at her old backpack on the floor. He could almost see the wheels turning in her mind. Fine, let her dig for her phone. Let her try to use it out here—with no way to recharge the dead battery and no connection even if she’d had power. He looked back at her. “Make yourself comfortable. But don’t try to leave the encampment,” he warned. “You’re in the middle of the desert. There is no way for you to escape, so please don’t try.”
“Right.” Josie nodded, her expression blank and bland. “No escape.”
“I mean it,” he said sharply. “You could die a horrible death, lost in the sand.”
“Die a horrible death. Got it.”
With a sigh, he tossed back the heavy canvas door, and went to a nearby smaller bathing tent. He knew Josie was up to something, but she’d soon see there was nowhere to go. He twisted his neck to the left, cracking his vertebrae. She’d hopefully spend the next ten minutes trying to get her phone to work. He gave a low laugh.
Taking off his suit, he used silver buckets filled with cool, clean water to wash the grime of civilization off his skin. He exhaled, feeling his shoulders relax, as they always did here. He changed into the traditional male caftan over loose-fitting pants. His body felt more at ease in a lightweight djellaba than he’d ever felt in a suit. He loved the natural wildness of the de
sert, so much more rational and merciful than the savage corporate world.
As he left the bathing tent, Kasimir looked up at the endless blue sky, at the white-sand horizon stretching to eternity. There were eight large white tents, most of them used by his Berber servants who maintained this remote desert camp, surrounding the deep well of an oasis. On the edge of the camp was a pen for the horses, and farther away still, a helicopter pad. He’d given up trying to drive here. He’d destroyed three top-of-the-line Range Rovers trying to drive over the sand dunes before he’d finally given up on driving altogether and turned to horses and helicopters.
Now, he looked across the undulating sand dunes stretching out to the farthest reaches of the horizon. Sand muffled all sound at this lonely spot on the edge of the Sahara. The sun was falling in the cloudless blue sky.
His oasis in the desert was as far from Alaska as he could possibly get. He had no memories here of the bleak, cold snow. Or of the only promise he’d ever broken.
Yet.
Kasimir sighed. He was starting to think it was a mistake to wait until he had the land before he searched for Bree. Not just because it was making Josie so unhappy, but also because it was growing agonizing for him to be near his wife and unable to touch her.
“Sir.” One of his most trusted servants, a man in a blue turban, spoke to him anxiously in Berber. He pointed. “Your woman…”
Kasimir’s lips parted as he saw Josie struggling up a nearby dune, kicking off her flimsy flip-flops, her bare feet sinking in the sand to her knees.
A sigh escaped him. He should have known that mere warnings of death wouldn’t be enough to stop Josie from trying single-handedly to rush off to save that sister of hers. Irritated, he went after her.