Protecting His Princess (9 page)

“This is a compromising situation. The second time I’ve found myself with you in my arms, alone and in the dark,” he said.

The kiss. It
was
on his mind. “It will sound like we’re making excuses, but it’s the circumstances. We’re not planning to be together like this.” She wasn’t. No scheming on her part to be alone with him.

“I’d like to say I’m smooth enough to manipulate the situation to get you alone like this, but I can’t lie. Ending up this way is pure accident.” His hand touched the side of her face, and she leaned against it, letting his fingers caress her cheek. The sensual slide of his hand delivered an important message.

He wanted to kiss her.

A moment later, his hand cupped her chin, and his mouth found hers in the dark, tasting, touching and moving slow. As if they weren’t trapped in a closet in the emir’s personal quarters in danger of being discovered.

Her pulse hummed with excitement, and she shifted, bringing her hips closer to his. The telltale reaction of his lower half gave away that he liked this kiss. He was in to her. If he was playing a part, the kiss would have been all technique, no physical reaction. Or is this what a kiss did to a woman? Tricked her into believing it had emotional impact when it didn’t?

His hands slipped around her, resting on her lower back.

He broke the kiss, and his body tensed. The sound of a door opening had her heartbeat escalating for a different reason. Neither of them moved.

The male voices they’d heard earlier were speaking in hushed tones and moving away from them.

Another few minutes passed. Her neck hurt from the strange angle she was holding it, and her left leg had started to go to sleep. She dared not move.

“I think they’re gone,” Harris said.

After several awkward shifts, he reached the door and cracked it open, peering out into the hallway. Laila worked to put the housekeeping dress over her clothes. She straightened the cloth. Harris had left the tiny closet.

When she pulled herself together, she found him slipping inside the emir’s office. He had jimmied the lock that quickly.

She followed him inside, closing the door behind her. Harris positioned the bug on a bookshelf behind the emir’s desk. It would give a view of the emir’s computer and any guests he had in his office.

“You’re sure your brother wouldn’t permit video or audio in his office?” Harris said, looking up and around the room for surveillance devices.

“He treats his private quarters as just that. Private. He doesn’t allow his security to monitor the area the way they do with most of the rest of the compound.” At least her mother had mentioned that to her when she was explaining Mikhail’s remodeling. Harris set up the second device to monitor the doorway.

With a swift nod Harris gestured for her to follow him, and they vacated the emir’s office, locking the door behind them. Laila and Harris fled for the relative safety of the housekeeping stairwell.

Chapter 5

T
hough he was cutting it close, Harris would be on time for his meeting in the souk with his asset, the same man who had stopped him previously to ask about the leather shoes he was carrying. Missing a potentially important conversation between Mikhail and someone in his office upped Harris’s determination to catch Ahmad Al-Adel and the emir in the commission of a crime. He would do what was necessary to find Al-Adel and then alert his FBI team to apprehend him, striking a devastating blow to the Holy Light Brotherhood.

Harris planned to review the pictures of Al-Adel’s known associates. He’d been fixating on Al-Adel, but the terrorist could have sent someone as his representative, a trusted associate or a family member involved in the Holy Light Brotherhood. If he was planning to attend the wedding, Al-Adel wouldn’t travel alone, and spotting someone with known ties to Al-Adel might help Harris figure out if and when the terrorist leader would appear in Qamsar.

Outward appearances could be changed, but Harris had a knack for remembering faces. Some faces played on his mind long and heavy, like a certain beautiful, off-limits woman he’d kissed—twice—in the past twenty-four hours. He’d almost wanted her to stop him, to tell him that she wasn’t interested in kissing anyone but her future husband. But once she was in his arms, rationalizations and realism evaporated.

He’d been tempted, if only for a moment, to take it further. To invite her to his room. To see where their physical relationship would go if left unchecked.

He’d squashed that line of thought in a hurry. Kissing her was one thing. Taking her to his room crossed another, more serious line. It would compromise their cover and her reputation with her family. Even with her as a willing partner, his conscience would have gotten the better of him.

She’d made it clear what she wanted for her future. Laila was waiting for the right man, a man she would marry. She was conflicted about her views of relationships, the differences between Qamsarian and American culture drastic and having an effect on her beliefs. Harris hadn’t intended the kiss to place her in a regrettable situation.

The idea of Laila finding a husband nagged at him. Maybe he was worried about her making good decisions when it came to men. She didn’t have dating experience, and that could mean her suitors would take advantage of her. Harris felt responsible for her, even though when this mission was over, he needed to let her go. She was only in his life for a short time.

To get to the souk, he’d had to use the emir’s car service again. He’d rather have driven himself, and save the time it would take to ditch the driver and ensure he wasn’t being followed.

The market was busier than it had been during his previous visit. Harris strolled along the shops and bought another bottle of perfume. He purchased water from a teenager selling bottles from a cooler filled with ice. He wasn’t followed. He doubled back several times to be certain and followed FBI protocol to ensure he wasn’t being tracked.

The meeting place was an outdoor grill. He was to order the grilled chicken platter and take his dish around the side of the building as if looking for a quiet place to eat. He located the grill, and after paying for his meal, he circled the building. The chicken held little appeal, slipping in the grease on the plate, but he enjoyed his thirst-quenching bottle of water.

He sat against the tan stucco wall and sipped his drink. A black van with tinted windows and rust around the wheel wells pulled up in front of him. Harris rose to his feet. Two men got out of the van and stood in front of him. Neither were the man he’d met in the souk earlier. “Get in the van.”

He wasn’t expecting this type of meeting. He’d thought they would stay in the souk and talk. But he went along with it. He climbed inside the van, and before he sat on the bench seats, the van lurched forward. A cloth was tied around his eyes and rope around his hands.

“Is this necessary?” he asked. He didn’t like not knowing where he was going, and he hated his arms being secured.

No one spoke.

If anyone had witnessed this exchange and reported it to the police or the emir, it would raise questions. Unless this
wasn’t
his asset, and someone had uncovered the plan and taken advantage.

Harris didn’t have a weapon. He hadn’t acquired one or figured out how to get it inside the emir’s compound yet. His cell phone was tucked in his pants with the GPS activated and sending a signal to the CIA. If he went missing, they’d know where to look. Unless he was killed and his body ditched before the CIA could send help.

But if these guys wanted to hurt him, they would have at least taken his phone.

The van stopped, and the side door was jerked open. The blindfold was removed from his face, and his hands were untied. His eyes adjusted to the bright light of the sun, and he squinted and tried to orient himself.

He was led to a run-down motel across the street from where the van had parked and to the second floor. His escorts stopped in front of a room with a rusted red door and missing numbers, and pushed it open.

Inside the man he’d noticed watching him at the emir’s compound was waiting. Not the man he was expecting. Why hadn’t the CIA told him he was meeting someone new? Or meeting someone who was also working the operation on the inside? It was another way the CIA was different, and it wasn’t a difference he liked. He preferred to work on a team where the members were forthcoming about their plans and agendas. He didn’t know how his mother had dealt with that ambiguity throughout her career.

The men who had escorted Harris to the motel left. The room had two single beds, worn and dirty carpet, and scarred furniture.

“I can see from your reaction, you recognize me,” the man said, standing from the plastic chair where he’d been sitting.

Not trusting this situation entirely, Harris tested him. “How long did it take you to get here?”

“About half as long as it took you,” the man answered.

It was the test question for this mission, and the man had answered correctly. Tension unwound from Harris’s shoulders. “Why the theatrics? If I was seen getting taken from the souk, it would be hard to explain this.”

The man waved his hand. “No one saw us, but I am sorry about their approach. We have private military contractors working with us, and they err on the side of aggression. They treat everyone like an enemy and trust no one.”

Harris had to trust this man understood the politics in Qamsar better than he did. “I didn’t realize we had anyone else on the inside.”

The man reached into a minifridge and pulled out a can of soda. He tossed it to Harris. “I was late to the game. I managed to get invited to the wedding due to my connections with Aisha, the emir’s bride. Her brother and I were old friends from grade school, and haven’t been in touch in a decade and a half.”

Which raised more questions than it answered. “Then why did we need to use Laila to get inside?”

The man gestured for Harris to sit on the edge of one of the beds. Given the smell and look of the room, Harris preferred to stand.

“She’s part of the royal family. She’s an insider. Besides, this mission is too critical to put it on the shoulders of one person. You aren’t as experienced with the agency as I am, and we never planned this mission to be worked from only one angle,” he said. “By the way, you can call me Devon.”

The CIA hadn’t trusted Harris enough to tell him about the players on this mission. They’d led him to believe he and Laila were the only ones in the emir’s compound looking for Al-Adel. “I have questions.” A lot of questions, but he guessed he wouldn’t get many answers. Everything he wanted to know would be classified as “need-to-know,” and Harris was someone who didn’t.

“We can exchange information, but I don’t want to disappoint you. I’ve got intel, but it might not be what you’re seeking.” With that, he sat once more in the plastic chair.

“Tell me what you know about the captured American,” Harris said.

Devon took a sip of his soda. “We’re working on that one. Tricky business.”

“Then it wasn’t a bluff by the emir?” Harris asked. Part of him had been hoping the captured American was a ruse, a warning to the guests who might have been approached by other international police and criminal investigation agencies for information.

“We know he was working inside the compound gathering intelligence. He’d been employed by one of the vendors handling the emir’s wedding and was undercover as a caterer or waiter. He was discovered by his employer and turned over to the emir.”

“How many of us are there?”

“That’s the part that makes this confusing. We believe he’s American, as does the emir, but he isn’t one of us, and we don’t know what agency sent him,” Devon said. “We’re working to find out if he is still alive and, if so, his condition.”

“Back up a minute. Not one of us?” Harris asked, thinking it over. If he wasn’t CIA or FBI, who was he, and what was he doing working this operation? Perhaps he was a spy from another country.

“We’re thinking he’s black ops and either works for a part of the government that doesn’t exist,” Devon said, finger quoting the words
doesn’t exist,
“or he’s some other operative altogether. Either way, we can’t leave him inside. We need you to press Laila for information about where he is. He isn’t being held in the prison in Qamsar. We need to know where else the emir might hold prisoners.”

“When I spoke to her about this, she didn’t know anything,” Harris said. Laila had been as worried as him. “And if he works for another agency, how do you know they aren’t staging a rescue mission?”

“We don’t. We have many questions and few answers. We need Laila. She might hear rumors. The women in the compound are much chattier than the men. Or Laila might be able to talk to her brother or Aisha and find out more information,” Devon said.

Harris wouldn’t throw Laila in harm’s way. She was helping him get inside the emir’s circle to look for Al-Adel, not rescue the captured American. If asking too many questions put her in danger, he’d get the information some other way. “You’re willing to put a civilian in the middle of this?” Harris asked.

Devon shrugged. “We’ll do what’s needed.”

Cold. Devon wasn’t the first CIA agent he’d encountered with that attitude. It surprised him the CIA was willing to go out on a limb to help someone who wasn’t their own. He had a feeling Devon was withholding information. “Why do you care so much about this American?” Harris had to know the stakes.

“He knows something, and we need to find out what it is,” Devon said. “Otherwise he would have been expelled from the country, not jailed. He’s being kept for a reason.”

Then it wasn’t a humanitarian mission. It wasn’t in the name of the American spirit that the CIA wanted to free the jailed American.

Harris could ask around and keep his ears open for rumors. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

“I know you placed the devices. Nice job,” Devon said.

“I was late.” Harris told Devon about what he’d heard while outside Mikhail’s private quarters and his suspicions that the man had been either Al-Adel or from Al-Adel’s terrorist group. He left off the part about kissing Laila and holding her in his arms. The CIA didn’t need to know about that.

“But you didn’t see the man the emir met with?” Devon asked.

“No,” Harris said.

“Was that because you were distracted by Laila?”

A direct question. He had been distracted. But even if he had been alone in that closet, he wouldn’t have revealed his presence to get a look at the emir’s counterpart. “I didn’t see the man because the emir’s return was unexpected, and we had to hide.” He worked to keep defensiveness from his tone.

“You’re looking out for Laila. That’s good. Just don’t look out for her so well that you miss what’s happening around you.”

“I haven’t missed anything,” Harris said. He hated that Devon’s words had introduced doubts. How much did Devon know about his last operation with the FBI? Did Devon know that Cassie had almost gotten him and his team killed? If he did, he had to also know that Harris had learned his lesson. He was focused on this mission. Nothing would sway him from their objectives.

“Has Laila told you anything about her family that would help us? Anything that ties the royal family to the Holy Light Brotherhood?” Devon asked.

Harris didn’t realize the CIA thought Laila knew anything. His defensive response rose and he tempered it. Laila was rapidly becoming special to him, but he understood the boundaries. If she knew something critical, they needed to hear it. “I haven’t asked her anything directly, and she hasn’t mentioned anything I found relevant to this operation. Do you need me to ask her something specific?”

Harris would ask Laila whatever they wanted. She wasn’t involved in anything untoward. She was as innocent as the word.

“We don’t believe she or her mother are involved in Mikhail’s relationship with Al-Adel. They aren’t part of the emir’s innermost circle and likely not privy to his dealings with the Holy Light Brotherhood.”

Did Devon know anything about Saafir’s connection to the Holy Light Brotherhood? “What about his brother? What is Mikhail’s relationship with Saafir?” Harris asked.

Devon tilted his hand back and forth. “Not great. They get along in public, but they keep their distance in private. They are different in their goals for the country and their methods of handling people. Saafir has a soft side. Mikhail seems to have callused his.”

Had that changed? Perhaps Saafir and Mikhail had grown closer and were working together toward a common goal. Without more evidence, Harris wouldn’t make an accusation against Saafir, but the nagging suspicion remained. “Laila and I saw a book in Mikhail’s library with the Holy Light Brotherhood insignia on the front. The book mentions Saafir. I took a few pictures and passed them on.”

Devon’s eyebrows shot up. “No one mentioned them to me. Is he in this with his brother?”

Harris wasn’t the only operative given incomplete information. “I don’t know. I don’t think Laila believes so.”

Devon nodded. “What do you believe?”