Читать книгу Protecting His Princess - C.J. Miller - Страница 10

Chapter 1

She would never enjoy a cup of coffee again. Laila removed her stained navy-blue apron and shoved it in the washing machine with the others. A few more tasks and she could close for the night, giving her feet—and her nose—a much-needed break.

Laila had been listening to the radio since she’d closed the store, hoping to learn new information about the situation in her home country of Qamsar. Her brother’s regressive, conservative social policies weren’t popular with certain factions in the country, and Laila hoped Mikhail would adopt a more moderate approach to ruling before tensions erupted into violence. Her mother feared civil war, and Laila feared for her family’s safety. The broadcast had nothing new to report.

Laila double-checked the coffee, latte and espresso machines, and switched off the lights and radio in the back room. The only sound in the small café was the washing machine filling with water.

She jumped when she saw a man leaning against the café’s glass front door. Deep blue eyes watched her. Laila crossed the room, her heart jittering nervously. He had visited the café dozens of times before, and each time, he had caught and held her attention. “Harris. What are you doing here?” she asked through the glass.

Had he not been one of her regular customers, she would have backed away, told him to leave and maybe even called the police. But Harris was a good man, charming, easy to talk with, and she’d developed a fondness for him. She looked forward to his visits, and though this one was oddly timed, a shudder of excitement piped through her.

“I tried knocking, but you didn’t hear me,” Harris said. “I need to talk to you.”

Laila stared at him through the glass. “About what?” Growing up in Qamsar, even as a member of the royal family, she was wary of men. American men made her doubly nervous; though with Harris, her nervousness was centered on attraction not fear. Attracted to him and unsure how to strike up a friendship, her feelings for Harris confused her. In Qamsar, it wasn’t appropriate to have a friendship with a man. Much about her life in America was new to her, including her job, which she’d taken to stay off her brother’s radar and have money of her own. It was a freedom she enjoyed.

Harris pressed a badge against the glass. “You’re in danger. I need you to come with me.”

Laila leaned forward, examining the badge that contained Harris’s picture and the words FBI Special Agent. Surprise and alarm skittered across her skin. Harris had never mentioned what he did for a living, and she had never told him that she was the emir’s sister. A stab of betrayal pierced her. She’d expected the American government to monitor her, but she hadn’t expected Harris to be the one doing it.

Had danger traveled from Qamsar to find her in America? “Why do you think I’m in danger?” Her nerves tightened in her stomach and exhaustion fled to the corners of her mind.

“Please trust me. I don’t mean you any harm,” Harris said. He slid his badge into his pocket and held his hands out, palms facing her. “Let’s talk for a few minutes without me shouting through the glass.”

Laila unlocked the door and allowed Harris inside. “Is my family safe?” Her mother’s safety was at the foremost of her thoughts.

“At the present the data I have on the situation indicates they are not hurt or directly in danger.”

Which was not the same as saying they were safe. People in public positions during social upheaval were never completely safe. Since her father had died two years ago, her brother Mikhail had taken over as emir, and the shift of power had caused political and social rumblings that had only grown louder with time. “Then why do you think I’m in danger?” Laila asked. She liked Harris. Whenever he’d come to the counter to place his order, he had spoken to her and listened to her responses. His demeanor tonight was different than it had been in weeks past. His shoulders were tight; his carefree, flirtatious smile was missing and tension pulsed off him in waves.

“We’ve received intel that someone wants to hurt you,” Harris said. The tension she’d sensed was pent up in his words.

Laila forced her heart to remain calm. Growing up in Qamsar, political enemies of her father had often threatened her and her family. Threats weren’t anything new. “The situation at home isn’t good, and someone always gets the bright idea to intimidate my family and me in the heat of emotion. I don’t take those threats seriously.”

His brows drew together and his blue eyes sharpened. “You need to take this one seriously.”

Laila wouldn’t allow an American man—no matter how attracted she was to him—to scare her. Americans didn’t understand the Qamsarian culture, and they didn’t understand her family. “We can talk about this another time. I’m tired, and I have an early class tomorrow. My uncle will be expecting me, and he’ll be worried if I arrive home too late.”

Harris waited while she locked up and followed her to her car. “Please, Laila. I wouldn’t be here if we didn’t feel the threats against you were real and pervasive.”

Laila pulled her car keys from her handbag and pressed the unlock button. The lights on her car flashed.

“No!”

Harris’s shout echoed in her ears, followed by the sound of an explosion and the sensation of her body being slammed into gravel. She slid, the backs of her legs and her arms burning. Harris was on top of her, his body covering hers. Laila gasped for air, the heaviness of him stifling. She struggled to sit up. As he rolled to the side, pulling his phone from his pocket, she caught sight of her car. It was now consumed in flames.

Her mouth fell open. She hadn’t expected this. Not while she was living in America. Car bombings didn’t happen in suburban America. People were safe here, weren’t they?

Who wanted to kill her bad enough to follow her to America?

* * *

Harris scanned the area, looking for anyone out of place. A bystander who might have seen something or even the bomber lingering to watch the fallout of his attack. No one except law enforcement and the first medical responders were on the scene.

Laila sat on the curb in the parking lot, a blanket wrapped around her. He’d had someone on his team call her aunt and uncle to let them know Laila was fine, painting the explosion as a car accident. The truth was more grim: a car bomb had been planted in Laila’s car. If Harris hadn’t recognized the high frequency whine of an explosive’s timer engaging, she would be dead. The intel the FBI had gathered on the situation had predicted Laila and members of the royal family of Qamsar were in danger, though it was difficult to predict how or if an attack might occur.

The FBI’s list of bombing suspects was short, mostly made up of members of the Holy Light Brotherhood, a terrorist organization that wanted Qamsar to remain isolated from “infidel influences.” Those “infidel influences” included America as a whole, and with the emir negotiating a trade agreement, a female member of the royal family studying in America became an obvious target to anyone wanting to send a message.

Harris sat on the curb next to Laila. “How are you holding up?”

Laila watched him with tired, soulful brown eyes. “I’m in shock. I’ve read about bombings. I’ve seen it reported on the news, but nothing like this has ever happened to me.”

The profile the FBI and CIA had created for Laila indicated she had lived a sheltered life. Living in America with her uncle and aunt, her mother’s sister, was the first time Laila had been away from Qamsar and her life as a royal princess. After her father, the former emir, had died, Laila had come to America on a student visa and had enrolled in the University of Colorado in Denver. From what Harris had gathered, her brother was not happy about Laila living in America, but he hadn’t outright forbidden it. “We’ll make sure nothing like this happens again to you.”

Harris had connected with Laila from the first day he’d met her. She went about her job quietly and efficiently, and she had intelligent, alert eyes. If she wasn’t his assignment, he might have asked her on a date, and gotten a chance to know her better and uncover the passion he saw simmering below the surface. Then again it was better for him to keep his distance. His track record with women was embarrassing, and he wasn’t ready to add another name to the list of failed relationships. When he was working a difficult case, those women were targets of his enemies, and none had proven able to handle the pressure or remain loyal when money changed hands.

Laila pulled the fleece blanket Harris had given her tighter around her body. Harris read the gesture as less from cold and more from discomfort. Was his presence making her uncomfortable because he was male? He and Laila weren’t alone. The parking lot was filled with people: FBI agents and CIA investigators, along with local law enforcement. The FBI and CIA had teamed up to create a joint task force to shut down the Holy Light Brotherhood, starting with the head of the organization, Ahmad Al-Adel. When it became apparent Al-Adel had potential ties to the Qamsarian ruling family, the task force had become interested in Laila and how she could help find Al-Adel.

His CIA contacts had told him that, as a Qamsarian woman, Laila had had a conservative upbringing. Not conservative the way an American defined it. Conservative as in limited contact with men, chaperones when appropriate and never being alone or having physical contact with any male apart from family. Harris was doing his best to respect those boundaries, but the extrovert in him found it difficult not to touch her, not to let his gaze linger on her and not to overtly flirt with her. Laila was a beautiful woman. She spoke with a tentative formality, her accent light and pleasing to his ears. She was sensual and feminine, even if she tried to hide it behind loose and concealing clothing.

He moved a few more inches away to give her more personal space.

“No one can promise this won’t happen again,” Laila said.

Sadness drew a frown across her face and everything in him urged him to take action to erase her unhappiness. Seeing her upset affected him. He wanted to do something, say something, but he didn’t have the words to make this better for her.

Tyler Morgan, Harris’s CIA counterpart on the task force, arrived on the scene. He strode to Harris and glanced between him and Laila. “Is this the Princess of Qamsar?”

Laila flinched, and Harris gathered she didn’t like being called a princess. He’d gotten the sense she was trying to blend with the Americans around her, and her Qamsarian title didn’t help that effort. “Yes, this is Laila bin Jassim Al Sharani.”

Harris introduced Laila to Tyler. Laila stood and nodded, though she didn’t offer her hand in greeting.

“We need to talk with you,” Tyler said and looked around. “In private.”

Laila shoved her hand through her hair, forcing strands behind her ears. “It’s late.”

If she refused, Harris couldn’t force her to speak to them, but he feared what would happen to her and her family without his team’s assistance and her cooperation.

“It’s important. We can speak to you at your home if you’d be more comfortable,” Tyler added.

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “I guess we can meet. I feel like I don’t have a choice.”

Harris wondered how much Laila knew about the political situation. Mikhail bin Jassim Al Sharani, Laila’s brother and the Emir of Qamsar, was suspected of working with Al-Adel and the Holy Light Brotherhood. Harris doubted Laila was aware of how much danger the emir was bringing to his family and his country by engaging with a dangerous man like Al-Adel.

* * *

Laila rode with Harris and Tyler to her aunt and uncle’s home. Her aunt Neha and uncle Aasim were waiting up for her. Laila reassured them that she was okay, and Harris explained he and Tyler needed to speak with her about the car incident.

Tyler appeared nervous and tense, watching the situation with an anxious energy that made Laila uneasy. She was grateful Harris was with her. He had a relaxed and easygoing presence that made everyone in the room feel comfortable. She got the impression that that was the image he was trying to convey to relax her. Underneath his quick smile, he was a force to be reckoned with.

“We need to find out from Laila everything she remembers about the incident while it’s fresh in her memory. We think the man who caused damage to her car is a serial hit-and-run driver. We want to stop him before he hurts anyone else. Is it all right to speak with Laila alone?” Harris asked.

“That depends on Laila.” Her uncle looked to her and waited for her response.

Part of the terms of Laila’s student visa was that she comply with law enforcement. She’d known before coming to America that her brother was a person of interest to the American government.

At her quick nod of agreement, her uncle turned back to Harris. “We’ll give you a few minutes of privacy. We’ll be upstairs if you need anything. It is late. Please do not keep our niece awake too long. She’s been through a trial tonight and needs her rest.”

If it hadn’t been two badge-carrying members of the United States, her uncle never would have agreed to leave her alone. American-born, her uncle was more progressive than her family in Qamsar, but he took his role as her guardian seriously.

Her aunt and uncle were one of the reasons Laila believed Mikhail hadn’t outright denied her coming to America for her education. Under their watchful eyes, she had thought she was safe. Were her aunt and uncle targets of the bomber, as well? Her aunt had distanced herself from the Qamsarian royal family when she had married Aasim, an Arabic-American small business owner living in Denver.

Laila took a seat on the tan suede couch and smoothed her dress over her knees. She’d worn this outfit to work a hundred times before. Now, with Harris, it felt too short and revealing. Add to it Harris making her feel hot and tingly, and the circumstances were compromising. She was grateful for the other man in the room even if he was quiet and on edge. “How can I help you?”

Laila studied Harris. Clean-cut. Shaven. Good dresser. Unless he had changed his appearance for this operation, she could see him being a man who followed the rules and kept out of trouble. He was taller than Tyler with broad shoulders, blond hair and lighter skin than most men from her country.

When she and Harris had spoken in the café, she’d thought him an intuitive person, or if she was honest with herself, she’d hoped it meant something more about their connection. Now she wondered if it was just a part of his agent training.

“We’d like to offer you protection,” Harris said.

Suspicion swept over her. They’d demand something in return. If they wanted information about Mikhail, they’d be disappointed. She didn’t have the inside track on her brother’s plans for the country, and she held no sway over his decisions.

Harris smiled at her. The easiness of his voice disarmed her. “We believe the man who orchestrated the bombing is a dangerous person. We can keep you safe from him while we look for him,” Harris said.

“What about my family? My aunt and uncle? My mother and brothers?” Laila asked. How in-depth was the information Harris and his team had gathered about the bombing? Was anyone at home in danger? Mikhail had his personal guards, but how well was he looking out for the rest of the family?

“We can provide protection for the members of your family in America,” Harris said. “If anything happens to any members of the royal family on U.S. soil, negotiations between the United States and Qamsar get dicey. It’s in our best interest to keep you safe.”

Then their offer was politically motivated.

“Agent Tyler is with the CIA, and we’re working on a joint task force. I have experience in the region from my time with the marines, and Tyler’s been involved in the Middle East for most of his career,” Harris said.

They didn’t have to sell her on it. She welcomed help as long as the price wasn’t too high. “What is it that you want from me?” Laila asked.

Harris met her gaze. Her body temperature escalated. “I want you to take me to your brother’s wedding as your guest.”

The emir’s upcoming wedding was no secret, but his request was a surprise. Her brother’s marriage was long overdue, and Laila had considered not attending the ceremony. She and Mikhail didn’t see eye to eye on most issues, and Laila liked being out of the country and away from Mikhail’s control. Though she hadn’t forgotten her life in Qamsar, her lifestyle in America was fast becoming preferred. More comfortable dress. Going where she wanted. Talking to whomever she pleased. She liked her independence.

“Why are you so interested in my brother’s wedding?” Laila asked. It was the last place she wanted to be. Forget about bringing a spy into the compound, which would land her in a tremendous amount of trouble. Were they looking to get an edge on the negotiations for oil? Or was he offering to attend to provide protection?

“The men who we believe targeted you tonight might attend your brother’s wedding. It gives us the opportunity to do some reconnaissance. If we locate them, we’ll alert our law enforcement counterparts in Qamsar, and they’ll apprehend them. We need someone to get us inside the wedding events so we can look for them.”

“Who is it that you are looking for?” One of her brother’s political enemies? Someone in America drawing her brother’s attention here, making a point to Mikhail?

“We’ve heard chatter on our monitors about a conspiracy to harm you. Your presence and activities in America aren’t appreciated by those who’d like to stop progress in Qamsar,” Tyler said.

He wasn’t directly answering her.

She looked to Harris to fill in the blanks. “We don’t have confirmed intel yet, but we suspect the Holy Light Brotherhood, under the direction of Ahmad Al-Adel, wants a safe haven for his group, and he hopes to find that in Qamsar. Al-Adel wants to stop any trade agreements between America and Qamsar. We’ve taken a leap of faith telling you this,” Harris said. Harris paused, as though not certain he should say more. “As I’ve gotten to know you, I feel you’re a good person who makes the right decisions.”

On some level she trusted Harris, but Laila had grown up sheltered by her parents. She wasn’t street smart, and it had been one of her dear mother’s greatest fears when Laila had told her that she’d been accepted to the University of Colorado, an American university, that someone would take advantage of Laila’s unworldly and naive nature. She and her mother were in touch daily, which Laila hoped lessened some of her mother’s concerns.

“Why would this man be at my brother’s wedding?” Laila asked. “Why don’t you contact Mikhail and let him know who you’re looking for?” Her brother wouldn’t want to be involved with a terrorist. That could devastate the country.

Harris and Tyler exchanged looks. “We’ve reached out to you because we can’t contact the emir directly. We cannot trust him,” Tyler said.

Then Laila was hit with the second bomb of the night.

“We believe the Emir of Qamsar has voluntarily embroiled himself in a relationship with Ahmad Al-Adel, the leader of the Holy Light Brotherhood,” Harris said.

Laila missed the next several moments of conversation. Her tired thoughts caught up to what Tyler was saying.

“The emir’s wedding will bring Al-Adel out into the open. To miss his wedding would be a sign of disrespect between the two men. As a member of the royal family, you’ll have access to places and events and people that outsiders won’t. When Al-Adel arrives at your brother’s compound for the wedding, Harris can alert the team, and Al-Adel will be captured,” Tyler said.

Confusion spun through her. If Al-Adel was responsible for the car bombing at the café, as Tyler was implying, and Mikhail was working with him, had her brother tried to kill her?

Despite her efforts to stay unemotional and focused, the information was difficult to swallow, almost unbelievable. “My brother wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t willingly work with a terrorist.” Mikhail could be brutal and cold, but participating, even indirectly, in acts of terrorism against the United States, Europe and the Middle East was declaring a war he couldn’t win. Qamsar was a small country with limited resources. Besides that, she was his sister. It was a huge leap from not getting along to trying to kill her.

“We have a financial trail tying the Holy Light Brotherhood to Mikhail. We have assets in the country who have substantiated rumors of the entanglement,” Tyler said.

As much as she didn’t want to believe it, doubts about her brother flooded her thoughts. If Mikhail had found a way to get more money, he might have agreed to work with Al-Adel. Mikhail was ruthless, driven and bent on gaining power. Even more power than he possessed as the Emir of Qamsar. Mikhail wanted a legitimate, prominent place on the international scene and would do whatever was necessary to get there.

Al-Adel’s money would mean improvements for the country in places where Mikhail believed they were needed—in mosques and government buildings—without engaging in trade agreements with countries like America.

Blindly accepting their words as true could make a fool of her, putting her in a position to betray her country and her family for no reason. Then again, if they were right and Mikhail was working with Al-Adel, stopping him and evicting Al-Adel and the Holy Light Brotherhood from Qamsar would protect her country. Mikhail may be ousted from his position as emir, but cutting any ties with a terrorist group would be better for the prosperity of Qamsar. She was out of her depths and indecision rolled through her. “I can’t believe this.” She didn’t want to believe it.

“We believe the emir wants to end trade agreement negotiations with the United States, but because the people of Qamsar want the agreement, Mikhail needs to force public opinion that America will cause greater harm than good. If something were to happen to one of the royal family, Mikhail would blame America and use the incident to incite anti-American anger,” Harris said, his voice gentle.

Mikhail hadn’t stopped her from moving to America. At the time she had believed he was too grief stricken over their father’s death and too busy with his new responsibilities as emir to argue with her. She had been waiting for him to demand she return and had been surprised that he hadn’t yet. Did he have another motive for allowing her to stay in America?

“You think my brother would arrange for someone to kill me just to sway public opinion?” Believing that Mikhail was working with Al-Adel was difficult. Accepting that he would kill her to forward his agenda was impossible. “He wouldn’t do that, and even if you’re right and my brother wants me dead, how does traveling to Qamsar guarantee my safety in any way?”

“No guarantees. But you are safer on Qamsarian soil. It makes it more difficult for Mikhail to pin an incident on America,” Harris said.

“Difficult but not impossible,” Laila said, reading between his words.

“If you agree to do this, regardless of how it plays out, I’ll protect you and your family. I’ll be there,” Harris said.

“If I allow an American into my brother’s compound, and he finds out, he’ll kill me,” Laila said. Any involvement with the American government, even manipulated, could be perceived as a betrayal of Qamsar by Mikhail. Though it would be harder for Mikhail to reach her in America, she would be at Mikhail’s mercy when she returned home.

“If we think the emir suspects anything, we’ll relocate you to the United States. We’ll give you, your mother and your brother Saafir citizenship and a new identity.”

Before coming to America, Laila’s life had been decided for her. Having a taste of freedom, Laila didn’t want to let it go and return to the life she’d had in Qamsar. She wanted to make decisions for herself and her life. Citizenship in America would give her that. Having Saafir and her mother with her would make that transition easier. Not having the deep love of America that she did, would they agree to relocate for their safety?

Mikhail’s name was absent from the list. If he was working with a terrorist, he would face the consequences of that decision.