Guarding Aisha

by Zoë Normandie

  And that’s why Jake found himself working on contracts with Charles. So many organizations needed ex-SEAL skills set to get things done right—a situation that worked for Jake, since he had no other employable skills. Kill counts and choke holds weren’t great interview fodder. He’d learned that the hard way. The manager at Best Buy would never be the same.

  Plus, all the contracts he’d worked for Charles were laughably easy nonsense—nothing real, nothing even remotely dangerous.

  Jake followed Charles into a large conference room where others were congregating. ‘United States of America’ was embossed in gold on the wall behind a long board table. Jake recognized group of US federal employees from different outfits standing before the table. No one chose to sit. Everyone in the room looked panicked except, of course, the two retired Special Forces guys who had just joined the edges of the group.

  As if sensing him, the woman in grey lifted her gaze slowly, and Jake felt everything stop. The air grew thick in his lungs. He credited his cool nerves and years of training for not betraying his reaction to her: a profound, undeniable attraction. In the blink of an eye, Jake liked everything he saw, and he felt the intensity dripping off of her. Intensity in the way she locked eyes with him, in the way her lips parted just slightly, in the way and her body turned toward him.

  Taking a step back as if the distance would help, he couldn’t rip his eyes away. And the feeling seemed mutual because those saddened eyes blinked right back at him—assessing, processing. Suddenly, no one else was in the room except her. Jake didn’t hear the prattling debates of the embassy agents or Charles’s annoying French accent. He stopped hearing anything but his own heartbeat in his throat.

  Relenting to his fate, Jake held her gaze. She didn’t look away. Her face remained expressionless except for a hint of despondency. Her long, glossy black hair snuck out from the scarf that she wore loosely over her hair, and it contrasted stunningly with the light glow of her skin. Skin he imagined was as sweet as it was soft.

  And then it hit him.

  Of course he had recognized her. He was surprised it took him that long to put two and two together. He had seen pictures in intelligence briefings of her family and heard many legendary things about her, but he had never once seen her in person. Not in all the tours he had in the Gulf. Not in any of the trips he made to the Emirati of Yoman—a small, incredibly wealthy country beyond the southern tip of Yemen. Almost no one had seen her, in fact.

  She was the Princess Aisha of Yoman.

  Known to be a prisoner in her own kingdom.

  Held in captivity by her extremely wealthy and powerful father, the sheikh of Yoman.

  But she was a prisoner no more, Jake realized. No doubt she was not supposed to be here. Her father was off meeting with the Canadian prime minister and other world leaders for the G20. And here she was, all alone, surrounded by federal agents, in the middle of the American embassy in Ottawa. Jake saw fear in her eyes, but also courage.

  It brought him back to those noises in the lobby. Someone was trying to get to her, and they were going to break the goddamn doors down: an impossible feat for any man, but he didn’t want to tempt fate. And who the fuck was that French expat with her?

  “I’m defecting. I’m leaving him.” The princess broke her silence and broke her gaze with Jake. She spoke to no one in particular, wringing her hands.

  A predator circling his prey, Jake observed her with rapt interest. It wasn’t just because she was insanely beautiful, he argued to himself, or because she was in distress.

  Why, then? he asked himself. Why, indeed.

  Jake recognized an executive in a navy suit as Kate Vukasovic, the CIA’s station chief for Yoman. She put her hand on the princess’s arm. “Sheikha, I gave you my word. Our agreement still stands.”

  An agreement? Things were getting interesting.

  “She can’t stay here,” Charles grumbled, his grey hair glistening under the pot lights. “Kate, I don’t know what she’s got on the sheikh, but he is going to tear this embassy down to get to her.” Several officials in the room nodded along with him.

  “I will tell you anything you want to hear,” the princess pleaded to the suited officials. “Please let me stay.”

  But she jumped when the sound of shooting ricocheted through the public lobby and echoed up the hallway toward their conference room. The noises threatened to bring Jake back to Iraq again, back to a dark time in his deployment, but he willed the shift away, even though he could still taste the sand in his mouth.

  “We need her. And we need to keep her safe.” Kate turned to Jake. “That’s where you come in.”

  The princess looked back and forth between the officials and Jake. He wondered what was running through her mind, especially when she looked at him.

  Kate stepped forward, putting her arm in front of the princess protectively. Jake knew her from the Gulf, and knew what she was capable of—the CIA station chief was certainly an experienced powerhouse. But to shelter a princess defecting from her controlling and powerful father? That was more than ambitious. Even for the CIA.

  It was a fucking death sentence.

  “Let’s get her out of here. Now.” Charles was motioning toward the alarms that had started going off in the embassy’s interior.

  “Let’s?” Jake challenged.

  Charles looked over at him presumptively, raising his eyebrow. “We need to do something.”

  “Is that the royal we?” Jake tone was dark.

  An awkward silence followed, and Jake realized that several pairs of eyes were looking at him, waiting for him to take the ball and run with it. Fuck that.

  Despite the rising fury in his chest, Jake made his face emotionless, unwilling to show his cards. Unwilling to get involved. His response to the noises validated everything his doc had been telling him: if he put himself in the line of fire before he was ready, he’d risk undoing all he’d been working toward. This was exactly the type of high-octane shit doc wanted him to stay away from.

  One of the suited men put his hand to his ear, listening through his earpiece. He motioned to Kate. “Ma’am, the lobby is under attack. And more armor-plated vehicles are showing up outside. Security can’t hold them much longer without calling in the local police.”

  Kate’s features became sharp, commanding. “We can’t have the local police getting involved and making this an international problem,” she ordered the group. “They will find a way to get bureaucrats in the way. The police will call the prime minister’s office, and you know he won’t have the backbone to disobey pressure from the sheikh and a major trading partner. He will fold to economic interests.”

  Charles nodded his head quickly in agreement. “This would be a calamity during the goddamn G20. We’ve got to keep this quiet and move her.”

  Jake scoffed. Of course Kate didn’t want her asset getting ripped up in an international political pretzel. Make no mistake, the princess was an asset—a great fucking asset if she was willing to snitch on her father. And Jake had worked with the CIA long enough to know how selfish they could be. They didn’t do anything that didn’t benefit them directly.

  Turning to Jake, Charles pressed, “Are you busy this afternoon?”

  “Yes,” Jake replied. He crossed his arms, sending a whole lot of fuck-off energy toward the Frenchman.

  Charles gave him the most skeptical look possible, but said nothing. Few people had the balls to do that.

  It didn’t matter, though—guilt was rising in Jake’s throat. It was pretty damn clear what Charles was getting at. They got paid to transport people like the princess. Vulnerable people. People who needed help. Hell, Jake had just transported a flipped agent for Kate two weeks ago.

  Kate nodded solemnly. “You are our best.”

  “Do we have cover? Resources?” Jake snapped at Kate, the constant sensory triggers making his ire rise. “What exactly were you planning here?”

  Kate’s mouth parted in shock at his challenge. Contr
actors didn’t usually question high-ranking CIA officials.

  Jake gritted his teeth, feeling his eyes narrow on the tall blonde’s tired face. She was overworked but insanely dedicated, and he’d never known her to do anything other than piss excellence. It was fucking odd that she didn’t have the whole thing tied up in a neat bow.

  “She’s arrived… earlier than expected,” Kate explained slowly, telling Jake everything he needed to know. It was a flaming wreckage of shit. Kate hadn’t even known the princess was going to show up that day.

  “Am I supposed to send her away?” she continued.

  Fuck.

  “Then what the fuck do you expect me to do?” Jake snarled back, his frustration rising.

  “Drive her. Protect her,” Kate said, pushing harder. “You’re the ex-operator—you’ve got the necessary skills for this… situation.”

  The insinuation was clear: there was a serious fucking danger, and Kate needed someone who knew what they were doing. They wanted him to be the fucking hero. Well, that was one thing Jake couldn’t help them with. He wasn’t a hero. He was a bad dude. He was an asshole. He was a washed-up ex-SEAL with nightmares and tics.

  “He can’t be allowed to find me,” the princess said desperately, focusing her pleas on Jake. “He will kill me. Now that he knows I’ve run away, I’m not loyal anymore.”

  Shouting rose in the room as desperate officials tried to make plans to move her, all while Jake tried to regain focus and shake the pain away. He couldn’t help her. He wouldn’t. He just… She’d be better off without him.

  The princess’s eyes were wide and hopeful, but with each passing moment, Jake detected more panic and anxiety in her face. She pleaded silently with Jake, and all he wanted to do was tell her that he would help her. Save her. Make it all better.

  Was that a glint of a tear in her eye? Jake averted his gaze, seeing flashes of every vulnerable child that he’d lost in Mosul. He’d tried to help them, and failed. He couldn’t fail her too.

  But he couldn’t sit back and watch her fail alone, either.

  “You. Come with me,” Jake spat out, pointing at her.

  A hush fell over the room.

  Despite his brash demeanor, her heavily lashed eyes relaxed in gratitude and relief. Jake didn’t miss the breath she released. He felt something in his own chest release too.

  “Perfect.” Charles clapped his hands together and nodded toward Kate as shouting and questions engulfed the room again.

  Regretful, Jake avoided locking eyes with the princess again, but he couldn’t ignore the intensity of her gaze in his peripheral vision, and prickles spread on the back of his neck.

  “Get her to the safe house,” Kate ordered Jake in hushed tones.

  The federal agent with the earpiece turned to Kate. “Where is that?”

  She turned sharply back, looking him up and down disapprovingly. “Why do you need to know?”

  He fumbled on his words, unable to explain.

  “It’s none of your fucking business, that’s where,” she snapped. “Don’t ask again. And let me know if you hear anyone asking.”

  “That’ll learn ya.” Jake scoffed under his breath, noting the very real threat. He admired Kate’s balls. Leaks were always a problem.

  Then, speaking to the larger group, she issued a warning. “This meeting never happened. She was never here. You never saw her. You will be debriefed. If you say anything different, I will know—and I’ll haunt you.”

  With those words, Kate pulled out her pistol and cocked it. Jake couldn’t stifle the edge of a grin—he always had enjoyed working alongside the CIA. At least they carried guns. They meant business.

  The feds nodded religiously to Kate and made to break out of the room. They couldn’t scatter fast enough. She was fierce as shit.

  “Time to go.” Jake stepped forward, looking down at a frightened Aisha, who was fidgeting and twisting before him. He reached out and gently touched her shoulder, ushering her to the door and out of the room. She seemed startled as his thick fingers made contact with her, and he didn’t miss how her eyes flitted toward him—questioning, curious. Interested.

  “Kate.” Charles caught up alongside the boss woman as they ushered the princess down a nearby set of concrete stairs. “We’re going to need the big guns.”

  Jake felt a diabolical grin cross his lips as he overheard that, garnering a worried look from the princess as she looked back at him.

  “What?” Her voice flitted so gently, like a hummingbird, that neither Kate nor Charles behind him could hear.

  Jake led the procession down the staircase toward the fleet bay, trying to show the princess that they knew what the fuck they were doing.

  Even if they didn’t.

  Was there really no ops plan? Were they really flying by the seat of their pants?

  Jake eyed the princess from the side as he moved her forward. He wondered if he should try to offer words of assurance, but he had no platitudes to give. He turned his attention to deliberating how many clips he should bring, something he was much better at. Tactically proficient, emotionally vacant: the title of Jake’s autobiography if he ever had the patience to write.

  Tailing Charles and Kate, Jake ushered the princess into the large, concrete vehicle fleet bay three stories underground. Much to Jake’s pleasure, it appeared to be very well-equipped. Not that he would expect anything less from the flagship American embassy.

  “No, this isn’t okay.” The nervousness in Kate’s whisper overtook the small concrete parking garage.

  The duo looked back to where Jake stood, their eyes flitting to the vulnerable defector at his side. Jake could sense great unease in the room.

  Charles cleared his throat and loudly proclaimed, “Well, if anyone can handle this, it’s Jake. Three tours Iraq. The Middle East. The Sahel, god knows how many times. Thirteen-year SEAL veteran—he’s seen a lot of DA.”

  Jake shifted uncomfortably, hating the awkward accolades, especially in front of the princess. Too many things were getting his hackles up.

  “Were you a baby when you joined?” Kate asked Jake sarcastically, eyeing him behind her usual wall of suspicion.

  Jake gritted his teeth. She had no goddamn idea. He’d lived and breathed that for over a decade, supervising his own team of men at the height of his time in the SEALs. Chief SWO Jake Wilder, looking at a promotion to Senior Chief in the highly elite Development Group—all those ambitions crashed down hard in the Sahel. His last deployment.

  As the foursome moved into the front of the fleet parking bay, Jake ran through various scenarios in his mind, preparing for his next steps. In frustration, he clenched his fist. He could run the operation ten times tighter and better than the CIA.

  He turned sharply to Kate, grabbing onto the princess’s sleeve.

  “Where’s the fucking safe house?” he demanded, losing any semblance of patience. The girl was his ward now. He had taken control. And she seemed content to let that happen.

  “It’s the third one we use. The one in the forest. You’ve been there.” Kate nodded to him fast, unwilling to breathe the exact address. Who knew who was listening?

  “Are you covering?” Jake went on. “Where are our comms?”

  Charles shook his head. “I’ll cover, no comms. This is bad fucking timing with the sheikh nearby. I can’t emphasize that enough. He’s got friends in high places here.”

  “Goddamn,” Jake spat. “Then let’s fucking go.”

  Charles moved in front of Jake, but Jake lunged forward, pushing the Frenchman back. “Not a fucking chance, buddy. I’m leading this shit now.”

  Charles’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.

  With a curt nod, Jake moved his defecting princess toward a line of vehicles, wondering why he was ignoring his doctor’s orders to avoid conflict. Why he wanted to be there. Why he was itching to unholster the pistol tucked into his jeans at the small of his back.

  “This ain’t going to be without bumps,” Charles
admitted, nodding to the rear of Jake’s car. “If things get really sticky, pull out your tickle trunk.”

  “Ten-four,” Jake said in dismissal, and he turned to his steed.

  The black beauty sat in a corner spot in the parking garage—a car full of power and muscle that he had personally restored by hand for years.

  The princess sheltered herself against the passenger side of the dark muscle car, wide-eyed, looking like all she wanted to do was shrink into a ball and sink into the concrete wall. Jake could only imagine how much courage it took her to be here. She had no idea any of these people were going to keep her safe. But whatever reason she had for doing this, it must be a good one.

  The least he could do was act decent. Professional. Was he not capable of that? It was a fair question.

  As he approached the side of the car, her eyes fell on him, and she gave him the same hopeful look he’d seen earlier. But also in her eyes he saw pain. Fear. Terror.

  He stopped in his tracks a good ten feet away from her, like any closer would burn his skin.

  He’d seen that vulnerability before, in another country. In another fight. He couldn’t handle seeing it close up again. Distance—between himself and anything that made him feel—was all he had. He was two seconds away from losing his shit completely if she looked at him again with those fucking eyes.

  Sharply, he motioned for her to get into the Mustang. She just stared back at him like a doe in the headlights. Her body remained stiff and immovable.

  “Get in,” he grunted.

  Still, no movement from her.

  His jaw jutted out. Of course she was terrified. She twisted her hands together and seemed like she was trying to squeak something out, but before Jake could interpret, he stomped over and grabbed the car door handle.

  She sucked in a breath and raised her hands in self-protection.