by DiAnn Mills
“She mistook my interest in the family as a lifelong commitment to her. She approached me in secret and declared her love. She was only sixteen. I tried to be gracious and flattered, but she was very upset.”
“You’re sure Prince Omar didn’t learn about it?”
“If Fatima had gone to him or their father, she’d have to admit to sneaking off to see me.”
“I get it. Have you talked to her since their arrival?”
“No. The vibes are bad.”
“Do you want me to bring up your name?” Monica startled at a thought. “We have everyone in this house under a microscope, but do you suspect her involvement with the murders?”
“Hope not. If she chooses to be confrontational, it would be to discredit me in her brother’s eyes. I hurt her pride. She’s impetuous and stubborn but not stupid. If Prince Omar believes I acted inappropriately, our friendship would be over. Due to the current mess, the situation between our two countries could go south real fast. Think about the nightmare media headlines. ‘Prince Omar’s friend and requested US bodyguard accused of having an affair with his sister.’ I’m asking if you think I should arrange a meeting with her, both of you.”
“Avoiding the subject with Fatima is the best route.”
He stared into the trees. “Use your best judgment. If I need to talk to her, we can work something out. The last thing we need is her ruining my credibility.”
“Yasmine told me she was upset because one of Prince Omar’s friends was here. I assumed a bodyguard.”
“Not exactly. I do have another matter to run past you.”
She held up four fingers.
He gave her a quick nod. “Just had a private meeting with the prince.” Kord revealed the prince’s desire to take a better front in assisting his country’s development by initiating a press conference and a rodeo event in a private suite. “Plans are to dine oil executives. Not bring up leasing of oil reserves.”
“If he’s determined to become a leader, why are his sisters here in the thick of danger?” She found it difficult to accept a changed man when his views about the modern world and women were archaic.
“His mother would be devastated if they left. I tried to convince him, but for now the princesses are under his eye. There’s no denying Saudi Arabia’s enemies will continue to press against them in every direction. Especially when the country’s advancements in every arena make them stronger as a world power.”
She nodded. “Our killer is organized, mobile, one step ahead of us, and hiding in plain sight. Kord, he’s among us and knows every move Prince Omar makes. Why doesn’t he send his bodyguards home and get a new crew?”
“What would you have him do with them once they’re back in Saudi?”
“Hold them in custody until someone confesses. Their judicial system accelerates ours in the way of obtaining information. Even if I don’t agree with their methods.” She peered into his brown eyes. “How much do you trust the FBI?”
“How much do you trust the CIA?”
“Don’t want to go there unless we have proof,” she said. “But it’s a no-brainer—a mole on the prince’s team or ours. And someone has us scrambling.”
“Tough call. Let’s hope we don’t have to explore it further. We have a suspicious nature, and if I had a reason to doubt either agency, trust me, I’d be overturning rocks.”
Kord’s use of a familiar phrase ripped open an old wound. “Do me a favor. I have an immense dislike for the phrase ‘trust me.’ The moment I hear it, I want to choke whoever said it.”
He laughed, taking her off guard. “Thanks for the warning.”
“Glad you find me amusing. Something else you should know. Our job is protection detail, but I want to be the one to bring down these bad boys.”
His eyes flicked a peculiar glance her way, one she couldn’t read. Had he been informed about Liam?
“What?” she said.
“I took a bullet for Prince Omar, and the scar on my back is a reminder of what happens when I begin to think I’m invincible.”
Possibly she’d met her match. “When you were involved in rescuing his wife and son?”
“Another time. We were outside a restaurant in Paris when shooting broke out. Figured the bullets were for him and made sure they didn’t reach the target.”
“You shielded him?”
“Yep.”
“Anything else I should know about your and the prince’s relationship?” she said.
“No. Those are the reasons why we’re friends.”
“So who has the most to lose from Prince Omar continuing with economic improvements? Ali wears his anger like a plate of armor, but it appears a righteous rage. I have Jeff digging for anything on him, but so far nothing. The other bodyguards and house staff have no red flags in their backgrounds to question. Then there’s Fatima and the wrath of a spurned woman.”
“I’m delving into Malik, the press secretary. Having problems reading him. Too quiet for my liking. Our reports exonerate him—not sure I do.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open on all counts, including Fatima.”
“Too bad she’s not married.”
Monica didn’t envy his worry about Fatima destroying his friendship with Prince Omar. Neither was she apprehensive about his ability to complete the job. Taking a bullet for someone vested the relationship. What she feared was one of the Saudi men paving the way for Prince Omar’s killer.
“Kord, what if a member of the household is helping the killer unwillingly?”
HANDS IN HIS POCKETS, Kord walked along a stone path that wound around the rear of the property leading to the patio of the Saud home. The business of arranging a meeting with Fatima rumbled through his mind, much like thunder in the distance. He believed in honesty, which meant having a long talk with Prince Omar about what didn’t happen five years ago.
The other situation was how the sniper had Prince Omar’s schedule. Who had access other than Malik and Ali? Who in Riyadh?
Gray clouds gathered and the scent of rain met his nostrils with a few drops of moisture. Houston’s ground had hit the saturation point, and many neighborhoods were flooded. If the water level continued to rise, Prince Omar might have difficulty keeping to his plans. But if the weather prohibited his getting out to meetings, then bring on more rain.
Kord had left Monica on the bench, and if she delayed, she’d be drenched. Her final comment held logic. Someone in the household could have been forced to assist the killer. Not an impossibility. But that meant taking a strong look at Fatima and Yasmine—another reason to bring Prince Omar into the loop about what didn’t happen—and more questioning of the bodyguards and staff. The FBI were running data on all the calls the entourage had made, and so far nothing had materialized as suspicious. The who, how, and why pierced his thoughts.
“Kord.”
He turned to see Monica racing toward him. “Something wrong?”
She shook her head and made a breathless stop at his side. Her flushed face was . . . very attractive. “I have an idea,” she said. “Got a few minutes?”
“We’re about to get wet.”
“I’d rather talk in the open.”
She usually made sense, which drove him nuts. “Go for it.”
“The FBI checked all the cell phones belonging to Prince Omar’s men, and they were cleared. Just got the CIA report for the numbers called and received.”
He yanked his phone from his pocket.
“Haven’t sent it yet. Let me finish. Authorities have researched the prince’s laptop and found nothing. But what about his iPad or tablet? What about his cell phone?”
“He has tight security on his devices.” A bolt of adrenaline hit Kord. “He uses his iPhone for everything—e-mail, texts, notes—and has downloaded apps to help him manage business affairs.”
“So his schedule is on his phone?”
“Right.” His mind whirled. “No one inspected it—didn’t seem necessary.”
“W
e need to take a look. The problem could be there. What if a virus was planted on his iPhone?”
He rubbed his face and reflected on the earlier foiled plan. A near-field communication hack would allow a person to obtain Prince Omar’s private information—even hear all that was being said within the phone’s mic range. “At the hospital, he left his phone in the limo, and his decision to cancel the trip to the consul general’s office occurred later inside.”
“That aspect is why I want to investigate the possibility of a virus. It’s a legitimate means for our killer to obtain information. Hacking a mobile device through wireless technology isn’t rocket science.”
“We need to talk to Prince Omar.”
“Barging in and giving our theory could tip off the killer. We need to think this through.”
“If you’re right, why not set a trap?”
She grinned. “Telepathy is the first sign of an operative.”
Monica was really getting under his skin, in a way he’d never imagined. When this was over, he wanted to see more of her. A lot more.
When Kord learned Prince Omar and Malik were in a meeting, he texted Ali and asked to speak with him privately in the rear yard. Monica didn’t approve, but Kord observed him and saw a man loyal to Prince Omar. When he and Ali talked, he’d explain the private meeting. While he waited with Monica, Ali approached them.
“What’s the secrecy?” Ali said.
“We have a possible theory to test.” Kord explained Monica’s idea of a phone virus. “We need your help to give him a note in privacy. No one else can be privy to the conversation.” He handed Ali a slip of paper requesting Prince Omar’s presence.
Ali snorted. “That would explain the how.”
“He’s to leave his phone and Apple Watch behind,” Kord said and glanced at Monica.
“Not a word can pass between you and Prince Omar,” she said.
Ali disappeared. Within three minutes he returned with the prince. Malik was nowhere around.
“Kord,” Prince Omar began, “my phone and watch are on my desk. If you’re right, I’ll have the head of whoever is responsible.”
“We all will.” Kord had no doubt the fate of the killer lay in the hands of an enraged Saudi prince.
“How does this kind of thing happen?”
“The guilty man could have been standing next to you and sent a virus.”
“It would have happened in Riyadh.” He clenched his fist. “Even planted by one of my men.”
“Is your schedule, since the announcement about this trip, documented anywhere besides your phone?”
“Malik and Zain. Would you like Zain’s phone?”
“Yes, Amir. I want to know where you’ve been and who was present,” Kord said. “No one but the four of us can be aware of this.”
“Sounds like a difficult process for a suspicion. But I’ll cooperate. I want to be part of the plan to catch him.”
“That could be dangerous.”
“I live with those who want me dead. No argument, my friend. As your note said, a trap will catch him. I’ve lost Zain, and I will not lose you.”
Kord had faced opposition with the prince in the past and experienced his stubbornness. “With all due respect, I prefer allowing the killer to think I’m you. You can hear the story when he’s in custody. Let me do what I’m trained to do.”
“I agree with Kord,” Ali said. “He and Miss Alden know how to defend themselves.” He raised his chin. “She does handle herself well, and I hope we can be more civil to each other. We have an important job to do.”
Kord hid his surprise.
“Thank you,” she said. “I agree our duties require us to be amiable.”
Prince Omar drew in a breath, a common sign of his reflections. “All right. The killer and his accomplices must be apprehended.” He turned to Monica. “Thank you for taking care of my sisters. I’m grateful.”
“You’re welcome.” She respectfully avoided his gaze.
The prince focused on Kord. “What are your thoughts?”
He allowed his satisfaction to fuel the setup. “First of all. Be aware of anything you say around your phone or watch. I prefer you use new ones or put those aside until we’ve worked through our theory.”
The prince nodded.
“In the past, you enjoyed Morton’s steak house. I’ll reserve the location across from the Galleria for a late-afternoon meal with a few of your bodyguards. Not just a boardroom, but the entire restaurant for safety reasons. It’s fairly quiet during this time, and I’ll state you desire privacy. I’ll be dressed as you. With your approval, the FBI and CIA can move into action. FBI agents will act as staff to ensure no one is hurt. Monica will pose as the hostess.”
“Include me,” Ali said. “Someone has to keep Kord safe.”
Kord chuckled. “Who’s keeping you from a bullet?”
“Me,” Monica said. “I’m a better shot.”
“When will this occur?” the prince said.
“As soon as possible. The moment I receive your permission, arrangements will be made. The luncheon plans will need to be made in the presence of your phone and watch.”
“Take care of it now. I’ll pay whatever’s required.”
“Prince Omar, your money is not the problem, but keeping you alive is. The FBI needs to check your devices for a virus. I’ve put them off until after Friday afternoon. I know that’s your holy day—”
“Do it.”
“Okay. Until then, we play it safe.”
Twenty minutes later, Kord received the go-ahead. Target was Friday afternoon at two thirty.
IN HER BEDROOM QUARTERS, Monica spent Wednesday evening rereading and probing the backgrounds of every person in the house for a snippet of information that could twist into something shady. All still looked squeaky clean. What about their families and past grievances? Until the killer was caught—possibly Friday afternoon—danger lingered. If she and Kord were wrong about the prince’s phone, their original assumption of a mole meant every person in the home must be viewed under a microscope. And if the prince’s phone had a virus, a mole could have planted it.
So many possibilities, and all had the potential to be deadly.
Rain beat against the windows in a steady downpour, while her phone alerts warned of rising water. Such was her mood. Didn’t help that her throat and head weren’t in the best of condition.
If someone inside the home wanted to harm Fatima or Yasmine, he’d simply enter the women’s bedchambers in the middle of the night. Why wouldn’t the prince send them home? Was it really his mother’s peace of mind, or was he using his sisters as cover for another reason?
She rose from her comfy seat in her bedroom and made her way to the common area, where Fatima and Yasmine sat talking. Again they were dressed in designer gowns and accessorized in pure gold. If the evening meal found her with them, she’d explore more of a friendship. Fatima might not be in such a sour mood.
“Excuse me,” Monica said. “I’m concerned for both of you. Until the person who’s endangered your brother is found, please lock your bedroom doors at night, and keep the door leading to the hallway locked.”
“Thank you,” Yasmine said, her voice sweet and her face filled with youthful light.
“Once we’ve arrested the killer, those precautions won’t be necessary.”
“When will it be?” Yasmine said. “I’m afraid for my brother. With Zain gone and the attempt on Consul General al-Fakeeh, everything’s scary.”
“Staying safe is a priority. I encourage you to remain inside the grounds.”
“Is Mother well-guarded?”
“Prince Omar has men positioned around her at all times. No one comes near her without clearance.”
Fatima lifted her chin. “If we are the next victims, locks won’t keep anyone out. There are men within this home who will protect us. We don’t need Americans interfering in our business.”
Did she have no clue of the real world? “We’re ri
sking our lives to ensure you have yours,” Monica said.
“Aren’t you an assistant to a press secretary?” Fatima said. “What do you know?”
“I have solid training.”
“What if you make mistakes?” Fatima said. “Whose fault is Zain’s death? If we were home, he’d be alive today.”
“Are you saying the tragedy is Mother’s fault?” Yasmine’s voice rose.
“No, Sister. I’m saying this wouldn’t have occurred at home.”
“I do have a license to carry a firearm, and I’ve taken professional instruction,” Monica said. “I’m a light sleeper. If an intruder is able to sneak past the bodyguards, I assure you the rustle of gaining entry would wake me. I’m quite capable of defending you.” Monica refused to mention a trained killer had methods beyond their understanding. Or that she’d really like to shake a few people in this house and open their eyes to the seriousness of the matter.
Ignorance was not bliss.
Might get a throat cut, like the poor janitor at Paramount High School.
“How did you move from serving coffee to being Kord’s assistant?” Fatima’s voice would freeze water. “That’s a little degrading for him, don’t you think? But you Western women have your ways.”
Realization hit—Fatima believed Monica and Kord were together. The princess’s flame burned hot and green. Kord needed to straighten out this mess with her. But how?
Monica plastered a smile on her face. No point in Princess Fatima having the satisfaction of riling her. “My job is to follow Kord’s orders. So get over your animosity.” She walked to the door leading to the hallway, locked it, and made her way back to Fatima. Forcing pleasantness into her voice, she stared into the woman’s brooding eyes. “If you like, I’ll show you the art of self-defense, how to use a knife or send a bullet into the heart of an enemy. I took those lessons too. Let me know, and I’ll fit your training into my schedule.”
“It’s impossible for a woman to defend herself against a man,” Fatima said. “It would be a waste of time.”
