Protecting His Princess

by C. J. Miller

  If the CIA had placed someone on the inside, when he checked in with Tyler, the CIA agent playing his brother, he’d get the coded message. From what Harris could tell, the mission was going well. He’d picked up the bugs from the souk and gotten them into the compound without detection.

  Laila was doing an amazing job as his girlfriend. She was appropriately affectionate with him, which in this world consisted of long looks and smiles from under her lashes. Old-fashioned flirting. He enjoyed it more than he should.

  Playing the part of Harris Kuhn, German tycoon and heir who wanted to marry Laila, made it hard to separate the fantasy from the reality. The reality—that she was an asset, and he was involved in a dangerous mission with multiple lives at stake—was harsh. The fantasy—that Laila was his girlfriend, that he would steal kisses from her when he could, that he would sweep her off her feet and take her away from this world—was a lie.

  His attraction to her and their chemistry was part of the reason this mission worked and created a believable situation. It was also the reason the operation was more difficult.

  He had to stay in character and still maintain his distance from her. If he became emotionally involved, his judgment would be skewed. He’d been in that position before and wouldn’t allow it again.

  Harris changed into another outfit he’d been told by his contacts in the CIA was appropriate for a German to wear to a formal occasion in Qamsar. Harris didn’t realize the agency had experts on such details, but he’d learned a lot about the CIA in the past few months. They had resources he didn’t have with the FBI, including international experts on language, culture, protocol and politics. A knowledgeable staff was available 24/7/365 during a mission in case the situation went off the skids, and he needed advice or help. The CIA had a budget that supported the extensive resources Harris couldn’t have hoped to have at the FBI.

  Even so, this operation was Harris’s first experience with the CIA, and he wasn’t sure he liked working with them. They were more secretive and seemed to have hidden agendas. Part of him worried they weren’t being forthcoming with him about this mission. Did they need access to the emir to stop a terrorist and preserve negotiations for oil, or did their interest lie elsewhere?

  Harris was meeting Laila in the lobby at seven o’clock. He arrived a few minutes early and watched the people around him. Others were milling around, greeting each other and talking. Harris had chosen this location on purpose, planning to keep his and Laila’s meetings public to clarify to anyone watching he understood the boundaries. He needed Mikhail to accept him, and feel Harris was respectful of their culture and traditions, not to kick him out and blacklist him because he’d crossed a line.

  Sticking to the rules, appealing to Mikhail’s sense of social climbing, playing on his interests and making it clear Harris’s family’s shipping company was useful would keep Harris in the compound long enough to complete his mission. He’d set the bugs, watch when and where he could, and hope they’d find Ahmad Al-Adel.

  Laila stepped into the foyer and glanced around, searching for him. He stole the moment to take in her beauty and grace. He’d been prepared to keep his eyes pinned to her face, but his gaze wandered down her body. Her navy dress covered her from wrists to ankles. The light blue embroidery along the sleeves, neck and length of the dress suggested shape around her curves. She’d applied more dramatic makeup than he’d seen her wear in the past, emphasizing the darkness of her eyes, the deep pools of brown a man could lose himself in if he wasn’t careful. Her hair was covered, and when she reached to adjust her head wrap, he saw gold bangles on her wrists, including the one he had bought for her in the souk.

  He’d purchased it to stay in character. In pursuing a woman’s affections, a man as wealthy as Harris Kuhn would buy his girlfriend whatever she wanted. But seeing Laila wear the bracelet brought him a certain amount of pride and pleasure that had nothing to do with playing a part. She was a beautiful woman, and she deserved beautiful things.

  Seeing him, a smile lit her face, and she strode toward him. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

  “I didn’t want to be late and get off on the wrong foot with the emir and your family.” Not only did Harris not want to miss anything—or anyone—he was playing the role of nervous suitor meeting Laila’s family for the first time. “Nervous suitor” would be early and fidgety.

  She glanced at his feet. “You aren’t wearing the shoes.” She seemed a bit relieved.

  He grinned. “I have to break them in first. But once I get them ready, they won’t leave my feet.”

  She laughed. “Oh, good. I can’t wait.” The smile on her face reached to her eyes. He was mesmerized by her. Entranced.

  Which made it easier to play this part. No danger of anything coming of it, not in the long run. Not only did his relationship history prove he couldn’t make things work, his job also required he give her space when they returned to the United States. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice and get involved with someone while he was working.

  After the mission, he’d never see her again. Sadly it was the way most of his personal relationships ended. He’d been trained to analyze people and scrutinize their relationships, he could create profiles of men who were good and bad at relationships, but he couldn’t manage to keep one of his own. Worse still, some of the women he’d been attracted to in the past had been disastrously flawed. The last had betrayed his undercover identity to the target of an investigation, putting him and his team in grave danger. If her betrayal hadn’t been discovered, he’d have been killed.

  Saying he was bad at relationships was an understatement.

  “I’m anxious about tonight, too. I can’t wait to see my mother and my family, but I’m worried about what Mikhail wishes to tell us,” Laila said.

  “I’m sure everything is okay,” Harris said. He had the same worry, but if anyone was eavesdropping, he wanted to come across as confident in Mikhail and reassuring to Laila.

  Without touching, Harris escorted her to the dining room.

  The maître d’ for the evening seated them close to the head table where the emir and his bride would sit. It was a terrible view of the dining room entrance. Harris wished they would have been placed in the back. It was a large event, and Harris wanted to get a look at the attendees.

  Two dozen tables seating ten each were covered in perfectly pressed white linen cloths and immaculately displayed dinnerware. Maroon carpets blended with the cherrywood of the chairs. Staff stood around the edges of the room, waiting to spring to action when summoned.

  “Is something wrong?” Laila asked Harris, leaning closer to him and keeping her voice low.

  Had he been scowling? He adjusted his expression to neutral. “I’m keeping an eye on things. Waiting for your mother.” Looking for faces he might recognize, like any of the known members of the Holy Light Brotherhood.

  Laila nodded and lifted her water glass, taking a sip. “Nothing to worry about. She’ll like you.”

  Harris wasn’t sure about that, but his primary goal was to watch the crowd. Though he could have spent the evening watching Laila, her elegant movements, the delicate way she lifted her glass and set it down, that wasn’t part of the mission, either.

  Harris forced his eyes away from Laila and looked around the room, constraining his expression to remain blank as his gaze landed on royal family members in high-ranking political positions. Such people wouldn’t impress a wealthy German business heir.

  “Mother.” Laila rose to her feet. She looked as if she wanted to run to her mother in greeting, but protocol and decorum stopped her.

  Harris stood and waited. No denying it was Laila’s mother. They could have been sisters; they looked so much alike.

  Laila’s mother was escorted by an older man. Laila hugged her mother and the two clasped hands, looking at each other as if they had much to say. The pair had great respect, love and admiration for each other. Harris got an inside look at why Laila had agreed
to take a risk in exchange for a safe life in the United States for her mother. Her mother’s happiness and safety meant a great deal to her.

  The man approached Laila and Harris, extending his hand in greeting to Harris. “I am Khalid bin Jassim Al Sharani. This is my late brother’s wife, Iba.”

  Laila and her mother broke apart, and Iba turned to Harris. Her eyes were as sharp and intelligent as her daughter’s. Harris got the impression neither woman missed anything.

  Harris introduced himself and waited for Khalid to continue.

  Khalid gestured for everyone to sit. “We were surprised to learn Laila was bringing a friend to the wedding. In the past Laila has preferred to be on her own. She’s always been an independent woman. Aasim has only good things to say about you, Harris, but he admitted he didn’t know you well.”

  A test, Harris was sure. “Laila and I have been friends for some time. I was pleased to be invited. My family has vacationed in this area, and they’ve always spoken highly of Qamsar. This is my first time in the country.”

  Khalid took an ornate ceramic cup from the center of the table. Almost as soon as he turned it over, a waiter appeared with a carafe in his hand and poured coffee into the cup. “Where did your family vacation?” Khalid asked, not acknowledging the waiter except with a wave of his hand.

  Harris was prepared with a lie. “They stayed in Cyprus, near the beach at the Palm Hotel.”

  Khalid liked Harris’s response, whether the reference to the elite area of Cyprus or the luxuriousness of the Palm Hotel impressed him. Harris was glad he hadn’t made an enemy of Khalid. Yet.

  “What do you think of our country?” Khalid asked. He took a sip of his coffee.

  Harris glanced at Laila and her mother. Laila was staring intently at him, worry written on her face. To anyone watching, she was nervous about the scrutiny her suitor was receiving from her uncle. Harris knew the truth. She was worried he’d make a mistake and say something to incriminate them.

  Harris was too practiced and too deep into the part. He wouldn’t let on who he was or why he was in Qamsar. “I’ve only seen the compound and the souk. Everything has been great. Of course, part of that is having an excellent tour guide to tell me about the area and the history.” He inclined his head toward Laila.

  Harris glanced at Laila and was struck once again by how beautiful she was. It was difficult for him to keep his eyes off her. Even showing almost no skin, her clothing loose and her hair covered, she was breathtaking. He’d always thought women in lingerie or wearing provocative clothing drew a man’s attention. In this case, Laila drew his attention without giving anything away. She redefined sexy.

  Harris was saved from more questions. A hush fell over the room as the emir entered with his future bride, Aisha. Mikhail wore a dark suit, western-style, and his bride looked happy in an orange dress, a head scarf covering her hair and neck. Mikhail stopped to speak with several men waiting near his table. Harris watched and smiled, mimicking the other guests around him.

  Aisha’s father was a prominent businessman in Qamsar, and their marriage had been arranged when the two were infants.

  The emir’s brother, Saafir, sat at a table near the head table, a teacup between his hands. He appeared somber. He wasn’t mingling with other guests, and he didn’t appear thrilled to be at the dinner. Was there bad blood between the brothers? Resentment that Mikhail, as the older brother, had inherited his position and his fortune? Very little had been available to the CIA and FBI about Saafir’s personal life.

  Harris memorized the faces of the men Mikhail seemed closest to and made a mental note to speak to them sometime in the next few days if he could. After several minutes Mikhail stood behind his table and gestured to his bride who sat at his side, gazing up at him. She had nailed the role of adoring wife. How much of her behavior was genuine, and how much was an act? Appearances were important to the royal family, but was Aisha pleased about her arranged marriage?

  “Thank you to everyone for attending tonight’s festivities, the first of many we have planned over the next several days. Some of you have traveled a great distance to wish me and my bride a happy life together.”

  The emir looked around the room. “Because you are my family and my closest friends, I have some upsetting news to share. I considered keeping the news secret to not put a blight on the festivities, but I want everyone to be alert and aware and not confused by gossip.”

  Laila tensed. Next to Mikhail, Aisha shifted in her chair, a frown on her face.

  “My security team has learned that a member of the American government has attempted to infiltrate my home and to intrude on my wedding.”

  Laila’s shoulders hiked, and Harris worked overtime to school his expression. He hadn’t been discovered. He’d been careful. Sweat dripped down his back. He wasn’t armed at the moment. If he had to get out of this room with Laila and her mother, it would be difficult to get past the security and staff.

  “He’s been apprehended and will be dealt with swiftly and sternly,” Mikhail said.

  Not him, then. Relief washed over Harris and on its heels, more questions. Who had Mikhail jailed? Harris wasn’t aware of another American posted in the compound for the wedding. His communication with the CIA was limited, and he needed to be careful how and when he checked in. He’d have to do what digging he could to uncover if Mikhail’s announcement was being used as a warning or if it was the truth.

  If it was the truth, Harris needed to do what he could to free his fellow American or gather information so that he could be freed. Was the CIA aware an American had been on the premises and had been captured?

  While the emir’s wedding may mean a moratorium on government-sanctioned deaths for a few days, Qamsar wasn’t known for its leniency or for fair and unbiased trials. They weren’t known for having trials at all for suspected spies.

  “I have invited many important guests into my home, and they are to be treated with respect,” Mikhail said. “I have friends all over the world, from countries who are not always allies with each other. But here, inside my home, those resentments are not welcome. This is a place of sanctuary.”

  Important guests. Were any of those guests Ahmad Al-Adel? Harris hid his amusement over Mikhail’s announcement implying he wasn’t looking to make enemies and wanted peace within his borders. If he was working with Al-Adel, he was joining himself to a man who had many enemies and left a path of destruction in his wake. Mikhail was not interested in having friends all over the world. His dislike for America was strong in his policies and his resistance of America’s attempts to finalize trade negotiations with Qamsar.

  “I will not allow violence or deception to mar my wedding,” Mikhail said.

  Aisha forced a smile. It must be the one she pasted on when in public. Having this news delivered close to her wedding couldn’t have thrilled her.

  Did she know anything about the captured American? Harris’s team hadn’t determined if the arranged marriage between the emir and his new bride carried any real trust or intimacy or if the arrangement was purely a political and social agreement. If Aisha knew something, could he ask Laila to find out more information?

  Harris immediately retracted the thought. He wasn’t putting Laila further at risk to pry information from her brother’s future wife.

  Mikhail glanced at Aisha. “No more of this talk. I want everyone to enjoy themselves. Please make my home your home.”

  Had Mikhail stopped speaking of the American because he saw Aisha was upset? Doing so would imply actual feelings between the two, and it might mean Aisha knew something about the American spy. Harris would have a hard time speaking to Aisha. Aside from being a male, he wasn’t a relative and had no reason to approach her.

  Dozens more waitstaff filled the room, distributing the first dinner course: beef kabobs with peppers and mushrooms; a vegetable salad with tomato, cucumber and chickpeas sprinkled with feta cheese; and couscous with dried fruit.

  The conversation at the
table returned to Laila and Harris.

  “Laila tells me you are converting to Islam,” Khalid said. “I was encouraged to hear this.”

  “Yes, that’s my plan. I know to start a life with her, I need us to have a strong foundation, and that means a belief system that guides us both,” Harris said.

  Iba and Khalid nodded their heads in approval. “What do you do for a living?” Khalid asked.

  Of course, that would be important. His job would need to be the right status for someone like Laila. “I’m taking a leave of absence from the family business to focus on my studies. After I complete my education in America, I’ll return to Germany and take over running the financial side of my family’s company. My father felt it was important for me to have a strong education to best help the business.”

  “And what business is that?” Khalid asked.

  Did he not know? Harris would have assumed when his name appeared on the guest list, the emir’s staff would have checked him out. Or perhaps Mikhail had and had not shared information he’d found with the rest of the family.

  “Uncle, please,” Laila said. “You have days to get to know Harris. You don’t need to ask him so many questions.”

  “I don’t mind talking business,” Harris said. “My family runs an international shipping company. Kuhn Freight will transport anything, anywhere, anytime, by land, sea or air.”

  “Anything?” Khalid said with a smile. “Sounds like a big company.”

  “It started as a small company,” Harris said. “Just my great-grandfather and his brother. It’s grown in leaps and bounds. We primarily help with international moves and work with businesses that transfer their employees to another country for work. But no job is too large or too small.” Let that get back to Mikhail. He’d have to see the value in ties to a shipping company with great resources and connections.

  “Why don’t you tell us about your studies?” Iba asked her daughter.

  “I’m working on my thesis with my advisor. It’s taking longer than I had planned, since I had some additional classes to complete before I started the program, but I’ll present it next semester,” Laila said.