Protecting His Princess

by C. J. Miller

  “I wouldn’t want to spend the last of my days in the Cinder Block,” Betha said.

  The Cinder Block, the nickname for one of the most dangerous locked-down prisons in Qamsar, was located outside the compound walls and guarded twenty-four hours a day by the emir’s private guards. The facility held political prisoners and traitors. Few survived inside and most disappeared without a trial or explanation.

  “What does Mikhail think the American spy knows?” Laila asked.

  Aisha turned to face them again, a frown across her face. It was enough to make it clear she had heard at least part of their conversation, and she didn’t like what they were discussing.

  Iba gave Laila and Betha a stern look. “This is not polite conversation for ladies to have. Please, this is a wedding celebration. Let’s speak of happy things.”

  Laila let her mother turn the conversation to a new boutique that had opened near the souk that carried fine linen, light as air and beautiful.

  If Mikhail was planning to execute the American after his wedding, they only had a few days to get to him. How would anyone get inside the Cinder Block and free the American spy?

  * * *

  Laila admired the henna on her hands and feet. The artists had done a beautiful job, the lines and designs intricate. She opened her closet to select an outfit for dinner. A knock sounded on her door, and before she could answer it, it opened, and one of the emir’s housekeepers stepped inside the room. Laila grabbed a dress off the rack and held it over her bare feet.

  The housekeeper averted her eyes to the ceiling. “The emir wishes to see you.”

  Fear and panic flailed in her stomach. Had she asked Betha too many questions about the imprisoned American? Or had Mikhail realized she and Harris had been in his private quarters? Her heart beat faster, and her mouth felt dry.

  “May I ask why?” she asked, stalling for time. Could she get a message to Harris? She didn’t want to join the American spy in the Cinder Block. If no one knew where she was, she might never be found.

  “The emir does not explain himself to me.”

  “Very well,” Laila said, adjusting her head scarf. “Please give me a moment to finish dressing.” She didn’t wait for the woman to agree. She slipped into the bathroom and put on a pair of shoes. Maybe this wasn’t a personal audience with him. Maybe Mikhail was calling together the family to discuss the details of his wedding. Laila pulled her phone from her pocket and sent Harris a text: Called to meeting with Mikhail. Without more information she didn’t have anything to add.

  At least if she didn’t return, Harris would know the last person she had seen. Though she felt guilty for thinking of her brother as a villain, she had always thought Mikhail had a dark side, and what she was learning about him made her nervous.

  After checking her attire in the mirror, she exited the bathroom. “I’m ready.”

  With her knees trembling, she followed the housekeeper to the library. Panic had sweat breaking out on her lower back. She’d never been invited into the library before. Had Mikhail found the device they’d hidden inside? Would he ask her about it? She was a terrible liar and would break under pressure.

  “Sister, please sit,” Mikhail said, gesturing to the leather couch across from the chair where he was seated. Mikhail waved a hand to dismiss the housekeeper. They were alone.

  Laila waited for him to continue. It wasn’t her place to speak. She tried to interpret his posture and expression. Was he angry? Enraged?

  “I had a conversation with Abdul a few minutes ago,” Mikhail said.

  Abdul, Betha’s husband. Laila worked hard not to squirm and to keep her hands from shaking. If she showed fear, Mikhail would pounce and exploit that fear. What had Betha told her husband? Laila replayed the conversation looking for places where she might have made a misstep or pressed too hard.

  “He mentioned your friend from Germany works in the import-export business.”

  Laila nodded. “Yes, his family runs a shipping company.” She could have said more, but she wanted to know where the conversation was leading.

  Mikhail gestured to his computer. “I looked him up online. The company is internationally known and has a superb reputation. They ship to almost every country in the world.”

  Laila wasn’t sure what he wanted her to say. Was he testing her knowledge of Harris’s job? She wouldn’t necessarily know much about it. “That’s my understanding.”

  “They don’t currently import or export anything to or from Qamsar,” Mikhail said. “I would like to change that. Has Mr. Kuhn expressed the intention of courting you?” Mikhail asked.

  Laila’s heart rate slowed a fraction. Mikhail’s interest in the shipping company was the outcome Harris and the CIA wanted. They had gone through a great deal of effort to set up a fake company and to establish Harris Kuhn’s background in Germany. “Yes. He spoke to uncle Aasim in America, and I made it clear to Harris that he had to meet you and earn your approval of the match. He is converting to Islam, as well.” She looked at her lap and tried to appear meek.

  “I will have a talk with him soon,” Mikhail said. “That is all. Good day.”

  She was dismissed. Tension floated away. Mikhail would never confide his private or business concerns to a woman, even if that woman was his sister. He hadn’t found the devices, or if he had, he hadn’t tied them to her and Harris.

  She needed to warn Harris about the purpose of the meeting Mikhail would arrange and prepare him for what was coming so Mikhail wouldn’t have the upper hand. And she needed to tell Harris about the Cinder Block, and her suspicions it was where Mikhail was keeping the captured American spy.

  * * *

  Laila was pacing in her suite when Harris entered her room through the balcony after receiving her text messages. He was relieved she was safe, but frustrated that the first afternoon he had left her alone, the emir had pounced on her.

  The sight of her spread a warm awareness over his body. Harris closed the balcony door quickly behind him. “Are you okay?” he asked in English, remembering his promise to be himself in the privacy of her room.

  She nodded. “I’m fine. Worried. Where were you?”

  He wouldn’t lie, but it was better if no one knew the details. “I met an asset in the souk.”

  Laila knew there was more to the story. He could see it in her eyes. She didn’t question him further. She understood the boundaries. “I have something important to tell you.”

  What had happened at her meeting with her brother?

  A combination of concern and fear played on her face. “I heard a rumor that the American spy is being held in the Cinder Block.”

  “The emir didn’t tell you that, did he?” Harris asked, confused about her text message and this information.

  “No, I heard it from my cousin Betha,” she said.

  Harris swore inwardly. The Cinder Block was on the list of possible places where the CIA suspected the unidentified American spy could be imprisoned. It was well guarded, and known for horrendous conditions and for vanishing prisoners. “Did she know anything else?” He needed to find a way to rescue the American. Prisoners didn’t last long inside. They either died from the atrocious living conditions, or they were executed at the emir’s command.

  “Betha said they plan to kill the American spy after the wedding. I didn’t want to press too hard and blow our cover. Mikhail approached me this afternoon about your intentions with me and your job. He wants you to tell him you’re planning to marry me.”

  The second part of her information struck him almost as hard as the first. It had been the plan, and he’d known that he might be approached about his relationship with Laila. Harris was prepared to speak to the emir about his intentions, and to lie and tell him he planned to propose marriage as soon as he had her family’s blessing. Lying about his relationship with Laila bothered him. Would anyone pick up on the guilt he felt over those kisses? Or would that simmering attraction help make his lie more convincing? “Is the emi
r expecting me to approach him, or will he approach me?”

  Laila stopped pacing and stood in front of him. She looked up at him with her deep brown eyes. “He will likely speak to you. But, Harris, when he asked to see me, I almost had a heart attack. I thought he might have uncovered what we were doing.”

  Was she referring to the espionage or the kisses or both? “He can’t know.” They’d been careful.

  “Mikhail has security everywhere. What if one of the cameras caught us sneaking around?” she asked.

  “Then it looks like we were sneaking around, trying to find a place to be alone.”

  Laila’s eyes widened. “How is that better? You know dishonoring my family is almost as bad as being a traitor.”

  Harris rolled the information around. He had been careful about looking for cameras. If they had been seen, Harris doubted he and Laila would be permitted to stay in the compound another moment. They’d more likely be with the American spy in the Cinder Block.

  His attention switched to her mouth. He couldn’t help it. She was staring up at him, looking worried and nervous, and he wanted to make her feel better. Kissing her had made him feel better. Alive. Relaxed. What effect had it had on her?

  If he brought up the kiss, would she be uncomfortable? Or was it better to clear the air and mention it? Or not speak of it and test her reaction to another kiss? He took her hands in his, watching her face for a response.

  She looked from their hands to his face. “What are you doing?”

  “Reassuring you,” he said, knowing the gesture had missed the mark if she had to ask.

  “This isn’t reassuring. It’s unnerving.”

  He released her. “I didn’t realize my touch made you uncomfortable.”

  She shifted on her feet. “It doesn’t. It’s not the touch. It’s other things.” She looked at the ground away from him.

  “The kiss. You’re worried that I’ve kissed you. Twice.”

  She met his gaze. “I’m worried that it happened, but you weren’t alone. I was there, too, an active and willing participant. I’m concerned that you make me want to kiss you, even when I know it’s a bad idea.”

  “Why do you feel that way?” he asked. Were her objections purely cultural? Or was it him that she objected to? He had plenty of strikes against him: American, FBI agent, unable to make a relationship work.

  “We don’t have a future.”

  He had thought about that. The plan had been to give Laila a new life in America to keep her safe from her brother or the Holy Light Brotherhood or her countrymen, if they intended to harm her. Harris had understood that he would cut ties so the investigation could never lead back to her. What if they could have more? What if starting over in America wasn’t the end of their relationship? “Maybe we can still see each other. Now and then.” As he spoke the words, he knew they were a long shot. He guessed his bosses at the CIA and FBI wouldn’t react well if he mentioned it.

  Laila pressed her lips together for a long moment. “Maybe now and then?”

  “I told you I would be myself and honest when we were in this room. Now and then is all I can offer.”

  She played with the ends of the veil she wore over her hair. “We’re working together. This could get messy.”

  “It will get messy whether I’d kissed you or not. We’re playing these roles, and it’s easy to get caught up in them.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Is that what fueled the kiss? You were caught up in the role you were playing? You told me when we were in my room, you would be Harris Truman, so don’t lie to me.”

  He heard the edge in her voice. It wasn’t how he’d meant it, as if the only reason he’d kissed her was because he was playing her boyfriend. He’d wanted to kiss her. She was a beautiful woman. “Not just the role. Your fire and passion call to me. I’m intrigued by you and your culture. I’m excited that I’ve met someone as genuine and caring as you. Even if you’re only in my life for a short time, I’ve enjoyed, and will enjoy, every moment.”

  She looked away from him and retreated a few steps, folding her arms over her chest.

  Closing herself off from him. “What did I say?” he asked, reviewing the words.

  “You didn’t say anything. You were honest. I’m disappointed in myself. You’ve probably kissed hundreds of women in your lifetime. For me, you’re the first and only.”

  He’d played fast and loose with her trust, and hadn’t considered the kiss would have real meaning for her. She was conflicted about relationships with men, and he should have been more restrained. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I haven’t kissed hundreds of women.” Every woman he had kissed had been special to him in some way. It sounded corny to think, much less say. Plus with age he’d become more discerning about each woman he chose to allow into his life. “I’ve learned to be careful.”

  “Careful? What do you mean by careful?”

  Could he talk to her about this? His mistake with Cassie wasn’t classified, but it was embarrassing. “The last woman I dated betrayed me. I was working an undercover case, and one of the men I was investigating paid her off to gather information about me and reveal who I was. It blew the case and nearly got me killed.”

  Laila’s jaw slackened. “Why would she do that?”

  Harris had asked himself the same question time and again. He had let Cassie into his life and into his heart. She had slept in his bed. He had trusted her. “The money won her over. She never said if she was angry with me or if she was looking to hurt me. Maybe she didn’t foresee the consequences of her actions. She didn’t love me as deeply as I believed or at all.”

  “What happened to her?” Laila asked.

  “She’s in prison. I don’t speak to her, and she hasn’t reached out to me.” He’d learned a difficult lesson from his experiences with Cassie. He didn’t trust his ability to judge a person who he had developed feelings for, and knowing how a friend could turn on him, he hadn’t figured out how to incorporate a relationship into his life while he was undercover.

  A knock came at the door. He didn’t wait for a second one. Nothing would stop Mikhail or his security from entering the room without permission. He should not be in Laila’s room alone with her.

  He took her hand, kissed the back of it on the henna ink then fled to the balcony and waited only long enough to see her mother enter before bolting off the balcony and returning to his own room. He was inside for less than five minutes when someone pounded on his door.

  Harris opened the door. Two of the emir’s guards were waiting for him. “The emir requests a private meeting with you.”

  Harris smiled as if flattered. “I didn’t realize he knew who I was.”

  “He knows,” one of the guards said.

  Harris pretended not to hear the ominous overtone in his voice. His wealthy-German-heir attitude wouldn’t allow him to be intimidated. “Great.”

  Following the guards to Mikhail’s library, Harris searched for Ahmad Al-Adel. Locating the terrorist was on his mind always, and now that he suspected at least one of Al-Adel’s men was on the premises, he was determined to find him and others in the terrorist organization.

  The silent guard opened the door to Mikhail’s library. Harris entered and looked around as if it were the first time he was seeing the room. The emir was seated behind his desk. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Harris said.

  Mikhail stared at him for a moment before coming to his feet, circling the desk and extending his hand. Harris shook it. Mikhail gestured to the pair of chairs fronting his desk and sat in one. “Please have a seat.”

  Harris sat and waited for Mikhail to introduce the topic. One trick he’d learned during interrogations was that most people were uncomfortable with silence and would try to fill it with either nonsense or incriminating information. Harris could sit in silence for hours. Didn’t bother him.

  “Laila tells me you intend to marry her.”

  Harris smiled and folded his hands over his lap. H
e would talk about the marriage part first, business second. “I do intend to marry her. I’m learning my way around her culture, and I’ve been studying Islam. I want to be accepted by you and her family as her husband.”

  Mikhail nodded, and Harris thought he saw interest in his eyes. Harris waited again for the emir to lead the conversation.

  “I’m interested in knowing more about you. What do you do for a living?”

  “At the moment I’m a finance student at the University of Colorado, but after I finish my degree this next semester, I’m returning to Germany to work for my family’s shipping business.”

  There is was again. The flare of interest in Mikhail’s eyes. “Is the family business doing well?”

  Harris would have thought Mikhail would have been more direct. Was he trying to lead Harris around to offering to help him? Was it appropriate for Harris to extend such an offer? “Despite the downturn in the economy, profits are up eight percent, and we’re adding new areas to our standard shipping locations every month.”

  “Is your company able to handle special deliveries? Those that are sensitive in nature, and may require delicate handling and discretion?”

  He’d gotten to the point. “Kuhn Freight can take any job, large or small. We’re known for our discretion with our clients. We’ve moved historical artifacts, rare items and priceless works of art without incident.” He lifted his head high and injected pride into his voice.

  Mikhail looked pleased with himself. “I’ve been looking for someone to help me move some special items that are important to me. I haven’t found a suitable transporter who I can trust to be discreet.”

  Harris didn’t have to pretend to be enthused about Mikhail’s interest. He’d passed another hurdle by capturing the emir’s attention and opening communication about what Mikhail might want to move. Those “special items” could be destined for Al-Adel and the Holy Light Brotherhood headquarters or other bases of operation. Harris leaned forward to convey his attentiveness. “We’d be honored to earn your business. You won’t be disappointed with our services.”