Protecting His Princess

by C. J. Miller

  “He will be at the wedding. He has powerful allies. No one in the emir’s circle can be trusted,” the black ops agent said in Russian so quietly if Harris hadn’t been intently listening, he wouldn’t have heard him.

  Had the American spy stumbled on to who could not be trusted? Or had he gotten close enough to make that person nervous, nervous enough that he was now serving a life sentence in the worst prison in Qamsar? Saafir? Was the American referencing the emir’s brother, a man who presented himself as working for the poor and powerless?

  Harris took another book from the supplies box and brought it to the black ops agent. “Who can I trust?” Harris asked.

  The man shifted his eyes to Laila and then back to Harris. “No one in the emir’s circle. They are all dirty.” Still in Russian.

  Saafir? Mikhail’s aids? Laila’s mother? Aisha? Laila’s uncles? How many people in the royal family were involved with the Holy Light Brotherhood?

  Was he insinuating Laila was involved? Harris could trust Laila, couldn’t he? The emir didn’t hold Laila in his confidence. She was a commodity to trade for favors from his friends. Then again Harris had believed Cassie could be trusted, and she had sold him out to his enemy, knowing her betrayal could kill him and his team.

  One of the guards looked in their direction and changed course, coming closer.

  The American didn’t share anymore of what he knew.

  “I wish you the best. You have an ally in me,” Harris said.

  The man looked over Harris’s shoulder and stepped away from the bars, taking his items to the back of his cell. The guards? Harris turned. Saafir was approaching.

  “Everything okay here?” Saafir asked.

  Harris nodded. “Fine.”

  “Don’t linger. It makes the guards nervous,” Saafir said.

  “Understood,” Harris said.

  Laila pushed the dolly past, and Harris followed her to the next cell.

  For the next three hours, Harris replayed the American spy’s words. Who else in the emir’s close circle was working with Al-Adel? Harris and the CIA had been following the emir, tracking his movements, but perhaps they had missed something—or someone—important. Did Al-Adel have someone on the inside, working with the emir, feeding the emir information?

  Chapter 8

  “What did the American tell you?” Laila asked, the moment Harris stepped into her room that night from the balcony. She rushed to him and took his arms. Touching him had become second nature to her, an instinct that warred with the values she’d been raised with.

  They’d returned to the compound after their visits to the prisons and had parted ways. Harris had texted her that he’d stop in for a visit when the coast was clear. “He told me others in the emir’s close circle are involved with Al-Adel.”

  Not surprising. Mikhail surrounded himself with a group of trusted advisors and often included them in his decisions. To make an alliance with Al-Adel, even in secrecy, would have been difficult without some around him knowing about it.

  “Did he say who?” Laila asked. How many people? If many were involved in working with Al-Adel, the more allies the terrorist had in the country, the easier it would be for him to hide within the country and at her brother’s wedding.

  “No, he didn’t tell me who.”

  Harris took a few more steps into the room and closed the balcony door behind him. This room was their sanctuary, the one place to be alone. Much nicer than lurking and hiding outdoors or trying to converse in public without anyone overhearing them.

  Harris stared at her for a loaded moment.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked. “Did something else happen?”

  A wary expression entered his eyes. “Have you told your brother we know about the connection to the Holy Light Brotherhood?” Harris asked.

  Laila took a step back. She felt as if he’d slapped her. His question sounded like an accusation. She hadn’t told her brother anything. Nothing to Mikhail, not a word to Saafir and heartbreaking silence to her mother. “I’ve been helping you.”

  “I know.”

  Doubt laced his words. As if she was doing this with another intention or lying to him. “I took a huge risk bringing you here. Why would I do that if I were planning to betray you? I could have refused your request.”

  “We put you in an awful position. We’ve forced you to betray your family for your country.”

  Insult squared her shoulders. She didn’t see this mission as betraying her family or her country. She was protecting them from Mikhail’s bad decision. “Do you hear yourself? I am doing this because, if the Holy Light Brotherhood is in Qamsar, I want them out. For the people who live here. For my family. I did not turn on my brother. I recognize he has problems, and I am not willing to allow his extremism to harm an entire country of people.” Anger heated her neck, flaming up her back. She’d done everything Harris had asked of her. How could he stand in front of her and speak this way?

  Harris let his head fall into his hands. “I’m sorry, Laila. I had to ask.”

  She folded her arms across her chest and lifted her chin, tipping back her shoulders. He had hurt her. “No. You didn’t. If you think you can find someone else to do what I’ve done, then maybe you need to do that.”

  Harris shook his head. “No other woman could do what you do. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

  The woman from his past. Her betrayal haunted him. A prick of compassion let some of the air out of her anger. “I am not the woman who sold you out. I am Laila. I am a different woman. I’m loyal and true, and I don’t hurt people I care about.”

  He lifted his head and met her gaze. “You don’t have a reason to care about me.”

  She threw up her hands in frustration. “I don’t have a reason to care? What about our relationship makes you believe I don’t care?” The kisses they’d shared? The time they’d spent alone? The worry and concern she carried with her every moment they were apart?

  He said nothing for several long seconds. “You’ve given me plenty of reason to trust and none to suspect you.”

  “Will this be the last time I hear you draw comparisons between me and the faithless liar who broke your heart?” If he didn’t want to talk about their relationship, the least he could do is not accuse her of being an untrustworthy wretch.

  “I won’t let those thoughts get the better of me again.”

  But had he moved past the situation? Or had this woman broken him forever?

  Harris kicked off his shoes and sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

  “Forgiven.” When she spoke the word, she meant it, although she still wondered about his ability to trust. “Have you figured out how to get him out of the Cinder Block?” Laila asked.

  “Not yet. I messaged what details I could recall about the prison to the team. Even when we were delivering items, no prisoners were allowed outside their cells.”

  Laila sat on the bed next to Harris. “It was a strange day. I will never get those places and those people out of my mind.”

  Harris’s hand stroked her back, and her skin tingled under his touch. “I shouldn’t have involved you. I could have gone without you.”

  Laila reclined against the headboard and took his hand in hers, interlacing their fingers. “Saafir might have found it odd that you wanted to go without me. He might have questioned why you were so interested. But he knows I have a bleeding heart. He probably figured I put you up to making the donation and then asking if we could come along.”

  Harris’s thumb moved across her finger. “I don’t want you to have nightmares about what you saw today.”

  “If I’m haunted by what I saw today, that makes me human. Knowing it’s happening in my country is how I can help create positive changes.” Though she’d have to leave Qamsar as soon as Harris located Al-Adel, she would find a way to give back. Perhaps she could donate anonymously to Saafir’s organization, assuming it wasn’t a front for dealings with the Hol
y Light Brotherhood. “It’s awful for the people living the nightmare. I don’t think prison should be a luxury resort, but at least the accused should have a fair trial and be given a chance to defend themselves. If they are incarcerated, they should be treated like humans, not rabid animals locked in cages. For that matter I’ve seen animals treated better.”

  Harris eyes glinted with amusement. “You sound like an American.”

  She took it as a compliment. “I’ve lived in the States long enough that those American ideals have started to rub off.”

  Harris’s gaze softened. “That’s good. I worried, after seeing your life here, about the difficulties of living in another place permanently.”

  Since arriving in Qamsar, Laila hadn’t thought much about her early life here, about leaving her home country to further her education in the United States. In some ways, moving to America was returning to the life she’d built, one she was comfortable with—school and work. But it was also starting over. She would need to make new friends, establish new contacts, and because she’d need to hide from Mikhail’s vengeance and her countrymen’s anger, old friends would be out of reach. Starting over at a new school would be hard. She liked her classes, her professors and her classmates. She liked having her aunt and uncle close.

  How would it feel to know she couldn’t return to Qamsar? She would no longer be safe or welcome in the country where she’d been raised. She’d be cut off from family, from weddings, from funerals and from visits. Her mother and Saafir would be with her, but thinking about how different their lives would be felt strangling.

  It would be even more difficult for her mother, who was set in her ways, saturated and happy in the Qamsarian culture. American life would be better than the life she’d have in Qamsar, especially if her eldest son’s and daughter’s betrayals were discovered, or if she were married to a Holy Light Brotherhood terrorist. Those loyal to the emir could target Laila and her mother and deliver what they considered proper punishment. Or Mikhail could jail them in the Cinder Block. Or the country could revolt against the emir and his family, putting them all in jeopardy.

  In America, Laila had seen how nervous Middle Easterners made some Americans. Though Laila had blended into the social scene, her mother, who’d wear traditional clothing as she always had, might be subjected to the fear and prejudice that surrounded the Middle Eastern community in some areas. Would that be taken into account when she was relocated? Bigger cities would make it easier to find acceptance.

  “I’ll adjust. I want to be an American. I want to have a life with happiness, and I don’t think that happiness is waiting for me in an arranged marriage in Qamsar. Life won’t be perfect in America, and it may be some time before I’m comfortable and settled, but I’m resilient,” Laila said, touched he’d considered how she would feel about relocating.

  “I know you are. It’s one of the reasons I knew you could handle this situation.”

  The softness of his words and the closeness of his body sent a shimmer of excitement along her spine. He was paying her a compliment, and she basked in it. It was rare to receive compliments from a man. “One of the reasons? How else did you know?”

  A bemused expression crossed his face. “We have a profile on you. We did our research before we approached you.”

  Of course they did. But how did they find information about her, and how accurate was it? “What did the profile say about me?”

  Harris grinned. “Maybe you don’t want to know.”

  His evasive answer piqued her interest. “I do. Tell me.”

  Harris hemmed and then decided to answer. “It said you were compassionate and idealistic. Both traits that worked to our advantage. You’d see the problem we were trying to address and want to help. It also said you were intelligent and strong, which was important to keep your cover. The part I liked best was the section that addressed your beauty, humor and sophistication.” His eyes glittered and he lifted a brow.

  She laughed. “You’re joking about the last part.”

  “It wasn’t in the profile. But it was the part I had sketched in my mind about you. I like to know everything I can about my partners.”

  Beauty. Humor. Sophistication. Is that how he saw her? To think of herself in such a flattering light made her head swell. “You’re such a flirt.”

  “No, I’m answering your question. But now answer one of mine. Tell me what about me made you agree to come here. Not the situation. Not the ethics. I know it was more than that.”

  Her instincts had told her Harris could be trusted. “I didn’t have access to the information you had, so I didn’t have a profile or a folder about your life. But I had gotten to know you from the café. When you came in, you spoke to me. You didn’t talk on your phone while you ordered, and you didn’t ignore my answers to your questions.” That show of respect had meant something to her. “And not to put too fine a point on it, but you saved my life. If I had been closer to the car or if you hadn’t been at the café that night, I’d be dead.”

  Harris nodded. “What about my charming good looks? Didn’t that sway you?” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

  She laughed out loud, and then remembered they were meeting in secret and put a filter on her volume. “I thought you were cute the first time I saw you.”

  He groaned and rolled onto his back, covering his eyes with his forearm. “Cute? Cute is for puppies.”

  She pried away his forearm and met his bright blue eyes. “No, cute is for American guys who are attractive. Cute is the first step to being interested in someone.”

  “I’m listening,” he said, his tone urging her to continue.

  “In addition to cute, I could trust you. You were smart and strong, and I felt safe with you. That meant the world to me in agreeing to help.” She hadn’t expected to develop feelings for him as anything more than an FBI agent pretending to be a man in love with her.

  When they were no longer pretending to be in love, would they have feelings for each other? “If I’m going to live in America, I want to date more.”

  “Dating? What we’re doing is not dating. If we were dating, I would take you out somewhere nice to eat dinner and listen to music. I would come up with interesting places you’d like to visit and then ask you to come along. I would bring you flowers and candy, and cook you dinner and dine with you by candlelight.”

  Her mind tripped over the idea of Harris romancing her. It couldn’t happen in Qamsar, where their relationship was strictly controlled and monitored by watchful eyes in the compound. It could happen in America. If he stayed in touch. If she lived near him. If he stayed in a part of her life. Could those circumstances unfold?

  If they weren’t dating, what were they doing? The second question was far safer than the first. “If we’re not dating, what do you call what’s happening between us?”

  “I don’t have a word for it.”

  Helpful. He’d flirted, he’d touched her, he’d visited her in secret and he’d kissed her. But those actions didn’t have a name. Without a name, she felt adrift in confusion. “This is new to me. I’m counting on you to give guidance.” She didn’t know how to navigate a relationship with a man. What she had seen from her mother and cousins wouldn’t apply to Harris. Her family hadn’t arranged their relationship, and Harris wouldn’t like her to pretend to be subservient.

  His eyes were filled with emotions she couldn’t read. “I think it’s better if we don’t try to define it. That will put pressure on the both of us, and we don’t need any additional pressure in this situation. Looking for Al-Adel and trying to figure out who we can trust is a full-time job.”

  Disappointment surged through her. Was he telling her that he wasn’t interested in committing to her? Had she expected him to? He was closing off the conversation, and she didn’t feel any clearer about their relationship. It existed in some undefined gray area, and insecurities rose in her chest. How much of their relationship and his emotions had she manufactured in her mind based on wh
at she was feeling?

  Harris looked around the room. “I wish I could take you somewhere. Somewhere not inside the compound, somewhere we wouldn’t be watched, and we could relax and have fun.”

  “Aren’t we supposed to stay in the compound and look for you-know-who?” Laila asked, her head spinning at the idea of leaving the compound with Harris without a chaperone, sneaking off somewhere dark and sensual. A belly-dancing club. A private dinner in an upscale restaurant, where women dined in gowns and men wore suits.

  Harris sighed. “I don’t think he’ll arrive this soon. It’s a few days until the wedding.”

  “Then let’s chance it,” Laila said.

  “Chance what?” Harris asked.

  “Let’s have Mikhail’s chauffeur drop us downtown. We’ll say we’re meeting friends. We’ll ditch the security escort and take a cab to wherever we want to go.” Her boldness surprised her, both because it wasn’t like her to break the rules, and because she hadn’t realized the depth of her desire to date Harris. To be alone with him and explore their relationship. To get to know him better and to prove to him she was worthy of his trust.

  His eyes filled with intense heat. “What did you have in mind for us to do?”

  “We can walk on the beach and have a late-night meal. Or dessert at one of the five-star restaurants along the water.” She couldn’t bring herself to suggest they walk to the shadier side of town and see what they could find. Laila wanted to spend time with him away from the prying eyes of her family. For a night, she could pretend as though they were in America, and the drama and tension of this mission was far behind them.

  “Let’s do it,” he said.

  Surprised he’d agreed, she hugged him, an uncharacteristic display of affection that had an unintended effect: searing heat pooled low in her belly and desire burned hotter in her heart.