by Sienna Snow
At least the head of my security was an agent in Solon and understood my need for discretion. Whenever I “worked,” he’d make sure I was given enough space so I wouldn’t break attorney-client privilege. Well, that was the excuse given to the rest of my protection detail.
“It’s dangerous and could place all of us in the middle of a scandal bigger than anything we’ve ever faced. Are you sure it’s worth it? There are other ways.”
“There are no other ways,” I countered. “Ameera Kamini sacrificed her safety countless times to help us. The least we can do is help her escape the web she was caught in because of us.”
Three months ago, my best friend and fellow Solon agent had been kidnapped by a terrorist organization known for human trafficking. They’d assumed she was an American spy and decided to auction her for the information she knew. I’d entered the auction as a potential bidder under an assumed name I’d used during various operations. The only stipulation I had to meet was to show a net worth of over one hundred million. With the money I’d get from Ashur I qualified. Now we were in a wait-and-see mode. The date was set for two weeks from now, but the place and exact time of the bidding was still unknown.
“It has the potential to cause an international incident if we don’t time this right.”
“Not if you do your part and I do mine. Once she is on US soil again, I can relax.”
It killed me that Ameera wouldn’t be part of the wedding. Even worse was not knowing where she was. We’d followed countless leads, but by the time my agents reached her, Ameera’s captors had moved to a new location.
“No, that’s when the trouble’s going to start. The story of her being on assignment is only going to work for a few more weeks. We’re lucky no one has grown suspicious since she has a history of living out of the country for long periods of time.”
“We’ve had the decoy checking in. As far as anyone knows she’s on assignment in South Africa. We’ll make sure to debrief her on her reports before she goes back in.”
“Tara, we don’t know what condition she’ll be in when we find her. She may never go back.”
“She’s strong. No matter what happens, she won’t break.”
I had to believe this—the alternative was unthinkable.
“We have another problem to navigate. Actually, two problems.”
“What?” I asked.
“Her father has entered the auction.”
I clenched my teeth. “How do you know? And how the fuck did he find out she was missing?”
Ameera was the daughter of Hamir Ustaf, the self-proclaimed king of Janestan, a small country near India and Pakistan. Nearly thirty years ago, while attending Princeton, he’d had a one-night stand with Ameera’s mother, Nicola Kamini, a fashion model. Ameera had never met Hamir and wanted nothing to do with him.
As far as the world was concerned, Nicola’s husband, Travis Angelo, was her biological father.
It wasn’t until she was twenty-five and working at the UN as a foreign relations specialist that she’d met Hamir. He’d expected her to accept him with open arms but was shocked when she’d informed him that any contact with her could result in arrest for his crimes against humanity.
What Hamir hadn’t known was she worked for Solon and was aware of everything he’d done from the time he’d left the university until he’d become the dictator. He was the poster boy for the type of people Solon fought against.
Needless to say, Hamir hadn’t taken the slight well and had vowed to make her see the correct way to treat her father.
Tyler looked out the window and ran a hand through his hair. “The same way we found out they’re auctioning Ameera.”
The dark web. This hidden portion of the web was scoured by Solon agents continuously and was how we conducted most of our operations.
“Ustaf has created a counter auction to find his daughter and bring her to him.”
“So, he’s going to buy her, just to sell her in marriage to the most useful bidder?”
Tyler clenched his jaw, and his normally happy blue eyes grew hard. “I’ll get her out.”
The determination in his voice told me I wasn’t the only one who cared for Ameera. Solon agents were a family, a makeshift family of mercenaries, but a family nonetheless. However, Tyler and Ameera had a history, one that went into the realm beyond lovers but not quite a couple.
“What’s the second problem?”
“There’s an unknown third buyer. We’ve scoured the net but can’t find any information on them.”
“Keep looking. We can’t risk anyone but us getting to Ameera.”
Between this wedding and Ameera, I was at my limit of stress.
“So, are you ever going to tell your fiancé what you truly do for a living?”
Not if I could help it. How does one tell the President of the United States that his wife is part of a secret organization with no loyalty to any country, that aims to stop human trafficking across the world and will use any means—some that aren’t always legal—to get it done?
I folded my arms across my body. “Are you going to tell your family that you aren’t only the strictly by-the-books and too-pretty-for-his-own-good Southern politician?”
“Not the same, Tara, and you know it.”
“How is it not the same?” I asked defensively.
“I’m not the one marrying the President of the United States. Hell, I may never get married if you don’t stop sending me on do-or-die assignments.”
“You would have gotten bored without me. How else would you get to live out your fantasy of being a secret agent?”
Tyler grunted as he rubbed his shoulder on the spot scarred by a gunshot wound. “It isn’t a fantasy if I’m living it.”
“You won’t have to worry about that anymore after we get Ameera back. Then, I’ll no longer be the head honcho. You will.” I smiled.
“A job I got because you decided to get hitched. Some friend you are,” he joked, then all of a sudden his tone changed. “Seriously, Tara. Ashur can help you. He’ll want to help you if you tell him. He is former military and owns a technology company that could help us. You can trust him. He’ll stand by you. Plus, Ameera technically works for him, and he could head off any fallout from getting her back in the US.”
Trust. That was a loaded word. Trust meant I had faith Ashur would stand by me no matter what happened. Trust meant he would fight for me even when the lie was more believable than the truth. I trusted very few people to have my back, and Ashur wasn’t one of them.
He’d professed he loved me but hadn’t fought for me. He’d walked away, never questioning anything that was going on around him or why someone behaved the way they had.
“It’s better he doesn’t know. Plausible deniability and all that.”
“Yeah, right. You still haven’t gotten over what happened when the both of you were kids.”
“I was over that shit years ago,” I lied and then added, “An eighteen- and twenty-three-year-old aren’t kids.”
“I do believe you protest too much. Tara, you can trust him.”
“I wouldn’t marry a man I didn’t trust with my future. You should know this.”
“But what about your heart and your secrets? He needs someone to lean on as much as you do.”
“Whatever,” I mumbled, pushing down the need to deny the truth of Tyler’s words and deciding to change the subject. “My leave is only temporary, despite what I said to the group.”
I shifted, jostling the side table next to me and knocking a vase over.
I snatched it before it hit the floor and set it back on the table, which resulted in a lifted brow from Tyler.
“Okay, that wasn’t a subtle change of subject at all.” Tyler snorted. “There is no way possible for you to come back to the same role. You can’t go risking your life the way you’ve done in the past. Your marriage with Ashur will no doubt include children and happy little Secret Service agents following you around everywhere you go for
the rest of your life. Better get those reflexes under control too. Most people aren’t trained the way we are.”
“You’re such an ass.”
“Tell me I’m wrong, and I’ll tell you that you’re delusional.”
I was saved from responding as a knock came from the door. Both Tyler and I looked toward my security lead, Casey Adler.
“Ms. Zain. Your vehicle is ready to take you for your final fitting.”
“And the circus recommences,” Tyler said and offered me his arm as I exited my DC law office for the last time.
Chapter Two
An hour after leaving my office, I stepped out of my limo into a swarm of paparazzi lining the street outside of my designer friend Shawna Martinez’s DC showroom. My security team surrounded me, keeping the media a safe distance away. The normally twenty-minute drive was hindered by crowds at every turn. Someone from either the White House or Shawna’s staff had tipped off the news outlets that I’d be at the shop, and everyone wanted that last-minute picture of the bride-to-be and a possible peek at the wedding outfit.
No one knew that Shawna wasn’t the one designing my dress. In fact, I wasn’t wearing a dress at all. I planned to wear a traditional Indian wedding lengha. A three-piece ivory silk outfit embroidered with heavy silver beading as well as gold and intricate red stitching. I loved my heritage and wanted to add a piece of it to the very American-style wedding Ashur and I would have in less than three days’ time. I’d had a total of four outfits custom made for my short frame. Each ensemble made me feel gorgeous, a requirement for any woman about to walk down the aisle.
A small part of me was sad that I wouldn’t get the traditional Indian wedding I’d dreamed of since I was a kid with all the festivities and family and chaos. However, another part of me was glad—a modern wedding that was the polar opposite of what I wanted would keep me focused on the fact my marriage wasn’t anything more than a business agreement. I couldn’t afford to think otherwise, or I’d get tangled up in the emotions I’d locked away that long-ago summer.
A flash of camera lights snapped me out of my thoughts and made me growl inside.
“Ms. Zain, this way,” Casey said as we made our way into the building.
The second the doors closed, he gestured to the other agents to close the window shades of the shop.
A loud groan echoed through the glass.
Oh, the poor nosy papz would have to wait to get any more pictures. Maybe I should throw them a bone.
Not!
Tyler was right—gone were the days of midnight food runs or outings to dance clubs to meet up with friends on my days off from assignments. Now my life would be filled with meetings, charities, and galas.
I swallowed. Jesus. I wasn’t refined enough for this life. I was too opinionated, too bossy, and too liberal.
Why the fuck Ashur thought I’d make a great first lady was beyond me.
No matter what he’d pitched I knew better than to believe that without me he’d never win the election. I was probably more a liability than an asset.
My incident with the former president hadn’t been my first headline-making scandal. But it had been the most taxing. And the one that could have landed me in jail.
Ashur wanted something from me outside of sex that I hadn’t figured out yet, and I was the dumbass who’d agreed to marry him without all the facts. Whatever it was, it was too late to change my mind. Ashur and I were bound together for the rest of our lives.
And don’t forget, you need Ashur’s money to free Ameera.
At that moment, my phone rang. I paused in a hallway and reached into my purse. Taking a peek at the caller ID, I sighed. Of course, he’d call when I was thinking of him.
“Hello, Mr. President.”
“Hello, First Lady.” Ashur’s deep, raspy voice washed over me. “How is the fitting going?”
“It hasn’t started, and for the record, I’m not first lady yet,” I said a little too breathlessly.
What the fuck, Tara? How was I going to keep it businesslike when the sound of his voice made me think about things I should keep locked away?
“The ceremony is only a technicality. We’ve been legally wed for nearly two years now.”
“Most of the world doesn’t know this, including our families.” I tucked a stray hair behind my ear.
As part of our agreement, we’d legally wed a week after I’d agreed to marry Ashur. Marrying him meant there was no backing out, for him or me.
“I know and you know.” There was a tinge of possessiveness in his tone that made my heart beat a little faster.
“Ashur.”
“Ashu,” he countered.
I bit my lip and then responded. “You told me never to call you that, remember?”
He’d said those words out of hurt and anger, but the pain still lingered. It had been my pet name for him when we were young and stupid. Before the family interferences and the betrayals and the loss of my innocence and the view that the world wouldn’t let the bad guys win.
“I said only my lover could say that name. You are my lover, Tara.”
His words sent a shiver down my spine.
“Not yet.”
“Soon. I’ve kept to our bargain but know this: once we’re together, you’ll crave me as much as I crave you. Sex was the only thing we got right.”
The desire lacing his words made my skin tingle and a pulse of need flare to life.
“Don’t you have a country to run? Stop thinking about sex and get back to work.”
“I’m good at multitasking.” He chuckled, bringing a smile to my lips. He rarely, if ever, laughed.
After we’d broken up, Ashur had turned down his position in Kumar Technologies, the billion-dollar software firm his father owned, and joined the Air Force and then deployed to Afghanistan. By the time he returned from his second tour, he was a changed man. The easy-to-smile boy had disappeared, replaced by a too-focused man who only saw things in black and white, right and wrong.
“Was there a reason you called, Mr. President? I’m positive clothing details are the last things you’re concerned with.”
“Did I tell you that I enjoyed our discussion the other day?”
“You mean the one where you said I was too much of a bleeding-heart liberal to understand the nuances of the costs associated with implementing the immigration bill with the provisions the Democrats wanted?”
Another laugh sounded over the line. “Yes, that one. I wanted to say thank you.”
I shifted the phone to my other ear. “For what?”
The last thing I’d expect was a thank-you for a discussion that had turned so heated I’d walked out.
“For giving me a sounding board and a perspective that was different from mine.”
“Oh.”
“It helped me compromise today, and instead of an eight-hour meeting as scheduled, it was only three.”
“Well, I’m glad I could help.”
“Maybe one day I can return the favor.”
Before I could respond, a voice called out to Ashur, and he sighed.
“I have to go. See you tonight for the parental gathering.”
“I’m going to have a cocktail or two before I get there.”
“So will I. So will I.”
“Goodbye, Ashur.”
“Goodbye, First Lady.” He hung up.
I shook my head. That man could be cold and emotionless one minute and then flirty and sweet the next.
We’d been polar opposites from the beginning. Although we had one particular thing in common—our mutual dread of being in the same room with Ashur’s father. Minesh Kumar was unpleasant on a good day. When he was in a piss-poor mood, people considered jumping from a window to escape the drama.
I stuffed my phone back in my bag and turned the corner to the private dressing area in Shawna’s store that was reserved for all her VIP clients.
“Hey there.” Samina Kumar-Camden greeted me and then handed me a glass of champagne.
Sam, as we liked to call her, was my law partner in our Seattle firm, the junior senator from Washington state, and my sister-in-law.
“I so needed this. Where is everyone?”
“Jacinta is running late from a finance committee meeting, and Shawna is on her way with Neya and our outfits.”
“Good. I need a few moments without thinking about this wedding.” Or sex with your brother, I wanted to add but decided to keep that bit to myself.
“Did something happen?”
I drank down the whole glass and then answered, “This media attention is a bit overwhelming. I can’t burp without someone picking it up on a high-definition microphone.”
Sam snorted and then laughed. “Can you imagine how many times they’d replay the sound bite? I suggest you keep those type of bodily functions under wraps. Wait until they follow you into the bathroom.”
I glared at her but smirked, holding my glass up for a refill. “You are so not funny. At least people would think I’m human and not the robot some of the news agencies have dubbed me.”
“They stopped saying that after they got those pictures of you looking at Ash during the inaugural ball. They do call him your Achilles’ heel.”
“Whatever,” I grumbled.
Sam filled my flute to the top and returned the bottle to the chilling bucket. “Besides, those are tabloids. Who cares?”
“I do. You, Miss Celebrity Attorney with all of Hollywood begging to be your client, know how to use the spotlight to your advantage. I, on the other hand, come out looking like a frosty bitch because I refuse to throw them a bone.”
“Former celebrity attorney. I’m a respectable United States senator now.” Sam took a sip of her drink.
“Does Devin know this? If I recall, I’m the one who caught you two fucking on the couch of my newly renovated office. I think you scarred me for life. You’re lucky it was only me and not Ashur who walked in on you.”
Sam waved her hand as if it wasn’t a big deal and sat down on a burgundy-fabric-covered armchair. “It’s not like it would be the first time this happened to Ash. Besides. I hadn’t seen my hubby in weeks with both our crazy travel schedules. I am the mother of two toddlers that suck every ounce of energy out of me the moment I step foot into our house, so we have to get it when we can.”