by DiAnn Mills
“Those are beautiful,” she whispered, the delicate fragrance swirling around her.
“Monica?”
A familiar voice caught her off guard. She plastered on a smile and faced Lori. “Hi. What brings you here?” Monica hugged her.
“My cousin’s having surgery this morning, and I wanted to get her a little something.” Lori’s brown eyes cast an apprehensive glance. Ali’s bodyguard demeanor most likely.
“How’s the coffee shop?”
“Busy. My niece is there.” Confusion emanated from her eyes. “I’m surprised to see you.”
Ali’s cell phone sounded a text.
Monica held her breath. “Are you sure you shouldn’t replace me? I have no idea when I can return.”
“I want you back. The café is not the same place without you.”
“Thanks. I miss it too.”
“Miss Alden, we are needed.” He picked up the huge bouquet.
“Lori, I need to go.”
She took a step back, her eyes wide. “Monica, who are you? Why are you here with this man?”
“I’m your friend.”
“Friends don’t keep secrets.”
“I’m assisting this gentleman here.” She introduced the two with first names only.
Lori glared.
Ali offered a formal greeting.
“Where are you from?” Lori said.
“Saudi Arabia.”
Lori startled. “Your country is in the news with Prince Omar’s controversial visit.”
“I’ll call later.” Monica had to walk away. The longer she stayed, the worse the confrontation. She left Lori, her best friend, in the gift shop.
In the hallway, Ali carried the flowers beside Monica. “I’m sorry about your friend.”
“It was only a matter of time. I hate it.”
“A good friend?”
“Like a sister. She also owns Coffee Gone Dark, where I work when not on the road. We attend church together.”
“You must protect your cover.”
“Which means I’ve most likely destroyed a friendship.”
“Zain and I were friends, as well as cousins. I miss him.”
The anger she’d seen in Ali reared up again. Grief. Sorrow. “Does he have a family?”
“A wife and two sons.”
Her cell, more like an appendage, summoned her to an update. She read it and forwarded the report to Kord.
“Can you give me the contents?” Ali said.
“Parvin Shah wore a custom tailored suit. Came from Balani here in Houston. A bit extravagant for a woman to pose as a man. What terrorist group funds that kind of prop?”
“One with plenty of resources.”
“We have more and strong allies,” she said.
“They believe the same.”
KORD ENTERED PRINCESS GHARAM’S ROOM upon Prince Omar’s request. The solemn looks on Dr. Carlson’s and the nurse’s faces confirmed the grim news. Princess Gharam’s eyes were closed, and her face held the death shade of gray.
“She needs to be in intensive care,” the doctor said. “Her blood pressure has dipped seriously low. I’d like to make the necessary arrangements now.”
“No,” the woman uttered with her eyes still closed. “This room brings me comfort. If the end is coming, then I want to be here.” She cried out weakly as pain appeared to rush through her body.
Dr. Carlson bent over her. “There’s no need for you to suffer. And the end is not here if you’ll let me help you. We can lengthen your life.”
The prince took her hand. “Mother, please listen to the doctor. Take the pain medication so your body can fight the cancer.”
“Omar, I’m trying to be strong. But I’m so tired. All I want is to be with you and my daughters.”
“I’d like for you to be moved to intensive care and follow Dr. Carlson’s orders.”
Tears slipped over her cheeks. “If you think it’s best.”
He drew in a breath. “Is it wrong for me to want you awhile longer?”
She opened her eyes. “Son, I will do this for you.”
“I’ll get my sisters, and we’ll talk briefly, but then you must rest. I urge you to take the pain medication.”
She gave him a frail smile. “Not enough to put me to sleep.”
“A small dose?”
“Yes.” Her whisper came as an onslaught of agony sped through her.
“And you will find courage to fight the cancer? I want to take you home and watch you walk among the gardens. Tell my family stories of when we were children.”
“I will.”
“Promise?” When she nodded, he gently placed her hand back on the bed. “I spoke to Father earlier, and he’d like a word with you.” He lifted Fatima’s phone from his pocket.
“We haven’t spoken in a long time.”
The prince pressed in a number. “Yes, Father. Mother has given her word to obey the doctor.” He handed the phone to her.
The prince and Kord exited the room with Dr. Carlson.
“I need to speak to my sisters before they see her. To tell them the truth about her condition,” the prince said. “But first, Doctor, I have questions. In the medication that you prescribed for my mother, is there an antidepressant? I believe it would help.”
“She’s receiving a small dose, but I can increase it.”
“Is the pain medication administered intravenously?” the prince said.
“Yes. Would you like for her to have it now?”
“I can’t bear to see her suffer. Please, the full strength.”
“I’ll order it.” The doctor glanced at his watch. “She can be transported to ICU in about twenty minutes or so.”
Monica and Ali arrived, with Ali carrying a magnificent display of roses. Kord hoped Princess Gharam was coherent enough to enjoy them. He glanced at Monica, so glad she was here to help the sisters through what lay ahead. She had a way of lifting his spirits, as though challenging him in a single look to be a better man. Prince Omar left Kord with the doctor and approached Fatima and Yasmine.
“Do you speak English?” Dr. Carlson said to Kord.
“How can I help?” Wasn’t the first time he’d been mistaken for Middle Eastern.
“The prince needs to understand his mother’s deteriorating health. Boosting her morale is commendable, but it will take a miracle to put the cancer into remission.”
“Yes, sir. We’re here to support him.”
“Thank you. Your English is excellent.”
The sound of soft weeping indicated Fatima and Yasmine were aware of their mother’s condition.
A few minutes later, Prince Omar left his sisters in Monica’s care and approached Kord.
“I saw you with the doctor in my absence,” Prince Omar said. “What else did he have to say?” His words held the same sadness as when his wife and son were kidnapped—the same grief and the same refusal of acceptance.
“To help you through this. Prince Omar, I believe no one has the right to take away a fighting spirit. Princess Gharam is a strong woman.”
“I’ll give her your message.” He summoned Ali and lifted the flowers from his hands, then gestured to Fatima and Yasmine. “Come, let’s see our mother.”
MONICA STROLLED to a remote corner of the waiting area. To think. To process. Her priorities were vested in the mission with Prince Omar and his sisters. They were hurting, and her compassionate side wanted to fix it. Impossible. The regrettable decline of Princess Gharam implied she’d never leave the hospital.
The bodyguards and staff at the Saud home supported the prince. She could see it in their eyes and their resigned faces. They mourned the unfortunate diagnosis too.
Monica feared whoever had taken Parvin Shah’s place might take advantage of preoccupied bodyguards and strike again.
She must stay alert, not be distracted. Seeing Lori distressed her, but mending their friendship had to wait.
Kord took a seat beside her. “The prince has been hit
with too many tragedies this week.”
“I respect Prince Omar and see him as a man with many burdens.” She paused. “Although I don’t understand his willingness to put people in danger. Fatima and Yasmine have their own dreams and problems, and I care about them.” She looked into his eyes and a chill raced up her arms. Please, she didn’t need to fall for a man again. Except she was cratering.
“Princess Gharam will do whatever her son asks,” Kord said.
“Because she loves him, or is it the male dominance thing?” She drew in a quick breath. “I’m sorry. Doesn’t matter.”
“It’s okay. She loves him and her daughters.”
The frightening chill of attraction again. “Is Malik on schedule to head home?”
“He is. Never budged from his story.”
“Guilty or protecting someone?”
“Maybe both.”
“What does this mean for Yasmine?” she said.
“She’ll return to her studies and life in Riyadh. Luckily few know about her and Malik, and the prince will make sure the story isn’t retold.”
“Glad to hear it. Fatima and I are having our first self-defense class this afternoon.” She remembered. “Unless she’s needed here.”
“All depends on her mother’s resolve.”
“Why isn’t her husband here? Does it have anything to do with not being the favored wife?” Monica said.
“She and her husband haven’t gotten along for years. Probably happier apart, and she’s well taken care of in Saudi. Her life centers around her children and grandchildren.”
“A curious culture. Actually it’s much like couples who are married in name only.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “In Princess Gharam’s situation, I’m not sure what road I’d take with terminal cancer. I wouldn’t want others to see me struggle.”
“Sounds like you’ve thought about it.”
“You and I have seen far too many suffering people.”
“The difference is I have hope for heaven.”
“You’ve told me.”
“I can share more when you’re ready.”
“I’m looking.” He held up his hand. “End of discussion.”
Their phones alerted them to an incoming text. Monica read the DNA report gathered on the roof of Paramount High School when Zain was killed. “I loathe the word inconclusive,” she said.
“Nothing we can do about it.”
She scrolled through her phone for anything she might have missed.
“What’s your next assignment?” Kord said.
“Back to the coffeehouse until further orders.” The reminder of seeing Lori earlier brought a surge of remorse. Monica couldn’t blame her friend for eliminating her job, and it might be easier in the long term when she’d need to move on to another assignment. But Monica treasured her friendship with Lori and hated to see it end badly. “My cover might have been blown.”
“How?”
“Saw my friend and boss in the gift shop with Ali. She heard enough to guess I could be connected to the royal family.”
“She’s visiting here?”
“Yes. I’m debating whether to let it ride or text her.”
“Would she tell anyone?”
Monica blew out her angst. “She’s close to her mom and sister. Guess that answers it. I’d better take care of this now.” Reaching for her shoulder bag, she pulled out her personal cell and texted Lori. R u ok? She could be too upset to respond.
“Is this the first time she’s suspected anything?”
Monica told him about the man who’d asked for her at the coffee shop. “Lori said he was dark-skinned and had an accent.”
His eyes flared. “When were you going to tell me this?”
“I’m sorry. I agreed to the trust thing and didn’t follow through. So I’d planned to go over it with you after I viewed the camera footage from the coffee shop.”
“When?” Kord’s tone indicated his anger, and she couldn’t blame him.
“Tonight. I have a key if you want to join me.”
“Glad we had the discussion about trust.”
“You made your point. Are you going or not?”
“What do you think?”
Her phone alerted her to a text, and she read aloud. “It’s from Lori. ‘Should I be okay?’”
Kord peered into her face. “See if she’s available now. You can’t let this slide.”
Can we talk? R u still here?
Yes
Outside gift shop in 5?
OK
Monica stood. “If you need me, text.”
“The doctor said twenty minutes if the estimate’s accurate. May need to reschedule the press conference.”
On the elevator, she prayed for wisdom. Strength to lie? That sounded real biblical.
She made her way to the gift shop and Lori—who stood with her arms crossed. Monica formed a semblance of a smile with little clue how to lie and not lie. Both mattered, but one always held priority.
“Shall we find a quiet place?” Monica said.
“I’d rather stay right here. Where’s your friend?”
“Busy.”
“Is he a bodyguard for the Saudi prince or the press secretary? Or both?”
“You’re upset, and I’m sorry.”
“Sorry enough to tell me the truth?”
Monica studied Lori’s fury and fear. This was her sister-friend, but she could not and would not give away her role with the CIA.
“Monica?”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“They’re the same.”
“Afraid that would be your answer. Are you in trouble with the wrong people?”
“No.”
“Are you wanted by the law?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Family issues?”
Monica shook her head.
“Does it have anything to do with the man asking for you?”
“I have no idea.”
“Pretty serious stuff?”
Monica stared. No lame excuses. “Trust me?”
“I want to, but this is surreal.”
Monica kept her composure.
“The guy you were with is a bodyguard. I saw his photo online. Anything else you can tell me?”
Awkward.
“Is Monica Alden your real name?”
“Does it matter? Aren’t we friends? Think about the times we’ve laughed, cried, worked alongside each other. Prayed?”
“When you put it in those terms, I have to support you.”
“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”
“Will you ever be able to tell me what’s going on?”
“No.”
Lori breathed in and swiped beneath her eye. “More to pray about. What can I do?”
“Never breathe a word of your suspicions. Never bring up the subject, no matter how private the setting. When we’re together, I have your back. Always have. Always will.”
“I promise.”
“I need to get back.”
“No more questions,” Lori said. “Call when you can.”
Monica hugged her. “Love you, sweet friend.”
“Get some rest. You look tired.”
“For the record, my name is Monica Alden.”
She walked to the elevator and texted Kord. OMW. All ok.
The 3 r still busy
Monica shook off her cover at Coffee Gone Dark. This was her reality.
BY NOON, Princess Gharam was resting comfortably in intensive care. Her vitals had improved, and she assured her family she’d not give up. Prince Omar confided in Kord that his father had encouraged her to hurry home.
“Father knows she won’t survive the hospital,” Prince Omar said. “I respect his supporting her.”
“Do me a favor?” Kord said.
“Depends.”
“Change clothes with me for the ride back.”
“Have you been notified of
danger?”
“It stalks you.”
He breathed out a ragged sigh. “I suppose.”
“And take the second limo.”
He raised a brow. “You ask much, my friend.”
“As I said, danger stalks you.”
The prince agreed and rode in the limo with Monica.
The press conference at the Saud home would take place at two o’clock. Security bounded the grounds like a linked fence.
Shortly before the hour, hand-selected reporters arrived and were led to the natatorium, where a catered display of exquisite Middle Eastern food awaited them. Prince Omar arrived at the appointed time, smiling and shaking hands while Kord zeroed in on every person in the crowd. The other bodyguards took their stances in strategic spots, doing what they did best. A quick glance across the room showed Monica entrenched in her job. He’d seen something earlier in her eyes, an interest that he’d felt more than once. His attraction was serious, and it gave him a jolt of fear. Never believed he’d think seriously about the future with a woman, and in a few days, he’d done exactly what he claimed would not happen. At the end of this assignment, if she was willing, he wanted to spend time finding what made Operative Monica Alden choose a covert role while swearing allegiance to God.
Why kid himself? He had lots of questions for and about her.
The prince made his way to a seating area for a brief speech followed by a Q&A. Cameras videoed for the early evening news, and reporters snapped pics. Prince Omar welcomed the press and thanked them for their attendance.
“Saudi Arabia is on a sixteen-year plan to economically change our country to rely less on crude oil. We are striving to enhance our culture, attract tourists, develop more educational opportunities, and increase the power of the military.
“Our universities are seeing more Saudi Arabian females graduating, and we’re in turn adding women to our workforce. My goal is to broaden relations between our countries by proposing programs that add growth to our economies.”
A reporter stood to pose a question. “Over a year ago, Dennis Rose wrote in the Washington Post, ‘Skeptics have questioned whether Saudi Arabia can fulfill these goals, either because of a traditional culture that limits women too much, a workforce lacking key educational skills, or resistance from the conservative religious establishment.’ What are your thoughts?”