by DiAnn Mills
No way could she help the prince when every breath hurt.
Who cared anyway?
Coward slammed into her mind.
The word penetrated her soul—what it meant, the color of giving up, not who she was and what she stood for. Her faith. Her being.
A war within herself.
A splattering of heavy raindrops beat against her, enforcing the desire to find shelter. At the rear of the Ferris wheel, a roller coaster jutted up against a threatening sky.
Whom do you serve?
God wasn’t fair.
The sound of Kord calling her name caused her to whirl around.
“Are you okay?”
She blew out a burst of agony, mental . . . physical. “Did you see what happened?”
“Jafar has the prince trapped at the top of the Ferris wheel.”
“And I’ve got to finish my job.” She half walked, half ran to the roller coaster, where she reached for the metal and started an ascent.
“Are you crazy?”
She smiled back at him. “Has there ever been any doubt?”
Lightning sliced across the sky, so close the back of her neck tingled.
“Monica, you’ll be killed.”
“Then get a sniper in place to take out Jafar. You’ve got to have my back. Promise?” She swung him one last look and jerked out her earbud. He’d distract her climb, and she had to concentrate on what lay ahead.
“Whatever it takes. Monica, I’m not letting you do this alone.”
She ignored him because she feared what he was about to do. He mattered, but protecting the prince came first.
Water soaked her and made the climb slippery, but the raging storm did not match her will to stop Jafar before he killed Prince Omar and many other innocent people. She’d not fail a second time. A quick look down showed Kord moving upward behind her on a parallel metal support beam.
She loved that man.
JAFAR WANTED TO STAND and shout his success from the gondola. After Parvin’s, Youssof’s, and Malik’s failures, he’d succeeded in trapping Prince Omar. Surviving this was impossible for either of them, but it didn’t matter when he would have vengeance for his sister’s death.
“Down on the floorboard,” he said.
Prince Omar squeezed into the narrow space at their feet, and Jafar lowered himself beside the man. He held his gun to the prince’s head with one hand, his other hand on the dead-man switch. “I claim victory for all those who seek your death.”
“What is this about?”
“Your press secretary and his conservative following sold you out to the highest bidder.”
“Parvin Shah. Malik paid her.”
Jafar fought to keep from triggering the bomb. “Malik will be executed, but you don’t know the names of the others in your country against you.”
“Saudi security has every name, every opposition to moving our country ahead. Neither the conservatives nor our enemies will stop progress.”
Jafar slammed a fist into Omar’s jaw. “Youssof told me about Malik. He had big plans for your sister.”
The prince’s face reddened.
“Move, and I trigger the bomb.” Jafar laughed. “If Malik slit his own mother’s throat, what would he do to Yasmine? He was one step ahead of you for so long.” He stared up at the dark sky, ready to strike before he ended it for himself and the prince.
“He was caught before he touched my sister.”
“Ah, but by then they had access to all Malik knew about you.”
“Who recruited Parvin?”
Why not tell Omar the truth? They both were about to die. “Malik. He enlisted Youssof’s help too. Got him to send a virus to your phone. Money talks, Prince.” He spat the title. “When he shorted Parvin on the advance, she sent the e-mail that implicated him.” Jafar laughed. “I tried to get to Youssof when he was in the hospital. Dressed as an old woman. But Allah saw fit to take his life and end Malik’s.”
Prince Omar dragged his tongue across his lips. “This is between us, not all these innocent people.”
“My only regret is not spending more time at the library. There I read so many books about the US.” Jafar smirked. “The best way to have victory over the enemy is to learn all about them.”
“Who—?”
“Shut up. We’re done talking.” He lifted a small pair of binoculars to his eyes. “Your bodyguards and cops are moving into place. Just what I wanted.” He held up the dead-man switch. “Are you ready?”
IN THE TORRENTIAL RAIN, Kord stared up at Monica struggling to reach the top of the roller coaster. “Let me do this. You aren’t in any shape to take down the killer.”
“No thanks.”
“Between the lightning and pneumonia—”
“Kord, hush. I’m going to finish this.”
“Correction: we are.”
Ali spoke to him in the earbud. “Allah be with you both.”
“God is. Both of us,” Kord said. “I’m sure of it.” He joined Monica about ten feet from where the cars traveled to the top of the tallest hill. From there, one of them would have a clear shot at Jafar. Both men were crouched on the floorboard of the gondola.
Why hadn’t Jafar detonated the bomb? Could the man possibly be afraid? Kord prayed so.
A chill settled on Kord. The storm only added to the difficulty of taking the killer down and increased the risk of him blowing himself up and others. If he or Monica were able to take a shot at Jafar, Prince Omar must immediately hold the dead-man switch down. The prince was no stranger to the stakes, and Kord believed he’d be ready.
Kord’s attention swerved to the tiny woman climbing higher on the roller-coaster tracks. He followed while keeping his sights on Jafar and Prince Omar. Sirens wailed and thunder pounded along with the rain. What chance did they have?
“You care for Miss Alden,” Ali said into his earbud. “Together you can do this.”
“You have feelings too.”
“I care for what she represents and her beauty. You love her heart. It’s in your face when you look at her.”
Later Kord would talk to Monica. “Who’s with you?”
“Saad, Inman, and Wasi.”
“Wasi needs a doctor.”
“The prince’s welfare comes first.”
All a force to be reckoned with, but none of them were in a position to prevent the bomb from going off once Kord or Monica put a bullet in Jafar’s head.
“I keep going over it in my head,” Kord said. “We don’t have a choice but to believe Prince Omar will do everything he can to stop Jafar from detonating the bomb.”
Ali’s voice rang over his earbud. “If we do nothing, the prince and all of us are killed.”
Lightning struck several yards away, followed by an explosion of thunder.
“Monica, we have to take Jafar out. Pray the prince is able to stop the bomb.”
He watched her put her earbud into place. “Ali, tell the others to take cover.”
“We’re here to support you,” he said.
“You’ll get yourself killed. Kord, I need to be higher up the track before I can take a shot. Cover me.”
He shielded his eyes in the blinding rain, barely able to make out her form. “You got it. Monica, the lightning is worse.”
“Hush. I need quiet. Do you like to ride horses?”
She hadn’t lost it, only calming herself. “Every chance I get.”
She crawled to an incline where the ride took a plunge, and he moved up too. “My parents have horses,” she said. “Promised Mom I’d visit over Memorial Day.”
“Can I come?”
“They will think we’re together.”
“We are.”
God, I’m new at this. But please take care of Monica.
“Jafar sees her,” Ali said.
Kord’s attention flew to the Ferris wheel. Jafar and Prince Omar struggled.
Monica took her shot.
Jafar’s head jerked back, and he slumped over the
side of the gondola. The prince wrapped his own hand around Jafar’s left.
Thank You.
The rain beat harder.
Lightning flashed.
Thunder roared.
Prince Omar was alive.
KORD AND MONICA CLIMBED DOWN the metal support beam to the ground. He couldn’t get to her fast enough. Knowing her, she’d have a gunshot wound and not tell him. He reached for her, and she fell into his embrace. Neither was concerned about anyone watching.
“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he said, his fingers weaving through her wet hair.
“I don’t want to scare myself like that again.” Her words were light, but she trembled. Her body shook with a cough.
He refused to comment. The FBI doctor would be making another house call.
They made their way to the Ferris wheel operator, who lowered Prince Omar and Jafar’s body to ground level. The prince held tight to Jafar’s left hand until the bomb squad stepped in to disarm the explosives.
Free of the bomb, Prince Omar stepped off the gondola, his head high and his shirt stained with blood. A bruise discolored the right side of his face. “I’m fine. The blood is Jafar’s.” He reached out and gripped Kord’s hand. “My friend, it is good to be alive. We have information to help us stop the plot.” He turned to Ali and repeated the gesture and words. With a smile he greeted his other bodyguards one by one. “Miss Alden, you saved my life.”
She was drenched, her breathing ragged. “I’m relieved you’re safe.” She averted her eyes. Kord’s girl honored the prince, although without her, he’d be dead.
“Thanks to you, the nightmare is over.”
“Everyone did their part. Mine was small. It’s been an honor to serve you.”
“How can I repay the sacrifices you’ve made?”
A smile touched her lips. “Perhaps not getting pneumonia in this weather.” A cough broke, and she clenched her chest. Kord held her tightly.
“You need medical care immediately.” The prince gestured to Kord and pointed to an ambulance. “Perhaps a paramedic can help.”
She nodded. “I’m sorry about Princess Gharam.”
“She is at peace. I’ll be escorting her body home to Riyadh as soon as arrangements are made. She fought courageously.”
“I’ll always remember her strength.”
Kord helped her walk toward the ambulance. “Are you ready to consider us?”
“I am. Scared.”
“Me too. I’m thinking an operative and an agent would be a dynamic team.”
“I’d take another round of double pneumonia to hear those words.”
He bent to kiss her. “Not necessary.”
“Remember when you said I should be kissed every day?”
“Yep.”
“I want to take you up on it.”
Kord had little to say during dinner. Exhaustion and relief left him craving sleep. When the meal was over, Prince Omar invited Kord, Monica, his sisters, Ali, and his other bodyguards and staff to the natatorium. Quiet conversation accompanied strong coffee, fruit, and dates while the pool’s fountain offered soft sounds. They spoke of Princess Gharam and how much she’d be missed.
Fatima and Yasmine hosted tear-filled eyes with Monica nestled between them. She should be in bed, but Kord knew his girl and the priority of her responsibilities. The doctor requested hospitalization, but Prince Omar insisted she be treated at his home as before, at least for tonight.
“Miss Alden, do you remember when I suggested we discuss our faiths?” the prince said.
“Yes.”
What did this mean? A conversation now?
“Thank you for showing me what yours means to you.”
Whoa. Kord hadn’t expected that comment.
“Jafar told me a few things while on the . . . ride this afternoon,” Prince Omar said and repeated Malik’s treachery. “Fatima and Yasmine, for tonight only, I give you permission to ask questions. I’ve shielded you from many things, and I will continue. But you may speak.” Lines fanned from his eyes. “I wouldn’t want either of you using self-defense on me.” He rose, took both their hands, then resumed his position.
“I’m thankful this is over,” Fatima said, “and you’re safe.”
“I’m so fortunate to have you for my brother,” Yasmine said. “I will study hard and make my family proud.”
“I can hear it in your voice,” he said.
“Did he say what lured Youssof?” Yasmine said. “I met his sisters in Riyadh, and they were kind.”
“Youth are drawn into causes, especially when those with wealth and power are depicted as the enemy. Instead of searching for reasons why actions and laws are in place, they choose rebellion. The relief is Rashid and his wife and daughters were not aware of how deeply Youssof was involved. I ordered their release earlier and spoke to Rashid.”
“Brother,” Yasmine said, “after severing the conservatives’ plot, how soon will it take for them to regroup?”
Prince Omar shook his head. “I’d say as soon as they receive word of the fate of those who are dead. Security is questioning those in power among the conservatives. They will suffer. I’m more determined to continue my plan of leasing our oil reserves. I’m sending you and Fatima home with our mother tomorrow. I’ll accompany you and return in a few days to finish my work.”
Tonight Kord refused to think of warring countries, assassination attempts, the innocent caught up in the middle of bloodshed, or one beautiful lady dodging lightning to save a man who might never fully value her gender.
Tonight he held on to peace and all he’d learned over the past two weeks about a real God, friendship, and new love.
EPILOGUE
7 MONTHS LATER
Soft music floated from the church’s sanctuary, and Monica counted twenty minutes and forty-five seconds before Dad walked her down the aisle. With the way her stomach fluttered, she might need a skateboard. Dad had eight more minutes before he knocked on the door.
“You look like a princess.” Lori fussed with her bridal train.
“I feel like a blundering idiot.”
“Just think about who’s meeting you at the altar.”
Monica giggled. “I know. I’m so lucky.” Kord had entered her life as the least likely candidate for a future husband. But they’d fallen in love. A fairy tale for a woman who believed happiness and family might never happen. Definitely a God thing.
“I think he’s the lucky one.” Lori stood back and gave her a head-to-toe once-over. “Sure glad you’re settling down. The business with the Saudis was far too dangerous.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Monica and Kord had no intentions of giving up their careers. She’d continue until they had children. Neither would they stop showing Prince Omar what a Christian looked like.
A text landed in her phone. She knew it was Kord without looking.
Send a pic of yourself?
“Don’t think so, my love.” She typed, Bad luck.
“Is he wanting to see you?” Lori said.
“What do you think?” Another text arrived.
UR tearing my heart out.
U need a hobby.
I have 1 - U.
“What am I going to do with him?” she said.
“Marry him.”
“Good idea.” Monica typed. B nice & I’ll marry U.
I Luv U.
Luv U 2. Is UR best man close?
In all his regalia. Ali’s right beside him and Blake. And Pastor.
UR parents?
Sitting in church. Just need u.
Who would have ever thought when she took that call in March, she’d find peace with God. A mission completed. And Kord Davidson to love for the rest of her life.
FOUR THIRTY THURSDAY MORNING, and FBI Special Agent April Ramos battled depression. She should be in bed after the earlier ordeal, but sleep evaded her. The walls of her cubicle seemed to close in, strangling her with memories of the 1 a.m. crime. Fresh. Raw. Unbearable in ever
y sense of the word.
She’d handled a hostage negotiation, and it ended in tragic shootings. If the young mother survived, she’d face the rest of her life in a wheelchair. The shooter, the woman’s husband, had sent a bullet into her spine and turned the gun on himself. A two-year-old saw the burst of insanity unfold. April hoped the little boy could erase the tragedy from his mind forever.
She doubted she’d ever forget how a few choices caused a child to lose both parents. In the six years she’d worked hostage negotiation, she’d lost only two people. This morning’s shooting might have been prevented if she’d arrived on the scene a few minutes earlier.
She’d walked into the situation with a man wielding a gun while his wife screamed for him to put it down. April’s attempt to talk the wife and husband down met with disaster. The limited SWAT team had her back—great people whom she loved—but she’d hesitated, thinking her skills controlled a favorable outcome. Lack of time had been her adversary, preventing her from digging deep for the man’s emotional label, from keeping the dialogue flowing. A solid psychological assessment never happened.
Normally she negotiated from the office via phone. This morning she not only worked alone without a complete NOC—Negotiation Operation Center—but in person. Why hadn’t she let the SWAT commander take over?
“Need to talk?” Special Agent Simon Neilson stood at the opening of her cubicle, his premature white hair depicting wisdom.
“I’ll be okay.”
“Sure you will.”
She forced a thin smile. “Time is a healer, and experience limits future mistakes.” She shook her head. “Wish I could believe my own advice. Any word on the woman’s condition?”
“The doctor says she’ll pull through.”
For what? To raise her son without showing him how to skip and run? She’d never be able to teach him how to swim or play ball. Abhorrently unfair, and the searing through April’s stomach proved it. “Does she know her husband’s dead?”
“Her father will tell her once she’s stabilized.”
“After she’s aware of her husband’s suicide, I’ll visit her.”