by C. J. Miller
“Say that last part again,” Harris said. How was this bombing being twisted into a crime committed by America?
“We’ve heard some chatter that some media outlets believe it was either an accidental, misdirected missile or overt scare tactic by America to force the emir to agree to the terms of the trade agreement.”
Frustration coursed through Harris. Count on the media and separatists groups to speculate and start rumors blaming America. Trouble would come if those lies were believed and accepted by the public.
Would they have to reschedule the emir’s wedding? If it was canceled, it reduced their chances of catching Al-Adel. If Al-Adel had been involved in the bombing, why? Where was he now? He’d been known to be hands-on with other bombings. He could be in the vicinity.
“I can’t talk much now, but I wanted to let you know I’m okay. I’ll call later,” Harris said.
“No problem. Check your email when you can,” Tyler said. “I’ll send you anything I can find about the incident.”
Tyler and the team would compile the information Harris needed to assess the level of threat to his personal safety and to Laila’s. If they had to abandon the mission, the CIA would pull Harris and Laila out of the country as soon as possible.
“Hey, anything about my earlier request?” Harris asked. He glanced at the strong, beautiful woman next to him. He wouldn’t forget her. He couldn’t lose her.
Tyler cleared his throat. “You’ll get the official response from someone other than me, but it’s a no. I know you got involved, and you care about Laila, but you have to let her go. I’m sorry.”
Harris closed his eyes. He’d heard the words but couldn’t process them. Couldn’t accept them or begin to think about what they’d mean for him and Laila. He was emotionally wrung by the scene around him, by seeing the devastation and now this. He said goodbye and disconnected the call.
Harris took a deep breath and hid his sadness from Laila. He couldn’t accept never seeing her again. She meant too much to him. “My brother says the media is reporting the emir is okay, and they don’t know who is responsible for the bombing, but they suspect it was Al-Adel.”
Laila shoved her hair away from her face. Her long hair was braided, but strands had come loose during her work. It was the first time he had seen her hair while she was in public in Qamsar. In the wake of the disaster, cultural modesty was unimportant. “Why would someone do this? What’s the point? So much destruction and death.”
Harris put his arm around her shoulder. It felt like a rebellion against the CIA even if they couldn’t see him. “I know it seems senseless. I can’t explain it.” Even as a profiler, he couldn’t fully explain the psyche of a mass bomber. He could give textbook reasons, but he didn’t understand them.
If someone was trying to kill the emir, they had gone to a lot of trouble and made a mistake at the last moment. Or had the bombing been about something else?
“Let’s call the compound and ask for a ride. We could attempt to walk, but all of a sudden, I’m exhausted,” Laila said. She rubbed her thighs and the back of her legs.
His eyes followed the movement, and he ached to replace her hands with his own. The present situation had given way to more liberties, but now that the immediate danger had passed, the rules were in force. He couldn’t touch her publicly, and he shouldn’t touch her privately. In the past several days, they had crossed the line too many times, and he didn’t know if he could rein in his desires again and again without going crazy.
If the CIA had their way, Laila would disappear from his life. How could he stop that?
He placed his concern for her at the forefront of his mind, behind the lust that consumed his thoughts. “When we get back to the compound, take a long, hot bath. Drink as much water as you can stand. We worked hard today, and your body will feel it.”
He called the compound and requested a car pick them up. “Do you think you can walk farther? The police have the area secured, and we need to get outside the lockdown.”
Laila groaned, but stood. “I can manage. But tell me, how will you unwind? I don’t see you as the hot bath type.”
No, he didn’t like hot baths. “Hot shower and stretches for my muscles. Food. Water. Sleep.”
“I could give you a back rub,” she said.
Harris’s overtired body wasn’t too exhausted to ignore her invitation. Excitement quivered along his spine. “That would be forbidden.”
“You and I have done some forbidden things. I don’t know of any reputable masseurs in this area. I’m your best option.”
Even if other masseurs in the area were available, she’d still be his best option, his top pick. “We’ll see what we can manage. But you’ll have to let me return the favor.”
He felt her gaze on him. He glanced to meet it. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
She brushed her braid over her shoulder and straightened. “This relationship is American. I never thought I would have this.”
Interesting observation. “What about this seems American to you?”
“I lived in America for two years. I had friends. I heard stories. I saw movies. Americans are much more liberal with touching.” Behind the dirt on her cheek, he caught her blushing. He loved that about her, spirited and innocent at the same time.
“That’s one way to put it,” he said. “Most relationships I’ve seen in America are less conservative. That might not always be a good thing.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Meaning?”
“Meaning, you’re less jaded, and your heart is more open.” Laila was different from the women he’d dated, and he liked those differences.
“This is new to me,” she said. “What we have now, and the life I’ll have soon.”
Her new life in America would be filled with changes. “You’ll love it. You’ll do great.”
She rolled her shoulders as if trying to unknot tension. “I wish I had your confidence. It’s a big adjustment.”
“You won’t be alone,” he said. “You’ll have your mom and Saafir.”
She stilled for a moment. “And you? Did your team agree you could see me?”
He couldn’t tell her the CIA had denied his request. He was too devastated to comfort her. Too angry to admit defeat. He wouldn’t lie, either. “It’s not a done deal. Give me time to work something out.”
* * *
Harris and Laila were greeted at the compound like heroes. Word of what had happened on the scene had spread, thanks to the other thirty-one healthy people who had made it safely to the compound.
Though the emir was not present, Aisha and Saafir welcomed them. Saafir tugged his sister into his arms and hugged her close.
“Mikhail cannot be here to thank you for what you did,” Saafir said to Harris. “But please accept our warmest gratitude for looking after the members of our family as if they were your own.” The look of gratitude in Saafir’s eyes ran true, but Harris wasn’t ready to discount the possibility of his involvement with the brotherhood.
Harris accepted his outstretched hands and squeezed firmly. “I did what anyone would have done.”
The look in Aisha’s eyes could have turned sand to glass. Harris didn’t know Aisha well, but she seemed more annoyed than anything. Perhaps she didn’t like having attention stolen from her wedding. He didn’t get a strong reading from her one way or another. She was probably worried about Mikhail and scared that Qamsar was under siege.
“I am sure you’ll want to get clean and rested. I will send meals to your rooms, so you might relax tonight. Please call on me directly if you need anything,” Saafir said.
Harris thanked him for his kindness, assuring him it was unnecessary. He wanted time alone to process what had happened. He couldn’t shake his anger and frustration regarding the bombing, and also knowing the CIA planned to cut him off from Laila when this was over. Both events were demoralizing.
He glanced at Laila. Her head was down and her hands clasped in front of her. She had been
amazing at the scene, and she’d returned to being demure when the situation called for it. The change was remarkable. He wasn’t sure he liked it.
He returned to his room, tired and beat. Harris sat on the wooden chair in the corner facing the window. He didn’t want to mar the lovely white sateen sheets with his dirty clothes and shoes, but he didn’t have the energy to get in the shower.
A tap sounded on his door, and he called out, “Come in.”
He expected dinner and was surprised to see Saafir. After an initial moment of awkwardness, Saafir entered and closed the door behind him.
“I know you want to marry my sister,” Saafir said. “Yet her ring finger is bare.”
Saafir wanted to get into an argument about his intentions for Laila now? Harris stood. “I haven’t had the chance—”
Saafir held up his hand. “Please sit. I know you are tired. I haven’t had the opportunity to speak with you much. My brother prefers to handle these matters, but with him away, I wanted to give you something.” He withdrew a box from his pocket. “My sister is a princess. Both in the literal sense of the word and in our hearts. This is a ring that belonged to our great-great-grandmother. It has been worn by four generations of women before they were married. Though it is simple in its design, all who wear it have happy marriages. I understand you may have your own family heirloom to present to Laila or perhaps something else in mind entirely, but this is a promise you may give to her now. It comes with our family blessing.”
Saafir held out the ring, and it took Harris a moment to catch Saafir’s meaning. “You want me to give this to your sister along with a promise?”
“Only if it is your desire to marry her.”
Harris took the ring box and opened it. Inside was a gold band with an intricate scrawl on it. Lovely. Simply. Elegant. Like Laila. Saafir was offering a family treasure for Harris to give to Laila. It had meaning to their family. Harris hated the lie he was living, but he couldn’t blow his cover. He accepted the ring, his heart heavy.
* * *
Harris had been right. After scrubbing the grime off her body and washing her hair twice, Laila filled the oversize tub with water and bubbles, and climbed in. It felt amazing to relax. Her back ached, her feet hurt, and her arms and legs were worn to the bone. If only she had a distraction. Something to busy her mind from the shocking images she’d seen that day.
It was the second time in her life she had been a victim of a bombing. She and Harris had helped some. Others were beyond help. The injuries and the hurt clawed at her heart, followed quickly by anger. Why had Al-Adel done this? Though the Qamsarian government hadn’t released information pinning the bombing on Al-Adel, she believed he and the Holy Light Brotherhood were to blame.
How could her brother, either brother, work with Al-Adel and his network of terrorists? Didn’t they see the horror Al-Adel’s actions caused?
Laila closed her eyes and tried to think positive thoughts. She would go crazy stewing on the awfulness of the day. Think about the thirty-one people who had gotten out of the aquarium, my family. The people who had evacuated buildings in the area and had helped others get to safety. The dedicated first responders who were working the scene and would work the scene until they had done everything they could.
And Harris. Think about Harris. He was a hero.
His body. His strength. His ability to give commands and to take commands when the situation was appropriate. He’d looked out for the people around him. He’d put himself last and the safety of others first. Those were the actions of an admirable man.
Their relationship was fragile and new, even more precarious because she didn’t know what she was doing. She couldn’t interpret what Harris planned, and she didn’t have anyone with more experience with men she could ask.
When the water was too cool to be comfortable, she let it drain and climbed out of the tub. She put on her softest, most comfortable sleepwear, fixed her hair and called the concierge for dinner to be brought to her room.
As she heard a knock at her door, she pulled a scarf over her head and wrapped a long robe over her pajamas.
Her dinner was wheeled in on a two-tier silver cart. “Is all this food for me?”
The woman who’d brought the food laughed. “Yes. The chef said the family heroine is probably hungry. He’s prepared for you his specialties and made sure I’d tell you not to hesitate to ask for seconds.”
Laila blushed. She wasn’t accustomed to such hospitality. Even when she’d lived in the private quarters of the compound, she wasn’t given this much service. “Thank you for this. This is so kind.”
The woman left the room, and Laila pushed the cart bedside.
She jumped when she saw a shadow move in the corner of the room. Harris.
He stepped into the light. “Almost got caught,” he said in English.
He’d also showered and changed, his light hair wet and his clothes formal. Where was he planning to go in a western-style black suit, stiff-collared white shirt, no tie, open collar, all handsome? “What are you doing here?”
“Everyone thinks I’m dining on my five-course meal in my room and then grabbing some sleep. Perfect excuse to slip away and check on you.”
Something in his tone caught her attention. Exhaustion? Worry? “Everything okay with you?” she asked.
Harris rolled his shoulders and glanced away for a moment. “Rough day. Can we pretend for a few hours that we’re alone and all that—” he pointed to the doors to her room “—doesn’t exist?”
She took a bottle of water from the cart and tossed it to him. “We are alone, and yes, we can pretend.” She understood what he was going through. She was experiencing some of the same troubling emotions. He needed understanding and gentleness to combat the day’s horrors. She would do what she could to soothe his restless thoughts. Be a compassionate ear. Be a sounding board. Whatever he needed.
He took the cap off the water bottle. “Have you eaten? You’ve worked hard today.”
“Not yet. Do you want to join me? There’s enough for both of us.”
“I ate in my room, but I won’t turn away more food,” Harris said.
Laila pulled back the bedspread and laid the plates of food in the middle. “Help yourself. We can eat buffet style.”
The kitchen staff had outdone themselves with the selection of foods. Fresh fruit, perfectly cooked meats, flavorful vegetables and warm fresh bread were artfully arranged on the platters.
“This is amazing room service,” Harris said. “I’ve stayed in five-star hotels with far less impressive dishes.”
“That’s the benefit of having a private chef prepare the meal,” Laila said, taking a bite of melon. “Everything is prepared to please.”
They ate until they were full, and then Laila pulled the platters that contained dessert from the tray.
Harris set his hand over his stomach. “I can’t eat anything else.”
Laila gathered up the platters and set them on the serving cart. “We’ll save them for later, then.”
“How about that massage now?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows at her.
She flexed her fingers. “I’ll give it a try.”
Harris grinned, pulled off his suit jacket and flipped onto his stomach, stretching out and making a sound of contentment. “I would ask you to start where it hurts, but everything hurts.”
Laila had never given a man a massage before, but she understood the concept. She knelt next to Harris and started at his neck. She rubbed her fingers over the knotted muscles.
“Is this okay?” she asked, a pang of insecurity striking her.
“Feels great,” he said, his voice low and calm.
Two simple words that tripped her into an emotional free fall. Instead of worrying about doing it wrong, she focused on Harris, on massaging his shoulders and along his spine. She skipped over his buttocks, not feeling right about touching him in such a private place.
He shifted and let out a long breath. “Everythin
g you’re doing is amazing. I haven’t felt this relaxed since we arrived.”
She let her fingers work over the taut muscles at the back of his thighs. “It’s been a tense few days.” A gentle prompt if he wanted to talk. Their visit to the jail. The bombing. The mission.
“You got that right.” He skimmed his hand along her leg. “Let me give you a massage. You don’t have to do all the work.”
She wasn’t sure if she was prepared to have his hands on her. Whenever she was in his arms, he unhinged her. Her body reacted so easily to his touch. “I had a hot bath. I’m fine.”
He rolled slightly to the side and let his head rest on his propped hand. “You seem tense. Give it a try. If you don’t like it, we’ll stop.”
Sounded reasonable except when factoring in the slightest touch could evoke an immediate physical response. But what could a few minutes hurt? Her muscles were aching, her body feeling the physical effects of the day. “I’ll try it sitting up.”
“Sure, no problem.”
She turned and gave him her back, letting her legs dangle over the edge of the bed.
He took her head scarf and carefully removed it from her head. “I saw your beautiful hair today. You should wear it loose all the time.” He touched the end of her hair where she had wound a braid into a bun. “May I?” he asked.
She nodded and he carefully removed the bobby pins she’d used to hold her hair in place. He untied the end of the braid and unwound her hair. Running his fingers through the dark strands, it fell around her shoulders.
Then his hands were against the bare skin of her neck. She shivered at the contact.
“Is this okay? Is the pressure okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, closing her eyes against the onslaught of emotions. The tenderness with which he touched her, the softness of his voice and the caress of his fingers had a tranquilizing effect on her racing thoughts.