by C. J. Miller
His hands slid over her shoulders and the tension of the day melted away. Her body singed with white-hot awareness, every inch of her skin crying out for his attention. She wanted to lay beside him and curl her body into his, to feel his arms around her and the strength of his body against hers. The day had been difficult, and she needed something to anchor her, to reaffirm to her that life was good, and that decent people and happiness was part of it.
“I can’t believe I’ve never done this before. It feels great,” she said.
“It was a rough day. You must be exhausted.”
Gradually excitement was overtaking tired. Though she’d expended every ounce of energy she had had helping at the scene, a second wind fluttered through her veins. “The shower and food helped.” And his hands. His magical hands melted away some of the day’s horror and fear.
Laila leaned against him, letting him support her weight, the small circles from his hands sending plumes of pleasure over her.
“Do you want to lie down?” he asked.
The question should have alarmed her, and on some level she was aware she was shifting to rest her head on the bed. His hands moved over her, slow and methodical, her body going boneless into the mattress.
When she awoke, the room was dark. She rolled over and found Harris sleeping beside her, facing her. He’d left off his jacket, but wore the rest of his clothes. He was beneath the sheets with her.
Trust.
The word flew into her mind. Harris trusted her. Though he hadn’t wanted to talk much, he’d wanted to be with her. Had she gotten through to him? Had she made him see that she was a woman worthy of his trust? His history with women made it difficult for him to let anyone into his circle.
If he did, it wasn’t one-sided. She trusted Harris. She had fallen asleep, and he had put a pillow under her head and covered her with the sheet. He’d stayed with her, not touching.
He’d taken care of her. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and she noticed some of his hair had fallen over his forehead. She brushed it away.
“Hey, you,” he said, not opening his eyes. “Do you want me to leave?”
No. She didn’t. “Stay with me.”
She slid closer to Harris, and he draped an arm over her.
Chapter 10
Harris awoke at 4:00 a.m. He was in Laila’s room. She was tucked against him. He reached for his phone which had slid out of his pocket and onto the mattress. He checked his messages from his team again. The last he had heard, the emir was hiding underground, and the police were placing responsibility for the bombing on the shoulders of the Holy Light Brotherhood.
His questions about the incident returned. If Mikhail was working with Al-Adel, why would Al-Adel set off a bomb in the middle of Doha’s art and social district when Mikhail was scheduled to be there with his family? Had something gone wrong in their relationship? Or was Mikhail on board with the bombing?
If the emir was involved, what purpose did the bombing serve? From what Harris’s team knew of Mikhail, he loved Qamsar. He loved the culture and people. If he wanted to stall change, he could affect it through his position.
Unless Harris and his team had been wrong about Mikhail working with Al-Adel and the Holy Light Brotherhood. The jailed American spy had warned him that someone in the emir’s inner circle—at least one other person—couldn’t be trusted. Could Saafir be behind the bombing?
A violent attack was contrary to Saafir’s nature, or at least to the persona he portrayed. If Saafir was working with the Holy Light Brotherhood, he could be setting the stage to take over as emir if something happened to Mikhail. Perhaps the bombing in the cultural district had been targeting Mikhail, and he and Aisha had been unreasonably lucky.
Every time Harris had interacted with Saafir, he had seemed kind and considerate. He’d given Harris a family heirloom to present to Laila. How could the same person work with a cold-blooded mass bomber?
Harris gently shook Laila’s shoulder. He hated to wake her, but he wanted to run his theory past her.
“Do you think Saafir had anything to do with the bombing?” Harris asked.
“What?” Laila asked, exhaustion underscoring her words.
“If Al-Adel and Mikhail were working together, then Al-Adel tried to kill him. Their relationship either went south, or we were wrong about Mikhail being involved.” He shouldn’t be talking to her about this. She wasn’t on the team, and she didn’t have clearance, but she knew her brothers.
Laila rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Do I think Saafir, one of the most easygoing, kindhearted men in the country, is working with an international terrorist to kill people in Qamsar? Arranging violence against the people he’s working to protect and serve? No, Harris. I don’t think Saafir is involved.” She sighed. “But we did see his name in that book in Mikhail’s library. I don’t know what anyone is capable of doing to push their agenda.”
Saafir’s work with the prisons was the perfect cover if he was involved with the Holy Light Brotherhood. No one would suspect him. “What was Al-Adel’s reasoning behind setting off that bomb?” If the CIA and FBI’s intel was correct, he was getting what he wanted from Qamsar: their cooperation to stop an agreement with America, safe harbor in Qamsar and halting cultural changes.
“If you ask me, there is never a reason to set off a bomb.”
Harris had had similar thoughts earlier. “I’m trying to figure how these puzzle pieces fit, and I’m missing critical pieces of information.”
Laila stretched beneath the sheets. “How do you know Mikhail didn’t want the bomb to go off? Maybe he wants change but doesn’t want to use his position as emir to make it public. If he can pin the bombing on America, which some in the media already have, he has the perfect excuse to end trade agreements.”
Harris considered it. Mikhail could be two-faced. Plenty of leaders were. Standing in front of his people as a portrait of nationalism and pride yet working with a lowlife to achieve another agenda. “Could be. I don’t know what he expected to happen. It seems risky that he’d arrange for the bomb to go off in a location where he was scheduled to be along with his own family.”
Laila rolled to her side. “If he knew it was going to explode, he could have found reasons to delay his arrival. I wonder how much the family means to Mikhail. He never liked me, he doesn’t get along with Saafir and he wants my mother to marry a terrorist. Those are not the actions of someone who loves their family.”
“He might postpone the wedding,” Harris said. “Do you think that was his plan? Is Aisha too progressive for him?”
Laila’s eyes widened. “I can’t imagine. She’s the perfect subservient wife, and she doesn’t have power over Mikhail. If he doesn’t like what she says to him behind closed doors, he can ignore her.” Laila grabbed his arm. “If the wedding is canceled, what will you do? Will you return to America and come back when it’s rescheduled?”
Harris didn’t know what his team would want him to do. He had a good excuse to give Laila’s family for why he was leaving the country now. He could claim he was anxious about the bombing and wanted to return to America to keep himself safe. It might make him sound cowardly, but other wedding guests had fled the country, including Laila’s uncle Aasim. But Harris wouldn’t leave, not without Laila. “We believe Al-Adel is in the country. We know from his past behavior he likes to be nearby when he causes a disaster. He enjoys the scramble and the chaos. We still have a chance of finding him, wedding or no wedding.”
“Does that mean you’ll stay?” she asked.
Harris wasn’t eager to abandon the mission. He hadn’t accomplished his goals, and he wanted more time with Laila. He still hadn’t figured out how he’d make arrangements to see her in America. “I’m not leaving until I have no other choice, or we find Al-Adel.”
Laila relaxed. “I’ll talk to my mother soon. Find out how she’d feel about a trip to America to see where her daughter goes to school and work. Start to prepare her.”
Harris didn’t see a problem
with that. A concerned daughter would want to remove her mother from a potentially dangerous situation. She could tell her mother about her concerns about the family connections to a terrorist organization. Tariq Salem didn’t hide that he was friendly with Al-Adel. “That might be a good idea.” If they had to leave quickly, and her mother was somewhat more prepared for the trip, it would make the trip more comfortable.
Their time in Qamsar was ticking to a close and, along with it, his relationship with Laila. He didn’t trust the CIA to tell him where she’d been relocated or to permit her to contact him. He didn’t want to create a security risk by subverting the CIA’s procedures. He wanted to work within those policies to be part of her life.
Everything in him rejected the idea of Laila not being in his life, of never seeing her again and of handing her over to strangers and putting his faith in them to keep her safe. She was safest close to him and in his arms.
* * *
Laila met her mother in her suite at the family’s country house. After fixing tea, they sat outside on the balcony on plush chairs. Laila was worried about surveillance bugs inside the house, and this conversation needed to remain confidential. She didn’t want to tip off anyone to her plans.
“Tell me what’s on your mind,” her mother said. “Is it the bombing? I’ve been told by your brother’s guards he is safe.”
She hadn’t given her mother the details of what she and Harris had experienced in Doha, but her mother knew she had been visiting the aquarium when the bomb went off. “No, it’s not the bombing. I’m worried about our life in Qamsar and about returning to America.”
“Are you happy in America?” her mother asked, resting her hand on Laila’s arm.
Her mother had shown interest in her studies, but had never asked much about her life there. “Yes, I love it at the university. I feel blessed to be studying there. I like living with Uncle Aasim and Aunt Neha. I’m content with my life.” At least she had been before meeting Harris. Now Laila couldn’t return to the life she’d had with the same expectations. She wanted more for herself and her future.
“What about Harris? Do you love him, too?” her mother asked.
Lying to her mother was difficult. Laila had been carrying on the ruse and hadn’t made many slipups, but alone with her mother, she was tempted to tell her the truth. The whole truth. This would be over in a couple of days, and then she and her mother could leave Qamsar and start a new life. “Harris is special to me.” Not a lie.
Her mother gave her a knowing look. “I see how you look at him. I’ve caught him looking at you. When I see you two together, I see the love that I had with your father.”
Surprise shot through her. Laila hadn’t expected her mother to draw a comparison like that. How did she look at Harris? She was fond of him. She liked being with him. She looked forward to seeing him every day. She imagined a future with him. When she thought of him, warmth spread over her body, and when she imagined him touching her, desire hammered in her blood. Was that love? “I’ve never been in love. I had always imagined you and Father would arrange a marriage for me and love would follow.”
Iba took Laila’s hands in hers. “Your father and I want you to be happy. That is the most important thing. We would have found you a good man, and we hoped you would find a lifetime of love with him. I am glad Mikhail approves of Harris. He is a good man, even if he isn’t the man we would have chosen for you.”
“Why wouldn’t you have chosen him?” Was she overlooking a great character flaw in him?
“He isn’t from Qamsar, and we don’t have close ties with his family. That would have affected our decision.”
Of course. They would have matched her with someone in their social circle. “I don’t know if I love Harris the way you loved Father.” Or even if she loved Harris. Her feelings for him were strong. She cared for him and trusted him. Her heart stirred and tightened. Was she lying to herself, pretending she wasn’t in love with him? Was her mother seeing something she couldn’t?
Iba wrapped her arm around her daughter. “Of course you don’t love him the same. Your father and I built love over many, many years. The freshness of new love is exhilarating, but as time passes, our love deepened and grew, and it was more than excitement. I found comfort and stability, a friend to be at my side every day through life’s challenges.” Iba wiped at tears that welled in her eyes. “I want you to have those things with a kind man. When I heard Mikhail wanted you to marry Noor, I was devastated. Noor is not a good man. He is cruel, and you would have had unhappiness with him.”
Laila agreed. If nothing else, Harris had saved her from a marriage to someone she would have grown to hate. “Then what should I do? Are you telling me it’s okay to marry Harris and move away with him? I mean more than okay with Mikhail, is it okay with you?”
She met her mother’s eyes and found sadness in them. Iba let out a heavy breath. “Find your happiness. Grab on to it with both hands. I want my daughter with me, but I will be fine here. I have friends and wonderful memories of your father and my children. Knowing you are somewhere in the world, happy with a man who is good to you, will give me the happiness I need. You will visit me, and I will visit you, and when you give me grandbabies, I’ll stay with you for nice long visits.”
Tears came to Laila’s eyes when she thought of her mother staying in Qamsar without her. Knowing that her mother would be with her in America had kept her from losing her mind and had focused her on the mission. “Come with me,” Laila said.
“Where?” Iba asked. “To America? To Germany?”
She hadn’t planned exactly what she would say to her mother, but she acted on instinct. “Come with me to America, and if we move to Germany, you can move with us.”
Iba shook her head. “I cannot impose on your relationship that way.”
“I’ve talked to Harris about it. He’s fine with it.”
Iba lifted her brow. “You want me to live with you and your husband?”
If it kept her mother from being killed in the fallout of Mikhail’s involvement with the Holy Light Brotherhood, Laila would take her mother anywhere. “Come with me to America. Stay with me and learn the culture. At least come for a visit until Mikhail has sorted out who is responsible for the bombings and if there will be others.” Or until someone uncovered the emir’s ties to the Holy Light Brotherhood, and they were distanced from the immediate backlash.
Iba wrung her hands. “What confidence would I show in my son to leave now? I couldn’t do that. I’ve lived in Qamsar all my life. I can’t abandon my home and my family.”
If she told her mother the truth, would she feel differently? Staying in Qamsar would be dangerous if anyone learned of Laila’s involvement with the American government. The secrets she and her brothers were keeping were dangerous to their family. “Please think about it. We’ll be safe with Harris.”
“I know you are nervous about marrying someone and starting a new life, but I can’t impose on you. We’ll have visits, I promise.”
The truth rose higher on her tongue. “What if the bombing yesterday was the beginning of something terrible? What can you do then?”
Iba appeared troubled, but she forced a smile. “We have to pray that Mikhail will behave as the leader he was born to be.”
Mikhail was out of control. Mikhail wanted her mother to marry a terrorist. “Harris overheard something during a gathering in the desert. Mikhail wants you to marry a man named Tariq. He’s an associate of Ahmad Al-Adel. I’ve heard speculation that the Holy Light Brotherhood is responsible for the bombing. Those ties to Mikhail are not good.” Huge understatement. Devastating. Destructive.
Iba mouthed Al-Adel’s name. “How can that be? Why would Mikhail permit someone like that in his presence? Is he not careful about the company he keeps? Why would he want family connections to a terrorist?” Iba dropped her voice on the last word. “And what will I do as the wife of a man like that? How will I survive?”
Laila wanted to conf
ess the entire story, starting with the American government approaching her to help them find and stop Al-Adel, believing he would be in Qamsar for Mikhail’s wedding. Anything to convince her mother to leave Qamsar. The only part preventing her was Harris’s trust. He had trusted her with that information. If she betrayed that confidence, she was no better than the woman who had nearly killed him. “You will survive because you will come with me. We will be safe in America or in Germany. You won’t have to be married to a man you’ll despise. Mikhail is confused and not making good decisions.”
Iba’s face turned stern. “If you know something about your brother that could hurt us, you must tell me.”
How much could Laila reveal without betraying Harris? “Harris can keep us safe. He’s a good man.” Partial truths were making her stomach hurt.
“I cannot leave Qamsar. You must know that. It is my job to stand by my son. If I leave in the wake of Mikhail’s decision for me to marry, I am telling the country the ruling family is weak. I cannot allow that to happen.”
Laila looked around, expecting to see Mikhail’s guards hovering close by or one of Mikhail’s cronies spying on her. “Harris knows the situation is bad, and he wants to protect us. Please come with us when we leave Qamsar.”
“You are not asking for a visit. You want me to flee the country I’ve loved all my life without telling me why,” her mother said.
Laila could tell her mother only so much without betraying Harris. She tried another route. “If you stay here, you could be in grave danger.”
“Anyone can be in danger at any time.”
“But if Qamsar is no longer safe, how will I know that you’re okay?” Laila asked, desperation burning a hole through her chest.
“I was raised to be a strong woman. I’ve survived the death of my husband, and I’ll survive whatever life sends to me.”
Laila could see in her mother’s face she was determined to stand her ground. She wouldn’t be convinced, at least not today. Something more would need to transpire for Iba to turn her back on Mikhail and Qamsar.