Protecting His Princess

by C. J. Miller

  “Someone else will recognize Al-Adel if he’s at the bride’s parents’ house,” Harris said. If Qamsar’s police force was looking for problematic guests, Al-Adel had to be on that list. After the bombing in Doha, Harris would bet Al-Adel was number one on that list. Unless Mikhail had paid his police and security team not to report in if they saw him.

  “As long as any person who recognizes him approaches with caution and in the right way, we’ll be fine. But we’ve got to assume Al-Adel has security and a backup plan if he’s approached,” Tyler said. “We don’t know who is on whose side, either. We don’t know who we can trust.”

  Laila. Her name sprang to mind immediately. She was in his circle of trust. He trusted her. He loved her. He couldn’t lose her.

  * * *

  Al-Adel dragged Laila into the room and clamped a hand over her mouth. His hand smelled of gunpowder.

  Aisha held a gun pointed at Laila’s midsection. She’d never had a gun pointed at her before. Could it go off? If it did, wouldn’t everyone hear it and come running? Would Aisha be so bold as to shoot Laila in her bedroom?

  “Don’t scream,” Al-Adel said, removing his hand from her mouth.

  “Just relax. I know you’re tense about the wedding, but everything will be okay,” Laila said, pretending to be confused about the situation and unaware of who Al-Adel was.

  “Everything will be okay, because I’m in control of every aspect of this ridiculous charade,” Aisha said.

  Laila inclined her head. She’d never head Aisha speak with such heat and anger before. The submissive, adoring bride-to-be persona was gone. “If you don’t want to get married, why are you?” Laila asked.

  Al-Adel’s grip tightened on her upper arm.

  Aisha waved the gun at Laila. “I want the power. I couldn’t have it without the man.”

  Keeping the gun trained on Laila, Aisha pulled the heavy maroon curtains over her windows, blocking the view of the pool and the sun.

  “Why are you snooping around my room?” Aisha asked.

  Laila’s palms were damp with sweat and heat flamed up her back. Had she managed to send part of her text message? She’d dropped her phone in the hall. Would Harris understand the message? Could she stall long enough that someone would interrupt them? “I’m not snooping around. I had a question about the flowers.”

  Al-Adel shook her. “Don’t lie. Do you realize I can make you disappear? No one will ever find you. I have a special place in the ground for women who lie.”

  Fear thrummed in her chest. Why would Aisha work with this man? What did she have to gain that she couldn’t get as the emir’s wife? Power of her own? How would Al-Adel sell that to his antiprogress followers?

  “Tell me who you were sending a message to,” Aisha said.

  “Harris.” From what they knew, he was her boyfriend. It made sense that she would be in contact with him. They hadn’t uncovered Harris’s identity, had they?

  “Give me your phone,” Aisha said.

  “It’s in the hall.”

  Aisha retrieved it and looked at the phone. When she raised her eyes, rage was hot in them. “You told him you saw Al-Adel. Who else is looking for him?” she asked.

  Most of the world was looking for him, and after the bombing in Doha, all of Qamsar was on alert. “I don’t know who is looking for him.”

  Aisha narrowed her eyes at Laila. “You shouldn’t have gotten involved. I knew you were trouble when you showed up for the wedding with your German boyfriend and your American ways. Disgusting. All of it. How can you live in a country that is trying to destroy ours?”

  Laila didn’t know how to answer her. Her words could be the difference between survival and death. She had to make up an excuse. “I’ve tried to recover from my father’s death. I’ve been looking for meaning. I realized it’s in Qamsar.”

  Al-Adel shoved her to the ground and let go of her arm. “I haven’t gotten as far as I have and survived this long without being able to read a liar. She knows something, and she needs to be silenced. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn she’s sympathetic to America’s plan to destroy Qamsar.”

  Laila’s heart hammered against her chest. America’s plan to destroy Qamsar? Wasn’t America trying to work out a mutually beneficial arrangement with them? What would destroying the country accomplish? “I don’t know anything. I’m here for the wedding and to help Aisha.”

  Was Harris on his way? Would he find her? Would anyone step into the room and interrupt them?

  Aisha needed to leave to join the processional soon. Laila had to buy time. “I don’t know what’s going on, whether this is wedding jitters or some misunderstanding. Aisha, we need to leave in ten minutes for the Grand Mosque. Thousands of people have lined the streets waiting to catch a glimpse of you.” Laila wanted to convince Al-Adel and Aisha her main concern was the wedding. Could she make Al-Adel believe her?

  “Aisha, go, before someone comes looking for you. I will meet you at the mosque, and our plans will continue as designed,” Al-Adel said.

  What were they planning? Aisha wouldn’t be so foolish as to agree to set off a bomb during her wedding. She’d be risking the lives of her guests, which included her family.

  Aisha handed the gun to Al-Adel as she left the room, smirking at Laila with distaste and closing the door behind her. Laila was alone with Al-Adel. Al-Adel didn’t move for a long moment. “Who knows you are here?” Al-Adel pulled her to her feet, holding her face close to his, the anger crisp in his voice.

  “I don’t know,” Laila said, looking around for a weapon, some way to defend herself. She couldn’t outrun a bullet.

  “Lying again,” Al-Adel said. “We have plans today, and I won’t let you ruin them. You’re fortunate so many people are here. I won’t shoot you.” Al-Adel tucked his gun in the holster at his side.

  Surprise flickered and then fear took over. Laila tried to run, but Al-Adel grabbed her in a choke hold and reached for Aisha’s flat iron, wrapping the cord around Laila’s throat.

  Laila clawed at the cord around her neck. Al-Adel pulled tighter. She couldn’t breathe. She was getting dizzy. Kicking her legs and twisting did no good. Al-Adel was holding her too firmly and had the cord tight around her neck.

  The door to Aisha’s room banged open, and Harris stepped inside. He rushed at them, tackling Al-Adel to the ground. The cord around her neck loosened, and Laila drew in gulps of air.

  “Run, Laila. Get help.” Gone was the German accent. Harris was all-American, all strength and aggression and protection.

  Harris and Al-Adel were locked in a struggle. Laila was torn between screaming for help and trying to assist Harris. She saw Al-Adel reaching for his gun. Her vision was blurry, and though her throat felt raw, she yelled and threw herself into the fray, trying to kick him in the head. She got to the gun first and pulled it free of its holster.

  The weapon felt heavy in her hand. She aimed it at Al-Adel and Harris.

  “I’ll shoot,” she screamed.

  Harris landed another punch across Al-Adel’s face, and the terrorist went limp on the ground.

  “Don’t shoot,” Harris said, breathless. “Just give me the gun.” He rose to his feet and took the gun from her hand.

  Three of the emir’s guards ran into the room.

  Laila scrambled to Harris’s side, identified herself and Harris, and explained the situation. Having the country’s most wanted man in Aisha’s bedroom was shocking and terrifying. The emir’s guards put handcuffs on Al-Adel and dragged him from the room, unconscious.

  “Stay where you are,” one of the guards said. “Backup is coming.”

  Laila and Harris were alone. “Are you okay?” she asked him. He had red welts on his face.

  Harris pulled her into his arms. “I’m fine. But I’ve never been so scared. If I had lost you, I don’t know what I would have done.”

  “You won’t lose me. Not ever.” She kissed Harris, grateful to be alive and in his arms.

  Devon entered
the room. “I raced here as soon as I received the message about Al-Adel. Are you two okay?”

  “I’m fine thanks to Harris,” Laila said.

  Devon jammed a hand through his hair. “We’ve got storms in every direction. There was a jail break at the Cinder Block. The American spy is gone. Disappeared without a trace. We found a bomb in the Grand Mosque. We’re working on an evacuation now. All members of the royal family are accounted for and safe. What happened this morning?”

  Laila explained what she had seen and heard in Aisha’s bedroom. Harris stayed at her side, and Laila knew everything would be all right as long as he remained there.

  * * *

  Even with an ocean between her and Qamsar, Laila couldn’t ignore the news stories about her family, and the changes taking place.

  Aisha had turned on the Holy Light Brotherhood for a lighter prison sentence in Qamsar. She had admitted she had planned to kill Saafir and hoped to convince Mikhail to join the brotherhood. She had confessed she’d pressed Mikhail to arrange a marriage between Iba and Tariq Salem. Aisha’s plans to use Laila’s death in America, the bombing in Doha and the planned bombing of the mosque to sway public opinion, and to force her agenda by showing the strength, reach and power of the Holy Light Brotherhood had failed. The bombings were a threat against entering a trade agreement with the United States.

  Unable to handle the shame of his betrothed’s betrayal and the scandal of her involvement with a terrorist, Mikhail had abdicated the throne and now Saafir was at the helm. Negotiations on a trade agreement with America were progressing.

  Al-Adel was claiming to his few remaining followers that Aisha had been a weak, but necessary tool he had used to get what he wanted, and they should stay fast to the cause. Because Aisha had told the Qamsarian authorities what she knew about the Holy Light Brotherhood, most members, including Tariq Salem, were jailed or in hiding. Al-Adel’s message had difficulty finding ears. Without fear of reprisal from the Holy Light Brotherhood or her countrymen, Laila hadn’t needed a new identity.

  Laila took another sip of her tea and closed the news site on her web browser. Her thesis proposal was due the following week, and she wanted to wrap it up tonight.

  She smiled when Harris entered the café. His eyes scanned the room and landed on her. The entire room heated. Harris took a seat next to her and slipped his arm around her shoulders.

  “How’s it going? Ready to take a break?” he asked.

  She playfully pushed him away. “No, I have to finish this. I can take a break tomorrow. We’ll have the whole drive to your parents’ place to talk.” They were driving to Montana to spend a week with his family. It was a long overdue vacation for Harris, the first he had taken in years. He was working exclusively for the FBI as a profiler now, and most nights he was home in time for dinner. His priorities had shifted, and Laila was happy she was at the top of them.

  “I plan to use that time to talk about wedding plans,” Harris said.

  Laila rolled her eyes. “As if my mother hasn’t talked you to boredom about our wedding enough.” Harris had confessed his identity to Saafir and her mother, and they had still given Laila and Harris their blessing to proceed with their marriage.

  “I’m just glad she’s happy for us,” Harris said.

  “She won’t be happy if you don’t let me finish this paper,” she said.

  He groaned. “You’re too good a student. It’s quieter at my place. Why don’t you work there?” He nuzzled her neck.

  “I like working here,” she said. “It’s where we met. If I go to your place, you’ll be too distracting. If I wanted quiet, I could work at my aunt and uncle’s place. Although with my mom staying there, it’s a lot less quiet.” Her mother and her aunt had been having fun reconnecting. Saafir thought it was best for his mother and sister to stay out of the country for a few months, until the aftermath of Aisha’s betrayal and the politics that followed settled.

  “I’ll wait. But when this paper is finished, you’re mine,” Harris said.

  Laila shook her head. “You don’t have to wait for the paper to be finished. I’m already yours.”

  * * * * *

  If you loved Harris’s story,

  don’t miss his brothers’ stories:

  HIDING HIS WITNESS

  and

  SHIELDING THE SUSPECT.

  Available now from C.J. Miller

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  Chapter 1

  Washington, D.C.

  April

  Where is she?

  James nursed his beer as he kept one eye on the television mounted on the wall behind the bar. His spot at the corner table afforded him a view of the entire place, and although he wasn’t a huge fan of golf, the highlight reel from the Masters Tournament was the most interesting thing going on at the moment.

  He glanced at his watch as he set the bottle down and reached for a handful of peanuts. Kelly wasn’t usually late, but maybe she’d had a long day or had gotten stuck in traffic. It was raining, and D.C. drivers tended to lose their minds when any kind of precipitation fell from the sky. Whatever the reason, if she didn’t get there soon, he’d start drinking the beer he’d ordered for her. He’d be doing her a favor, he decided, as no one liked warm beer.

  “Ready for another, James?” Danny called out, pausing in his obsessive wipe down of the already clean bar.

  He shook his head. “Not yet, thanks. I’ll work on Kelly’s first.”

  “Shouldn’t she be here by now?”

  As if on cue, the door opened with a blast of humid air and Kelly dashed in, wearing a frown as she brushed the raindrops off her jacket. She waved at Danny as she walked over to the table, then sat with a sigh and reached for her beer. James raised a brow as she gulped down the brew, draining the bottle in one go. She set it on the table and turned to gesture for another, but Danny was already there, handing her a fresh one and wearing an expression of amused surprise.

  “Want me to keep them coming?” Danny offered. Kelly nodded, and Danny shot James a meaningful look before he returned to the bar. Keep an eye on her tonight.

  James nodded. I will.

  They had been meeting at this bar every Friday night for the past six months, a tradition that had started after they’d met at a friend’s party. She had looked strangely familiar to him, so he’d struck up a conversation. It turned out they had gone to the same college and had even shared some mutual friends, but by some quirk of fate they hadn’t officially met back then. After finding out she lived in a nearby neighborhood, he had suggested they meet up for drinks sometime. She’d taken him up on the offer, and they’d quickly developed a solid friendship.

  Normally, Kelly was fun and easygoing when they got together, having only one or two drinks each time. He’d never seen her drunk, but if her current mood was any indication, he would tonight.

  She set the bottle down with a loud thunk, then wriggled out of her jacket and hung it on the back of her chair. Facing him again, she smoothed a hand over her auburn hair and tucked the stray strands behind her ear.

  “You are not gonna believe the week I’ve had,” she said, her hazel eyes flashing as sh
e reached for the bottle. He opened his mouth to respond, but she continued, not missing a beat. “My boss is driving me crazy.”

  “I figured as much,” he said, sensing a rant in his future. “What’s he done now?”

  Kelly rolled her eyes and took a sip. “What hasn’t he done is the better question. Remember that project I was telling you about?”

  He closed his eyes and tried to recall the conversation. “Vaguely,” he said slowly as the details came back to him. “But I didn’t really understand what you were saying. You got a little jargon-y on me there, and you know I didn’t take any biology in college.”

  She grinned at him, amused as always by his lack of scientific knowledge. “Yeah, sorry about that. Anyway, I’m not getting the results he expected, so he pulled me into his office today and reamed me out. Said I was a bad scientist, and if I couldn’t do the job he paid me to do, he’d find someone else.”

  “Can he do that?”

  She bit her lower lip and nodded. “Yeah. Technically he’d have to show cause, but since his grant is paying my salary, the university won’t really ask too many questions if he decides to fire me. It’s his lab, and the investigators have total authority over their labs. But you know what the worst part is?” She leaned forward, and he caught a whiff of her honeysuckle perfume as she moved. “The data are correct, and he’s wrong. He just won’t admit it.”

  “What’s he wrong about?” James was genuinely curious, but he didn’t hold out hope that he’d understand her project or results. He’d never been very good at science in school. Philosophy and law fascinated him much more. He’d take a criminal over a lab report any day.

  She launched into an explanation of her experiments, and to her credit, she did try to dumb it down for him. He listened intently, occasionally interjecting an “uh-huh” or a nod to encourage her. He loved watching her talk, the way she gestured and moved, her body language communicating just as much as her words. With her bright eyes and flushed cheeks, she was a sight to behold.