by Leslie North
Keira kept her smile in place. She knew Talib from the brief. Head of security, a good man it seemed. He must have been let in on the cover story by PJ, but she wasn’t breaking her role for anyone. Not in public. “Excuse me. I should mingle and give you two time alone.” She gave them a wink.
PJ called out, “Let’s get together tomorrow over breakfast and catch up.”
Keira waved and headed into the crowd. She scooped up another cup of tea—it really was good—and paused next to the Larson brothers. “Hey, boys. How about some photos of me and for me?” She struck a pose, hip jutting out and glass to her lips. She’d taken enough classes that she could make her cover plausible.
Travis was working video, but Trent turned and took a shot. He gave her a cocky grin. “Looking good.”
Keira batted her eyelashes. “As always.” A tingle lifted the hair on the back of her neck. She glanced around and saw Brock staring at her from across the expanse of the summer-warmed garden.
The memory of their kiss—of him bending her back and sealing his lips to hers—flitted through her. The feeling…disturbed her. Hell, Brock bothered her like crazy. The guy was too big, too masculine, and way too pushy. She laid a hand on Trent’s arm. She had to get Brock out of her head, out of her senses. She leaned close to Trent.
He smelled of something lime scented—not an unpleasant aroma, but not exciting either. His shaggy hair brushed her cheek. She asked, “Seen anything good?”
“Nothing exciting.” His blue eyes seemed as innocent as an angel’s, and Keira nodded. So far, all was staying quiet. She smiled. This job might actually end up being a win for her.
“Keep looking. You never know what’s around the next corner.” Patting his arm, she smiled, and drifted back into the crowd. But she couldn’t lose that awareness of Brock.
He was working the crowd, too, mingling, brushing up against men in robes—and women, too. At least the ones in western dress. That left the women in traditional garb for her.
They clustered together, and she headed over to them, figuring fashion could serve as the universal language. She was right. It seemed like they all wanted to touch her dress and finger the silk chiffon. She took the opportunity to sneak peeks under their robes when they showed off the designer gowns they had on underneath.
She did a count of forty-three women in traditional dress—but when she glanced around again, one of the women had left the party. Keira frowned at that. Had the woman not been feeling well? Did she disapprove of the modern music? Or had she been hiding something underneath her veils?
Keira headed back to Trent. She put a hand on his muscular arm and let her finger trail down the sleeve of his suit. “How about a tour of this place?” She wanted to make sure that woman in the head-to-toe hijab who’d disappeared had really left. She also wanted to show Brock she didn’t need him looking over her shoulder for every single move.
She was sure Trent would get the message in her eyes that she meant business. She could certainly feel Brock’s stare on her. She could just about picture the irritation flashing in his eyes, too.
Trent gave a nod. “I think that could be arranged.” He looked at Travis. “That okay with you?”
Travis shrugged. “Your funeral, bro.” He glanced at Trent and then gave a long, meaningful look at Brock. “You two better know what you’re doing. And you better get to doing it, fast.”
Trent gave his brother a thumbs-up and a grin that left Trent looking about seventeen. He took Keira by the elbow to escort her back into the palace.
Behind them, Keira heard Travis’ voice rise.
Ah, that must be Brock asking what the hell was going on. Well, good, she thought. This was her operation to run, and she was not going to let Brock step all over it, and all over her.
She was going to use Trent to teach Brock a lesson about assuming she’d be willing to step into the back seat. She was going to do her own recon on the palace. She would show him that she wasn’t going to jeopardize the reason they were all in Jawhara. The mission always came first, and nothing could trump that.
Chapter 6
Holding her by the elbow, Trent led her back inside the palace. The place was huge, she’d decided. It had two wings off of the main building and three floors. She’d seen more marble in the last half hour than she’d ever seen before. Most of the rooms had French doors that opened onto a stone terrace overlooking the gardens.
She figured the entire area had to be fenced, and she’d glimpsed guards on the perimeter. This room was like all of the others she’d seen so far—big, high ceilings, colorful drapery, beautiful art, and furniture that invited you to sit and stay a spell.
Trent steered her behind a half-wall. He pushed on a wall panel and a door opened. She leaned in and looked up a narrow stairway. “I’ll show you where you’ll be staying. That should slow Brock down long enough for you to tell me what the hell is going on between you two,” Trent said.
Keira looked at him and widened her eyes. “What makes you think there’s anything going on?”
Rolling his eyes, Trent let out a breath. He started up the stairs. “I’ve known Brock a long time; as in, really long. I’ve never seen him go into that kind of protective mode with anyone except a client. Why is that?”
Keira followed him and ignored the question. It wasn’t worth an answer. She also didn’t want to think about it. Brock’s attitude toward her was his problem. He was probably just being a typical guy, wanting to run the show just because he thought he knew better. The real problem was that he’d been doing this a lot longer than she had—he probably did know better.
She stepped through the doorway at the top of the staircase and looked around. She’d never seen anything that captured her senses as much as this place. She stood in a wide corridor now. Vibrant colors dusted the walls and tropical-looking plants graced tall vases on low tables.
Slanting sunlight caught dust motes in the air, leaving the world soft and golden. Patterned tiles outlined the hard surface of the floors, and the light fixtures—dazzling in the sunset—looked to be gold or brass. Carved, dark furniture—a chair and settee—held splashes of textured pillows and coverings added more splashes of color. She ran a hand over a pillow—silk and soft. “I could get used to living here.”
Keira wandered down the hallway. Low, brass tables set beside the chairs invited anyone to linger. Painting—oil colors of what looked like local markets—hung on the wall. She stopped beside one.
Shaking his head, Trent opened a door to the right. He held it open for her and followed her into the room. “This is yours. Pretty cool, huh? And before you try to put me off again, I’ll warn you that I’m really good at finding out information. Like, really good. Unless you want me to start digging, you might want to start talking.” He stepped back and snapped a photo of her. “You also need to pose a little more.”
Keira leaned out of the room to glance back toward the hidden stairway. “How many exits do we have?”
Trent stepped up to her. “The one we came up and the main stairs.”
She could hear male voices coming from the floor below and instantly recognized Brock’s deep tones. A shiver skittered up her back. Trent started to move in front of her. She put out a hand to block him. “I can take care of myself.”
Brock rounded the main staircase. He was easy enough to spot, given his reddish hair and the fact that he could fill up almost any hallway. His stare locked on Trent. “Get lost, dude.”
Trent snapped one more photo of Keira. He gave her a wink. “See ya around, beautiful.”
Stepping out of the room, Keira watched Trent leave. She had a ridiculous urge to call out to him to come back, but why not settle things with Brock now?
A terse silence settled. She could hear the party music from outside. Something was chirping a background rhythm—cicadas maybe. She rubbed her bare arms, even though the evening was balmy and warm, the humidity thick as a blanket.
“You trying to make me jealous?�
�� Brock asked.
“Don’t you have to have feelings for someone before that works?” Keira replied. She headed down the corridor. “Where does the family sleep?”
“This floor. West wing. You know I’m here to—” He bit off the words.
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Be my sweetie? My lovey-dove?”
“You can take it easy on those.”
“Can I now?” She let the words hang between them. She didn’t trust him not to take over for her—that was just him. But she also knew she was being touchy about this. She could use his experience. However, if she started leaning on him now, where would it stop? She’d prove nothing to Slade about her abilities.
Turning a corner, she saw four armed men—security. Two sat in chairs, the other two stood guard over the rooms behind them. “Must be the family quarters,” she muttered.
Just then a woman in a hijab exited from one of the doors. Veiled to her eyes, her head covered, it could be anyone, but Keira caught a glimpse of black, exotic eyes that tilted at the ends—and a flash of a ruby ring. Was this the same woman who’d left the party downstairs? The woman saw them and slipped back into her room.
Grabbing Brock’s arm, she pulled him to her and whispered in his ear. “I need to find out who that is.” Wrapping her fingers around his tie, she pulled him out in front of the guards, and then she kissed him.
***
Brock didn’t have time to grab a breath. Keira pulled him into the hallway and pulled his mouth down to hers. He put his hand on her slim hips and gave in to the heat washing over him. He couldn’t pull her close enough, couldn’t get enough of her. He heard a distant chuckle and knew the guards were watching.
Pulling back, Keira swayed. She gave him a lopsided smile and grinned. “Where’s your room, honey-bear?” She slurred her words as if she’d been drinking way more than she should. With a giggle, she headed for the guards, dragging Brock by the hand.
Picking up on her cue, Brock tried to hold her back—but not too much. “Sweetie, you’re going—”
She bumped into one guard. The guy grabbed her so she wouldn’t fall. She gave a screech, and Brock stepped between them. Keira slipped to one side, and Brock faced off with the guard. “Hey, buddy, that’s my girl you’re messing with.” He pushed the guy in the chest. All four guards stood and stepped between him and the rooms behind. Keira slapped a hand over her mouth as if she were going to be sick.
Moving fast, she ducked into a room—the same one the veiled woman had gone into. One of the guards started after her, but Brock tripped the guy. Guns came out. Brock spread his hands wide. “Not looking for trouble.”
Keira came out of the bedroom, her hair mussed and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She swayed and stumbled over to Brock. “I don’t feel so good.”
Wrapping an arm around her waist, Brock told her, “Let’s get you horizontal.”
She grinned. “Oh, yeah, my stud-muffin. Let’s do just that.” She giggled.
He led her back to her room, too aware of the guns still out and the eyes trained on his back. One of the guards followed him, and he was going to have to have words with the head of security about this kind of thing. Those guys should have split up, put someone on Keira and stopped her from entering. They’d been too focused on him and weren’t thinking a woman could be a threat. That kind of thinking could get you dead.
Inside her room, Keira dropped the drunken act. “Nothing. That woman wasn’t there—meaning she’s got a way in and out that Trent doesn’t know about.”
Brock glanced around. The habit was automatic—you sized up the scene to make sure it was safe. Always.
Keira’s room looked a lot like his. Thick, patterned carpets, big furniture, and a lot of drapery. Carved wood decorated the walls with pillars and elaborate doorways—sandalwood and cedar, he expected, both local exports from Jawhara. The effect was like being in a tent, but he found all of that heavy fabric a little stuffy.
He would have preferred naked walls and fewer places for bugs to be planted and people to hide. He headed to the TV, turned it on, found a station playing country, and turned up the volume.
Keira wrinkled her nose. “Couldn’t you find some real music?”
Ignoring her question, he asked, “You think she used the window to get out?”
Keira shoved a hand into her messy hair. “Locked from the inside. I’m going to need another look at that room.”
“I’ll talk to Talib—he’s head of security here. He knows about our cover, but he’s the only one who knows why we’re here. Him and PJ.”
“And our clients.” She flopped into a chair and pulled off her heels. “I read the brief, but you’ve met these people—you know them. What are they really like?”
Brock wandered over to the window and glanced out. From here, he could see down to the party in the garden. It looked like Sheikh Kamal and his new wife were about to cut the cake. He turned away, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and moved so he had his back to the bed. He didn’t need to see that, either. With Keira in the room, a bed seemed like far too much temptation.
Keira had tucked her feet up under her and was rubbing her toes. He had to look away from that, too. It was a job he wanted all too much.
“They’re good people. Slade doesn’t take on clients without digging into their background first.” Heading to the bar provided for each guest, Brock dug out two bottles of sparkling water. He handed one to Keira. “If you read the brief, you know just about everything you need to know. Honeymoon’s going to be here. Kamal wants to make sure Erin’s safe. He even flew her parents over, and he’s sending them off on a world cruise after the wedding. Oh, and Erin’s pregnant with the future ruler of Jawhara.”
Pausing with the water halfway to her mouth, Keira stared at him. “Anyone know about the baby?”
“You, me, PJ, Kamal. I think Talib’s guessed. When Erin was kidnapped, she was forced into the desert. She did okay, except for throwing up way too much, which most folks might put down to being terrified.”
“Poor kid. She doesn’t seem to have any PTSD from what happened—at least not that I saw.”
Brock shrugged. He kept prowling around the room. Stopping at a desk, he picked up a deck of cards and cut it. “She’s a little jumpy. But it takes people different ways. Look at PJ—she was with Erin and now she’s partying hard. I asked PJ to make sure Erin got a nice wedding present—a pendant with a heart rate monitor and a GPS locator beacon. We’ve got trackers on all of our clients—even the sheikh, but he hated to start wearing one.”
Eyes narrowing, Keira stared at him. “This is my operation. And you should know better. A woman on her honeymoon isn’t likely to be wearing anything.”
The image popped into his head of Keira wearing nothing more than her bra and panties. She was still slim—model thin. But she had curves in all the right places now, and small, pert breasts that would just fit in his palms. Sweat popped on his upper lip and his heartrate kicked up. He drank down his sparkling water; let the wetness cool his jets a little. “Yeah, well, PJ’s told her to keep it on. If Erin gets into trouble again, all she has to do is grip the crystal in her palm. The extra heat activates an alarm. I should get you one of those.”
Keira gave a snort. “Save it for Shira. We’re here to protect her, too.”
“And I’m here to watch your back.”
Standing, Keira stretched. “Well, you can just watch it from downstairs. I don’t think anything’s going to happen in that crowd downstairs, but you never know. I need a hot bath and two hours of sleep.”
“And then?” Brock asked.
She started for the bathroom, throwing a grin over her shoulder at him. “Then we’re going to do some prowling and see just how good security is here.”
Brock shook his head. “We get caught, that blows our cover. A sugar daddy and his model aren’t supposed to be sneaking around.”
“You want to trust that Talib knows his stuff? You said it—we
may have an inside leak, meaning it’s not the guys breaking in who we have to worry about. It’s someone living inside this palace. So get your sweet ass outside and come back in two hours—oh, and turn that music over to some classic rock, will you?”
Brock watched her head into the bathroom. He heard water running. She’d left the door open a crack. The idea flashed into his head that if he hung out he might get another glimpse of her—oh, how that tempted him.
But this was work—they had a job. Heading over to the TV, he changed it to a rock music station. He headed out, keeping his eyes straight ahead, but that didn’t help him keep his mind on the job. He was seeing Keira, naked in a tub, dressed only in bubbles, those endless legs of hers stretched up and out.
Throat dry, he stepped out of her room and shut the door firmly behind him. This was going to be one helluva long assignment.
Chapter 7
The evening passed without any excitement. Keira soaked for a half hour, got out, dressed in loose, dark sweats, and caught a half hour nap. She didn’t want jet lag hitting at a bad time. The music outside changed from upbeat numbers to ballads and slow tunes. The party wound down and the crowd thinned. Brock came back after the moon had set. He’d changed as well, into dark sweats. He gave her a nod and they slipped out of her room.
It took four hours to cover the house and the grounds. They worked in silence, and Keira thought it was odd that they could do this—hand signals and reading each other’s body language. It was like they’d been a team for years.
She tried to keep in mind that this was her operation, but Brock was so smooth, so expert at what he did. He knew just when to melt into the shadows whenever anyone neared. He checked the locks, the positions of the guards inside and out. The only thing that stumped them both was how that veiled woman had gotten out of the room.
Or had she? Keira was starting to think there had to be hidden rooms in the palace. She started a mental checklist. She’d need to see blueprints—if there were any. The building seemed modern, but in looking over the grounds, she could see it was really an older structure that had been updated and modernized. She was willing to bet there were secrets in the older part of the palace that dated back to the days when a sheikh ruled by force—and kept an army around him.