He didn’t respond.
“People will start to worry,” she pointed out. Hopefully Melanie was worried already. “They’ll be out looking for me.”
Harrison paused. “Give me a list of names. I’ll have Darla make the calls.”
It was Julia’s turn to hesitate. She didn’t want him connecting her with the Prestons. He might have heard about the Leopold’s Legacy scandal, and he might already know Millions to Spare was the spitting image. Melanie and Robbie’s names could give her away.
Harrison arched a brow. “Problem?”
She stalled. “What’s she going to say to them?”
“That you’re safe.”
“You don’t think they’ll ask questions?”
A sly smile grew on his face. “She can tell them you met a man.”
Annoyance shot through Julia. “You think my friends are going to believe I came home with you?”
“Why not? You’re a modern, twenty-five-year-old American-”
“Watch it, buster.” Sure, there was a social conduct divide between the East and the West, but that didn’t mean she was sleazy.
He slowly perused her sleeveless blouse, short skirt and high-heeled shoes. “I saw your personal effects, remember?”
“You think because I wear a thong I’ll jump into bed with a man I just met?” Of all the insulting, stereotypical assumptions. She wore a thong today to stay cool, because the weather in Dubai was nearly a hundred degrees.
He moved a little closer, lowering his voice. “I think your underwear was designed to share.”
She moved in closer, as well, glaring defiantly into his slate-gray eyes. “Not with an insufferable bastard like you.”
His mild tone belied the mocking glint in his eyes. “But, Julia. Since your friends have never met me, they won’t know I’m an insufferable bastard, will they?”
Even though logic told her to back off, there was something about his smug smile that begged her to retaliate. “I’ll know.”
“Guess I’ll just have to live with your low opinion,” he said, clearly unperturbed by the insult. “Give Darla the list. I promise she’ll convince your friends you’re having the time of your life.”
She kept her mouth firmly shut.
His expression unexpectedly softened. “We can end all this right now, Julia. Just tell me why you’re here.”
“I’m doing a human-interest story for Equine Earth Magazine.”
“On me.”
“Yes.”
“Yet, you didn’t recognize me at the jail. Didn’t look at a picture before you broke in?”
Julia scrambled for an explanation. “You look different in real life.”
Harrison laughed at that one. “You’re really the best they could find?”
They? “Who?”
His cell phone buzzed, and he shook his head as he pulled it out. “Never mind.”
“One moment,” he said into the phone, then he snapped his fingers. A young woman instantly responded to the summons, reminding Julia that Harrison was king here, and his word was law.
“Leila will show you to your room,” he said. “She’ll provide you with clothing, food and anything else you need.” His nod was curt as he turned away to deal with the phone call.
The young woman smiled shyly at Julia, and suddenly the prospect of clean clothes and something to eat overruled everything, even the need to bring überrich Harrison down a peg or two.
“Thank you,” she said to Leila, genuinely grateful for the young woman’s help.
Leila gestured to one of the staircases. “This way, please.”
“You speak English?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Is there a phone I could use?”
Leila looked uncomfortable. “I’m afraid not, ma’am.”
Julia sighed. She shouldn’t have been surprised the staff had been given instructions about her. Harrison definitely struck her as a detail-oriented kind of guy.
At the top of the staircase, her feet sank into the thick carpet of the hallway as they made their way along an open railing that looked down into the atrium.
Julia didn’t know whether to admire or sneer at the tall trees and the broad-leaved tropical plants below and the brilliant starscape through the domed glass ceiling above. It was all gorgeous, but definitely excessive.
When Leila opened a set of double doors, the opulence of the suite echoed that excess all over again.
A four-poster bed dominated the room, while a plush furniture grouping was tucked into an alcove. The carpet was as luxurious as the one in the hall, potted plants were dotted all around, and a door led to an absolutely decadent marble en suite with an oversize tub, gold faucets and double sinks.
Although the silly gold faucets were probably worth more than her car, Julia had to admit it was a whole lot better than her last prison cell. And, really, with a palace this big, there had to be an unguarded telephone somewhere.
Chapter Three
“So is she a spy?” asked Alex Lindley, stopping in the doorway of Harrison’s study, a snifter of cognac dangling from his fingers.
Harrison kept his gazed fixed on the Web page on his computer monitor. “It would appear a Julia Nash does, indeed, work for Equine Earth Magazine. Of course, it might not be our Julia Nash. And, even if it is, it could be a cover.”
Alex moved into the room. “A fake identity as a reporter would give her an excuse to travel around the world.”
Harrison nodded. He’d also found several dozen horse-themed articles written by Julia Nash, a scientific paper by a professor of the same name, a Julia Nash on the board of directors of Qantas Communications Company, and a couple of genealogy charts naming long-deceased Julia Nashes.
His quick search hadn’t come up with anything that either convicted or exonerated her. It might mean she was an innocent reporter or it might mean she was simply a competent covert operative-since none of them would have their real profession splashed all over the Internet, either.
Alex glanced over Harrison’s shoulder. “You want me to make a couple of calls to my military contacts?”
As an American ex-naval officer, Alex could still call in favors in most countries in the world.
“All that will do is send up one mother of a red flag in the secretary-general’s office,” said Harrison.
“Yeah,” Alex agreed. “Might as well cancel the reception outright as do that.”
Harrison pushed back in his chair. “And we won’t be canceling the reception.”
Alex nodded his agreement. As Harrison’s right-hand man, he knew full well the real reason behind the reception. It would facilitate under-the-radar consultations on an international oil pipeline.
“You hear anything more on the negotiations?” asked Alex.
“Uzbekistan’s on board, of course. But Kazakhstan can’t move without a Russian security guarantee. That means Turkmenistan has the French over a barrel on financing.”
“No French, no financing.”
“No port access and no pipeline.” Harrison finished what they both knew.
“If it all goes to hell, what kind of a loss are you looking at?” asked Alex.
“Sunk capital or net present value.”
“I don’t even want to think about net present value.”
“A hundred million in drilling anyway.”
Alex whistled under his breath. “Then I guess we won’t be sending up any red flags for the secretary-general’s security staff, will we?”
Harrison gave a nod to that. Russia wasn’t going to budge on their position on the pipeline. And if the secretary-general canceled his attendance at the reception, the high-level diplomats would follow suit. Harrison would lose his one chance for a meaningful conversation between the French, the Uzbeks and the Turkmen.
At the same time, if Julia Nash was some kind of an operative, or if she wasn’t working alone, and managed to pull something off at the reception, he could trigger one hell of an internatio
nal incident.
“So what do we do?” asked Alex, dropping down into a guest chair.
“Beef up security,” said Harrison. “Talk to her. See if I can get a feel for…” He swung to his feet, searching for the right words. “I don’t know. But she doesn’t strike me as…”
“The best spies never do,” said Alex.
Harrison frowned at his friend. He knew that. But he’d also been around international commerce and politics long enough to get a feel for people. He was usually right in his assessments.
Then again, the stakes weren’t usually quite this high.
“I’ll talk to her again,” he repeated.
“If you’re sure,” said Alex.
“It’s my ass in a sling.”
“Unless the bullets start flying. Then it’s all of our asses.”
Harrison gave a hard sigh. “I lose a hundred million in sunk costs,” he said to Alex.
“Then you’d better talk to her.”
Harrison glanced at the clock. They’d passed midnight a couple of hours ago. “Let’s hope she doesn’t plan to sleep late.”
The next morning, it took Julia a few minutes to orient herself. Her eyes blinked open to bright sunshine, and the bed beneath her was incredibly soft and comfortable. A window was open, and the cool morning air wafted over her comforter, bringing with it the sound of birds and scents of jasmine and roses.
But then she remembered.
Her white, embroidered cotton nightgown was borrowed, and there was a lock on the outside of her door. After marveling for a brief moment over her sound sleep under such frustrating conditions, she dragged back her covers and headed for the bathroom. She had no idea what the day would bring, and she wanted to be ready.
She showered, then discovered that somebody-she assumed it was Leila-had left a simple, cowl-neck dress of ice-blue silk on the freshly made bed. It had three-quarter-length sleeves, a wide, gauzy hood that could be pulled up as a head scarf, and it fell to just below her knees. Whoever it was had also left a pair of practical, low-heeled sandals that hugged Julia’s feet softly as she tested them on the carpeted floor.
Then she opened the French doors and walked onto the third-floor balcony, gazing at the stables and the sea beyond, giving herself the illusion of freedom.
A rap sounded on the door. She assumed it would be Leila or maybe breakfast, but she didn’t bother going back inside to answer it. People seemed to come and go as they pleased around here.
Sure enough, the door swung open without her help.
It was Leila, and she carried a silver tray of coffee, fruit and pastries. The scrolled tray was further decorated with a small bouquet of flowers, as if Julia cared about opulent hospitality.
Leila was followed by Harrison, looking stern and forbidding in a dark business suit. Julia had to admit the man would be considered handsome, even sexy by most. Not that she was into self-assured, self-absorbed powermongers.
Still, she gave herself a quick lecture on the dangers of falling for your captor-Stockholm syndrome-just in case he started looking good.
“Thank you,” she said to Leila, advancing back into the room as the woman set the tray down on a low table between the two armchairs and the love seat. It occurred to Julia that she should probably stand on principle and refuse to eat her jailer’s food. Part of her wanted to be that defiant, but another part urged her to be practical. A debate ping-ponged through her brain as Leila let herself out of the room.
“You need to eat,” came Harrison’s deep voice.
She glanced up to see him gesturing at the love seat.
“I need to make a phone call,” she told him, her tone biting.
Melanie and Robbie must be nearly frantic with worry by now. What if it distracted them from their race preparation?
Then Julia wondered if the authorities would simply inform Melanie and Robbie she was in custody at Cadair Racing. If there was some kind of central database of prisoners, Melanie and Robbie could show up here any minute.
“I’m afraid I still can’t allow a phone call,” said Harrison.
“It’s not that you can’t,” Julia retorted. “The problem is that you won’t.”
He gestured to the love seat. “We need to talk.”
Once again, she wondered how much defiance she should show. She hated to give him his way. Then again, refusing to cooperate might simply slow down her release.
She sat, glancing at the food but not giving in to temptation on that front.
Harrison took one of the armchairs opposite.
“Starving yourself won’t improve the situation,” he pointed out.
“It’ll give me emotional satisfaction,” she told him honestly.
“In the short term, maybe. But if you’re planning to fight or escape, or plot against me in any way, doesn’t it make more sense to keep up your strength?”
It annoyed her that he was right. “You’re expecting me to escape?”
He chuckled. “No. I’m expecting you to try.”
Of course he didn’t doubt he’d prevail. He was a member of the privileged class, after all.
“Well, I expected you to quickly discover that I am who I say I am, and let me go. Did you even check me out? Did you call Equine Earth Magazine?”
He leaned forward, lifted the silver coffeepot and poured two cups of the fragrant brew. “I looked them up on Google.”
“Then you found out I’m me.”
“I found out a woman named Julia Nash has written articles for them.”
“That’s me.”
He added two lumps of sugar to one of the cups and pushed it her way. Then he lifted the other.
“What made you decide I took sugar?”
“You’re young, you’re American, you’re a girl.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Do you take sugar?”
She pursed her lips. “Yes.”
“Then drink. Your keeling over doesn’t help either of us.”
She gave in. He was right on at least that count. She should keep up her strength. And the caffeine would help her stay alert, should an escape possibility present itself.
“If you’d give me back my purse, I can prove who I am,” she said. “I have a driver’s license.”
“You also have a passport. Or rather, I have your passport.”
“Then you know I’m Julia Nash.”
He was obviously messing with her head for some obscure reason of his own. He had to have every intention of letting her go this morning. Hunger contracting her stomach, she reached for an almond-glazed Danish. If memory served, it was a long drive back to Dubai.
“Tell me again why you broke into Cadair Racing?” he asked.
Julia chewed then swallowed the first bite of the pastry, dabbing her lips with the white linen napkin. “As you’ve discovered for yourself, I’m a reporter for Equine Earth Magazine. I wanted to do a story on you and your horse.”
“Which horse?”
“Millions to Spare.”
“And what’s your story angle?”
“His recent victories.” That seemed generic enough.
“Why Millions to Spare? Ilithyia won more races this year.”
Julia hesitated. This one was a little tougher.
Harrison raised his eyebrows.
She tried not to panic. She had to say something, anything. “Because of his…” No good. She drew a blank.
He gave her an extra few seconds, but then he shook his head.
“I was this close.” He made a centimeter-size gap between his thumb and forefinger. “This close to believing you are who you say you are. But then you had to go and lie again.”
“I’m not lying.” She could easily do a story on him and Millions to Spare. Therefore, technically, she was telling the truth.
He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. “I brought you your purse.” He pushed it across the table.
Relief flooded through her. He was letting her go. She scoop
ed up the ivory leather bag, snapped open the clasp and instantly noticed the deficiency. “My phone’s not here.” And neither was her passport, dashing her hopes that he might be setting her free.
Harrison stood. “Why would I give you back your phone?”
“So I can call a taxi.”
He shook his head. “You’re a criminal in my custody. You’re not going anywhere until you tell me the truth.”
Julia quickly looked through the purse, searching for the other important item. Where was the cotton swab? Her heart beat deeply in her chest. Where was her DNA evidence?
Harrison started for the door. “We’ll chat again after lunch.”
“But-”
“Do enjoy your breakfast. Can I have Leila bring you anything else? A magazine perhaps.”
Julia didn’t want a magazine. She wanted a cell phone, a PDA, a walkie-talkie, anything with which to communicate with the outside world.
“Can I use a computer?” she tried.
He chuckled. “Right. That’s likely.”
“Well, can I at least get out of this room?” Communication devices were obviously not coming in, so she’d have to get out and find one.
He frowned as he considered her request.
She gestured to the fenced grounds below the balcony. There were also guards at the gate. Come to think of it, the place had an awful lot of security for a horse stable. Maybe horse thieves were common. Maybe Harrison had a legitimate reason to suspect she was trying to steal Millions to Spare.
“Where am I going to go?” she challenged him.
After another silent moment, he relented. “I’ll have Leila show you to the main terrace. There’s a pool there, and the staff will bring you anything you need.”
Julia came to her feet, determined to push her luck as far as it could be pushed. “How about a tour?”
He raised one of his aristocratic brows. “A tour of what?”
“The palace, the gardens, the stable. If I’m going to do a story-”
He snorted his disbelief.
“-it’ll be helpful to slot in some background.”
He stared at her in silence.
“I do want to interview you.”
He took a step toward her. “I’ll give you a tour myself.”
Okay, that wasn’t exactly the perfect solution. She’d been hoping for Leila, or perhaps someone elderly, with hearing and sight challenges.
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