He blew out a breath and reached out, rubbing his thumb over his wife’s face.
She’d been a gentle, loving woman. He’d never deserved her.
Nasar’s cell phone rang.
He glanced at the clock.
It was past time.
He strode to the front door, flipped the lock and turned the signs off. If anyone needed him they’d hopefully assume he went to lunch. It wasn’t like he actually needed the business.
“Hello?” He moved to the back of the shop for privacy.
“It’s Malik,” a man said in Arabic.
Nasar grit his teeth. They’d talked about not using names, but the idiot couldn’t seem to follow orders.
“Did you speak with him?” Nasar asked, also speaking in Arabic.
“I did.”
“And?”
“He said he was impressed.”
Nasar blew out a breath.
He wished he could deal with Yousef directly. More often than not, Nasar found his boss mostly just got in the way. At least they’d passed the test. Now Yousef would release the cash to Zak and Miran and in a day or two their equipment would be ready. Everything was coming together.
“Stay close. The boss gave us a deadline,” Nasar said.
He still didn’t understand the nature of what they’d be doing. All he knew was that it was going to be a big job, the likes of which he’d never been part of before.
The door at the front of the shop rattled.
Shit.
“Will do,” Malik said.
Nasar hung up and hurried to the front of the shop. Only the young man waiting for him wasn’t a customer.
Was he cursed to forever work for idiots?
He unlocked the door, grabbed the boy and jerked him inside.
“Go to the back,” Nasar snapped.
“Easy.” Rayan held up his hands.
“I told you, come through the alley.” Nasar gave the man a shove to start him along.
“It’s gross back there,” Rayan whined.
Nasar didn’t respond.
They retreated into the back of the shop. Rayan set his laptop bag on the cleared off desk and unzipped it.
“I found him.”
Nasar rocked forward on the balls of his feet. “How?”
“It wasn’t that hard. I mean once we knew the basics it was just a matter of time until I found him.” Rayan tapped at the keys, the light bathing him in a soft glow. “There. That’s him.”
Nasar turned the laptop around and looked at a candid snapshot of a fair skinned, red haired American man with a too-tight smile and death in his eyes.
He went to his knees, looking at the man, searching for something that would put Nasar’s torment to rest.
This was the man who’d pulled the trigger and killed his family.
MONDAY. JABIR AL SAUD’S Home. Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.
Ivy tugged at the knot holding her bikini top together. She’d never have thought her sunflower white and yellow suit was modest, but compared to what she’d just seen strut out of the women’s wing, she was positively a prude.
“Trying to make an entrance?” a familiar voice dripping with scorn asked.
Ivy turned to see the Blue Shrew from the interview. She’d heard someone call her Jia yesterday while Ivy was finishing up her massage.
She pasted on her sweetest smile. “Mama always said, if you don’t try you won’t know.”
“What a load of bullshit,” Jia spat.
London and Nor came down the staircase at that very moment.
Ivy grinned wider. She couldn’t admit it, but it had been a demolitions expert who’d said that to her. He’d been talking about blowing up a roadblock with what amounted to a pinch of explosives, tape and gum. The man had been brilliant and quite possibly off his rocker.
“You might want to take care of that bullshit problem.” Ivy tapped her own cheek and winked. “You have a little right here.”
London leveled a stare at her.
Yes, Ivy was stirring the pot, but it had already been simmering.
She turned and joined the other two on their way out.
“Did you have to do that?” London muttered as the doors were whisked open for them.
“I didn’t start it.” Ivy sighed and focused on relaxing her body.
She settled into the rolling gait Zora had her practice. The one that was supposedly sexier in the way it let her hips lead her body. It was one of the many things Zora had her work on for the week leading up to this plan.
Base heavy music made the whole house seem to throb.
They emerged into the main atrium of the house. All of the doors to the patio were thrown open. There were more people, specifically men, than there’d been before. Colorful lights had been set up to lend a club vibe and the house staff carried fruity drinks to and fro.
“Wow,” Ivy muttered.
“Wow is right,” London said, only less like a wide-eyed country girl.
Not all of Ivy’s act was feigned. At heart, that was who she was.
“Any tips?” London asked.
“Smile. Have fun. And don’t go anywhere with them.” Nor draped her sheer caftan on the very edges of her shoulders, gaze already scanning the crowd.
“Copy that,” Ivy muttered
London looped her arm in Nor’s. “Come on. Let’s take a walk and see if we can’t find you-know-who.”
Ivy side-stepped the girls, so she was on Nor’s other side. Together they emerged onto the patio.
Girls were already circling some men while others, notably the drinky-drink table girls, had descended on the bar.
Jabir wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
For that fact, neither was Killam.
Oh, she might call him Piers to his face just to annoy him, but in her head he was Killam.
Ivy grit her teeth in irritation over that man’s absence. They hadn’t spoken since yesterday morning. Getting the official rules read to them had included that the girls weren’t allowed out unless summoned. That rule was going to make it particularly difficult to do her job, but there’d be an opening, eventually.
London flagged down a server and they all took glasses of slushy, fruity liquid. Ivy stared at it dubiously. She hadn’t seen it poured.
“Does Jabir serve alcohol?” Ivy asked.
“Yes,” Nor replied.
London frowned. “Why wouldn’t he?”
Ivy smothered her desire to shake some sense into the girls. “Alcohol is illegal in Saudi Arabia. Punishments are pretty severe. But, I guess when you’re a prince you can do what you want.”
London’s eyes were wide, reminding Ivy that she wasn’t anywhere near as old as she pretended to be. “I didn’t know that.”
Ivy turned to survey the party.
Most everyone was still clustered close to the patio, but the X-shaped pool itself was ridiculously large, with the widest part spanning the length of the entire house.
The farthest corners were conveniently out of sight of the patio, she noted.
Nor sighed and her shoulders slumped. “He’s not here.”
“Where would he be?” Ivy asked.
Nor wrinkled her nose. “Driving cars.”
Ivy nodded.
That would be why Killam wasn’t there either.
“Well, why don’t we find somewhere to hang out?” she suggested.
Not all of the men had come alone. There were other women there. It wasn’t like they needed to go out of their way to entertain every man on the property.
They managed to snag a cabana as it was vacated by two men. Both Nor and London arranged themselves, posing, while Ivy was content to sit cross legged with a pillow in her lap to rest her drink on.
The heat wasn’t terrible this early in the afternoon, but she suspected it would be scorching before much longer. She was glad she’d put on two layers of sunscreen before getting dressed.
“What’s a typical party day like?” she asked as she let her gaze
roam over the party.
“We’ll be here until lunch is set up in the house. Half the people will go inside for the afternoon while some stay out here. It really depends on where Prince Jabir goes. There will be a break where we eat then get dressed before joining the rest of the party for their dinner. Obviously we don’t eat.”
“Wait, we eat separate? Really?” Some of these rules just made Ivy’s head hurt.
Nor nodded and continued. “I think tonight there’s going to be a DJ.”
Ivy sipped her drink and leaned back against the post, content to watch people.
“What’s going on over there?” London asked.
Ivy followed London’s gaze to a lounge set up in the shade of the house. Jia was there along with the rest of the Shrew Squad, plus a few other bitches.
“What do you mean?” Ivy asked.
Beige Shrew stood with her arms crossed over her chest.
What the hell was she wearing?
Nor gasped. “Oh, no...”
“What?” Ivy was missing something. While the other two weren’t looking, she dumped her drink into the grass behind the cabana where it wouldn’t be noticed. She hadn’t liked the hungover feeling yesterday and wouldn’t put it past anyone to put something in their drinks or food.
“She’s wearing the same swimsuit as Karen,” Nor whispered.
“Karen, that’s the beige bitch?” Ivy asked.
London sputtered a laugh and doubled over.
Nor kept watching in horror.
Ivy saw the other girl now. She was one of the new girls who took partying seriously.
The bathing suit in question didn’t leave a lot to the imagination. A tiny triangle covered the crotch with three straps wrapping around the hips. The top was likewise made out of thin straps with a mesh, completely see-through fabric cupping the breasts with flower appliques covering the nipples.
It looked like a wardrobe malfunction about to happen.
“Why? What’s so bad about them both wearing it?” Ivy was curious now.
“Karen’s...”
“No one wants their thunder stolen by someone wearing the same outfit,” London said.
“Someone needs to tell her to change,” Nor said quietly.
Ivy studied Karen with new eyes.
The woman wasn’t exactly staring at the other girl, but she did seem to be posing. Karen was toned in a way the other girl wasn’t. And if Ivy had to guess, Karen’s breasts were completely fake, allowing her to fill out the top better. But Karen was probably closer to Ivy’s age. Maybe twenty-six. Which in this crowd was old.
Was it possible Karen felt threatened by the new girl?
Given what had happened to Nor, would Karen try to eliminate the competition?
Karen set an empty glass down hard on the side table, then turned toward the other girl still hanging around by the bar.
Ivy’s impending danger alarm began to go off.
“Anyone need another drink?” She stood, never taking her eyes off Karen, now making her move.
Ivy didn’t wait for the other two to chime in with their need of a drink. She began walking, sexy hip roll be damned. She considered kicking off her platform wedges, but it would take her too long to get out of the damn things. Instead, she lengthened her stride as much as she dared.
Karen swiped a red drink off a platter as she reached the cluster of tables near the bar.
There was cold intent in those eyes. Ivy could see it from thirty paces.
Shit. What was the new girl’s name?
A hand groped Ivy’s ass as she passed. She grit her teeth and kept going.
There was no way she’d make it.
As if that thought were the catalyst, she watched Karen bobble her step then toss the red liquid on the other girl, splashing her entire right side and up the front of the suit. The liquid splattered the face of another girl and all across the bar.
Feminine outrage shrieked over the music.
The new girl whirled, rage written on her face. Only her foot slipped out from under her and she went down hard, smacking her head against the bar.
Ivy reached out and grabbed Karen by the arm.
“You don’t mess with me,” Karen said.
“Or what? You’ll call the damn manager, Karen?” Ivy snarled and jerked the woman back.
Karen took one defiant look at Ivy, then crumpled, letting out a sob.
What...the fuck?
Ivy looked down at the woman whose arm she still had hold of.
“What are you doing?” an angry man’s voice said right before someone grabbed hold of her.
Ivy let go of Karen and turned to face Yousef.
“Me?” Ivy yelped. “She—”
“Go inside right now. I don’t want to see you again,” Yousef roared at her.
Ivy gaped at him.
Jia was helping Karen to her feet while the other drunk girls were pressing napkins to the downed girls head.
Ivy gestured at the mess. “I didn’t—”
Yousef drew his hand back. “I said...”
Ivy flinched, understanding the threat perfectly.
“Okay. I’m going,” she managed to say calmly.
Skin clammy and cold, she turned toward the house, only vaguely aware of the grins Karen and Jia aimed her way.
What the hell happened? Had Ivy just created a trap for herself?
Her head was still reeling as she went inside and proceeded into the women’s wing as if in a daze.
Inside and alone she undid the straps on her shoes, then stared at them while her feet acclimated to being flat once more.
Karen had played the whole situation in the blink of an eye. She’d seen what Ivy had not, the sudden appearance of Yousef. Both Nor and Killam had been frank about it not mattering who was at fault, only who caused a ruckus.
Nor had clearly stated that neither Yousef nor Jabir cared what the women did, so long as their spats didn’t cause a scene.
Ivy would have caused a scene.
She couldn’t make that mistake again.
Heaving a sigh, she went upstairs and threw on a cover-up with some flats. It was still a nice day and now she had a private pool.
She froze on the stairs, looking down at the entry.
The doors.
The guards weren’t there because they didn’t need to keep the house segregated right now.
Ivy’s brain began sparking ideas. She took the stairs two at a time to the ground floor, then stood there.
She couldn’t go out through the main doors. There were too many people.
But the kitchens?
If she went now, maybe she could make this work.
Ivy tip-toed into the industrial kitchen that served their wing of the house.
It was empty. The lights were off.
She peered through the window into the kitchen serving the rest of the house.
One man stood with his back toward her. She saw the black cord of his headphones clearly against the white walls.
Things were only going to get busier.
She pushed the door open, crouched low and darted across the industrial kitchen into the next kitchen. The show room kitchen.
Two men had their heads together in a corner, talking seriously. They never noticed her.
She paused, got herself a drink of water as if she belonged there, and went to the doorway, peering out on the main room.
Most everyone was outside and there was a cluster of house staff around the injured girl.
Ivy did an about-face and strode into the empty formal dining room. At the other doorway she once more paused.
Guards stood focused on the main doors, but that was it.
If Jabir was joyriding and everyone else at the party, the coast was clear for her to have a look around.
She darted across the entry and into the next room, a sort of library of sorts. She bumped the doors mostly shut and decided to look around, indulge her curiosity a bit.
The books were pr
otected by glass doors. The furniture was dark leather and wood.
A desk drew her attention to the other side of the room.
Was this Jabir’s office? His public one?
She went to the desk and opened the drawers.
Papers in a language she couldn’t read.
That was damn frustrating.
She set the glass down and flipped through the odds and ends left out, but didn’t learn anything.
Voices boomed in the entry. Someone laughed loud enough it echoed off all the marble.
Ivy winced and froze.
A bit of movement from the crack in the door was all the warning she needed. She dropped to her knees and crawled under the desk as the doors banged open.
“It was wonderful. Splendid!” Jabir gushed.
“Oh, you’re much too kind,” Killam said in an amused drawl.
Shit.
What the hell was she doing? What was she going to say if they found her?
“The power.” Jabir moaned as if in ecstasy.
“You know how to drive them,” Killam said, his voice coming closer.
And then she saw him standing at the windows. He gazed out of them as if admiring the view then turned ever so slightly. He didn’t look at her.
Was he looking at her glass?
The sunlight glinted off a glossy black car out front.
Shit.
She’d been so wrapped up with what was in the house she hadn’t paid attention to the outside.
“I’ll write you that check,” Jabir said.
Killam pulled his phone from his pocket and frowned at it. “Actually, would you give me a moment? I wouldn’t ask, but it’s my mom...”
“Say no more.” Jabir laughed. “I’ll probably owe you more by the end of the week.”
“That you will.” Killam grinned.
She waited, listening to the receding footsteps and the thump of a door closing.
Ivy blew out a breath. She might still escape this thing.
Killam dropped the smile and his gaze focused on her. She cringed and remained hunched under the desk, unable to move.
Out of the pan and into the fire.
Why the hell was she suddenly hot all over?
7.
Monday. Jabir al Saud’s Home. Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.
Killam stared at Ivy hiding under the table while he swiped his thumb over the darkened screen of his cell phone.
Necessary Risk Page 8