The Princess And The Mercenary

by Victoria Paige

  The men exchanged glances in the rearview mirror.

  “What?”

  “Let me and Max check it out first,” Kade said. “We’ll drop you off at the compound.”

  “They’re not going to let you through without me.”

  “Oh, I don’t think they’re planning on walking right up.” The driver smirked.

  “I don’t understand.” Yara squinted at the unknown man. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Bob.”

  “Try again,” she countered.

  The man grinned but didn’t say anything.

  “Bob’s our fixer,” Max offered.

  “Fixer?”

  “I fix things so they work,” Bob the “fixer” said. “From renting this vehicle and making sure it’s not bugged, to cleaning up any mess these boys leave behind.”

  “What are you guys going to do?”

  “Surveillance,” Kade said shortly. “I’ve got a kit in my duffel.”

  “Shit,” Max said, looking ahead. “How many checkpoints are we going through?”

  Yara followed his sight and saw some road blocks with coalition forces inspecting each car.

  “Around six,” Bob replied.

  Kade swore under his breath as their Land Cruiser convoy slowed to a crawl behind another car.

  “I’m going to call Jeff or Mom when I get to the compound,” Yara said. “What do I tell him if he looks for you guys?”

  “Groceries,” their driver piped up. “Max has special needs.”

  “Fuck you, asshole,” Max said good-naturedly.

  As the two bickered in front, she glanced at Kade.

  “You mean, you’re willing to let me out of your sight?” she leaned into him and whispered.

  “Roarke and Jed are staying behind,” Kade said in a neutral tone, cold even. “We’ve screened all the guards protecting the compound. You’re safe.”

  She withdrew and stared at his face. It was bland and flat. She reached for his hand which was resting on his knee, but he moved it out of her reach.

  Alrighty then. Professional.

  Yara clasped her hands on her lap, feeling an awkwardness spring up between them.

  He’d started pulling away from her that morning, so maybe she’d simply imagined the flash of possessiveness when Tariq was around.

  Their vehicle moved forward to the inspection line. Bob lowered his window and spoke fluent Arabic to the soldiers. All she understood was ERAF. They were waved through with no issue.

  As their convoy navigated the streets of Aden, Yara took in the destruction caused by war. They passed through damaged streets with pavement cracked or lifted from the ground. Rubbles stacked everywhere in front of shelled buildings and structures with completely crumbled walls. And yet, life went on. People walked the streets, vendors lined the sidewalk and young men played billiards in front of pockmarked buildings.

  Yes, life went on.

  The call to prayer woke her.

  Yara groaned and rolled to her side as a brief disorientation hit her, but the voice of the muezzin on the loudspeaker told her exactly where she was. At least her bed was comfortable. She didn’t know if Bob had anything to do with that.

  The light stench of mold competed with the abrasive smell of bleach hinting of the serious cleaning that was recently done to their house. Yara twitched her nose and thought to open the windows. November in Aden heralded pleasant temperatures, lows in the mid-seventies and highs in the low eighties. The weather was also drier. A different climate awaited them once they got to the highlands of Taiz.

  Her eyes adjusted to the purplish light of dawn and took in the wooden cabinet in one corner and a desk at the other. Might as well start her day early. There was much to do.

  Yara fumbled for her slippers, found them, and shuffled to the wall near the entrance and flicked on a light switch. She opened the door and stepped through the darkened hallway. Unlike most houses in Yemen that were made up of several floors, the NGO compound consisted of bungalows with two wings separated by a shared kitchen and a living room. A bathroom was located on each wing. This was to accommodate various cultural differences where an unmarried woman didn’t feel comfortable staying in a room adjacent to a man.

  She entered the utilitarian bathroom with its all-white tiles with a single high window. The showerhead was new but was useless yesterday when the hot water heater broke along with the water pump. It had been an interesting first night.

  With the other men gone to do whatever “recon” they said they were doing, Warren and Declan took turns hauling in buckets of water to fill the drum in one corner of the bathroom.

  Yara couldn’t make her mind up about Warren Brody. The new guy seemed reserved and closed off from the rest of the team except Max. He was always in front of his laptop. As an analyst, Yara supposed, he did better with data than people.

  A bucket and a water scooper stood under the showerhead. Taking a bath using a giant plastic ladle and bucket wasn’t a first for her. Yara had even mastered a technique which was to shampoo her hair first, so she didn’t shiver to death. Then while the conditioner was sitting on her head, she’d scoop cold water over her body and lather, then rinse, and the finale was dunking the bucket over the head for a quick finish.

  She turned the faucet on and was relieved to see a modest flow. It was an excellent idea to bring a water engineer to the team. A new water heater and parts for the ancient water pump were delivered last night and Derrick must have gone to work on it immediately.

  Still, Yara grabbed a water bottle to use for brushing her teeth.

  After a quick morning routine, she headed to the kitchen, surprised to see Jill already cooking at the stove.

  “Eggs and lentils this morning. That okay?” Jill asked. “I sent Declan and the doc to get some flatbread. I heard there’s a good source not far from here.”

  “You didn’t have to cook. I’m sure we have some pop tarts or cereal in one of the boxes.”

  Jill wrinkled her nose. “You’ll need a hearty breakfast to get through today. Heard the cargo arrived.”

  “Have Kade and Max returned?” She hadn’t seen them since they dropped their group off the day before.

  “Haven’t seen them.”

  Yara eyed the nutritionist and the way she efficiently prepared the food. “You need help?”

  Jill smiled at her. “I’m good.”

  “Great, I’m going to make a call,” Yara said.

  The other woman waved her off.

  Returning to her room, the first rays of the sun kissed the floors in low golden light. She grabbed her phone from the charger and called Jeff who had not returned her call from last night. She had spoken to her mom and she insisted the cargo was supposed to arrive the next day, not the day before. Did it not make a stop in Oman?

  Just when she thought it would go to voicemail again, he picked up.

  “Yara, I was about to call you. I was in meetings all day.”

  She sighed. “Sorry to call you so late, Uncle Jeff. Crap, I didn’t think of the time difference. What time is it there?”

  “Ten o’clock.”

  Yara fidgeted with her charger. “You listened to my message though?”

  “Yes,” Jeff responded. “I don’t know what happened. There must have been a screwup in Oman. The shipping line is usually good at estimating when they’ll get there. I’m sure the cargo can wait until Wednesday to load the trucks if you had other plans today.”

  “Other plans can wait,” she said, an odd shift in her chest feeling the disconnect between her sense of urgency and Jeff’s. “Haven’t you read the headlines?”

  “Oh, you mean Denton’s piece in the Manhattan Globe,” Jeff scoffed. “It’s probably sensationalized.”

  “The UN backs his statement.”

  “They’re probably trying to cover their asses. Look, sweetheart, you can’t get too emotionally involved in every humanitarian mission. This thing will eat at you and you’ll burn out. That’s why
we stress that during orientation.”

  Was that what her problem was? She thought about Jill and her bored look when she was mustering enthusiasm for their team. An unsettled emotion flitted through her. She blew out a breath. “You’re right. Thanks for reminding me.”

  “I’ve been where you are many, many times.” There was a heaviness in his tone. Yara wondered if his health issues were due to the stress from the foundation, but that was one of the many reasons she was stepping up, right?

  “I understand. How about you? Blood pressure okay?”

  Jeff scoffed. “Don’t worry about me, I’m just an old bugger.”

  “Uncle Jeff,” she chided in a mild tone.

  “Doc wants me to lower my salt intake.”

  “You do love that salt shaker.”

  A hearty chuckle came over the line. “Like I told the doctor, I’d sooner have someone shoot me than let them wrestle that salt shaker from my hand.”

  “Just take care of yourself, okay?”

  “Thanks, sweetheart. You take care, too.”

  She ended the call and stared at her phone before scrolling through her contacts and hovering over the one for her mother, but something made her pause.

  A rap came from the door. “Breakfast is getting cold,” Jill said. “Oh, Kade and the other guys are back.”

  When Yara made it to the kitchen, almost the whole gang was there. Kade and Max stood off to a corner, embroiled in some quiet argument with Max gesturing wildly. Warren sat on the couch with his laptop open, fingers flying over the keyboard. Declan and Derrick were already at the dinner table sipping mugs of coffee.

  “Here. Looks like you need this,” Leo said, handing her a cup of java. She smiled gratefully.

  The other aid workers filed past them, carrying boxes that were brought in the day before back outside.

  “What’s going on?” Yara asked.

  “I think we’re heading to Taiz today.”

  “That’s not possible, we still haven’t passed customs.” Damn, she really needed caffeine as her brain struggled to catch up.

  “Done early this morning.” Kade appeared by her side. “Need to talk to you.”

  Yara waited for him to say something.

  “Privately.” His gaze slid pointedly to Leo.

  “Uh …where?” she asked, but Kade grabbed her hand and pulled her down the hallway toward her room.

  Yara dug her heels to the floor and tried to extricate her hand. “Stop it.”

  Kade stopped, turned to look at her, and she was slammed by the full onslaught of his glare.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she whispered.

  He flicked his eyes above her head then back at her. “Not here.”

  They entered her room, the door slammed closed and her body was shoved against its hard surface. Thick arms caged her in, Kade’s face inches from hers, hot breath fanning her cheeks. His gaze cut into her like he hated her, and yet it flared with hunger.

  “I am sick of this Jekyll-and-Hyde, passive-aggressive behavior,” she hissed. “I don’t get you. You become distant, but the second a man shows interest in me, you act like a dog pissing a circle around his territory.”

  “You get me just fine,” he snarled.

  “So, kiss me,” she challenged.

  A hand flew to her chin and dragged her close, their lips a hair’s breadth away from each other and then he let her go. In a blink, he was at the opposite side of the room. Meanwhile, she exhaled a shudder, her nipples hard and her pussy spasming with desire for this moody son of a bitch prowling her room like a panther.

  “Acting professional,” she gritted through her teeth, “doesn’t include dragging me away from any man you think wants me.”

  “Did Butler make a move?”

  “Maybe,” Yara taunted. “I seem to be a poor judge of workplace romances so I don’t know.”

  Kade stopped pacing and shot her an offended scowl. “I don’t do romance.”

  “Well, excuse me, Romeo.” Yara rested her hands on her hips.

  She was fed up.

  Fed. Up.

  “That’s not why I dragged you into this room.”

  “I’m glad you admitted you dragged me.”

  He waved a hand in irritation as if to dispel their earlier arguments. “Let’s talk about Jeffrey Kennedy.”

  “Uncle Jeff?”

  “How well do you know him?”

  “I’m sure you’ve read his file. He and Sully go way back. I’ve known him since I was a baby … well, as long as I—”

  He waved his hand again as if he got the point.

  “Stop. That.” Yara seethed. “You don’t ask me a question and then wave off my answer as if it’s insignificant. It’s insulting. Show me some respect.” Her eyes slitted. “I don’t know what it means to you that we had a fling, if it made me less in your eyes—” He opened his mouth and clamped it shut when she shot him a warning glare. “But I hope when it concerns the foundation, you’d treat me like a respected colleague.”

  A few seconds of silence passed.

  Kade cleared his throat. “Can I speak now?”

  Yara rolled her eyes.

  He moved into her space, gripped her shoulders, and lowered his head. “Don’t ever think that what we shared in Ankara makes you less. I have a lot of respect for what you do and I’ve seen glimpses of the real you … but.” He paused, his lips flattened into a straight line as he struggled with words. “We have bigger problems to discuss.”

  “What?” They didn’t have enough problems already?

  “Aside from arriving early, the manifests don’t match.”

  She frowned.

  “There were the eight crates we expected, but the manifest on the ship—the paper one from the crew—indicated there were nine. The port computer showed eight.”

  “There must be some mistake on the shipping line’s end given how many containers they handle. I doubt Mom would have made a mistake.” She gave a helpless shrug. “Does it matter as long as we got what we expected?”

  Kade nodded slightly. “Probably. But what if there was really an extra crate?”

  “I surely hope you’re not accusing my mother of smuggling.” Her voice sharpened.

  “Kennedy?”

  “Doesn’t make sense to me. He started the foundation with Sully and has been devoted to its cause ever since.”

  “Has he had recent money problems?”

  “No!” She paused. “I mean … I don’t know. He had that divorce, but that was years ago. He’s fine financially.” Doubt crept into her voice.

  “Sure about that?”

  “He wouldn’t smuggle goods.” The idea was so preposterous; Kade was ticking her off. “Uncle Jeff is a man who’s spent more than twenty years advocating for people in need. You should have seen how he personally went on these humanitarian missions.”

  “People change.”

  Before she could answer, her phone beeped. A text message from Tariq.

  I’m outside. Your guards won’t let me in.

  14

  “Let him in.”

  Yara and Kade were at a standoff in the living room.

  Actually, Yara and the entire SSRR team were at a standoff.

  Tariq was at the gate of the compound, apparently with his own security force and an unknown number of military contractors.

  Max walked in from the outside and stood beside his partner. “He will only speak to Yara.”

  “Not an option,” Kade snapped.

  “What are you so afraid of?” she challenged. “I’ve known Tariq for a long time. He won’t hurt me.” She turned to Max. “Let. Him. In. The aid will not push through without him. Why are you blocking our host in the country from speaking to me? People are dying. Why are we delaying?”

  “Spear?” Max asked. There was defeat in his voice and suspicions touched the corners of her mind.

  “Only Haddad and his choice of two men. No weapons.” Kade relented, his eyes not leaving hers. Her he
art pinched when she saw regret etched in his expression and, suddenly, she was scared. They heard the commotion outside the bungalow. Kade reached out, drew her close, and whispered in her ear.

  Her anxiety skyrocketed at his words. Their eyes locked, hers questioning, his pleading—and she couldn’t look away even when Tariq stormed into the house with a finger pointed accusingly at Kade.

  “The cargo arrived early,” Tariq growled.

  “I knew that yesterday,” Yara replied. “I forgot to tell you. I already talked to Uncle Jeff.”

  “Did you also know that your security team is actually working for General Boustari?” he sneered.

  Her first reaction was confusion. Her second reaction was uneasiness because she’d never seen Tariq this angry before. “Hamid Boustari?” Was he the general Denton was referring to?

  “Yes. Saudi Intelligence.”

  “But why?” Yara asked, turning to look at Kade who was standing quietly and staring coldly at Tariq.

  “Those are hard accusations, Mr. Haddad,” Kade drawled. “Better have proof.”

  Tariq’s brows rose. “Proof? Check the third text I sent you, Yara.”

  Kade stiffened beside her and she instinctively stepped away from him, her heart skittering as she unlocked her phone.

  And her world fell apart.

  It was a picture of Kade and Max standing beside some crates and the Saudi official who she recognized as the monster who ordered the indiscriminate bombing that killed thousands of Yemenis, and who ordered the blockade that had caused the deaths of many more.

  “Are those the ERAF crates?” she asked quietly because any effort above a whisper threatened her control.

  Kade watched her, not answering, his continued silence—everyone’s continued silence—frayed the restraints she held over her emotions.

  Her eyes misted red, her quick steps brought her into Kade’s space and she punched him straight across the face.

  He grunted but didn’t retaliate. He glanced at her hand and reached out. “Yara …”

  “Don’t touch me, you asshole!” she screamed even as pain radiated through her knuckles and up her arm, but it was nothing compared to the agony of the betrayal ripping through her heart. Tariq was at her side and, ignoring Muslim customs, wrapped her in a tight embrace and backed them away from Kade.