Protecting His Princess (4 page)

Harris nodded in understanding. “I know what you mean. Whenever I travel abroad, it’s not only how I look that makes me stand out from the locals. It’s not knowing the customs and culture. I feel like I make insulting mistakes.” With the exception of a brief time in her room, he hadn’t dropped his German accent for a moment since they’d arrived. How did he stay perfectly in character? She felt as if she needed to check every word that left her mouth to be sure she wasn’t blowing their cover.

“Do you have anything you’re looking for specifically? I can take you to the best shops with the nicest wares. I know an antique dealer who sells some unique pieces.” Was he eyeing something in particular for his mission?

“I read that the marketplace is the perfect location to shop for perfumes and carpets. My family might like a few local specialties as gifts. And of course, I’ll need something for your mother.”

It would make a good impression that Harris had gotten her mother a gift. “My mother is a practical woman. She won’t expect anything elaborate.” Anything too elaborate and Mikhail would take possession of it. She and Harris had discussed purchasing a gift for her mother before leaving the United States. If she and Harris were to become engaged, a gift of equal measure to Laila’s social status would be expected from him to her family. Since their relationship was a sham, Laila didn’t think putting the CIA through an additional expense made sense. By the time it became important for Harris to give Laila’s family a lavish gift, the ruse would be up. For now, a thoughtful trinket was best.

“I’ll let you give me guidance on what to get your mom. In my country, flowers and wine are appropriate. I’m guessing there’s another protocol here.” A man walking in the opposite direction bumped her, and her shoulder brushed Harris’s.

Harris reached to steady her, his hands on her for only a moment, but it was heated enough to sear her to the core. “Are you all right?” he asked, shooting an annoyed look in the direction of the man who’d jolted her.

Laila wished she had brought a hand fan. It was too hot. The souk was crowded, and without the wind blowing, it was stuffy and confining. She wouldn’t focus on how it felt to touch Harris. “I’m fine. I’m thinking my mom might like a small piece of artwork, like a statue or a landscape painting. One of her hobbies is painting scenery. Or maybe a set of worry beads.” Her father had several worry beads he’d gotten at important dates in his life, among them when he’d become emir, when he’d married Laila’s mother and when each of his three children was born. To continue the tradition and have Harris present her mother with a set to mark the occasion of their meeting would have significance to her mother.

In the event her mother grew to like Harris, she would be disappointed when she learned Harris and Laila’s relationship was fake. Perhaps the worry beads and her mother forming any connection to Harris were a mistake. Before she could make another suggestion, Harris answered.

“That sounds great. We can also look for something for my mother and two sisters-in-law. I’ve heard the perfumes here are the best. I think they would get a thrill out of a special perfume.”

Laila had known the stakes before she’d agreed to this. Being in Qamsar was harder than she’d imagined. She reassured herself that her deception was only required for a short time, and she was doing the right thing for her country and her family.

Harris was talking like a tourist. She had assumed he had a secondary motivation for coming to the souk. Maybe she’d been wrong. She’d been anticipating a cloak-and-dagger routine. “I know a shop that sells amazing scents. I’ll let you know when we get there.”

They were beckoned to a jewelry stall. “You wish to buy something for your beautiful lady?” the vendor asked, holding out a few necklaces for Harris to see.

Harris turned to her. “See anything you like?”

He wanted to buy her something? It wasn’t necessary. Or was this part of the role he was playing: rich German heir? Would the girlfriend of such a man decline the gift, or would she be so accustomed to being spoiled that accepting would be natural?

Laila was overthinking. She wasn’t pretending to be anyone. She was herself. “You don’t need to buy me anything, Harris. But thank you.”

“I have beautiful gold bracelets. They would look lovely on your lady,” the vendor pressed.

“She’s already lovely,” Harris said.

The compliment tickled her insides. The vendor held a gold bangle bracelet with silver threading in the shape of ivy wrapping around the gold.

Laila gasped. It was a beautiful piece. “This reminds me of a ring that belonged to my great-great-grandmother. This has the same ivy pattern set against the gold.”

“If we can work out a price, I’ll take it,” Harris said.

Laila whirled to him in surprise. “You don’t need to buy that.”

Harris negotiated with the vendor and smiled when they struck a deal. He turned and presented it to Laila. “I saw how you looked at it. You can wear it to your brother’s wedding. It’s my special gift to you.”

She slipped the bracelet over her hand onto her wrist and secured the safety clasp. “Thank you. This is nice of you and unexpected.” It was the first piece of jewelry, or any gift she had received from a man she wasn’t related to. “You didn’t have to buy this.”

Harris lifted a brow at her. “I know I didn’t
have
to. I wanted to. Is there a place where you’d like to stop for a few moments to get something to eat? I’d like to look around on my own. You can stay with the driver.”

Laila glanced at the driver standing a step away, watching Laila with annoyance in his eyes. Was he irritated he had been sent to babysit her, or did he have some personal problem with her?

“Maybe we should stay together,” Laila said. Was Harris safe alone?

“Perhaps I should take you to see your mother first, and then return?” he asked.

Stash her somewhere first? Was what he needed to do that dangerous? What if something happened to him? How would anyone know? He could disappear in the country and never be heard from again.

“I’d like to stay together,” she said. She should go along with whatever he said. It had been the plan when leaving the United States, but now she was worried about him.

Harris looked at her, studying her face, perhaps trying to understand her reasons without asking the question. “All right. If you insist.”

She processed the words. Had her refusal caused a problem with his plans? He wouldn’t argue in front of the driver and raise suspicions.

Harris continued walking and stopped at a stall where the vendor was selling shoes. He picked up a pair and turned them over. “Are these leather?”

The vendor nodded. “The finest leather. Soft. Will contour to your feet the more you wear them.”

Harris held up his hand. “I’ll take two pairs. And a pair for the lady.”

Laila didn’t think the shoes were attractive. They looked like shoes to wear on a construction site, heavy and durable. She opened her mouth to protest and then thought better of it. The CIA had asked her to go along with Harris when possible, and since they were in front of the vendor and the driver, no point in arguing with him. If he wanted to buy ugly shoes, then fine.

The guard escorting them leaned in close to look at the shoes. Was something wrong with them? Why did he seem interested in Harris’s purchase? He hadn’t cared when Harris had bought her the bracelet.

With the laces knotted and the shoes thrown over his shoulder, Harris continued along the marketplace. He bought a few bottles of perfume for the women in his family and an ornamental carpet, the items she’d expect a vacationer to buy. He was playing his role well.

At an artist’s shop, he purchased a strand of rose-colored glass worry beads for her mother. It was delicate with the colored spheres catching the sun.

“Did you get what you needed?” she asked.

“Almost everything,” Harris said. He looked ahead and continued walking.

Laila kept waiting for something to happen. For a man to lean out from an alley and draw them inside and give them a package. For someone to slip Harris a bag. For Harris to pick up a lone package off the sidewalk, left by another asset.

A man walking by stopped and pointed to Harris’s shoes. “I can take those off your hands if you’d like.”

Harris shook his head. “The stall ahead on the left sells them. You’ll have your pick of color and size.”

“I’d prefer shoes that were broken in,” he said.

“Can’t help you there,” Harris said.

The man looked between her and Harris a few times. She stepped closer to Harris, unsure if the man was considering mugging them or stealing the shoes. It struck her as odd, since the shoes weren’t remarkable or expensive. Whatever the nameless man was thinking, he decided to leave them alone and hurried in the direction of the shoe stall.

“That was strange,” Laila said.

Harris made a noncommittal sound.

Was that conversation some coded exchange of information? “You bought those ugly shoes—” The guard was hanging on to every word, and Laila stopped her train of thought.

Harris’s eyes widened slightly. “Hey, they are not ugly.”

For a moment, she worried she’d offended him. Then she saw the amused gleam in his eyes. What good were ugly shoes? Was he trying to smuggle something inside them? Laila hadn’t seen him pick up anything and put it inside the shoes. Did he have a gun stashed somewhere? Would he risk it, knowing they’d be searched, and if caught, they’d be in danger? American spy movies had her imagination running untamed.

“Whatever you say,” Laila said. “Don’t think you’re wearing them to the wedding.”

“But I bought a pair for you so we’d match.”

She scrunched up her face. “Gee, thanks. I’ll return the favor sometime. Maybe you’d like to wear matching head scarves.”

Harris let out a bark of laughter. “Perhaps. I wonder what your family would think of that.”

They’d think he was crazy. His blue eyes shone in the sun. He was a beautiful, captivating man. One who could make her think he had feelings for her, who could make her believe their romance was real. No matter how Harris looked at her or how he treated her, she had to keep their objective at the front of her mind. He was in Qamsar to find and stop a terrorist. He wasn’t interested in falling in love, least of all with her. “If you dressed like a woman, my family would have questions,” she said.

Harris grinned at her and molten heat rolled through her.

“I’m ready to leave whenever you are. The heat is getting to me,” Harris said, plucking at his shirt.

Based on his nonchalant response, she was alone in feeling the chemistry between them. She refocused on the mission. If Harris had been in the souk for information, except for his strange and brief interaction with a man offering to buy the shoes, Laila hadn’t seen anything unusual. She couldn’t have explained the purpose or reason for the interaction if questioned.

If anyone asked her what she and Harris did in the souk, she could tell the truth. He’d bought presents for his family, a bracelet for her, a gift for her mother and ugly shoes. The driver would corroborate her story.

“I’ll call my mother and see if she’s ready for our visit,” Laila said.

Laila took out her cell phone and dialed her mother.

Her mother answered on the second ring. “I was hoping you would call again. I missed your first call by ten minutes.”

Laila’s chest filled with happiness at the thought of seeing her mother. “Harris and I are finished at the souk. Are we too early for dinner? I wouldn’t mind extra time to visit with you.” She and her mother had kept in touch over the phone and with almost daily emails, but talking in person was better.

“I can’t wait to see you. I’ve been calling you, but the calls went straight to voice mail,” Iba said.

“The signal is sometimes weak here,” Laila said.

“I’d love to have you over, but didn’t Mikhail tell you?” Iba asked.

Laila’s stomach knotted. “Tell me what?”

“He’s invited guests in town for the wedding to the compound tonight. He has a special announcement. I don’t know what it is. I was getting ready to leave now.” Her mother sounded reserved and tense.

A special announcement sounded ominous. Maybe it was something to do with the wedding, or maybe it was another opportunity for Mikhail to make a declaration about how he planned to keep his family under his thumb. More monitoring. More check-ins. More rules. “Okay, then we’ll see you there.”

Dread and worry heavy in her stomach, Laila said goodbye to her mother and disconnected the call. “Change of plans. Mikhail is having a dinner and making a special announcement tonight.”

The corners of Harris’s mouth turned down. He addressed the driver. “Sounds like we need to return to the compound.”

The driver glanced at his watch and nodded. “It would be offensive to be late.”

Why hadn’t Mikhail mentioned anything when he’d stopped by her room earlier in the day? If the news was bad, maybe he didn’t want to give her a chance to run. What if Mikhail’s special announcement was her engagement to one of his lackeys?

Chapter 3

H
arris preferred sticking to plans. It was easier to put contingencies and backups into place when he understood the factors at play. A special announcement by the emir didn’t have a pleasing ring to it. Harris wished he could make contact with the Bureau before the dinner and figure out who or what had changed in the political environment, but making contact when it wasn’t an emergency was a mistake. Harris had a German number to call for check-ins, the cover being that the number belonged to his brother. But Harris couldn’t get information or ask questions without risking someone overhearing his conversation. The CIA wasn’t sure how technologically advanced the emir’s security team was. Until Harris had a better sense of their abilities, he’d assume them to be masterfully skilled and be extra careful about calling his fake company from his cellular phone.

Harris and Laila returned to the compound. After another search of the car and themselves, they were allowed inside. First hurdle passed. They hadn’t given his shoes, carpet or perfume a second glance. Lucky for him.

His assessment of the emir’s security team’s abilities moved a notch down from masterful.

Alone in his room, Harris turned on the radio and tuned to a station playing soft, relaxing music. He killed the lights. He’d checked for bugs again, but without more sophisticated equipment, he couldn’t be certain if more had been hidden while he was out of the room. In the dark, he removed the thin plastic blade and small bottle of glue secured to the lining of his suitcase. He got into bed, pretending to need a nap. Jet lag. Long flight. Sleep was plausible.

Underneath the covers, he slit the heels of the shoes and removed the surveillance equipment. Five bugs in all, equipped with video and sound. If he needed more, he’d make contact with his asset and get a message to his team. He glued the soles back on the shoes.

Then he waited. For fifteen minutes he pretended to rest. Shortly thereafter he slipped two of the bugs into his pocket and got out of bed, leaving the rest tucked inside the pillowcase.

While getting ready and moving around the room, he made his bed and hid the rest of the bugs. If his room was searched while he was away, he risked trouble, but how often could his things be checked? The emir had nearly a thousand guests invited to his wedding, many of them staying at the compound.

Every room couldn’t be searched daily. At some point, his would be again, but he’d place the devices soon in a predetermined list of locations. Based on what the CIA knew about Mikhail’s compound and from the information Laila had supplied about the layout, the target locations were Mikhail’s private quarters and offices on the east wing’s second floor, the main dining area being used for entertaining guests and the library where Mikhail often retired in the evenings with colleagues. Getting to the emir’s private quarters and the library would be difficult, but Harris would find a way.

The CIA had attempted to recruit a domestic employee on the inside to assist with this job. As yet they’d met with failure. Most of Mikhail’s staff were too afraid to speak to someone about the emir, worried it was a trap testing their loyalty, and were unwilling to put their lives and families at risk.

If the CIA had placed someone on the inside, when he checked in with Tyler, the CIA agent playing his brother, he’d get the coded message. From what Harris could tell, the mission was going well. He’d picked up the bugs from the souk and gotten them into the compound without detection.

Laila was doing an amazing job as his girlfriend. She was appropriately affectionate with him, which in this world consisted of long looks and smiles from under her lashes. Old-fashioned flirting. He enjoyed it more than he should.

Playing the part of Harris Kuhn, German tycoon and heir who wanted to marry Laila, made it hard to separate the fantasy from the reality. The reality—that she was an asset, and he was involved in a dangerous mission with multiple lives at stake—was harsh. The fantasy—that Laila was his girlfriend, that he would steal kisses from her when he could, that he would sweep her off her feet and take her away from this world—was a lie.

His attraction to her and their chemistry was part of the reason this mission worked and created a believable situation. It was also the reason the operation was more difficult.

He had to stay in character and still maintain his distance from her. If he became emotionally involved, his judgment would be skewed. He’d been in that position before and wouldn’t allow it again.

Harris changed into another outfit he’d been told by his contacts in the CIA was appropriate for a German to wear to a formal occasion in Qamsar. Harris didn’t realize the agency had experts on such details, but he’d learned a lot about the CIA in the past few months. They had resources he didn’t have with the FBI, including international experts on language, culture, protocol and politics. A knowledgeable staff was available 24/7/365 during a mission in case the situation went off the skids, and he needed advice or help. The CIA had a budget that supported the extensive resources Harris couldn’t have hoped to have at the FBI.

Even so, this operation was Harris’s first experience with the CIA, and he wasn’t sure he liked working with them. They were more secretive and seemed to have hidden agendas. Part of him worried they weren’t being forthcoming with him about this mission. Did they need access to the emir to stop a terrorist and preserve negotiations for oil, or did their interest lie elsewhere?

Harris was meeting Laila in the lobby at seven o’clock. He arrived a few minutes early and watched the people around him. Others were milling around, greeting each other and talking. Harris had chosen this location on purpose, planning to keep his and Laila’s meetings public to clarify to anyone watching he understood the boundaries. He needed Mikhail to accept him, and feel Harris was respectful of their culture and traditions, not to kick him out and blacklist him because he’d crossed a line.

Sticking to the rules, appealing to Mikhail’s sense of social climbing, playing on his interests and making it clear Harris’s family’s shipping company was useful would keep Harris in the compound long enough to complete his mission. He’d set the bugs, watch when and where he could, and hope they’d find Ahmad Al-Adel.

Laila stepped into the foyer and glanced around, searching for him. He stole the moment to take in her beauty and grace. He’d been prepared to keep his eyes pinned to her face, but his gaze wandered down her body. Her navy dress covered her from wrists to ankles. The light blue embroidery along the sleeves, neck and length of the dress suggested shape around her curves. She’d applied more dramatic makeup than he’d seen her wear in the past, emphasizing the darkness of her eyes, the deep pools of brown a man could lose himself in if he wasn’t careful. Her hair was covered, and when she reached to adjust her head wrap, he saw gold bangles on her wrists, including the one he had bought for her in the souk.

He’d purchased it to stay in character. In pursuing a woman’s affections, a man as wealthy as Harris Kuhn would buy his girlfriend whatever she wanted. But seeing Laila wear the bracelet brought him a certain amount of pride and pleasure that had nothing to do with playing a part. She was a beautiful woman, and she deserved beautiful things.

Seeing him, a smile lit her face, and she strode toward him. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“I didn’t want to be late and get off on the wrong foot with the emir and your family.” Not only did Harris not want to miss anything—or anyone—he was playing the role of nervous suitor meeting Laila’s family for the first time. “Nervous suitor” would be early and fidgety.

She glanced at his feet. “You aren’t wearing the shoes.” She seemed a bit relieved.

He grinned. “I have to break them in first. But once I get them ready, they won’t leave my feet.”

She laughed. “Oh, good. I can’t wait.” The smile on her face reached to her eyes. He was mesmerized by her. Entranced.

Which made it easier to play this part. No danger of anything coming of it, not in the long run. Not only did his relationship history prove he couldn’t make things work, his job also required he give her space when they returned to the United States. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice and get involved with someone while he was working.

After the mission, he’d never see her again. Sadly it was the way most of his personal relationships ended. He’d been trained to analyze people and scrutinize their relationships, he could create profiles of men who were good and bad at relationships, but he couldn’t manage to keep one of his own. Worse still, some of the women he’d been attracted to in the past had been disastrously flawed. The last had betrayed his undercover identity to the target of an investigation, putting him and his team in grave danger. If her betrayal hadn’t been discovered, he’d have been killed.

Saying he was bad at relationships was an understatement.

“I’m anxious about tonight, too. I can’t wait to see my mother and my family, but I’m worried about what Mikhail wishes to tell us,” Laila said.

“I’m sure everything is okay,” Harris said. He had the same worry, but if anyone was eavesdropping, he wanted to come across as confident in Mikhail and reassuring to Laila.

Without touching, Harris escorted her to the dining room.

The maître d’ for the evening seated them close to the head table where the emir and his bride would sit. It was a terrible view of the dining room entrance. Harris wished they would have been placed in the back. It was a large event, and Harris wanted to get a look at the attendees.

Two dozen tables seating ten each were covered in perfectly pressed white linen cloths and immaculately displayed dinnerware. Maroon carpets blended with the cherrywood of the chairs. Staff stood around the edges of the room, waiting to spring to action when summoned.

“Is something wrong?” Laila asked Harris, leaning closer to him and keeping her voice low.

Had he been scowling? He adjusted his expression to neutral. “I’m keeping an eye on things. Waiting for your mother.” Looking for faces he might recognize, like any of the known members of the Holy Light Brotherhood.

Laila nodded and lifted her water glass, taking a sip. “Nothing to worry about. She’ll like you.”

Harris wasn’t sure about that, but his primary goal was to watch the crowd. Though he could have spent the evening watching Laila, her elegant movements, the delicate way she lifted her glass and set it down, that wasn’t part of the mission, either.

Harris forced his eyes away from Laila and looked around the room, constraining his expression to remain blank as his gaze landed on royal family members in high-ranking political positions. Such people wouldn’t impress a wealthy German business heir.

“Mother.” Laila rose to her feet. She looked as if she wanted to run to her mother in greeting, but protocol and decorum stopped her.

Harris stood and waited. No denying it was Laila’s mother. They could have been sisters; they looked so much alike.

Laila’s mother was escorted by an older man. Laila hugged her mother and the two clasped hands, looking at each other as if they had much to say. The pair had great respect, love and admiration for each other. Harris got an inside look at why Laila had agreed to take a risk in exchange for a safe life in the United States for her mother. Her mother’s happiness and safety meant a great deal to her.

The man approached Laila and Harris, extending his hand in greeting to Harris. “I am Khalid bin Jassim Al Sharani. This is my late brother’s wife, Iba.”

Laila and her mother broke apart, and Iba turned to Harris. Her eyes were as sharp and intelligent as her daughter’s. Harris got the impression neither woman missed anything.

Harris introduced himself and waited for Khalid to continue.

Khalid gestured for everyone to sit. “We were surprised to learn Laila was bringing a friend to the wedding. In the past Laila has preferred to be on her own. She’s always been an independent woman. Aasim has only good things to say about you, Harris, but he admitted he didn’t know you well.”

A test, Harris was sure. “Laila and I have been friends for some time. I was pleased to be invited. My family has vacationed in this area, and they’ve always spoken highly of Qamsar. This is my first time in the country.”

Khalid took an ornate ceramic cup from the center of the table. Almost as soon as he turned it over, a waiter appeared with a carafe in his hand and poured coffee into the cup. “Where did your family vacation?” Khalid asked, not acknowledging the waiter except with a wave of his hand.

Harris was prepared with a lie. “They stayed in Cyprus, near the beach at the Palm Hotel.”

Khalid liked Harris’s response, whether the reference to the elite area of Cyprus or the luxuriousness of the Palm Hotel impressed him. Harris was glad he hadn’t made an enemy of Khalid. Yet.

“What do you think of our country?” Khalid asked. He took a sip of his coffee.

Harris glanced at Laila and her mother. Laila was staring intently at him, worry written on her face. To anyone watching, she was nervous about the scrutiny her suitor was receiving from her uncle. Harris knew the truth. She was worried he’d make a mistake and say something to incriminate them.

Harris was too practiced and too deep into the part. He wouldn’t let on who he was or why he was in Qamsar. “I’ve only seen the compound and the souk. Everything has been great. Of course, part of that is having an excellent tour guide to tell me about the area and the history.” He inclined his head toward Laila.

Harris glanced at Laila and was struck once again by how beautiful she was. It was difficult for him to keep his eyes off her. Even showing almost no skin, her clothing loose and her hair covered, she was breathtaking. He’d always thought women in lingerie or wearing provocative clothing drew a man’s attention. In this case, Laila drew his attention without giving anything away. She redefined sexy.

Harris was saved from more questions. A hush fell over the room as the emir entered with his future bride, Aisha. Mikhail wore a dark suit, western-style, and his bride looked happy in an orange dress, a head scarf covering her hair and neck. Mikhail stopped to speak with several men waiting near his table. Harris watched and smiled, mimicking the other guests around him.