Protecting His Princess Read online

  “We’d like to offer you protection,” Harris said.

  Suspicion swept over her. They’d demand something in return. If they wanted information about Mikhail, they’d be disappointed. She didn’t have the inside track on her brother’s plans for the country, and she held no sway over his decisions.

  Harris smiled at her. The easiness of his voice disarmed her. “We believe the man who orchestrated the bombing is a dangerous person. We can keep you safe from him while we look for him,” Harris said.

  “What about my family? My aunt and uncle? My mother and brothers?” Laila asked. How in-depth was the information Harris and his team had gathered about the bombing? Was anyone at home in danger? Mikhail had his personal guards, but how well was he looking out for the rest of the family?

  “We can provide protection for the members of your family in America,” Harris said. “If anything happens to any members of the royal family on U.S. soil, negotiations between the United States and Qamsar get dicey. It’s in our best interest to keep you safe.”

  Then their offer was politically motivated.

  “Agent Tyler is with the CIA, and we’re working on a joint task force. I have experience in the region from my time with the marines, and Tyler’s been involved in the Middle East for most of his career,” Harris said.

  They didn’t have to sell her on it. She welcomed help as long as the price wasn’t too high. “What is it that you want from me?” Laila asked.

  Harris met her gaze. Her body temperature escalated. “I want you to take me to your brother’s wedding as your guest.”

  The emir’s upcoming wedding was no secret, but his request was a surprise. Her brother’s marriage was long overdue, and Laila had considered not attending the ceremony. She and Mikhail didn’t see eye to eye on most issues, and Laila liked being out of the country and away from Mikhail’s control. Though she hadn’t forgotten her life in Qamsar, her lifestyle in America was fast becoming preferred. More comfortable dress. Going where she wanted. Talking to whomever she pleased. She liked her independence.

  “Why are you so interested in my brother’s wedding?” Laila asked. It was the last place she wanted to be. Forget about bringing a spy into the compound, which would land her in a tremendous amount of trouble. Were they looking to get an edge on the negotiations for oil? Or was he offering to attend to provide protection?

  “The men who we believe targeted you tonight might attend your brother’s wedding. It gives us the opportunity to do some reconnaissance. If we locate them, we’ll alert our law enforcement counterparts in Qamsar, and they’ll apprehend them. We need someone to get us inside the wedding events so we can look for them.”

  “Who is it that you are looking for?” One of her brother’s political enemies? Someone in America drawing her brother’s attention here, making a point to Mikhail?

  “We’ve heard chatter on our monitors about a conspiracy to harm you. Your presence and activities in America aren’t appreciated by those who’d like to stop progress in Qamsar,” Tyler said.

  He wasn’t directly answering her.

  She looked to Harris to fill in the blanks. “We don’t have confirmed intel yet, but we suspect the Holy Light Brotherhood, under the direction of Ahmad Al-Adel, wants a safe haven for his group, and he hopes to find that in Qamsar. Al-Adel wants to stop any trade agreements between America and Qamsar. We’ve taken a leap of faith telling you this,” Harris said. Harris paused, as though not certain he should say more. “As I’ve gotten to know you, I feel you’re a good person who makes the right decisions.”

  On some level she trusted Harris, but Laila had grown up sheltered by her parents. She wasn’t street smart, and it had been one of her dear mother’s greatest fears when Laila had told her that she’d been accepted to the University of Colorado, an American university, that someone would take advantage of Laila’s unworldly and naive nature. She and her mother were in touch daily, which Laila hoped lessened some of her mother’s concerns.

  “Why would this man be at my brother’s wedding?” Laila asked. “Why don’t you contact Mikhail and let him know who you’re looking for?” Her brother wouldn’t want to be involved with a terrorist. That could devastate the country.

  Harris and Tyler exchanged looks. “We’ve reached out to you because we can’t contact the emir directly. We cannot trust him,” Tyler said.

  Then Laila was hit with the second bomb of the night.

  “We believe the Emir of Qamsar has voluntarily embroiled himself in a relationship with Ahmad Al-Adel, the leader of the Holy Light Brotherhood,” Harris said.

  Laila missed the next several moments of conversation. Her tired thoughts caught up to what Tyler was saying.

  “The emir’s wedding will bring Al-Adel out into the open. To miss his wedding would be a sign of disrespect between the two men. As a member of the royal family, you’ll have access to places and events and people that outsiders won’t. When Al-Adel arrives at your brother’s compound for the wedding, Harris can alert the team, and Al-Adel will be captured,” Tyler said.

  Confusion spun through her. If Al-Adel was responsible for the car bombing at the café, as Tyler was implying, and Mikhail was working with him, had her brother tried to kill her?

  Despite her efforts to stay unemotional and focused, the information was difficult to swallow, almost unbelievable. “My brother wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t willingly work with a terrorist.” Mikhail could be brutal and cold, but participating, even indirectly, in acts of terrorism against the United States, Europe and the Middle East was declaring a war he couldn’t win. Qamsar was a small country with limited resources. Besides that, she was his sister. It was a huge leap from not getting along to trying to kill her.

  “We have a financial trail tying the Holy Light Brotherhood to Mikhail. We have assets in the country who have substantiated rumors of the entanglement,” Tyler said.

  As much as she didn’t want to believe it, doubts about her brother flooded her thoughts. If Mikhail had found a way to get more money, he might have agreed to work with Al-Adel. Mikhail was ruthless, driven and bent on gaining power. Even more power than he possessed as the Emir of Qamsar. Mikhail wanted a legitimate, prominent place on the international scene and would do whatever was necessary to get there.

  Al-Adel’s money would mean improvements for the country in places where Mikhail believed they were needed—in mosques and government buildings—without engaging in trade agreements with countries like America.

  Blindly accepting their words as true could make a fool of her, putting her in a position to betray her country and her family for no reason. Then again, if they were right and Mikhail was working with Al-Adel, stopping him and evicting Al-Adel and the Holy Light Brotherhood from Qamsar would protect her country. Mikhail may be ousted from his position as emir, but cutting any ties with a terrorist group would be better for the prosperity of Qamsar. She was out of her depths and indecision rolled through her. “I can’t believe this.” She didn’t want to believe it.

  “We believe the emir wants to end trade agreement negotiations with the United States, but because the people of Qamsar want the agreement, Mikhail needs to force public opinion that America will cause greater harm than good. If something were to happen to one of the royal family, Mikhail would blame America and use the incident to incite anti-American anger,” Harris said, his voice gentle.

  Mikhail hadn’t stopped her from moving to America. At the time she had believed he was too grief stricken over their father’s death and too busy with his new responsibilities as emir to argue with her. She had been waiting for him to demand she return and had been surprised that he hadn’t yet. Did he have another motive for allowing her to stay in America?

  “You think my brother would arrange for someone to kill me just to sway public opinion?” Believing that Mikhail was working with Al-Adel was difficult. Accepting that he would kill her to forward his agenda was impossible. “He wouldn’t do that, and even if you�
��re right and my brother wants me dead, how does traveling to Qamsar guarantee my safety in any way?”

  “No guarantees. But you are safer on Qamsarian soil. It makes it more difficult for Mikhail to pin an incident on America,” Harris said.

  “Difficult but not impossible,” Laila said, reading between his words.

  “If you agree to do this, regardless of how it plays out, I’ll protect you and your family. I’ll be there,” Harris said.

  “If I allow an American into my brother’s compound, and he finds out, he’ll kill me,” Laila said. Any involvement with the American government, even manipulated, could be perceived as a betrayal of Qamsar by Mikhail. Though it would be harder for Mikhail to reach her in America, she would be at Mikhail’s mercy when she returned home.

  “If we think the emir suspects anything, we’ll relocate you to the United States. We’ll give you, your mother and your brother Saafir citizenship and a new identity.”

  Before coming to America, Laila’s life had been decided for her. Having a taste of freedom, Laila didn’t want to let it go and return to the life she’d had in Qamsar. She wanted to make decisions for herself and her life. Citizenship in America would give her that. Having Saafir and her mother with her would make that transition easier. Not having the deep love of America that she did, would they agree to relocate for their safety?

  Mikhail’s name was absent from the list. If he was working with a terrorist, he would face the consequences of that decision.

  Chapter 2

  Two weeks later, with the contract from the United States government locked in a security box at the bank, Laila and Harris were en route to Qamsar accompanied by Laila’s uncle Aasim. They’d had to loop him into their ruse, and he had agreed to maintain his silence. He wanted no involvement in the politics of his wife’s family. The Qamsar Embassy in America had also agreed to wait for the Americans to complete their investigation before releasing information that the Holy Light Brotherhood might have been responsible for the car bombing.

  Their flight had lasted twenty-two hours, and Laila was grateful they’d flown first class. Though she and her mother had often traveled in style with her father, this was her first trip as the girlfriend of Harris Kuhn, fourth generation descendent of the former German royal ruling family and heir to a German shipping company fortune. Laila was presenting him to her family as the man who intended to marry her. Considering her family was likely planning to arrange her marriage with a man of their choosing, she was concerned about this aspect of their cover story. She only hoped Mikhail liked the idea of a wealthy European nobleman with ties to the German government and an international shipping company marrying into the family. Harris was assuming a certain attitude. An I-deserve-to-be-here, I-have-plenty-of-money attitude.

  One that normally Laila found classless and rude. In this case Harris assured her that his behavior and arrogant attitude was important. Any show of weakness and the emir could exploit it.

  Harris needed to strike a careful balance of strength and gentleness. If he came on too strong, Mikhail would dislike him and feel threatened. If he wasn’t confident enough, Mikhail would dismiss him as useless and weak, and see no benefit in allowing his sister to have a relationship with him. Harris might even be asked to leave the wedding festivities. Mikhail was not known for his patience and calm demeanor.

  For the trip Laila had chosen to wear an outfit more conservative than she’d worn in America. The fabric was light and cool, and she wasn’t showing an inch of skin from neck to wrists to ankles. She wouldn’t give her brother a reason to be annoyed with her. She wasn’t Mikhail’s favorite person. Far from it.

  The drive to the emir’s compound took forty minutes, and the last five were the most important. If Harris wasn’t permitted inside for the wedding celebration, he couldn’t look for Al-Adel. Laila had let her brother’s event coordinator know about her plans to bring a guest. The liaison hadn’t indicated it was a problem, and Laila hoped she would have heard—either directly or through her mother—if her guest wasn’t welcome.

  She was anxious, but Harris seemed at ease and was less apprehensive than her uncle, who wasn’t happy about visiting Qamsar. Her aunt had stayed in Colorado, but Aasim had felt obligated to escort his niece since she was traveling with Harris and to attend the wedding as a show of respect to the emir. At her aunt’s urging, he’d worn more traditional Qamsarian clothes. It was the first time Laila had seen him dressed in that manner.

  Harris wore black trousers and a white dress shirt, the top button open at the neck and the sleeves rolled to his elbow. On his wrist was an expensive-looking watch. A simple, understated look and he owned it.

  Their chauffer, provided by the emir, drove the black sedan to the entrance of the compound. The maroon iron gates were secured to a perimeter wall constructed of concrete, painted tan to reflect the rays of the sun. The smoothness of the concrete made it impossible to climb the fifteen-foot wall without ropes. Every ten feet along the top of the wall, a security camera was posted and actively monitored by the emir’s private security staff.

  Two security guards stepped out from the gatehouse, guns slung over their shoulders. Their khaki uniforms and patches on their shoulders identified them as the emir’s private guards.

  Laila glanced at Harris to gauge his reaction. He appeared unimpressed, though he turned to her and smiled. “Are you nervous about having me meet the rest of your family?”

  For a minute she forgot the part she was playing. She focused. His question was a good first-meeting question. “My mother won’t be pleased you’re German.” She gave herself a pat on the back for remembering his cover and playing along as if they were a couple. “But she’ll be happy to learn you’re converting to Islam.” Harris had hoped that part of their cover story would convince her family to accept him. Converting was a coup for her family, at least, if it was reality.

  Since agreeing to this mission, she’d been thinking that she could have a life that had previously been an impossible dream. The man who she married needed to be faithful and true, but his religious beliefs weren’t as critical as being a good person, a partner to her. She wanted a man who would treat her as an equal, and with love, respect and fairness. If she married any man her brother had selected for her, she had no doubt those dreams would be out of reach.

  The armed guards approached the sedan. This level of security was new. Did the additional measures mean her brother suspected a plot was afoot? Did Mikhail know his relationship with Al-Adel and the Holy Light Brotherhood put him and the people around him in a more dangerous position? Or did the influx of international guests attending the wedding, some who held visible and high-profile positions, call for enhanced security?

  If they were turned away at the entrance to the compound, Laila would have fulfilled her part of their agreement and avoided the deception that would follow. It would have been a relief and a disappointment. If Mikhail was working with Al-Adel, he had to be stopped for the good of Qamsar and for the royal family.

  Harris’s hand came over hers, his thumb rubbing hers slightly. The chauffeur lowered his driver’s side window.

  “Everyone step out of the car,” the guard said.

  Laila glanced at Harris, and he nodded. “It’s okay, Laila. These measures are to keep everyone safe.”

  To keep everyone safe or to search for a traitor? Laila got out of the car on trembling legs. Her brother and his security team had eyes and ears everywhere. Did they know she had betrayed him? Harris circled to stand next to her, and her uncle took his position on her other side. If Harris’s cover had been blown and her uncle was charged guilty by association, Laila would never forgive herself.

  The guards patted down the driver, her uncle and then Harris. They reached for Laila, sliding their hands down her sides and letting them linger on her hips.

  “Watch your hands,” Harris said in Arabic, a hint of possessiveness in his voice.

  The guards immediately removed their hold
on Laila, appearing startled by Harris’s words. Harris didn’t flinch, and his piercing look communicated he was not backing down and might be willing to be more confrontational.

  “We need your identification and to search the car and your luggage. Do you have any weapons you need to declare?” one of the guards asked.

  “We don’t,” Harris said.

  His answer surprised her. He didn’t have a gun with him? She had wondered how he would sneak it into the compound, but walking around unarmed seemed dangerous. What if he was discovered as an American spy? Mikhail did not treat spies or traitors with leniency. He jailed them, or in some cases, they disappeared.

  “If you could please stand over here.” The guard gestured to his left.

  Harris said he didn’t have a weapon, but had he packed anything else that would get them in trouble? Laila’s mouth went dry. Equipment Harris planned to install inside the compound? Some technical gizmo that would raise questions? The chauffeur popped the trunk, and the guards began their search.

  Harris clasped his hands behind his back. He took sunglasses dangling in the front of his shirt and slipped them over his eyes. “It’s hotter than I thought.”

  Was that a coded message? He was looking around with a bored expression on his face. How did he manage it? She felt as if she would sweat through her clothes and melt in a puddle of nerves.

  Laila fiddled with the ends of her head scarf. Was Harris worried about what the guards would find? After several agonizing minutes, the guards put their luggage back in the trunk and opened their car doors. “Sorry for the delay. Enjoy your visit. As-salaam alaykum.” Peace be upon you.

  “Wa alaykum as-salaam,” Harris and her uncle said in reply. And with you peace.

  Laila gave Harris extra credit for knowing the proper response. He had indicated to her he’d prepared for this operation. Perhaps he had prepared more than she’d thought.