Protecting His Princess. C.J. Miller

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СКАЧАТЬ the possibility of staying in the United States and building a life where she was more than a submissive wife and mother were on the table. The possibility of marrying for love. She could be herself in a relationship. An equal partner.

      “Will your brother stop by to see you often?” Harris asked.

      Though he spoke in Arabic, he had dropped his German accent. Hearing his American accent on the Arabic words for the first time since they’d arrived in Qamsar was startling. “Hard to say. We lived together before I moved in with my aunt and uncle. Mikhail and I have never gotten along,” Laila said.

      “We’ll expect interruptions and be as careful as we can,” Harris said.

      “I was worried the guards would find something when they searched the car and our luggage,” she said.

      “Nothing to find.”

      Laila held her tongue over the barrage of questions. The less she knew, the better. She couldn’t slip up and say anything in front of her family.

      “I was planning to head to the souk and see the sights. Feel like helping me find my way?” Harris asked.

      “We’ll need to find someone to accompany us.” Would that be a problem for him? What did he have planned? “Maybe after we do some shopping, we can have dinner with my mother at our family’s country house?”

      Harris nodded. “No problem. Let’s find out how to get our hands on a car and an escort, and we’ll go.”

      “I presume you’ll leave the way you came in?” she asked.

      He winked at her. “You got it. I’ll meet you in the lobby in ten minutes.” He waited at the balcony door for a few minutes before stepping outside.

      The heat of the day rushed in, and Laila looked out the doors into the lush landscape. The emir’s gardens were beautifully maintained, every walking path clear, the plants shaped and benches clean. Did Mikhail spend much time walking in the gardens as their father had? The emir’s compound was the nicest place in Qamsar, containing the finest luxuries.

      As a child, she had thought of the compound like a castle. Now it was large and foreboding, the last place she wanted to be.

      Laila called her mother, disappointed when she didn’t answer her phone. She left a message, telling her mother she’d arrived safely and would see her soon.

      She checked her appearance again in the mirror. If she was having dinner with her mother, it would be best for her to wear something less wrinkled. She selected a white dress that had the least crumpled fabric and wrapped a navy head scarf around her hair. Her dress was loose and comfortable, and would be cool in the heat of the afternoon.

      After pulling on a pair of flat, plain shoes, she left her room and locked the door behind her. Not that she had any expectation of privacy. Mikhail would make it his business to be aware of everything that went on inside his compound. If he wanted to go into her room, he would.

      Harris was waiting in the lobby for her, leaning against the wall, hands casually in his pockets. He had covered his head with a ghutra. Though it wasn’t expected for him to wear it, it would help him blend. With sunglasses over his eyes, he’d be less identifiable, his blond hair and light skin an obvious difference from most native Qamsarians with their darker skin and hair.

      “Ready?” he asked. The German accent had returned.

      Laila nodded and clasped her hands in front of her. Harris didn’t touch her. Didn’t try to. He followed her to the lobby where Mikhail’s butler explained the car situation. A driver would escort them to the souk and serve as their chaperone and security detail.

      Harris didn’t seem upset by the arrangements. If he was planning to smuggle something into the compound to help them search for Al-Adel or to keep them safe, how would he do so with the driver watching them? The security guards at the front gate would search them and the car again. What was Harris planning? Their mission was to find Al-Adel and alert Harris’s team if they saw him or heard rumors about his arrival. Would Harris need a weapon to protect them if someone uncovered their real objectives for being at the wedding?

      On the drive to the souk, Laila spoke to Harris about her life in Qamsar. Harris asked questions to spur the conversation. To anyone listening, it was a casual getting-to-know-you-better conversation.

      When they arrived at the souk, the driver got out of the car and followed them. His behavior indicated his presence wasn’t a negotiation. Laila and Harris wouldn’t be alone for any portion of the trip.

      In the busyness of the marketplace, Harris and Laila walked beside each other, not touching, the driver close behind them.

      The marketplace was flooded with hundreds, if not thousands, of people. The CIA had told Laila to assume she was always being watched. It left her with an eerie feeling. She hadn’t considered that Mikhail would place surveillance devices in the guest rooms. If she did anything wrong, anything out of place, it could be reported to her oldest brother and put her status with Mikhail in jeopardy. Laila didn’t believe her brother held much regard for her, but at the best, he was indifferent. Earning his displeasure risked the operation.

      Harris slipped on his dark sunglasses. For someone who looked foreign, he blended remarkably well.

      “How are you enjoying yourself so far?” Laila asked him. Though he wasn’t visiting for pleasure, and though the circumstances weren’t ideal, she wanted Harris to have something good to say about her country. Wanted him to see the beauty around them. Most of what he knew about the country might be negative, but the emir’s possible relationship with a terrorist didn’t describe the country as a whole.

      “Things are going well so far. How are you feeling?” he asked. He glanced at her and then returned to looking around the crowd, strolling slowly through the cobblestone streets. They skirted around a fenced-in area containing herd animals.

      The driver stayed close behind them. Laila wished he would give them space or at least pretend as if he wasn’t hanging on to every word they spoke to each other.

      Her nerves were wound, but overall, she was fine. “It’s nice to be home. I’ve missed my mom and my family. I love my life in America, but when I’m there, I’m aware I’m a foreigner.”

      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 СКАЧАТЬ