Down Range. Lindsay McKenna

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      Another threat. It was worrying that they had penetrated the royal compound grounds, getting close enough to fling something into the second-story window. A threat this time, but next time it could be a bomb.

      Saafir let his head of security’s drone drift off along with Frederick’s curses. A woman’s picture from the folder, one he vaguely recognized, was lodged under his foot. Her profile had remained attached.

      He bent to pick it up. “This one,” he said. His words silenced both Adham and Frederick. “She will be my wife.”

      “Alaina Faris?” Frederick asked. “She is a difficult woman. She has had many disparaging things to say about you and your family.”

      Saafir didn’t like hearing that, but what did it matter? It seemed everyone had an agenda and a criticism. Saafir turned the photo over and scanned the paper. “Her father is Mohammad Faris, prominent member of the Conservative party. By marrying Alaina, I can bring the Conservatives to our cause. That is what we’ve decided is the best course of action.”

      Adham looked as if he wanted to say more, but he kept his mouth shut.

      “Do you want to meet her?” Frederick asked.

      It was the next logical step, even if Saafir had no desire to forward this along. “Please invite her family to the royal country home for dinner on the Saturday following my return from the summit. I will make myself available from seven until nine in the evening. If both parties are amenable, I will speak with her father about the appropriate arrangements for our courtship.” The word courtship stuck in his throat. He wasn’t skittish about a commitment, but choosing a woman in this way left him cold.

      Frederick nodded, bowed and left the study. As soon as his advisor left, Adham clapped him on the back. “She will never love you, Saafir.”

      Saafir nodded. He knew it. “She does not have to love me. She only needs to love Qamsar.”

      One problem down, an infinite number remaining. He needed to stay one step ahead of those who wanted him dead and to prepare for the trade summit that would restore his nation to economic prosperity. And yet his mind wouldn’t let go of his impending engagement. His father had ruled Qamsar and found love. Why couldn’t he?

      * * *

      Sarah Parker pulled open the door to the liquor store. She needed a bottle of wine to take the edge off. She blew by the aisles filled with the cheap stuff and the aisles of expensive stuff that tasted cheap. Her job had trained her to tell the difference at a glance, and she kept going until she made it to the aisles that had something worth the calories.

      The really expensive stuff.

      It was more than she could afford to spend on a bottle of wine, but today, she needed it. Today, she had received her finalized divorce papers from her lawyer. While she hadn’t been living with Alec for more than two years and their relationship had been on the rocks for the three years before that, the final nail in the coffin of their marriage had struck her hard.

      It was over. She was no longer a missus.

      If only Alec had stayed clean, they could have worked it out. If only one of his first three stints in rehab had worked, they might still be married. If only, if only, if only. Maybe his current stay would help him. This time, Sarah wasn’t holding herself responsible for his sobriety except for agreeing to foot the bill from the clinic. Just this one last time, she would pay for Alec’s rehab and hope it worked. It was money she didn’t have to spare, but she would find a way to pay. She had to do everything possible to help him and then she could move on and live her life without the nagging guilt that she hadn’t tried hard enough.

      After paying for her wine, she walked the remaining ten blocks to her apartment in high heels. She’d had back-to-back meetings since 8:00 a.m. Organizing details with the florist, the caterer, the hotel manager, the media and the security team were her responsibility. Thanks to the kindness and amazing connections of her former brother-in-law, Owen, her fledgling business had secured a huge contract. The new emir of Qamsar, Sheik Saafir bin Jassim Al Sharani, would be arriving in America on Monday morning to begin work on a trade agreement with the United States. For months, Sarah had been preparing, conferring with the sheik’s advisors, keeping lists and agendas, and ensuring she was prepared to play hostess to the leader of Qamsar.

      She had her orders: keep him comfortable, wine and dine him and roll out the red carpet wherever he went.

      The United States wanted the petroleum readily available in Qamsar and Qamsar wanted favorable trade arrangements with the United States. It should be a straightforward exchange; however, nothing involving money was ever simple. Politics, culture, economics and ego played a role in every decision made in Washington, D.C.

      Sarah entered her apartment and put the bottle of wine on her recently installed granite countertops. After she and Alec had separated, she had moved out of the apartment she’d shared with him and downsized into this one, a small space in a converted stone townhouse that was now three units. It had made her happy to look at the gleaming cabinets and countertops for a few days. Then it had made her feel pathetic. In the last five years, she hadn’t invited her friends over and cooked them dinner—not once. They always met at a bar or restaurant. Sarah planned events for other people, sometimes pro bono, but she didn’t make time to plan any for herself. Not even for her birthday.

      All that would change. Sarah had to think about her new life, now that her marriage to Alec had ended. She made a mental note to invite someone over for dinner in the next month.

      She peeled off her suit and tugged on a T-shirt and stretchy yoga pants. She wasn’t planning to exercise, but she would be comfortable while she drank her overpriced wine and stared at the television screen.

      Two reruns of her favorite comedy later and deep in a funk, Sarah received a text message from her good friend Molly.

      Krista & I at Palazzo lounge. Stop sulking. Come play. Happy Birthday!

      Sarah smiled. Her two closest friends had remembered her birthday. She texted them that she’d be there in twenty minutes, and changed into a knee-length blue dress with cap sleeves and a pair of black heels. The weather had turned warm enough that she wouldn’t need a sweater. A night out with friends and some good food would turn her mood around. Besides, everyone deserved a slice of cake on their birthday.

      Twenty-five minutes later, Sarah was sliding into a booth beside Molly.

      Her friend gave her a hug. “Happy birthday!”

      Krista pushed a drink they had ordered her closer. “Relax. Have a drink. You seem tense.”

      Sarah didn’t want to rain on her friends’ cheerful moods by dumping on them about Alec, so she sipped her drink and listened. As the conversation turned from work to men to apartments, Sarah followed the flow. This was what she needed. A break from her work, even if it was only for a few hours.

      “Why are you in a mood? It can’t be that you’re a year older,” Molly said.

      Sarah’s advancing age didn’t bother her. Should she tell her friends about the divorce? They’d held her hand through the ups and downs of her marriage. They knew the official end of her marriage was coming. “I got the finalized divorce papers today from my lawyer.” Several long moments followed.

      “At least you’re free now,” Krista СКАЧАТЬ