Secret Agent Sheikh. Linda Conrad

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      She turned her head only slightly and a strand of that long, luxurious mane slid over one dark-brown contact, obscuring it from his view. “I know how to do my job.”

      If it wasn’t a balmy, late winter day in Monte Carlo, Tarik would’ve expected an ice storm. Much more of that kind of cold shoulder and this assignment might be the death of him yet.

      “Well, I wish one of you could speak Portuguese,” Langdon added from the front seat. “A dozen languages between you and yet not the one that might save your ass in Brazil.”

      “Spanish is close enough,” Tarik said without as much as a smirk on his face. “We can fake it.”

      Jass shot him another icy, half-hidden glare and inched closer to her door. “You can bet the Cariocas will notice we don’t speak their language.”

      “We’re going in as tourists,” he argued. “Arms buyers. Not Rio natives. We’ll get along.”

      Tarik heaved a heavy sigh and leaned back in his seat. Yes indeed, this was going to be one long, miserable assignment. And if they couldn’t find some middle ground, they’d both be lucky to come away from it alive.

      A few hours later, flying high above the Atlantic, Tarik loosened the seat belt in his first-class seat and checked on Jass. He thought she might be trying to sleep, but she was wide awake and working on her laptop. She had the privacy screen set on the laptop so no one could read over her shoulder and she looked for all the world like any wealthy international businesswoman.

      They needed to begin bonding. He’d let her put an aisle between them for the flight. But the minute they left the relatively secluded confines of this first-class cabin and moved into the duel worlds of espionage and glitz in Rio, they would have to begin the lovey-dovey act. The snow princess would have to thaw or the entire mission would be compromised.

      He cleared his throat, moved into the empty seat beside her and pitched his voice low enough to be heard only by her. “I understand you keep an apartment in D.C. How long has it been since you’ve been home?”

      She flipped down the laptop’s lid and turned her head, pushing back the thick veil of hair covering the side of her face. “You’ve been reading my file? Maybe it would be better if you stuck to studying the files concerning Celile and Zohdi.”

      “We only have a few hours to work on becoming an intimate couple.” How could she rile him this quickly? “I thought it would be smart for us to get to know each other a little better on a personal level first.”

      Jass frowned and drew a weary breath. “Fine. D.C. is not my home. I was raised in Chicago by my mother’s family—which of course you know if you’ve read my file. But the apartment in D.C. is a few blocks from where my father used to keep his base while working for the Agency. As a kid I visited him between assignments and I know a little about the neighborhood. Still, it isn’t what I would call a real home.

      “When you come right down to it,” she added quietly. “I don’t guess I have what most people would call a home. Never felt the need for one.”

      Ah, but the wistful tone in her voice said that last statement was a lie. Tarik filed the interesting bit of information away for a later time when he’d gotten to know her better.

      “But that’s something we have in common,” he murmured. “See? We haven’t been talking for more than a few moments and already we’ve found a subject to agree on. None of the extended Kadir family have formal roots either. Not for a thousand years. We’re …”

      “Nomads,” she supplied. “Originally Bedouins. Yes, I read your file, too.”

      He felt ridiculously pleased that she’d cared enough to read his file. Not that he should have doubted it. Whatever else Ms. Jasmine O’Reilly turned out to be underneath her many personas, she was a serious and dedicated CIA operative. She would never go on a mission unprepared, even one that had been as spur of the moment as this one.

      The flight attendant brought them both glasses of white wine. Jass took a sip before thanking the fellow and sending him away.

      “Why did you resign your commission?” she asked as she studied Tarik over the rim of her glass. “The files weren’t clear on that point.”

      Ah yes, the billion-dollar question. He knew the men in his old Special Forces unit and many of his former comrades in the joint Task Force were asking themselves the same thing. Well, he wanted to become closer to Jass for this mission. Might as well tell her all of it.

      “I doubt my file has a notation in it explaining the five-hundred-year-old family feud between the Kadir family and the Taj Zabbar tribes of Zabbarán. It’s something my brothers and I barely understand ourselves.”

      Jass set down her wine but kept her eyes trained on his face. “I discovered a little about the feud by doing a Google search. Originally, the Kadirs were caravan traders on the Spice Route. And around five hundred years ago the caravan was decimated by the fierce Taj Zabbar tribes. Right so far?”

      He nodded, fascinated by her low, hypnotic voice.

      “Yes, well. Apparently the Kadirs turned around and destroyed as many of the Taj Zabbar as they could in retaliation.”

      “Hold on. Our side of the story is a lot different. The Kadirs had no choice. We had to neutralize the threat in order to survive. The Taj wouldn’t stop. They kept on coming. They …”

      He stopped himself mid-rant and forced a smile when her eyes gleamed with humor. “Okay, I agree. That was centuries ago and no real written records were kept at the time. It could’ve happened the way you said. And at a much later date we weren’t exactly angels when it came to our treatment of the Taj.”

      “Ah yes,” she interrupted. “Let’s jump the story ahead to fifty years ago when the Kadirs were already filthy rich in the shipping industry and looking to fur ther their interests in the Zabbarán territory.” She quirked a brow. “Didn’t your family make a secret deal with the Taj Zabbar’s neighbors and oppressors, the Kasht? Supposedly the Kadirs traded guns and other armaments for the sole rights to the only deep-water port in Zabbarán and the surrounding area. Right?

      “Now that was really some Spice Trade.” She’d added her own answer with a wry smile. “And didn’t the Kasht use those very weapons to subdue a revolt by the Taj? They killed Taj women and children, put the men into slave labor and then burned and pillaged everything in sight. Nice family trade, Kadir.” A note of derision filled her voice. “Why am I not even a little surprised that the Taj hate your family and want revenge?”

      Tarik tamped down on the automatic rise in his blood pressure. He knew the truth of what his family had done and who they were now. The Kadir family’s past was not spotless. But in more modern times they had become contributing members of civilized world society—unlike their counterparts the Taj Zabbar.

      “I don’t have to defend my family to anyone. Everything you said may be true, but it was done long ago. Before either of us was born. And it’s no excuse for the Taj to behave the way they do today.” His eyes hardened. “They’re terrorists, killers and brutes. They deal with drug lords and mobsters the world over. They’ve tried to annihilate my family by blowing us up, and never mind that fifty innocent people were caught in the explosion.”

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