Ryshia Kennie - Sheikh's Rescue

“Twenty-fifth in line to the throne,” Jade’s voice interrupted his private assessment. “My instinct says that’s important.”

Instinct, he couldn’t dispute that. It was what separated the good agent from the excellent.

She went to the window and stood there as snow hit, melted and slid down the glass. He took the file from the desk, closed it and put it back into the cabinet.

“He arrives in under two hours.” She glanced at her watch as she turned around. “I just can’t get over it. I mean, he’s a royal, I’m to make sure he’s safe, and yet he’s flying halfway across the world alone.” She shrugged. “That’s why his lineage was grating on me. But even twenty-fifth, with zero chance of ever attaining the throne... There’s safety in numbers, in having someone trained to watch out for you. Someone who pays attention to the surroundings to...” She trailed off. But he could see her frustration. Her blue eyes were alight with passion and concern.

“I’m not sure how it went down. He shouldn’t be flying either alone or commercial. What I know is that Prince Rashad isn’t happy about it. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s our client’s doing.” He shrugged. “Anyway, he isn’t our problem. At least, not until he lands...”

She frowned. “Despite what I just said, it’s a low-key case. Let’s just hope he gets here safely.” She paused, her attention not on him but on a point somewhere outside the office.

“There’s nothing we can do about it.”

“You’re right,” she said. “Our job begins as soon as they have wheels on the ground.” She looked at her watch. “I should get moving.”

“What’s with the dirt bike?” He couldn’t help but ask.

She shrugged and looked slightly sheepish. “My pickup wouldn’t start this morning. I’m going to get a rental on the way to the airport.”

“I’ll give you a lift.”

“No.” She shook her head. “The rental agency is only a few miles up the road. Besides, I love riding the bike in fresh snow,” she said. “I’d take it to the airport but I doubt Prince Sadiq would like riding on the back.”

From what he’d seen of Jade, he doubted that Prince Sadiq would mind at all.

“I’m not looking forward to it.” She paused. “Didn’t you find it strange—the name he prefers?” It was the name that neither of them had yet used.

“A bit old-fashioned.” He slid a hand into his pocket and rubbed an American penny he always carried between his thumb and forefinger. A long time ago his father had given it to him for luck. His father had been a very logical man, but he believed in talismans and luck. His parents had died tragically three days after his father had so casually tossed him the coin. Now he withdrew his hand, curious at her take.

“Stanley?” Her frown deepened. “What Moroccan royal is named Stanley? I mean even as a nickname.” Her eyes crinkled as if she were holding back a laugh. “He uses the name exclusively.”

“Royalty. Good chance he has an attitude, which will be a challenge,” he said, knowing that he should try to be helpful instead of goading her when they both knew that she was stuck with a dull case.

“I’m betting you’re right.” She pulled a quarter from her pocket. “Want to flip for odds? Heads he’s a challenge.”

“Tails, I lose,” he finished.

She flipped the coin and looked up with a smile. “Heads. Doesn’t change the fact that I’ve got myself a code white.”

He smiled at both the tone of her voice and her lighthearted approach that led them to betting on a case. That was a first, but he didn’t doubt that Jade was full of surprises—crazy little firsts.

“Code white.” She shook her head, her brow furrowed as if the thought of it pained her.

He empathized with her pain. The agency had codes for assignments. They ranged from the least dangerous, white, to the most, red. There wasn’t an agent at Nassar who didn’t dread a code white. They were well-paid assignments that were the bread and butter of the agency. But they were also, as in this case, ten days of guaranteed boredom.

She waved as she turned to leave.

“Take a good book,” he called after her.

She gave him a look that would have torched a lesser man.

He only laughed.

Jade van Everett had been a pleasant surprise.

* * *

Three days earlier

THE SMALL STONE house had stood on the edge of the massive estate outside Rabat, Morocco, for generations. It had survived two world wars. Now, an explosion rattled the windows of the main house and blew the roof off the small stone house. The outer walls held for seconds after the initial explosion before the shock rippled through the structure and caused the small building to fall inward. The resulting fire licked quickly through the old wood and paper within the building. The smoke curled easily into the still air. It wasn’t until the building was engulfed in flames and the last wall had collapsed that sirens could be heard. By then, it was too late. It was exactly as he had planned. Time would take care of the rest.

His jaw tensed as he looked around in the dim light of the plane’s cabin. A young woman stood up two rows ahead of him and stretched. Behind him someone coughed. He covered his mouth and nose with the back of his hand. He hated flying, hated the people, the tight space, the snotty flight attendants. He hated all of it. He pushed his seat into an upright position and tried to stretch, but one foot was trapped by the seat in front of him. He was stuffed and cramped like he, too, was one of them, like the other nothings on this plane. But he was nothing like any of them—he didn’t belong here, and soon they would know it.

He’d like to hurt someone right now. He knew that would make him feel better, but he couldn’t do that for obvious reasons. Instead, he relaxed his features and tried to keep a pleasant look on his face. The last thing he needed was to act suspicious so that when they landed he was pulled aside by security. That would have his entry into the States delayed or worse, denied.

Calm down, he told himself. There was no reason for any of that to happen. But it wasn’t over. His fingernails dug into the armrest. He looked down and forced himself to relax. He’d learned years ago as a child that one must relax to gain control. A strap against bare skin was easier to take if one was relaxed rather than tense. It was a tough but useful life skill. He looked furtively around him. But there was nothing unusual. The lights dimmed, and ahead of him a reading light clicked on. To his left was an empty seat and beside that was an elderly woman who’d been snoring off and on since takeoff.

He closed his eyes even as he knew that he couldn’t sleep. Minutes passed. He opened his eyes, and his thoughts went back to where they had never left, to all that had transpired. The explosion that was the first step in completing the job he’d been hired for. It was unfortunate that he’d only seen his handiwork from afar, that he couldn’t have stayed to hear the man’s dying screams. Instead, he’d had to leave, catching the explosion from a distance, seeing the lick of flames and knowing he was one death away from the cash prize.

Across the aisle, a middle-aged man snored, lurched forward and shook himself awake.

He looked away. To any of the other passengers he was unmemorable. A swarthy man with a tired expression in the aisle seat of the Boeing 737. He feigned reading a newspaper. His left ankle was crossed over his right. He ran a hand along the seam of his pant leg. He scowled and then glanced at the watch on his right wrist. He moved the silver band back and forth as if that would adjust the time, but no matter how he looked at it, there were still hours before they landed.