“You have incoming, sir.” Cooper Evans nodded toward the west hall.
Ah, his day was complete. He stared at his cousin, Khalil, a hungry beast if ever he saw one. Over the last few months he’d dropped some weight and the new gauntness to his features gave him the air of a jackal on the prowl. This handfasting to Piper must work out. Khalil was just waiting to pounce.
Alea frowned, moving from behind Landon Nix. The big former sergeant kept his eyes on Alea as though waiting for someone to make a move.
“I didn’t tell him.” Alea nodded their cousin’s way. “But I think he suspects. I swear he has spies everywhere. I worry he has them even here in the palace.”
It was probably a good idea to rerun background checks on everyone working in the palace. Once again, he worried that he was placing Piper in danger, but there was nothing he could do but try his utmost to protect her. He had to move forward.
To call Khalil a cousin was a misnomer. They were related by blood in a distant fashion. Alea was his first cousin, born to his mother’s sister. Khalil’s family had branched off two generations back, his grandfather refusing to share a wife in the traditional fashion. He’d been given money and a place to live, but Tal often wondered if that was enough for the al Bashirs, who had been forced to give up the name al Mussad when their grandfather abdicated.
Khalil, the only living son left, gave Tal a polite bow, but there was no way to miss the daggers in his eyes.
No. Wealth and power weren’t enough. Khalil wanted the throne. The question was how far would he go to get it? How far had he already gone? His suspicions about Khalil grew by the day. Tal just wished there was some way to prevent the bastard from ever meeting Piper.
“Can’t you execute him or something?” Alea said, a frown on her face. She was dressed in a lovely skirt and blouse, but there was something stiff about the outfit that bothered Tal. Alea had always been a frilly bit of femininity in a house crowded with men. And then she’d been kidnapped. Tal often wondered if he would ever see that carefree girl again.
No, he would not, and he understood why better than anyone.
“We aren’t barbarians, Alea. Though if I had any proof that Khalil betrayed his country, I would certainly plead for a swift trial.”
“My sheikh.” Khalil practically oozed menace even though his voice was perfectly even. “It is a glorious day, is it not?”
Patience. It required patience to weave a web. He could banish Khalil, but without proof of his perfidy, there would be a scandal, and the last thing he needed was Khalil to go to their enemies and stir trouble. Not when they were close to having a new queen and these green energy breakthroughs.
“It is, indeed,” he called, then said more quietly to Alea, “You will recall our traditions regarding this event?”
She groaned. “And you say we aren’t barbarians. Don’t expect me to help you.”
“Alea,” he warned.
“I know what’s at stake, but I don’t have to like it.” She strode off.
Khalil watched her, his eyes too hot to be watching a cousin. “She is still pouting about the little incident in America?”
Patience. He only had so much of it. He moved forward, wrapping his hand around Khalil’s throat after making damn sure they were out of view of the cameras. He shoved him against one of the lovely ornamental stone pillars that were so plentiful in the palace. Khalil’s feet dangled. “She is not pouting. She was kidnapped, tortured, and forced to work in a brothel. If it hadn’t been for the same man who saved me from radicals, she would still be there or worse. She would have been sold and used until she died. So if I ever hear you use the word ‘pouting’ again in relation to what our cousin suffered, I will prove to you that I can still be barbaric.”
He set Khalil down.
“You are a pathetic dog, Talib, but I’ll let it go for now.” He straightened his suit. “I think I shall freshen up before I meet your future bride. We’ll see if you can keep this one. I rather think not.”
Khalil’s thousand dollar shoes beat against the marbled floor as he strode off.
“You know, assassination gets a bad rap.” Dane Mitchell was the largest of his personal security force and by far the most sarcastic. He was roughly six foot seven, with the build of a well-designed Mack Truck and a deep Southern accent.
“I appreciate the sentiment, my friend. Unfortunately, he has friends in the government.” And mostly likely, well-placed contacts among the rebels. “Have you found anything out?”
In addition to being damn fine security, his little team was also being paid to track Khalil’s movements and to try and find any dirt on the jackal that they could. Tal couldn’t prove it, and hoped it wasn’t true, but he was suspicious that Khalil had a hand in Tal’s own kidnapping and torture six years before. If he ever had proof, well, assassination would be a blessing for Khalil. Tal had learned torture from the best. He would love to show his cousin just how quickly a strong man could break under the right pain.