Page 67 of Dalla's Royal Guards
He watched them move, one shadowing Dalla’s path, the other watching every corner of the room like a soldier on patrol. Protective. Possessive.
His lips twitched again when they met his gaze. A lesser man would have flinched at the heated warning in them. He offered a slow, respectful smile and nudged the empty chair beside him. Musad took the chair next to him—grudgingly—while Nasser took the other, sliding in beside Dalla.
Her muttered curse made him laugh.
“Don’t be mad at them,” he said. “I would have been disappointed if they had let you meet me alone. Though they should know by now that you are more than capable of slitting my throat with the seax at your waist—or killing me swiftly with the lovely brooch at your breast.”
Dalla choked on her water.
Musad’s eyes narrowed.
Nasser tensed, leaning forward.
Harlem lifted a hand, palm out. “I mean no disrespect. I’m simply remembering Dalla’s skills as a warrior. I didn’t come here for a fight.”
His gaze cut to the woman near the far wall who was watching too closely. The young man beside her was frowning at his screen, but his energy was wrong. They didn’t feel like tourists.
“There’s trouble coming,” Harlem said, his tone shifting. “And it’s not just mine anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Musad demanded, his voice low as he swept the interior of the café.
Nasser cursed, shifting slightly in his seat.
“I came to warn you,” Harlem continued, his voice low. “You’ve attracted curiosity. “Kramer O’Toole. Detri Malinski. O’Toole’s IT tech, Kyle Worthington, Possibly a few more. They’re closer than you think. And they’re very interested in Dalla.”
“How?” she hissed, looking at him with dismay.
“The Information Age is formidable.” Harlem shook his head. “It might be better to take this conversation to a more private location,” he suggested, rising from his seat.
Nineteen
The hotel room door clicked softly shut behind them, muffling the hum of conversation filtering in from down the hallway. Inside, the suite felt tighter now, the air charged with too many secrets and too little time. Dalla breathed out, trying to push away the sensation that the walls were closing in around her.
Nasser swept the room with a soldier’s eye, his posture tense as he passed by the kitchenette and checked the windows. Musad stood by the entry, his attention never straying far from Harlem.
Dalla crossed the living room area and turned on the lamp next to the couch. Folding her arms around her waist, she waited until Nasser returned to the living room after checking the bedroom and bathroom.
Harlem remained quiet. She watched as he walked to the window, his gaze sweeping the city skyline before he turned back, calm and commanding.
“This morning, Kramer O’Toole’s IT tech accessed the CCTV cameras from the square where you appeared. It was a lapse on my part, I’m afraid. We—I—should have been monitoring thesituation more closely. I wasn’t expecting your sudden, rather dramatic appearance,” he said quietly.
“What was on the video?” Musad asked.
Harlem’s eyes locked with hers.
“They saw you appear.”
Dalla’s stomach clenched. She wasn’t sure what her returns would look like to the unsuspecting, but from the expression in Harlem’s eyes, it hadn’t been good.
“Wh-what did it show?” she asked in a low voice.
Harlem sighed and shook his head before he answered. “It was—let’s just say it was a surreal moment.” He paused, watching her. “I believe all the proof of it has been erased, but there is no way of being sure—and there is no erasing their memory of it. I have a friend who physically checked their equipment, but there is still a chance that something important was missed—there always is—and they are still likely to act on what they know.”
A frustrated “Damn it!” escaped Musad’s lips as he shot his brother a worried frown while a grim mask settled over Nasser’s face. Dalla shivered as an icy dread washed over her. Pain coursed through her as she studied Musad and Nasser’s tight expressions. Her presence would put the men she loved in peril.
“We must assume that they know who you are. Your image is plastered all over Kashir, after all. We must also assume they have enough suspicions aboutwhatyou are to make you a target,” Harlem advised.
Dalla’s fingers twisted into each other. She forced them apart. “What—What should I do?” Her eyes narrowed. “If we assume their proof actually is gone, that limits the number of peopleinvolved. Do we bait a trap to capture one of their warriors? Find out for sure how many people are involved and where to find them? It would be a start, anyway, wouldn’t it?”
