Page 91 of Dalla's Royal Guards
“There is no need to tempt fate.” He caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers. “We won’t let you go. No matter what, Musad and I will protect you this time.”
Dalla turned haunted eyes to him. “But who will protect you and Musad?”
Debra Carr-Myers adjusted the wide brim of her floppy hat as she leaned casually against a stone ledge halfway down the outer slope of the old Narvan fort ruins. The Mediterranean sun was brilliant, even later in the day. Fortunately, the light cotton blouse and red capris she wore—along with the oversized sunglasses and sensible walking shoes—made her indistinguishable from the other tourists wandering the site that afternoon.
She blended in. That was the point.
She had been tailing the trio—Musad, Nasser, and the woman they called Dalla—for nearly an hour now. They moved through the ruins with an ease that hinted at familiarity, stopping at stalls, laughing softly, their body language intimate, protective.
From their chemistry, she would say they were in a polyamorous relationship. She knew that it wasn’t uncommon in Narva, where old customs still thrived.
Whatever floats their boat,she thought.
When they stopped on the parapet, she raised her phone, snapping a few shots. Dalla’s long, blonde braid glinted in the sunlight as it swayed against the back of her azure-colored blouse. A moment later, Musad leaned down to whisper something in her ear, his hand resting on the small of her back.
She followed them as they moved along the crumbling parapet that overlooked the cliffs and sea beyond, nearly out of sight from the main path. Perfect.
She made her way forward, angling for a better view. Her large tote bounced gently against her hip, weighted slightly by the familiar bulk of her concealed firearm. Just as she reached the next ledge, she caught a flicker of movement out of her peripheral vision.
Someone moved in the shadows.
She froze, turning ever so slightly to zoom in with the camera on her phone.
The figure shifted again, partially hidden beneath the rustling branches of a leaning olive tree at the far edge of the ruins, but enough for her to recognize who it was.
Detri Malinski.Her stomach turned to stone.
The brutal mercenary’s face was half-shadowed beneath the low hang of branches, but she recognized him from the numerous photos she had of him back in her hotel room. As she zoomed in, she noticed a raw, red sheen along his cheek and jaw.
The crash in Simdan. He must have been in the vehicle that exploded.
Her mind raced as she tried to understand why Malinski would risk coming to Narva. Was he hoping to kidnap a royal brother?
That doesn’t make sense. Hellman or Crosse would have gone after the sister, the kid, or even Mario. Not the heirs of Narva.
She knew that O’Toole had a vested interest in Kashir because of the Vasbin, but what benefit would he get from attacking the Al-Rashids on their home turf?
Her gaze moved from Detri to the threesome slowly descending the stone steps. Her eyes moved from the men to the woman before they narrowed. Her gut was telling her this was personal. She could understand if it had been Gunther Krauss. From the report she read, the woman had shot an arrow through his brother’s chest.
No, something else was going on, and she bet it had something to do with the woman.
Debra released a low curse when she noticed a second shadow. She really hoped the Al-Rashid brothers had their security team close by.
“Yoo-hoo! Dee, darling!” she called, waving as she hurried toward them with a bright, amiable smile. “Fancy meeting you here!”
Musad turned, instantly alert. He shifted in front of Dalla without a word, his hand resting on the grip of the gun concealed beneath his jacket. Nasser tugged Dalla gently back against him, his posture tightening like a spring. Debra noted they were still partially concealed by the crumbling upper wall of the parapet.
Debra reached them, her steps slowing as if to catch her breath. “Don’t panic,” she said in a low voice, lifting her hand palm up, “but you’re being hunted. Detri Malinski is here, and he isn’t alone. I suspect you know who I’m talking about. Please tell me you have a security team following you.”
Musad’s jaw flexed. “Who the hell are you?”
“Debra Carr-Myers, CIA. We don’t have time for introductions.”
She stepped forward just as the sharpcrackof a bullet split the air.
The bullet tore through the sleeve of her blouse, cutting a fine line and spinning her sideways into Musad’s arms.
“Sniper!” Nasser hissed.
