Bodyguard Confessions. Donna Young
boy. “Is he dead?”
Anna felt his body tighten, the only give of emotion.
“Only sleeping,” she said, sensing rather than seeing him relax at her explanation. “His nanny drugged him for his own protection.”
“I understand,” he said, and let his hand drop.
“So, where do we go from here?”
“We get you both out of Taer safely.” He motioned toward the baby. “And to do so, you will need to trust me, Miss Cambridge.”
“Trust you? When just minutes ago you were talking ransom to Zahid? I’ve only met you once, and you were unconscious at the time. That isn’t a foundation for trust.” The harshness was gone, but wariness kept her eyes wide, the bow of her lips tight and pale.
After her grandmother’s murder, Anna had visited Quamar at the hospital. He remembered the cool flutter of her fingers on his hand. The brush of a kiss against his lips—an act of forgiveness that he did not deserve.
Over the past months, he had thought of that one kiss a thousand times. “I was not unconscious,” Quamar remarked. “Tell me now, do you ever do what you are told? Or do it without argument?”
“Do you?”
This one wasn’t startled easily. Cool, collected. But he had surprised her. He saw the flush rise over the pale cheeks.
“Yes, I do,” he lied without qualm before his eyes moved to the baby.
“Quamar,” Anna said with impatience. “I have promised to see Rashid to safety. I do not make promises I can’t keep. So I will trust you. Only because I have no other choice. But do not expect me to follow you blindly. Not with Rashid’s life at stake.”
Her jaw tightened, hardening the stubborn lines. Still, the trepidation was there in the shadows of her eyes.
Something pulled at him, deep from his belly. A familiar tug, one he’d felt before and many times since.
The threads of fate.
Quamar pushed the feeling away. “Agreed.” He shut off the lighter and pocketed it.
Catching her elbow in a viselike grip, he urged her forward. “We have wasted enough time. We must go.”
They traveled in silence, occasionally stopping to listen and wait. The air turned dank and the chill seeped through the soles of her feet, making her bones ache, her body shiver. The sling bit into her neck and shoulders. Without thinking, she shifted the baby, relieving some of the pressure.
“How is he?”
He must have sensed her movement. Instinctively, Anna’s arm tightened over the baby. “He hasn’t woken yet.” Her hand went to Rashid’s nose, felt the tickle of his breath against her skin. “But his breathing is even.”
“You have done well protecting him,” Quamar acknowledged. But before Anna could digest the compliment, or the warmth it invoked, he asked, “What are you doing here, Miss Cambridge?”
“Running for my life, it seems.”
“In Taer,” he corrected, but she heard the sigh in his voice. “What are you doing here in Taer?”
Without warning, his hand slid down her arm and snagged her hand. The meaty palm engulfed hers, warmed her chilled fingers.
“Saree invited me. We went to college together. I have known her for years. Since my father was getting ready to negotiate with Jarek over Taer’s new oil discovery, I figured I would visit for a few days. See Rashid. Take in the sights.” Anna didn’t comment on why, because this was not the time to release inner demons. “Sort of a diplomatic vacation.”
Suddenly, Quamar turned a sharp corner, pointing them in a different path. Which direction, she wasn’t sure, having lost all bearing hours before.
She paused, wondering. “How do you know these tunnels so well?”
“Jarek and I are cousins. As well as Zahid. We played in them as children.”
“Cousins? You tried to kill your own cousin?”
“Yes.” Quamar’s answer was matter-of-fact. No explanations. No justifications.
“You would have killed him if I hadn’t been there.”
“Yes.” It was a rhetorical statement, but Quamar answered anyway.
“Your family reunions must be real fun,” Anna muttered.
“They will send men to cover the entrances. We need to be gone before.”
“They?”
“Hassan and Zahid.”
“Hassan? Zahid’s father?” Anna asked, unable to stop the disbelief in her voice. “You’re saying your uncle is behind the attack?”
“He will benefit the most. But he had help. A traitor among Jarek’s ranks. Hassan could not have disabled the palace security from the outside, not long enough for the attack. Only someone from inside could have made them vulnerable.”
“How many people had access to the codes?”
“Half a dozen. Maybe less.”
“Quamar, a good portion of the palace soldiers turned on Jarek and his men,” Anna said. She’d seen it herself. Men killed with swords or bullets in their back.
“Something Jarek would never have expected,” Quamar acknowledged. “Jarek innately believed most people of Taer loved the country, honored it as much as he did. Were loyal to his father and the crown. It was a flaw I had warned him about. And now it has cost him his life.”
In the few short days she had known Jarek, she had come to respect him and his views. He epitomized royalty. Not just in looks, although his features were defined in a mixture of the sharp angles and broad planes of his ancestors. But more. Jarek wore his royal heritage like one wore an expensive suit—custom-tailored to fit the long, thin lines of his frame. And he had worn that heritage well.
“We must hurry. A short distance from here is a fork in the tunnel that leads out into the city,” Quamar said, his voice grim.
“And once we escape to the city? What are we going to do?”
“Survive.”
Chapter Four
Farad Al’ Neyum was a man driven. Not by honor or faith.
But greed.
Above him, he could hear the distant rap of a machine gun, the bellows of the soldiers as they hunted their enemies. Farad grunted with disgust. All fools who believed in an empty cause—to rid the people of Taer of antitraditionalists.
A cause brandished like a sword from a wealthy man who wanted no more than power and further riches.
Riches he had yet to see himself, Farad admitted while he pushed against the sewer grate above his head. With caution born from years on the street, he poked out his head and scanned the alleyway surrounding him.
Empty. Pleased, he set his gun out on the cement and levered himself out of the drain hole. He could taste the rot of sewage, feel the sludge stick to his skin, soak into his robes. But the stench didn’t bother him. Hadn’t in years. In fact, he’d become accustomed to the more fetid scents of the city. It wasn’t every man who owned his kingdom, even if it was the sewers of Taer. For even the rich needed somewhere to wash their garbage away.
Farad was a small man. In truth, no taller than the hind leg of a camel, and rather plain with a sharp nose, pointed ears and gaps between his teeth.
But he wasn’t one to dwell on his lot in life. He placed the grate once again over the drain.
With his size came an above-average intelligence—a quality lacking in the local law enforcement.