Page 25 of High Treason
“Trust me. I will do all within my power to keep you and your family protected.”
“I have no doubt.”
“The second is Miss Alden would like a word with you. I’ll accompany her.”
“Can’t you relay her thoughts?”
He wanted to laugh. “Possibly, if she’d shared them with me.”
“For you, my friend. A few minutes by the pool where we met earlier.”
Kord thanked him and texted Monica to meet him in the foyer.
At the foot of the massive staircase, Kord breathed in admiration for the operative who’d chosen her job over defying culture. She wore a black scarf around her head, covering any semblance of blonde hair. If not for her ocean-blue eyes and pale face, he wouldn’t have recognized her.
He liked her. Strange for him to come to a conclusion so quickly.
“Wasn’t expecting a transformation,” he said. “But your reputation states an identity change at a moment’s notice.”
“This is the only way I know to get Prince Omar’s attention. It’s not the Saudi black from head to toe, but hopefully he’ll see this as a positive step.”
Her dilemma touched him, a pleasant surprise. “Monica, your skills are indispensable.”
She blinked.
Where did this about-face reaction come from? He’d been less than cordial when they first met. How strange in the course of the day, he’d learned to appreciate her skills.
“Thanks for requesting I be a part of the dinner meeting tonight.”
“You needed to hear the conversation.”
“What did you want to discuss before talking to Prince Omar?”
“Basically he believes Iran is behind the murders. Until he reveals what he isn’t ready to share, we keep investigating. He’ll tell me more after he hears from his sources.” He shrugged. “I’m waiting on my informant inside Iraq.”
“Has the prince shared how he plans to avoid the media while negotiating oil leases?”
“Managing his mother’s care.”
“That’s a change in his habits when his visits in the past have been more ... colorful.”
“Depends if you know him or listen to media hype.”
“Kord, are you friends with any of the other bodyguards who might have insight? Someone we’ve missed?”
He could use Monica’s help with his problem. “Not a man. The prince’s sister, Fatima.”
“What kind of a relationship?” She eyed him with a twist of her head.
“Friendship, one established five years ago.”
“Who was the male chaperone?”
He scratched the back of his neck. “Wasn’t one.”
“How could you speak to her without a male present? Or is the prince unaware?”
“He doesn’t know. We weren’t involved, but the fact we spoke privately might force me into marriage.”
