Page 45 of High Treason
Kord’s use of a familiar phrase ripped open an old wound. “Do me a favor. I have an immense dislike for the phrase ‘trust me.’ The moment I hear it, I want to choke whoever said it.”
He laughed, taking her off guard. “Thanks for the warning.”
“Glad you find me amusing. Something else you should know. Our job is protection detail, but I want to be the one to bring down these bad boys.”
His eyes flicked a peculiar glance her way, one she couldn’t read. Had he been informed about Liam?
“What?” she said.
“I took a bullet for Prince Omar, and the scar on my back is a reminder of what happens when I begin to think I’m invincible.”
Possibly she’d met her match. “When you were involved in rescuing his wife and son?”
“Another time. We were outside a restaurant in Paris whenshooting broke out. Figured the bullets were for him and made sure they didn’t reach the target.”
“You shielded him?”
“Yep.”
“Anything else I should know about your and the prince’s relationship?” she said.
“No. Those are the reasons why we’re friends.”
“So who has the most to lose from Prince Omar continuing with economic improvements? Ali wears his anger like a plate of armor, but it appears a righteous rage. I have Jeff digging for anything on him, but so far nothing. The other bodyguards and house staff have no red flags in their backgrounds to question. Then there’s Fatima and the wrath of a spurned woman.”
“I’m delving into Malik, the press secretary. Having problems reading him. Too quiet for my liking. Our reports exonerate him—not sure I do.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open on all counts, including Fatima.”
“Too bad she’s not married.”
Monica didn’t envy his worry about Fatima destroying his friendship with Prince Omar. Neither was she apprehensive about his ability to complete the job. Taking a bullet for someone vested the relationship. What she feared was one of the Saudi men paving the way for Prince Omar’s killer.
“Kord, what if a member of the household is helping the killer unwillingly?”
HANDS IN HIS POCKETS,Kord walked along a stone path that wound around the rear of the property leading to the patio of the Saud home. The business of arranging a meeting with Fatima rumbled through his mind, much like thunder in the distance. He believed in honesty, which meant having a long talk with Prince Omar about what didn’t happen five years ago.
The other situation was how the sniper had Prince Omar’s schedule. Who had access other than Malik and Ali? Who in Riyadh?
Gray clouds gathered and the scent of rain met his nostrils with a few drops of moisture. Houston’s ground had hit the saturation point, and many neighborhoods were flooded. If the water level continued to rise, Prince Omar might have difficulty keeping to his plans. But if the weather prohibited his getting out to meetings, then bring on more rain.
Kord had left Monica on the bench, and if she delayed, she’d be drenched. Her final comment held logic. Someone in the householdcould have been forced to assist the killer. Not an impossibility. But that meant taking a strong look at Fatima and Yasmine—another reason to bring Prince Omar into the loop about whatdidn’thappen—and more questioning of the bodyguards and staff. The FBI were running data on all the calls the entourage had made, and so far nothing had materialized as suspicious. The who, how, and why pierced his thoughts.
“Kord.”
He turned to see Monica racing toward him. “Something wrong?”
She shook her head and made a breathless stop at his side. Her flushed face was ... very attractive. “I have an idea,” she said. “Got a few minutes?”
“We’re about to get wet.”
“I’d rather talk in the open.”
She usually made sense, which drove him nuts. “Go for it.”
“The FBI checked all the cell phones belonging to Prince Omar’s men, and they were cleared. Just got the CIA report for the numbers called and received.”
He yanked his phone from his pocket.
