“Sounds like a date to me.”

Mikhail thought he might snap the pencil from frustrated jealousy. It gripped his heart once Kamar told him of this vice-chair of defense.

“Well, it’s definitely not a date.” Kamar glared at him. “I said it’s a housewarming party, and it’s not like I’ve accepted his invitation.”

“Yet,” Mikhail growled.

Kamar’s eyes widened. His shock was mutual. The guttural noise was utterly indicative of the envious turmoil knocking around Mikhail’s insides…and it was damn territorial. Grimacing, Mikhail lowered his gaze to concentrate on his notepad and the newest etchings including the chicken scrawl notes for introducing and implementing weapon exercises.

Feeling Kamar’s stare, Mikhail snapped, “If you don’t consider it a date, this guy seems like he does.”

“Then he’s delusional, because it’s not a date,” Kamar retorted, his attitude flaring up. Mikhail might have thrilled in his rebellious Omega’s sass. Dampening any arousal was the storm cloud of the potential dinner party.

Glancing up at Kamar’s scowl, Mikhail considered what he’d said. He did look disturbed that Mikhail thought this was a date. His annoyance appeared genuine. Maybe he was looking at this the wrong way.

Or maybe not.

Absorbed by Kamar’s news of the housewarming party at the defense vice-chair’s home, he hadn’t noticed their third party sneaking into his peripherals. Ali slowly approached them, his dark eyes flitting from Mikhail back to Kamar and back to Mikhail again.

“Yes?” Mikhail needed the distraction.

Hooking a thumb over his shoulder, Ali said, “There’s a guy out here who is asking for Kamar.”

Mikhail narrowed his eyes when Kamar hopped up. They shared a tense look, and then Mikhail dropped his attention back to his notepad. He looked up after Kamar when he felt him breeze past wordlessly.

Ali raised his brows, innocent curiosity stark on his young features. “Are you guys fighting again?”

“Again?” Mikhail grumbled, leaning to see around Ali, to spy Kamar leaving the stall to speak to whoever was out there. Itching to know what was happening and who this guest was, Mikhail crooked a finger at Ali. His stall hand crouched down in front of him, his eyes alert.

“Go and arrange the fresh fruit under the table to the front.”

“But I already did that, this morning,” Ali said quickly.

Mikhail gave him a hard stare. “Arrange the fruit, Ali.”

Ali frowned, and then his face cleared as he laughed. “I get it.” Looking over his shoulder, he grinned. “Sure thing, boss. Rearranging the fruit now,” he said, winking.

Mikhail watched Ali go. In the meantime, and to keep it inconspicuous, he continued expanding on his plans for the weapons. Mikhail had two main angles to consider. The revolution might need firearms for protection, and therefore the practice to handle firearms and minimize self-inflicted harm. Might being the imperative word here; Kamar and Jibril had both made their sentiments clear about their preference for non-violent.

Still as important as his planning was, Mikhail found his head rising in intervals to survey the front of the stall, his ears sharpening to catch sounds of Kamar’s conversation, and his heart drumming in anticipation of Ali’s report.

At last Ali wandered back, his strides hurried. “They left,” he blurted.

“Where?” Mikhail was on his feet. Resisting the urge to shake the question out of Ali, and impatient beyond reason, he barked, “Where, Ali?”

“That way,” Ali pointed, shrinking back from Mikhail.

Sighing, Mikhail clapped Ali on the shoulder. “Take care of the stall until lunch.” Not waiting for Ali’s reply, he moved to the front of the stall, out into the lively morning market in hopes of sighting and trailing Kamar and his mystery guest. Without any luck, Mikhail fell back on following Ali’s direction. Ali had gestured to the east, so that’s where Mikhail would stalk and search.

It didn’t take long to find his lover…and whoever was walking beside Kamar.

Kamar had his neck craned up, his head tilted and his side profile revealing his rapt attention to whatever his darkly-clad companion was saying. From here it looked like Kamar was fawning. Mikhail knew it was ridiculous, the hot bile of jealousy climbing up his chest and burning him up from the center out.

Scowling at them from afar, Mikhail tracked them for another block before someone called his name. Startling, Mikhail froze. Kamar, thankfully, didn’t turn around. But since Mikhail stopped, he’d gotten far enough to start blending in with the crowd.

“Malik,” the voice called again, coming from his side now.

Raising a hand, General Ishmael emerged from a coffee shop tucked into the lower floor of the squat building Mikhail had paused in front of after hearing his name the first time. The rotund General of Zhebair’s defense ministry stepped in front of him.

“Merchant Malik.” General Ishmael bobbed his head once in greeting. “I was just on my way to your stall.”

Mikhail looked around the General, but Kamar and whoever he was with were long gone, swallowed by the crowd. Seeing that he wanted to speak to the General, and having gained his attention, Mikhail gave up with Kamar. Whatever was going on he’d have to find out later. Or trust Kamar to do right by him.

“General, what a pleasure,” Mikhail said, plastering on a welcoming smile.

“I couldn’t stop thinking of your fruit. I’m almost through with the crate you had delivered, and my chef, he’s so enamored by the flavor, he sent me to fetch some more.”

Mikhail gestured for Ishmael to fall into step with him. “We can absolutely help you with that. This might be an opportune time to admit I was planning on reaching out to you to discuss more business.”

“Were you?” The general’s monotone expression didn’t shift. His brow did hike up, and his hand massaged his jaw. “What about, may I ask?”

“I’d rather we speak in private, behind my stall,” Mikhail said.

“How intriguing…And will the son of Prime Minister Mustafa be joining us?”

“No.” Mikhail kept it nice and short, expecting that’d be all. Instead the general gazed at him with those owlish eyes.

“I thought I spotted him with the vice-chair of defense. They were walking right in front of you.” General Ishmael rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

Mikhail soaked in what he said, and then he asked, “What can you tell me of this vice-chair?”

“What do you want to know?” Ishmael volleyed back.

“For starters, what’s his name? But maybe you can explain why I’m only hearing of his name now?”

General Ishmael shrugged. “Defense Vice-Chair Kofi Abd Al-Kareem, and it could be that you’re hearing of him now because he’s a recent hire who has climbed through the rank faster than any other highly-ranked official. Myself included. In fact, he’s holding a party to remind everyone where he sits now and with what title.”

“Kofi,” Mikhail tested the name aloud, once. But he also tossed his name around a few times in his mind. And then he asked, “General, you wouldn’t happen to have a date for Vice-Chair Kofi’s housewarming party, do you?”