MONICA PICKED UP a box of veggies and walked toward an FBI SUV. The agents would transfer the food to a lab for testing. Perspiration beaded her face while adrenaline continued to flow. Inside, she trembled like a leaf blown by the wind.
Thank You. Every inch of me shivered. You know I’d never seen that type of bomb before.
“You can have my back anytime.” Kord attempted to take the box from her arms.
She hadn’t noted him approaching her. Where were her operative skills? “I still have this. You’re bleeding, by the way, and I’m not a nurse.”
“I can plaster on a Band-Aid.”
Ali took the load with the toolbox in the other hand, and she laughed. “Thanks.”
“Miss Alden. I have never seen a woman with your skills. I’m impressed.”
“I grew up in a family of boys, climbed trees, fished, played baseball, and hunted instead of learning girl things.”
“You don’t cook?”
She laughed again, one way she relieved stress. “I can roast and brew a mean cup of coffee, and I can bake, but not cook.” She noted Kord’s blood-soaked jacket sleeve. “You need that tended to ASAP. Infection can set in real fast.”
“I requested an ambulance,” Ali said. The man had spoken more in the last thirty minutes than the entire time she’d been there. “Kord has a reputation for not seeking medical attention.”
“Do you have firsthand knowledge of some of his exploits?”
“Zain told me plenty.”
She softened her tone. “I’d like to hear them.”
“Ask Kord. I’m sure he’d play the hero.”
“I’m right beside you,” Kord said. “My hearing’s just fine.”
“I remember you running barefoot after a man who attempted to assault the prince,” Ali said.
“In Saudi?” she said. “Why was he barefoot?”
“Actually, he’d just stepped out of the —”
“Never mind, Ali. Monica doesn’t need to hear that story. Are you getting all Western on us?”
“I think so.”
The bantering between the two men relieved the apprehension she’d once had for Ali’s reasons for protecting the prince. Ali’s staying close while she disarmed the bomb had garnered a huge load of respect for him.
“Kord, who called you when we were back there?”
“SAC Thomas. Left a voice mail.”
Curiosity about Special Agent Kord Davidson swirled warm through her. The more she discovered about him, the more she admired. At the outset, he’d been against her as his partner. And when she learned he and Prince Omar were friends, she understood he felt responsible for what had happened, although it wasn’t his negligence but the work of a killer. Yet he’d demonstrated courage and wisdom with his priority as a federal agent in a case that had the potential of serious implications. A twinge of undeniable attraction had crept into her heart. Memories of Liam slammed into her brain, and she swept personal thoughts about Kord under a rug called “detonated dreams.”
A paramedic treated his left arm. Thankfully, the bullet had taken a hunk of flesh but not embedded. He refused a ride to the hospital and requested they bandage him up.
“He needs a tetanus shot,” she said. His type usually let precaution slide. She should know.
“You’re in luck. We have one.” A young paramedic turned to Kord. “When’s the last time you had a tetanus shot?”
“Don’t remember.”
“Kord?” Monica felt as though she were talking to one of her burly brothers. “I saved your rear. Take the shot.”
And he did.
After the boxes of food were loaded and the agents drove away, Prince Omar approached them on the terrace with Saad, Wasi, and four police officers. Even with a bomb nearly sending him to pieces, the prince walked proudly. Sort of reminding her of a lion. Kord explained what happened and his role of alerting law enforcement and contacting the security company that allowed the van to enter and exit the property.
Kord nodded at the officers. “Has the driver been arrested?”
“HPD and the FBI have men on it,” an officer said. “The original driver was found unconscious by a Dumpster at the food distribution center, and the van had been abandoned in a downtown alley. The FBI has sent a team to sweep it.”
Monica bit her tongue. The intricately designed scheme had well-plotted stamped on it —and Middle Eastern money, in her opinion.
“The driver spoke English when Ali questioned him in Arabic,” Kord said.
Reality swirled in her stomach. Today had come dangerously close to the enemy claiming victory. The driver had failed but for certain he had plans B and C with every detail covered.
“How was the original driver injured? A blow to the head?” she said.
“No, ma’am. I’ve been told a medically induced coma.”
“Probably a barbiturate.” She’d contact Jeff at the next possible moment. Her handler had a way of pulling facts from thin air.
Ali interrupted her thoughts with his announcement of her heroism. “Miss Alden disarmed the bomb or we’d all be dead.”
She sensed Prince Omar’s gaze. Dare she be Western and give him eye contact, or should she avoid those dark pools of power and age-old culture? She chose the latter, feeling God wanted her testimony to be respectful.
“Miss Alden, I sincerely appreciate your contribution to saving lives today. My family is indebted to you,” he said. “Later, we should discuss other matters.”
A nudging in her spirit told her two things —she’d succeeded in gaining his favor, and he’d overheard the earlier conversation with Fatima and Yasmine. The prince would have questions, and she hoped none of them dealt with Liam.
Within the hour, Monica had identified the coma-inducing drug used against the food-service driver —injected pentobarbital. The original driver was a naturalized Iranian, been in the US for sixteen years. No priors or ties to terrorists. She wanted to talk to him, but her duties stayed intact at the Saud home.
Jeff offered to patch her and Kord into an FBI interview with the driver at the hospital. She connected to the video feed while Kord watched the interview with Prince Omar in the prince’s office.
“While I was leaving the warehouse parking lot, a car pulled in front of me so I couldn’t move. A short, round man wearing a ball cap and sunglasses exited and approached me. Beard too. He smiled and waved. He said he needed directions and had a hearing problem. That’s when I saw his car, a Honda.”
“Did he speak English?”
“Farsi.”
Was the man they were seeking Iranian?
“Did you see the license plate?”
“No, sir. But I do remember a huge dent on the passenger side of his car.” He paused as though trying to recall any details. “I got out of my van. It happened so fast. He stuck a needle into my neck. That’s all I remember until I woke up here.”
“Had you seen the man before?” a female FBI agent said.
“No, ma’am.” Tight facial muscles.
“Can you give us more of a description?”
“He was Iranian like me.”
“Could you identify the man in a lineup?”
“Not sure. But I’d try. Don’t you have people who can draw a picture of what I remember?”
“We do, and we value your help.”
When the interview ended, Monica closed her eyes. She’d not seen the potential bomber to recall his identity, her one trait that had raised her status for this mission. The Iranian driver could have been victim number four. Her phone rang, and as she expected, it was Kord.
“Not much to go on, but the assailant’s description is similar to the man who posed as the consul general’s limo driver outside MD Anderson.”
“Kord, the two men have different body shapes, but I agree he can’t conceal his height unless he wears platform shoes. Is the driver alive because of his nationality or is he lying?”
“I requested a surveillance team.”
“And I’ll see if there’s anything hiding in his background.” She saw the hour approached 3:30. “I’ll be downstairs in a few minutes. Has SAC Thomas questioned Malik about the bomb?”
“Going on now. Might have an update when we talk.”
“We need more of a break than two men who share the same height.”
“Right. You were amazing today. I’m a lucky guy to have you as my partner.”
His words touched her in a forbidden place. Change the subject, Monica. “You’d have done the same thing. I have a topic to discuss with you. The prince sent me to join his sisters after the episode with Malik and Yasmine. We talked in the common area. I assume he’s listened to every word.”
“Bank on it.”
“Would he share that with you?”
“Possibly, if Yasmine admitted something. Is there a problem?”
She wished for the umpteenth time that she hadn’t mentioned Liam. Telling Fatima and Yasmine came far too easily. The truth flowed from her lips despite that others would learn about her regrettable past. Not her normal mode of operation. Small comfort if the prince or Kord had done a thorough history —they already knew. “This house is filled with cameras and listening devices. Makes me uncomfortable. But in his position, I’d do the same to protect my loved ones.”
“We have nothing to hide.”
Privacy was essential in their mission, but she’d not speak of needing it inside the home and neither would Kord. Ali . . . maybe he wasn’t a part of the prince’s betrayal. He’d risked his life today.
Malik was in a cell when the bomb was brought to the house. But she believed Malik had not worked alone.
The undeniable fact repeatedly surfaced. They had no clue who wanted Prince Omar dead. And she felt incredibly inept. Why hadn’t Jeff given her the mission of finding who was responsible for the murders instead of . . . this?