“Thanks again.” Mikhail’s gratitude weighed heavily on his words. And, since he never took his promises lightly, he said, “I owe you a whole crate of fruit.”

“Remember that you do,” General Ishmael responded, but his eyes twinkled warmly.

“So, this is the Vice-Chair’s home.” Mikhail peered out the car window. The vehicle had been slowed down by the traffic in and out of the gated compound. Much like Kamar’s home, Kofi’s was also well-guarded. The car was searched; a flashlight beamed into his eyes through the General’s window up front.

Mikhail smiled through it all. He did want to get into the party after the trouble Ishmael was going through on Mikhail’s behalf. Cleared through the gates, their ride inched forward onto the spacious drive as passengers were dropped at the entrance and then abandoned by their cars until the night’s festivities came to a close.

“It’s our turn,” the General warned, glancing at Mikhail in the back. While Mikhail exited, Ishmael lingered to speak with his driver.

Then he joined Mikhail facing the front double doors to the Vice-Chair’s home. Ishmael whistled low, his hands sliding into his suit pants’ pockets. “I drive by here all the time on my way to work. But it’s much more impressive up close, isn’t it?”

“You haven’t been here before?” Mikhail didn’t bother to muffle his shock.

Stirred forward by the persistent honking of vehicles and party guests who’d tired of waiting for their turn, Mikhail gazed at the magnificence of the porch. His expectations were set high, so there was no disappointment when they cleared the front door, passed the butlers matching invitation cards and names with their lists, and joined the party slipping out from the lounge.

“Why would I have been here before?” General Ishmael raised his brows. “The Vice-Chair only moved into his home recently. It’d been in renovation before then. It went to disrepair, as I understand it, when his father left for Djanna.”

So, Kofi was full of surprises. Smothering his, Mikhail asked, “Djanna? Why Djanna?”

“It’s where his mother lived. She was Djannian, as I understand it.” General Ishmael steered them toward the starters being carted around by professionally dressed waiters. Plucking a cheese-based appetizer from a tray, he said, “I have to be honest. Kofi and I…well, we’re not as close as you’d imagine. He does his work, and I review his material. Not exactly a warm environment for co-workers, but Kofi is a steadfast employee, and I can’t complain.”

“But why did he return to Zhebair?”

General Ishmael shrugged, his mouth full. He chewed thoughtfully, before swallowing and smacking his lips. “You would have to ask him.” Nudging his head behind Mikhail, he said, “There’s your chance now.”

Sure enough, a tall, thin man dressed in a sharp, black suit not so different than Mikhail’s navy blue dress suit, commanded the room’s attention with only his presence. Seeing he wasn’t the only one staring openly, Mikhail didn’t feel too self-conscious.

So, this is Kofi?

As discreetly as possible, Mikhail sized him from head to toe, trying to think like Kamar. He could see what might be a cause for worry. Kofi wasn’t particularly handsome. From where Mikhail could see him, his eyes seemed too large and hollow, his cheeks a little on the gaunt side, and his lips too thin. But his reddish brown skin tone and warm brown eyes had Mikhail reconsidering his standing point.

Then Kofi’s gaze cut to Mikhail and he neared, parting the small crowd of well-wishers that had cocooned around him, his stare intent as he took his strides forward. Everything about his swagger screamed he was a man on a mission.

“General, what a pleasure.” Kofi’s baritone rolled off of Mikhail. Eyes never straying from Mikhail, Kofi held out a hand. Mikhail accepted it, if only to keep from making a scene. After all, Kofi was throwing a party. It wasn’t his fault that Kamar had fallen on his radar. Squeezing his hand tighter, longer than necessary, Mikhail smiled slowly as he thought how they would have a problem if Kofi tried to mess with Kamar.

If, for whatever reason, Kamar did like him—chose him, and Kofi broke his heart.

“I’m Defense Vice-Chair Kofi Abd-Al-Kareem.” Returning his fierce grip, Kofi cocked his shaven head slightly. “And you are?”

“A friend of General Ishmael.” Mikhail’s smile faltered. “Malik is my name. I’m a simple merchant.”

“Malik?” Kofi’s face remained passive, though he sounded surprised. Finally gaze flickering to the General, he said, “You’re Kamar’s merchant friend.”

Mikhail turned to stare at the General, who took that moment to chase after a passing tray of hors d’ouevres. Realizing they were still holding hands, Mikhail loosened his grasp, and Kofi took that as the cue to let their hands drop.

“I picked up more of your fruit today after having visited your stall two days ago. I wasn’t able to add them to our menu tonight, unfortunately, but they are just as fantastic as Kamar told me. It was like taking a bite of home…I’m from Djanna.” Kofi’s lips quirked up, but even that lacked the full range of emotion. He was a walking, talking expressionless cardboard. Kamar couldn’t like him.

“I am, too,” Mikhail said, his confession made through clenched teeth.

“Kamar is here,” Kofi said.

Not sure what he was getting at, Mikhail donned an air of nonchalance. Meanwhile his mind was all, where? Where? Where? Out loud he said, “Is he?”

“Over that way, with his father and a gaggle of the Prime Minister’s work friends,” Kofi told him.

Unable to resist himself, Mikhail said, “And they’re not your work friends?”

The corners of Kofi’s mouth did that tipping thing again. “At my level, I’ve learned it’s safest and sanest to be choosy about one’s friends.” Then, like he couldn’t wait to stab Mikhail back, he added, “Like Kamar.”

“What about Kamar?” Mikhail knew he was revealing too much now. But he couldn’t leash the flaring anger at what Kofi was implying. He really had to hear it coming out of this cocky, creepy-eyed bastard’s lips. Besides, cold and slimy intuition slipped into his gut, warning that Kofi got what he wanted from him when he leaned in.

“It’s rare when you meet a person you feel you can utterly trust with, say, all your secrets. A true friend who passes any and all tests…Kamar would be that friend.” Kofi turned then, not even with an apology. Mikhail was left to stare after the asshole.

Once he accepted he couldn’t drill holes into the back of Kofi’s head, Mikhail did the next best thing. Stalking in Kofi’s direction, he sought Kamar to calm the irrational jealousy chewing away at any rest his mind could have.

Someone had some explaining to do.