Qadir held Aimee against his side, caressing her bare hip. She sighed and rolled into him, threading her fingers through the hair on his chest.
“What are you thinking?” he murmured.
“Just random thoughts,” she said.
“Such as?”
Her fingers stilled. “I was remembering your reaction… a few days ago in the house… after— I didn’t think you— that you didn’t….” Her voice faded.
He closed his eyes at the memory. “I thought you were a hallucination. I feared my mind was cracking. How could you be there when I knew you were dead? I had read the autopsy report a hundred times.”
She sighed again and rolled over. Looking up at his face, she caressed his bruised skin, running her fingers down to his chin. He kissed the tips of her fingers when she rested them on his lips.
“Why did you bring me here? You— Habib told me that your father has picked out a bride for you. I can’t… I can’t stay,” she whispered.
He kissed her to silence the heartbreak in her voice.
“I thought I lost you once, Aimee. I won’t lose you again—ever. You captured my heart that day in the Harris Building with your defiance, your bravery, and your sense of humor. Three years ago, I was going to ask you to marry me. I am asking you now. Will you be my wife?”
Her eyes glowed with love, and she smiled that huge, brilliant smile he had missed so much. She rolled on top of him, cupped his face between her hands and kissed him tenderly with a passion that woke his satiated body.
“You bet your ass I will,” she murmured against his lips.
“That’s a good thing considering we haven’t been using any protection,” he teased, cupping her breasts in his hands.
It was mid-afternoon when Qadir slipped out of the room where Aimee and his mother were chatting. He walked along the wide corridors, heading for his brother’s living quarters. The guard at the door bowed and opened it for him.
“He is expecting you, sire,” the guard said.
Qadir entered Tarek’s vast rooms, raising an eyebrow when he noticed his brother was sitting at a table on the balcony with paperwork in front of him. Tarek still looked pale, and there were lines of pain etched around his mouth.
“Shouldn’t you be resting? Dr. Fuah said the only reason he agreed to release you from the medical ward was because you promised to take it easy and follow directions.”
Tarek scowled and waved a dismissive hand. “It’s bad enough he has assigned me a babysitter. I can’t even go relieve myself without the nurse following me into the bathroom to see if I have blood in my urine.”
“And do you?” Qadir asked, pulling a chair out and sitting down.
“No,” Tarek answered in a terse tone before he turned his attention to the nurse. “Get coffee for us.”
Qadir watched with amusement as the nurse bowed and hurried to order the coffees. He certainly would not want to nurse his grouchy brother.
“Perhaps Kamil should have assigned you a more attractive nurse,” he mused.
Tarek glared at him. “I don’t need a nurse. What I want are the heads of Bronislav and the Coldhouse brothers.”
“Killing yourself won’t make it happen sooner and you won’t be able to enjoy it when we do,” he replied.
Tarek continued to glare at him before closing his eyes and taking deep calming breaths. Qadir watched the tension melt from his brother’s body with relief.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Qadir said.
Tarek opened his mouth, closed it, and leaned back in his seat. The nurse returned and served their coffee before bowing and leaving the room. Qadir noted the two tablets next to Tarek’s cup. Tarek picked them up and swallowed them.
“We lost eight good men,” Tarek said, looking out over the garden.
“Yes. Father has met with each of their families,” he quietly responded.
“You could have died,” Tarek continued.
“And, so could you, but we didn’t. None of us know when our time will come, Tarek. We can’t stop all the evil in the world,” he said.
“We can try,” Tarek replied.
Qadir bowed his head. “We can try,” he agreed.
“I didn’t believe it at first when I read that Aimee was still alive—that she had come to save you.”
Qadir followed his brother’s gaze to their mother and Aimee walking in the garden below. Aimee’s hair was in a long braid. The end fell just past her buttocks. She was dressed in a simple blue, long-sleeve dress with a pair of black leggings. She moved like a dancer, elegant and confident—almost as if she floated across the ground.
“I didn’t believe it at first either,” he confessed.
Tarek turned his sharp gaze back to him. “Have you told Father that you are going to marry her?”
Qadir picked up his coffee and took a sip before answering. “Not yet, but I will. My biggest concern is keeping her safe. Bronislav tried to have her killed a second time. She was placed in the Witness Protection Program after a Marshal was killed. It won’t take long for Coldhouse to recognize her.”
“I swear none of them will ever get near our family again,” Tarek promised.
Qadir smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You aren’t the only one who has made that promise. It is time to call in a few favors.”
Tarek smiled. “I’m listening,” he said.
Colin Coldhouse stood stiffly by the window waiting for Andrius Bronislav to finish his phone call. He had left his brother in Simdan, the country just north of Jawahir, with strict instructions to stay put. At this point, he wouldn’t be at all surprised if Bronislav ordered a hit on both of them.
Andrius ended his call and motioned for Colin to sit down. Colin eyed the pristine antique Victorian chair before he took a seat. Andrius didn’t offer him a drink—another bad sign. He noted the pinched lines around the billionaire’s mouth.
“My assets have been frozen by three governments, and I have been advised not to travel at the moment… for my health,” Andrius stated.
Colin wisely kept his thoughts to himself. Andrius’s mansion on the outskirts of Moscow was beautiful—if you didn’t mind the snow. It wasn’t a horrible place to be trapped.
Andrius tapped the arm of his chair with his fingers and continued to stare at him with a brooding expression.
“You disappoint me, Colin,” Andrius finally said. “I don’t like to be disappointed.”
“It won’t happen again,” Colin promised.
“What was your weakest link?” Andrius inquired.
Colin stiffened. How he answered the following questions would probably determine if he walked out of the house or was carried out.
“There were two: intel and personnel,” he stated.
Andrius studied him. Colin kept his thoughts hidden behind a mask of calm.
“What are you going to do to compensate me for your failure?” Andrius asked.
“You hired Cold Methods Security for a job. It isn’t finished.”
Andrius’s eyes narrowed. “No, it is not. The war between Jawahir and Simdan never materialized because a spy infiltrated your ranks and you were unable to stop one girl from turning evidence over to the American government. Fix this mess, Colin, or else.”
“Yes, sir,” Colin stiffly replied, rising to his feet.
“And Colin…,” Andrius called before he could exit the room.
Colin looked over his shoulder. “Yes, sir,” he said.
Andrius didn’t look at him. “Deal with your brother. I will not tolerate his incompetence again.”
“Yes, sir.”
Colin left the house. He pulled his gloves on and walked to the Humvee waiting for him in the driveway. Snow crunched under his feet and clung to his hair and clothing. John, his second-in-command, opened the door for him, and he climbed in. Seconds later, his driver was pulling away from the mansion.
Colin stared out the window at the snow-covered fields. At least they had managed to get out of there alive. When he arrived, he figured he had a fifty-fifty chance. His phone vibrated, and he looked at the caller.
Pulling his glove off, he answered the call. “What have you found out?”
He grimaced as he listened to an employee relay the information he had requested. Seconds later, he disconnected the call and sat back in his seat.
It would appear the dead don’t enjoy staying dead, he thought.
Perhaps there was a way to kill two birds with one stone. It was time his brother corrected his mistakes—and Colin corrected his own—once and for all.
After typing the number, he lifted his cell phone to his ear. Anderson answered on the second ring.
“What happened?” Anderson demanded.
Colin’s hard, dark eyes glittered with malice. “I have a job for you,” he said.