Chapter 9
Nairobi, Kenya
While she showered, he prepped his own sleeping space on the small two-person couch. He’d have a few kinks in his neck and spine, but a day out on safari tomorrow should right him.
He touched the small scratch where they’d implanted the comms. It’d scabbed over, but he wished he could do like they did in sci-fi movies and tap it to activate the thing. He had a bad feeling the implant had been damaged when Hassan nailed him with that knifehand.
His mind drifted back to Dillon showing up at the hotel.
What was going on? Was he okay? There hadn’t been a chance to message the Scions.
Send notice back to the ’rents that the hotheaded guy had been sighted again.
But why there? What was he doing in Paris?
Yeah, tracking someone…but that was light on intel and long on crazy.
Maybe if Owen had been more like Dillon, he’d have earned his black beret.
But then…he wouldn’t be here, drawing the ire of a beauty.
He smirked, remembering the fire light through her caramel irises when she got mad. The way her mouth tightened, yet those lips were still full and—
“What are you doing? No!” Leighton appeared behind the couch and yanked the pillow out from under his head. “Nope, you are not going to put me in a position to feel guilty when Nasir or Maaz beat you again.” She pitched his pillow at the bed. “Get on the bed.”
Standing, he couldn’t stop the scoff from escaping. Nobody would believe a beautiful princess had just ordered him into her bed. He lifted his palms. “I’m not doing that.”
“Why?”
“Do you know what your dad does for a living?”
“He’s a politician.”
“I meant the biological one—you know, the hired killer.”
At that she faltered, but then fire lit her eyes again. She stomped to the couch and grabbed two cushions. “This is absurd. That bed is stupid-large. There is no reason”—with a grunt, she planted the cushions in the center, forming a line—“we can’t both sleep on it without any impropriety.”
If he did this, he’d either get her killed—by the royals—or himself killed—by her mercenary father. “Thank you, but I like living.”
“You’re being ridiculous. I’m not letting a man with a cracked rib sleep caddy-corner on a lumpy couch.”
“It was actually pretty—”
She threw a pillow at him.
Owen ducked it, then gaped at her. “What—”
Next, a small narrow pillow winged his way.
“Hey!” Oh no… No no no. This was just like… “Stop.”
Amusement made her smile as she reached for a shoe.
“Leighton, no.” This was not happening. He pivoted and headed to the bathroom. Felt the shoe bean him in the head. Wincing, he stepped inside and locked the door. Set his face in his hands, trying so hard to block out the story Dad told him about the night in Venezuela between him and Mom.
He slumped back against the wall, tired. Weary. He slid down and tilted his head back. It wasn’t that he was weak. And it definitely wasn’t because she was into him. He wasn’t addicted to painkillers like Dad had been, so…
The soft rap of her knuckles made him twinge. “Apollo?”
He exhaled heavily.
“Hey, sorry…”
He did not want her to apologize. Now he felt like an idiot for letting that hit him so wrong.
“Guess I didn’t know you were a lightweight pillow fighter.”
Eyebrows winging up at the taunt, he gave a breathy laugh.
“I’ll go easier on you…”
Owen hopped up and opened the door. “Lightweight, huh?”
Mirth made her eyes glow brightly, and she tried to hide her smile but it bubbled into laughter. In shorts and a T-shirt, she backed up. “C’mon. Please—this shouldn’t be a problem. We’re adults, and it’s not as if you like me.”
His heart tripped over that—hadn’t he assumed the same thing?
Should he read into the fact she didn’t say that she wasn’t into him?
Was she? More importantly, should he correct her lie?
Even as he wondered that, she slipped between the sheets on her side and scooted down, then turned her back to his side.
Was this really happening?
He sat on the edge of the bed. I am a man of honor and character.
Yeah, Dad had been too.
With a silent groan, he stretched his neck and turned out the light. Then angled his head onto the pillow, doing his best to stay at the farthest edge of the mattress as possible without falling off. Sleep collided with him, hard and fast.
Owen snapped wide awake. Room still dark, he eyed the clock on the end table.
0430 hours. Wow, had he really slept six hours straight?
Must’ve needed it. Afraid to move and wake Leighton, he stifled a yawn, then braced his side and drew himself off the mattress, careful not to disturb her. He glanced to her side of the bed.
Leighton lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, hair a dark halo around her head. Awake.
“You okay?”
She let out a small sigh. “You snore.”
He froze. “Serious?”
“Loud and long,” she said dramatically, rubbing her forehead. “I thought it was Mufasa calling the pride.”
Covering his mouth, he tried to hide his laugh and failed. “I’m…I’m sorry. Why didn’t you wake me?”
Leighton stabbed a hand down the line of pillows. “We had an agreement not to cross the line.” She shrugged. “I felt bad that you slept on the floor last night and got beat up by Nasir. And the time Hassan jabbed his hand into your throat.”
Shamed that he’d been so easily taken off guard by Hassan, Owen stood and tugged the blanket back into place. “Look, I’m wide awake. I’ll sit on the couch, and you can grab an hour of uninterrupted sleep before we head out. First, let me get myself cleaned up.”
He ducked into the bathroom and brushed his teeth, changed clothes, and put on deodorant.
Light off, he opened the door and stepped out.
He stopped short at finding the bed empty.
A quick scan located her shadowy form in the corner, where she was tugging her dark hair out from under a black T-shirt.
Realizing she’d changed, he frowned. “Thought you were going to rest.”
“Too awake.” She plodded over to the bathroom and slipped inside, closing the door behind her.
Feeling responsible that they were both up before the sun, he sat on the couch. From the packet Rayan gave them, he reviewed the itinerary in detail. If he managed to get word to Omen, they could be extracted while out here in free-rein country.
Leighton emerged and wandered over, sitting beside him. “So, what’s today again? I slept since you told me…”
“We’re first spending three days here on the bank of the Mbagathi River that borders Nairobi National Park.”
“So, lions, tigers, and bears?”
He felt the barest hint of a smile again over her attempt at humor. “No bears, but definitely lions.”
“Oh my.”
That smile pushed past his carefully constructed barriers as he considered her for a long second. Her caramel gaze held his, ensnaring him.
Slowly, a knot formed between her brows.
“What?”
She wet her lips, then eyed the itinerary. “On one hand, I know I shouldn’t enjoy this—they’re holding me captive. I’m not here of my own volition. And we both agreed they might be trying to…get rid of me.”
“That’s not guaranteed.”
“Granted,” she conceded softly, “but it’s a possibility. Right?”
He couldn’t lie. “Yeah.”
“So, here I am on a dream-of-a-lifetime trip… This should be enjoyed—I love wildlife, but I sit here wondering how they’ll try to kill me.”
A profound protective instinct shot through him. “I’m not going to let that happen. That’s why I’m here.”
“You’re here because King Faruq hired you.”
“I’m here because my team manipulated circumstances in Paris to put me on the king’s radar.”
Leighton started. “What? Are you—wait.” She brushed the hair from her face, as if it got in the way of her thinking clearly. “So the robbery…”
“A setup.”
“So you’re not a hero…”
That dagger landed squarely between his fourth and fifth ribs, nailing his heart. He stood and grabbed his backpack. “We should get going.”
“I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”
Owen shrugged into the pack. “All good.” Cocking his head toward the door, he kept moving. “Ready?”
Though Leighton stood, she did so stiffly. Robotically. And Owen had this idea that the way things had shut down between them left her in a position that wasn’t unlike the commands barked at her by the royals. Regret dug deep, but he had no idea how to walk that back.
Within the hour, they were in a soft-sided 4x4 safari Land Cruiser with a turret-like pop-top so people could stand to take better pictures.
Or hired guns could protect the tourists.
The party of eighteen, not including drivers, had packed into three different vehicles.
Naturally, he and Leighton were assigned to the third one.
They’d no sooner reached the Cruiser than he noted Hassan glowering at him.
“Get in,” Leighton hissed, pushing Owen toward the door. “Before he can hit you again.”
Owen huffed. “I’m supposed to be protecting you.”
“Well, protect me by protecting yourself. Go. In.” With that, she shoved him forward.
To avoid clipping his shins on the footwell, he hiked his leg up and hauled himself past three rows of seats into the upper back.
A woman careened into him, laughing. “Rafi, stop!”
Owen braced to avoid whacking his skull against the window and shifted around.
Found the petite princess—Aliyah, he thought they’d called her—laughing as she settled into the seat next to him.
“That was not nice,” she complained to a man Owen did not recognize.
She gave him a coy look, flashing dimples that looked like craters.
Wait. Hold up. That was supposed to be Leighton’s spot. Where—
Leighton stood with one foot in the step, staring at him.
“Oh, Nouri, here!” Aliyah patted the seat in front of her. “Sit here so I can talk to you.”
Leighton gave Owen a desperate look, but climbed into the insisted-upon seat.
“Rafi, here, here,” Aliyah shouted, patting the seat on her left in front of Owen.