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“Midnight… be careful. Junayd will kill me if you get hurt,” Issa said.
She shot him a crooked smile. “I’m always careful.”
“Take this.”
He pulled a pistol from his waistband and slid it across to her. His pale pallor told her he was on the verge of passing out. She nodded her thanks and picked up the pistol.
“Call for help and keep him alive, Badr,” she told the pale but composed older woman.
“I will, Your Highness. Please be safe,” Badr said.
Midnight tucked the pistol into the back of her pants, climbed up on the edge of the huge planter next to her, and jumped up. The planter exploded with the force of a bullet a second after her foot left the edge as she wrapped her arms around the twenty-four-inch wide support beam on the ceiling. She quickly walked up the wall and pulled herself onto the ceiling beam.
She watched as Badr pulled Issa further into the house. Rapid gunfire ricocheted around the doorframe before Badr slammed the door shut behind her.
Midnight scanned the area. A flash of sunlight reflected off a spot behind the Hummer parked across from the house. She clung to the beam, barely breathing as she waited to see how many assailants were approaching.
Three emerged from the canyon, dressed in desert fatigues. The man in the middle motioned for the man on his left to go toward the pool area while the other two continued toward the main part of the house. Anger burned inside of her as she made her way along the trusses.
If she could slip into the water, she could wait until they crossed over the bridge and come up behind them. She navigated across the beams until she reached the other support pillar. She lowered herself over the side of the ceiling beam until her feet found the edge of another decorative planter. From this angle, she would be concealed by some of the taller plants along the bank of the pool.
She shed her blouse and considered taking off her shoes but decided that being weighed down in the water was worth the advantage shoes would give her if she had to run. Thank goodness she had put on a sports bra this morning in anticipation of her cave explorations.
Junebug used to warn me that one day I’d wish I wore a bra more often.
A pang of longing went through her at the thought of her sister. She missed their daily messaging and chats. Junebug would probably have warned her before the bad guys got this close.
She tossed the shirt onto the ground, crab-crawled across the path, and slipped through the plants into the pool as the trio crossed the foot bridge.
Breathing deeply, she pulled a short blade from the sheath attached to her inner arm and slipped under the water. In a few short strokes, she resurfaced under the bridge as the last man crossed. The water was shallow, less than five feet deep so she was able to stand.
“Remember, we want the woman alive,” a woman stated.
“I still think that is fucking messed up. If she is who Colin says she is, it would be better to just put a bullet in her,” a man growled.
“Shoot her, but keep her alive,” the woman snapped.
The last assailant paused on the bridge above her. “I hit one of the men. It looked like the bodyguard. I only saw two go into the house,” he muttered.
“Gunther, search the house. Take care of the bodyguard and the old couple. Hans, you come with me,” the woman ordered.
Midnight slid down until her nose was almost touching the water and watched the two move toward the pool room. She needed to make sure Issa and Badr were safe. Plus, taking out one assailant would be easier than two and she would not have to worry about him sneaking up behind her later.
“Why couldn’t you asswipes have come at night?” she muttered as she slipped out of the water on the other side of the bridge.
Twenty-One
Junayd sighed as he tried to read the report in front of him. His agenda for the day had almost doubled since he arrived. The new hospital equipment was being delayed again, doctor recruitment was going well, but getting all the necessary visas was a headache, and the medical shipment to the border was not sufficient to handle the growing number of refugees fleeing Simdan’s civil war. All he wanted to do was return home to Midnight.
Ashar’s angry voice shattered the normal hum outside his office door. Junayd crossed the room and flung open his door. Two guards were struggling with a man in his mid-thirties. Ashar’s face was beet red and Junayd worried that his portly personal assistant would soon have a heart attack.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded.
Ashar’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Junayd motioned for the older man to sit down and breathe. Ashar sat down heavily in his chair before he bent over and picked up a vial that had fallen to the floor.
“I caught him pouring something into the coffee I was about to deliver to you,” Ashar said, his voice trembling as he held out the vial.
Junayd took the clear tube and held it up. There was a trace of white powder in the small glass vial.
