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He was gone.
The elevator cruised swiftly to the next floor with Olivia in the centre of its opulent heart. The doors opened with an almost silent whoosh and she stepped out.
Security agents were everywhere. Literally dozens littered the hallway. And though Olivia had worked with private security before, she’d never seen anything quite like this. These men were all dressed in dark black and grey military fatigues and carried large weapons. It was a confronting scene for a pacifist like Olivia.
She took a step out of the elevator and felt a prickle of tension. Guns disgusted her. She supposed though that the ruler of a powerful country such as Dashan must be under constant threat of kidnapping. The idea, though sinister, amused her, for kidnapping a man like Sheikh Zamir Fayez seemed to be an impossible task. He was both enormous and silently powerful.
Not an ideal candidate to nab in the middle of the night, even without his personal army.
“Miss Henderson?” A man with greying hair and excellent posture walked brusquely towards her. He held a hand out and she shook it on instinct.
“Please, call me Olivia.”
He nodded swiftly. “Very well. This is your identification tag. You must carry it or wear it at all times. These men do not mess around.”
“I rather got that impression,” she murmured with a small shiver.
“The life of the crown prince is most valuable to our Kingdom.” He began to move down the hallway. “Any of these men will conduct spot checks at any time. Without your identity tag, you will not be welcome in the presence of the Sheikh. It does not matter if you forget it somewhere. It is your key to this job. Understood?”
She nodded.
“His highness informed you that you are to remain in the hotel?”
“Yes,” she agreed. What more could she say? That it had been an order she’d been forced to obey?
Marook inserted the key card into a slot in the door and then handed it to Olivia. “Have you ever worked for royalty?”
She shook her head wordlessly. “You will find it completely different to anything else.”
“I’ve had some very demanding clients in the past.”
“Yes. Perhaps.” He smiled at her kindly. “Nothing compared to this. It is not the Sheikh who will test you, so much as the pace at which he lives.”
She smiled in what she hoped was a dismissive way and stepped into the hotel room.
“Sleep when you can,” was Marook’s parting advice.
Olivia reached over and flicked the light switch on. The room illuminated with a slightly shuddering electric glow. There was a bathroom to her right, and down the end of a narrow hallway, a bedroom. The balcony overlooked the lights of the strip. Sophie pulled out first one earring and then the next, laying them on her bedside table in what was a routine action at the end of each day. Her shoes followed suit.
She bent down and collected them from the floor and moved towards the wardrobe, intending to place them in the shoe rack. When she slid the mirrored door open, a full selection of clothes stared back at her.
Her clothes.
Her jaw slackened; her mouth dropped. She fingered the outfits with a growing sense of invasion and indignation, then lifted her phone from her pocket. She dialled her boss’s number and waited impatiently for it to connect.
“Liv. How’d you go?”
Johnny Lane spoke with his trademark drawl. He’d tell anyone who’d listen that he was fifth generation Vegas, as though the city itself were a principality, and he at heart of it.
“Well, fine. I got the job.”
Johnny’s smile was broad.
“Something which I suspect you already knew.”
“Yeah. Knew you’d hit it off.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” She pictured the Sheikh’s enormous golden eyes and shivered. “Johnny, why the hell are my clothes in this hotel room?”
