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Alec’s eyes met Darla’s for the first time since the shooting, and he recognized the familiar look of shock and dismay most civilians displayed when confronted with sudden, deadly violence. Darla wasn’t naive—all embassy personnel were briefed on the hazards of working in the Middle East—but she’d never taken a human life. And she seemed appalled Alec had done so. Coldly. Dispassionately.
At least that’s how his actions appeared to her, he knew. Alec wasn’t cold. Nor was he dispassionate. He regretted the necessity of this killing, but the alternative was unacceptable. He wasn’t going to second-guess himself or his actions. Not now. Not ever.
As the distant sirens grew louder, Alec sighed softly. No matter what came next, he knew two things for sure.
One, despite the fact that he hadn’t instigated this incident, he would now be persona non grata at the US embassy here. The promotion posting as RSO he’d just received a month ago was now shot to hell and gone. Even though there were plenty of witnesses to back up a claim of self-defense, the State Department was hypersensitive about the possibility of reprisals. He would be whisked out of the country as soon as the local officials allowed, in order to hush this incident up.
Two, not as important but still important enough, his budding relationship with Darla had just died a quick death, too.
Which raised another question. Would he ever find a woman who understood?
Chapter 1
Alec deplaned at the surprisingly modern airport in the quaint city of Drago, the capital of Zakhar. His computer bag was slung over his left shoulder as he made his way up the jetway, leaving his right arm free as always—he was one of the few men post-9/11 allowed to carry a firearm on board a plane, and he never went anywhere unarmed. After a quick glance at one of the overhead monitors, he headed down the wide corridor with the rest of the passengers toward Baggage Claim.
His posting as regional security officer to the US embassy here in Zakhar had come as a great surprise, given what had happened at his last posting. As if he was being rewarded instead of punished.
Despite the fact that he already spoke rudimentary Zakharan—courtesy of an earlier assignment guarding Her Serene Highness, Princess Mara Theodora of Zakhar, before she became an American citizen—he certainly hadn’t been expecting this. He’d thought he’d be banished to the diplomatic equivalent of Siberia for a long time.
Instead, it was almost as if someone had pulled strings on his behalf to get him here, but that didn’t make sense. Alec didn’t have the political connections to make this happen, and it had been bugging him ever since the word came down where he was being assigned next.
He’d heard a rumor the king of Zakhar had specifically requested him, but that rumor was so fantastical he’d discounted it immediately. The king knew of him—how could he not, when Alec had been one of his sister’s bodyguards in the US?—but the king didn’t know him.
So the reason why he’d been tapped for this plum assignment was still a mystery to him...for all of ninety seconds. That was how long it took for Alec to exit Security and spot Trace McKinnon behind the barricade, waiting for him. And he began to smell a rat. A large, deadly rat who worked for Alec’s brother-in-law, Cody Walker, at the Denver branch of the ultrasecret “agency.” Who also happened to be married to Princess Mara. And suddenly the fantastical rumor didn’t seem so fantastical, after all.
“I should have known,” was all Alec said as he shook McKinnon’s hand.
“Hey, don’t look at me. I just volunteered to meet your flight, that’s all. If you want to thank anyone, thank my wife. She’s the one who asked her brother to intercede on your behalf.”
Alec’s smile morphed into a frown. “Wait a second. I don’t want anything I haven’t earned.”
Trace spared him a cynical glance as they walked toward Baggage Claim. “You know as well as I do that in the real world it’s not always what you know but who you know. But don’t think you didn’t earn this assignment. Not to mention, you did the right thing taking down those terrorists, no matter what anyone says.”
Alec shook his head. “Diplomatically—”
McKinnon uttered a pithy, four-letter word. “You’re alive. They’re not. Score one for the good guys.”
They arrived at the baggage carousel for Alec’s flight and stood there waiting for his checked luggage to appear. “So what are you doing in Zakhar? Don’t tell me you’re on assignment here.”
McKinnon shook his head. “No, Mara and I are here on family business. The king’s wife just had a baby, hadn’t you heard? You’d better believe it’s a big deal here in Zakhar—the birth of the crown prince, the continuation of a dynasty going back more than five hundred years. This country has been celebrating almost nonstop for a month. We’re here for the christening ceremony, along with a bevy of international dignitary invitees, including our very own secretary of state standing in for the president.” He grinned. “You can thank him in person for putting in a good word for you with your boss—Mara made sure you received an invitation to the christening.”
