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“Me too. Unfortunately, I find myself in a situation where I need outside help.” She stared at him a long moment, then set his résumé aside and folded her hands atop the desk. Nice hands, he noted. Long fingers, neat French manicure. “I’ve received several threats recently,” she said.
Her mention of danger brought his focus back to the seriousness of the situation. Were the threats tied to SHEEPSKIN? Had her father dragged her into his mess? He frowned. “What kind of threats?”
“Abduction, beheading, other bodily harm. The usual.” She shrugged as if she’d just read him her grocery list for the week. She was either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish.
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re often threatened with beheading?”
“It’s pretty common, actually,” she said with a shrug. “Our organization believes in spreading opportunities for education and enrichment to the underprivileged. That doesn’t go over well in places that thrive on repression.”
“And those threats don’t bother you?”
“I’m not a fool, Mr. Nixon.”
“Spencer.”
“Excuse me?”
“Please call me Spencer.”
“All right.” She tucked a lock of her chocolate brown hair behind her ear, and her voice quivered slightly as her confident shell fractured a tad. “As I said, Spencer, I’m not a fool. I take the danger seriously—that’s why I’m hiring a bodyguard. But I’m not going to let the threats sway me from my work. Nothing ever changes for the better until someone shows they’re willing to take a stand.”
“Have there been threats specifically about your upcoming travel plans to Jubail?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You read the press releases about my trip? Yes, there have been threats—and no, they aren’t going to deter me. The trip is extremely important to my foundation.”
“You’re very calm about this.” He sat forward.
“I’ve lived in my father’s shadow my entire life, Mr. Nixon.” He raised a brow, and she frowned. “There have always been threats. I’m used to dealing with them by now.”
His admiration for her rose along with his interest at her mention of her father. “Will your dad be going with you on this trip?”
Toni snorted. “He’s too busy to talk to me most of the time, let alone fly halfway around the world.”
“So you don’t have regular contact with him, then?”
“Why is that any of your business?” She gave him a pointed look, and he sat back in his chair.
“I’m just wondering about the scope of my duties,” he said. “If I’m going to be coordinating with your father’s security team during times when you’ll be together, I’ll need the contact info for whoever heads up his detail so I can put some plans in place.” It seemed Ms. Williams was sensitive on the topic of her father. He’d have to tread more lightly when fishing for information next time.
She relaxed slightly at his explanation. “That won’t be necessary. Our paths rarely cross. Do you have any other questions for me?”
Spencer gave her a polite smile. “Just one. When do I start?”
“After you tell me what this note says.”
Frowning, he took the paper she handed him. “Is this a test?”
“Consider it part of the application process. Your résumé says that you’re fluent in written and spoken Arabic—but people have been known to exaggerate. I’d like a brief demonstration of your abilities, if you wouldn’t mind.” Toni sat back and crossed her arms.
“Right.” Spencer looked down at the handwritten Arabic scrawl. “Uh, I don’t think you’re going to like what this says.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because it basically states if you move forward with this charity trip, they’ll kill you.”
“Really?” She snorted and shook her head. “You’d think they’d be more original after all this time. Any specific group named?”
“No.” He scowled. The death threat was disturbing, but since she didn’t seem bothered by it, he was able to put his concerns to the side and focus on therestof what the note said. Specifically, the part where it mentioned the e-readers her father had donated to the charity and how if she delivered them to Jubail, there’d be all-out jihad. Was this just an attempt at repression, as she had suggested, or was it an attempt to stop the spread of intel to terrorists? He couldn’t be certain—but he was more sure than ever that heneededto be on this trip. Somehow, in some way, shit was going to hit the fan—and he had to be there to get answers when it did.
