Raif appreciated the low-key reception. He knew it was only a matter of time before his every trip would become a state occasion. Though still in his mid-sixties, his father had been ill for some time with the remnants of a tropical disease contracted decades ago in central Africa. These past few months had been hard on the king, and Raif was becoming more worried by the day that his father might not recover this time.
Your Royal Highness. The ambassador greeted him with a formal bow. He was dressed in the traditional white robe of Rayas, his gray hair partially covered in a white cap.
Raif detected a slight narrowing of the ambassadors eyes as he took in Raifs Western suit.
But the man kept his thoughts to himself. Welcome to America was all he added.
Thank you, Fariol. Raif shook the mans hand, rather than embracing him and air kissing as was the Rayasian custom. Youve arranged for a car?
Of course. Fariol gestured to a stretch Hummer limousine.
Raif raised a brow. I believe my office said nondescript.
Fariol frowned. There are no flags, no royal seals on the doors, no Rayasian markings whatsoever.
Raif heard Tariq shift beside him and guessed he was covering a smirk.
I meant I wanted a sedan. Something plain and inconspicuous. Maybe something I could drive myself.
Fariol drew back in obvious confusion. The younger aide beside him stepped up to speak in his ear. I can arrange it right away, Mr. Ambassador.
Please do, Raif said directly to the aide, earning himself another censorious expression from the ambassador.
The aide nodded and quickly withdrew, pulling a phone from his pocket.
Fariol turned his attention away from Raif. Sheik Tariq, he said.
It was a slight but very intentional snub. It was the crown prince who ended a conversation, not an ambassador.
Tariq gave Raif a fleeting, meaningful glance, silently acknowledging the break in protocol before responding. Mr. Ambassador. Thank you for welcoming us.
Do you know when youll be returning to Rayas?
Tariq paused for half a second, putting on an exaggerated expression of surprise. When the crown prince decides its time for us to leave America, of course.
The answer was an obvious rebuke of Fariols attitude, and Raif had to suppress his own grin. Tariq might be overly familiar and opinionated in private. But in front of others, he paid strict adherence to the Rayasian royal hierarchy.
The aide rushed back. Your car will be here in just a few minutes. A Mercedes sedan. S-Class. I hope that will please Your Royal Highness.
That will be fine, Raif answered. He turned to Tariq. Think you can get that address?
Tariq looked to one of the security guards. Jordan?
The man stepped forward. Were good to go, sir.
Jordan Jones was an American security specialist whod become friends with Tariq after they met at Harvard. Raif had never met Jordan in person before, but hed heard stories over the years that gave him a good deal of confidence in the mans abilities.
The bay door clattered partway open, and a steel-gray Mercedes sedan drove inside. Instantly, the flight crew appeared with the royal partys luggage, waiting as the vehicle came to a halt in front of Raif.
That will be all, Fariol. Raif dismissed the ambassador with a curt nod, striding around the front of the car. Tariq and Jordan immediately fell into step.
Ill drive. Raif held out his hand for the keys as a man appeared from the drivers seat.
Sir? Jordan prompted, arching a brow in Tariqs direction.
Glancing over his shoulder, presumably to ensure Fariol and his staff were out of earshot, Tariq spoke in a low tone. You dont want to drive, Raif.
Yes, I do.
No, you dont.
The driver glanced from one man to the other. He was American, an employee of the rental company. In Rayas, there would have been no hesitation about who would win the argument. Raifs word there was law.
Whos the prince around here? Raif demanded of Tariq.
Which one of us has driven in Manhattan? Tariq countered.
Ill drive, Jordan put in, deftly scooping the keys from the driver. He kept moving right past the surprised American, opening the back door of the sedan, turning to meet Raifs eyes. Foreign royalty in the back. Brooklyn native at the wheel.
Youre pretty cocky, Raif said to Jordan.
You know it...sir.
Raif followed Tariq to the backseat door. In my country, I could have you beheaded, Raif lied.
In my country, I could abandon you in Washington Heights. Jordan paused. Same thing, really.
Raif couldnt help but grin as he got into the car. He didnt have a problem with people speaking truth to power, so long as they did it respectfully or in private. He was willing to concede that a born and raised New Yorker could probably get them to Ann Richardsons apartment faster than he could.
Jordan closed the back door of the car and then folded his big body into the drivers seat as the trunk clicked shut on their luggage.
I understand youre at the Plaza, he said, adjusting the rearview mirror. Their service is impeccable, and their security is tight.
Nobody knows Im here, said Raif. Security wasnt going to be an issue on the trip.
Interpol knows youre here, Jordan responded. Your passport sends off sirens and flashing lights in their Manhattan office.
Tariq chuckled.
So does yours, Jordan warned Tariq.
Interpols got nothing against me, said Raif.
Theyll worry someone else does.
The only person in America with something against me is Ann Richardson. And thats because Im about to out her as a criminal and a liar.
Jordan pulled the car smoothly ahead, turning for the open bay door. Interpol will watch you, and others watch Interpol. He straightened the wheel. If theres anything happening in Rayas I should know about, political dissent, difficulties with neighboring countries, now would be the time to tell me.
Some internal stuff, Tariq said. Raifs uncle was stood up at the altar, as was a distant cousin Aimee. The Gold Heart statue theft is the only international scandal Rayas has had lately.
I hear your father is ill, Jordan said to Raif, glancing at him in the rearview mirror.
Hes getting better, Raif said automatically.
The truth doesnt matter, perception does. The perception is that your father is dying. And that means youre about to become king. And that means somebody, somewhere out there, wants to kill you.
Just on general principle? But Raif knew it was true.
As a power play. Your cousin Kalilas next in line?
Yes.
Whos close to her, especially lately?
You do know Im only going to be here a few days, Raif said to Jordan. The man had been hired as temporary tour guide, not as the new head of Raifs security team.
I still need to know the landscape.
Shes picked up a British boyfriend, said Tariq. Hes new.
Raif shot Tariq a glare. They didnt need to air the family laundry in front of Jordan. That Kalila had taken up with a completely unsuitable college boy instead of pledging her honor to a sheiks son in a neighboring country, as had been arranged a decade ago, was an embarrassment to the royal family. It was yet another thing upsetting the king. But it wasnt a matter of national security.
I still need to know the landscape.
Shes picked up a British boyfriend, said Tariq. Hes new.
Raif shot Tariq a glare. They didnt need to air the family laundry in front of Jordan. That Kalila had taken up with a completely unsuitable college boy instead of pledging her honor to a sheiks son in a neighboring country, as had been arranged a decade ago, was an embarrassment to the royal family. It was yet another thing upsetting the king. But it wasnt a matter of national security.
His name? asked Jordan, turning on the wipers as they drove into the snowstorm.
Raif interrupted. Youre driving us to Ann Richardsons, not compiling a family dossier.
Niles, said Tariq. Thats all weve managed to get out of the stubborn girl. Kalila was the first casualty of the curse. And now Malliks been jilted.
Raif gave an eye roll. There is no curse.
The curse of the Gold Heart statue? asked Jordan.
Its a foolish myth, said Raif, growing impatient. He was a tolerant man, but even he had his breaking point.
This Niles guy? Jordan asked. He arrive out of nowhere?
Hes a student, said Tariq.
Of Arab descent?
Of very British descent. Raif switched to his most imperious voice, ending the conversation. Lets stick to the mission, shall we? While were in New York, Ann Richardson is our priority.
* * *
Did you see this? asked Anns neighbor Darby Mersey, coming out her door and into the apartment hallway to follow Ann to her apartment.
Ann loved Darby dearly, but she really wanted to be alone tonight. After her ordeal with Interpol, all she could think about was a long, hot shower, a cup of herbal tea and about twelve hours of unconsciousness.
See what? she asked, praying the answer was short and succinct. She dropped her purse on the side table in the compact foyer and tossed her keys into the ceramic bowl as the apartment door closed behind them.
Todays Inquisitor.
Ive been tied up all day long.
Did you not walk past a newsstand? Its on the front page.
Whats on the front page?
Judging by Darbys tone, Ann was not going to like the front page. And the very last thing she needed today was something more to worry about. Tomorrow. She could deal with more trouble tomorrow, once shed had a chance to recover and regroup.
Your picture.
Ann heaved a heavy sigh. She made her way toward the kitchen, deciding on a midpriced Cabernet Sauvignon instead of tea. Both would put her to sleep, but the wine would also help her stop fretting about what a mess her life had become.
Whats the scoop this week? she asked.
Shed been a tabloid target many times before. The papers had a field day when Dalton Rothschild lied about having an affair with her. Reaction and speculation had swung from scandal to collusion. None of it had been true.
Turnabout seems to be fair play in the high-end auction world, Darby read as she followed along behind Ann.
Now, theres a scoop, scoffed Ann as she snagged a bottle from her wine rack. She headed farther into the kitchen in search of a corkscrew. Whats next? Sale goes to the highest bidder?
Darby plopped herself on a wooden stool at the breakfast bar, spreading the tabloid newspaper on the counter in front of her.
Unable to clear either her own or her firms name in the Gold Heart statue scandal, Ann Richardson seems to have decided to go the old-fashioned route.
Ann peeled the wrapper from the top of the bottle. Whats the old-fashioned route?
Sleeping her way out of trouble.
With Dalton? Ann wasnt quite following the reporters logic on this. Theyd been writing about her and Dalton for months. Talk about old news.
With Prince Raif Khouri.
Ann froze, corkscrew poised. What?
You heard me.
Thats a new low, even for them.
They have a picture of you, Darby continued.
So what? They had several hundred pictures of Ann. Her personal favorite was the one taken in front of the Met as she was spilling her coffee all over her blouse.
In this one, youre kissing the prince.
Ann felt the blood drain away from her face.
It doesnt look like Photoshop.
Anns stomach contracted to a ball of lead. There was only one time, only one way...
She made her way around the breakfast bar.
Damn it. There she was, in grainy newsprint, her arms wrapped around Raifs neck, their lips locked together, her body bent slightly backward.
Telephoto lens? asked Darby.
I was in Rayas. Who kept an eye out for tabloid reporters in Rayas?
So, its true? Darby face lit up in a lascivious smile. You slept with Prince Raif?
Of course its not true. Ann paused. I kissed him, obviously.
Darby was right. Photoshop was only so sophisticated. This was the real thing, and there was no point in denying it.
But kissing was all we did, Ann continued. And it was once. One time. Halfway around the world, for goodness sake. In a private, walled garden at Valhan Palace.
For a fleeting moment, her memory swirled around that mind-blowing kiss on her last day, her last hour in Rayas. Not that she hadnt already relived it a thousand times.
You didnt tell me youd fallen for him, said Darby.
I didnt fall for him. Hes an arrogant jerk who thinks Im a criminal and a liar.
Darby took in the picture again. Thats quite the kiss for an arrogant jerk.
Im not kissing him. Ann did lie this time. Hes kissing me.
Raif might have started the kiss, but it had become mutual in a heartbeat.
So, he fell for you? Darby looked as if she was mulling the possibilities.
It wasnt a romantic kiss, Ann continued her explanation. It was power play, a dominance thing. He was making a point.
Darby gave a sly smile this time. Was the point that he was sexy? She cocked her head, staring down at the picture again. You sure dont look like youre fighting back.
Ann had to agree, and that was very unfortunate. Truth was, she hadnt been fighting back at all. Raif might be stubborn and arrogant, but he was definitely sexy. And he was one heck of a kisser. And there was no denying something had combusted between them the minute their lips touched. But Darby didnt need to know that.
Ann was busy forgetting all about it herself. He was making the point that in his country he could do anything he pleased, and I couldnt lift a finger to stop him. I got on the next plane.
Darby lifted her head. Like what?
What, what?
You said he could do anything he pleased. Like what?
Ann shrugged, moving back to the bottle of wine. She needed it now more than ever. Like tax the poor, seize private property, nationalize an industry or throw the innocent in jail.
He was going to throw you in jail?
Ann popped out the cork, meeting Darbys eyes. I wasnt completely sure.
He kissed you instead?
I think so. And I dont think he expected to like it. It threw him for a minute, and it gave me a chance to escape.