Jarek laid his forearm across his eyes. “But still it will take time. Until then we must keep safe.”
For the first time that day, she realized she actually did feel safe.
“Who is Roldo, Your Majesty?”
“I have no idea.” Jarek didn’t open his eyes. “Why?”
“Just before he died, Ramon told me to run from Roldo.” She shifted Rashid just a bit to look at Jarek. “He also said to tell you he was sorry.”
“Did he say why?”
“No. Actually, he didn’t say anything after that. Those were his last words.”
Jarek said nothing for a moment. Only the tightening of his fist indicated he’d heard. “Could Ramon have been delirious when he spoke the name?”
“He was aware enough to hand me his gun for protection.” Her eyes lingered over his profile while his eyes remained closed. The green hue of light didn’t detract from the carved features, but somehow it softened the line of his mouth, the line of his jaw. Just enough to give her a glimpse of where Rashid’s boyish features came from.
“Did the Al Asheera think you were on the plane?”
“It’s highly likely,” Jarek answered. “But even if they didn’t. The death or torture of an American reporter would not go well with Jon Mercer’s and my diplomatic efforts. The fact that you are his daughter’s friend only adds to the prize.”
“I didn’t get this job because I was Lara’s friend,” she pointed out.
“If I thought you had, you wouldn’t be here,” Jarek retorted. This time his mouth twitched with amusement over her quick defense. She was a woman with pride, and maybe a little vanity.
Both were fine if well deserved. And from what he’d seen of Sarah Kwong’s files, both were deserved.
“The president holds a tremendous amount of respect for you.”
The primness in the tone, made Jarek open his eyes.
“But you don’t.” Jarek turned his head until he faced her. Without thinking, she rubbed her cheek against Rashid’s temple. “My opinion isn’t the question here.”
It had been a long time since a woman had held his son. Even Anna didn’t come near as much anymore, Jarek realized. Emotion raced through him.
“No. Just my integrity, it seems,” Jarek responded. “Tell me, is your low opinion simply because I did not meet you in Morocco?”
“No,” she admitted. When her hair fell in a curtain over his son’s shoulder and neck, she automatically brushed it back. “I tend not to trust people who keep secrets. It comes with the job.”
“And you believe I have a secret.”
“No, Your Majesty. I believe you have many secrets.”
“You’re wrong.” Jarek gave into his urge and captured several strands of hair from her shoulder. He rubbed them between his forefinger and thumb, enjoying its cool, silky texture. “You see it’s not what I am hiding. It’s what I am protecting.”
He glanced down at his son. “Although it seems I haven’t done a good job with that, either.”
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