relieving that.”
She couldn’t remember ever being propositioned quite so passionlessly. The offhand crudity left her speechless. But in the middle of summoning a blistering retort, she caught the flicker of anticipation in his eyes. He wanted a reaction from her, she realized. Any reaction.
So instead of giving him the response he was looking for, she merely arched a brow. He’d never know what her cool, mildly amused tone cost her. “I am afraid I must turn down your charming proposition. One night with you was more than enough.” She turned and made her way to the door. “I will be ready to leave in two hours. We can meet at the front doors.” Her hand was on the knob when she paused and looked at him over her shoulder. “Oh, and Walker? You could never be a distraction to me. My taste for loutish Americans was completely erased three years ago.”
She pulled open the door, sailed through it with queenly grace. The only thing that marred her departure was knowing that he watched her exit with a satisfied smile still on his lips.
“Madame Mahrain.” The Maloun prime minister lingered over her hand, addressing her in Arabic. “It is an honor and a great pleasure to have you visit our nation.”
“The pleasure is mine, sir. What I have seen of your country so far is very impressive.” Jasmine answered in the same language, that of her birth. Walker hung back circumspectly. “May I present my assistant, John Logan? I’m afraid he only speaks English.”
In heavily accented English, El-Dabir turned to Walker and said, “Welcome to our country. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you, sir.” Walker’s tone was respectful, with a clipped British accent. He remained at Jasmine’s elbow, a couple steps behind her, in a position of silent deference. She wondered if it was the first time in his life that he’d acted deferential to anyone, even if it was feigned.
She would never have believed the difference he could manage in his appearance. She’d been prepared for the lighter hair, the contacts that changed his piercing blue eyes to a nondescript hazel. Like her, he’d placed slim cotton pads inside his cheeks to alter the shape of his face. But the alteration went beyond the obvious. The black loose-fitting shirt and trousers he’d chosen were a size too big. He stood with his shoulders slightly rolled, his chin tucked. Little details taken by themselves, but together they gave him the look of a man inches shorter, many pounds lighter. His manner suggested a lowly government employee whose demeanor was light-years away from that of the confidently arrogant Walker James.
El-Dabir led them down a graciously wide hallway into a large airy room. It was furnished with a lovely piano in one corner, with chairs and couches scattered throughout the rest of the space. As Jasmine and Walker seated themselves on one of the overstuffed couches, the prime minister summoned a servant and issued an order for tea. Then he returned to his guests and sat on a chair facing them.
“I trust your trip was pleasant.”
“Sheik Kamal’s jet is quite comfortable. Far more luxurious than I am used to.” As she spoke, Jasmine studied her host surreptitiously. Hosni El-Dabir did not look like a career politician, she mused. As most Maloun males, the prime minister wore a traditional jellaba. He’d donned a jacket over the hooded loose-fitting robe, and a kaffiyeh covered his head. His nose was flat, as though it had been misshapen in a brawl. He had the square body of a boxer, and his dark gaze had a way of sliding over her face rather than focusing on it. In contrast, his hands were well-manicured, the skin surprisingly smooth when he’d touched hers. If Maloun had an American equivalent of the syndicate, she could have easily pictured him at its helm.
“The sheik hopes you will forgive him for sending an emissary for this very important meeting. Problems at home require his attention.”
El-Dabir nodded. “Please convey our regrets to Ahmed Kamal. We pray for his son’s safe return.”
The prime minister’s tone was ingratiating. Jasmine wondered just how much, if anything, El-Dabir knew about the young sheik’s disappearance. Dirk hadn’t mentioned any such relationship between the two, but it seemed coincidental that Rashid would disappear around the same time that Maloun was preparing a strike against his country. Resolving to question Walker about it later, she said, “Sheik Kamal was eager to make a start in negotiating a trade agreement with your country.” Falling silent as a male servant carried in a tray, Jasmine waited until the tea had been served before continuing. “It is no secret that tensions between Tamir and Montebello have increased. The sheik would like to build a relationship with Tamir’s other neighbors.” She paused to sip at her tea, giving the prime minister time to digest her words. He would believe Kamal anxious to gather allies, in case war broke out with Montebello. It was exactly the impression she’d hoped to give.
“A good neighbor is to be highly valued.”
“Indeed. And there are many advantages for both sides when trust is not an issue. Tamir always welcomes new trading partners, especially those countries who do not embrace the western culture.”
El-Dabir smiled, obviously pleased at the prospect. “Talk of such an alliance is intriguing. I have acquaintances, very powerful men in our country, who share my goals for the future of Maloun. I have arranged a small dinner party in your honor for this evening, so that you may become acquainted with them and their wives.”
A leap of excitement shot through her veins, but Jasmines voice was merely polite when she answered. “It would be a pleasure. Any avenue to further our countries’ accord would be welcomed.”
El-Dabir nodded, pursing his lips. “I feel certain Tamir and Maloun can come to an agreement. I appreciate your candor and look forward to further conversations with you on this subject.” He smiled, resembling a crocodile showing its teeth. “Although I must say, it is never a hardship to converse with a beautiful woman, Madame Mahrain, whatever the topic.”
Jasmine smiled, averting her gaze demurely. “Please. You must call me Rose.”
When she was shown to her room, Jasmine unpacked leisurely, then set her purse on the small dressing table and withdrew her lipstick. Methodically she outlined her lips, colored them. A barely audible beep sounded. Without reacting, she replaced the lipstick cover, then trailed to the window, looking out at the view. There was another tiny beep. When she turned and crossed to the bed she heard yet another.
The room was bugged.
A miniscule sensor hidden in the bottom of her lipstick case was sensitive enough to pick up the presence of any security device available. Her casual trip around the room picked up a hidden camera behind the mirror, and two bugs. Her host was obviously not the trusting sort. She wondered if the devices had been planted in anticipation of her visit, or whether every guest was treated to this type of hospitality. She rather thought it was the latter.
There was a knock at her door. When she opened it she found Walker, carrying a notepad. “Would you care for a walk in the courtyard before we get ready for dinner, madame?”
With a murmur of acceptance, Jasmine preceded him down the hallway. Once downstairs they made their way to the courtyard they’d admired on the quick tour the prime minister had given them.
They didn’t speak until they were outside. Walker reached for a slim gold pen in his shirt pocket, asking, “I trust your room is comfortable?”
“Yes. And yours?” During the innocuous conversation they strolled slowly through the bricked courtyard. Stone benches were situated near fountains and statues. She listened carefully, heard the telltale sounds emitted from the top of
