Page 92 of Defenders of Jawhara

It took four hours to cover the palace and the grounds. They worked in silence, and Keira thought it was odd that they could do this—hand signals and reading each other’s body language. It was like they’d been a team for years. Realistically, much of it was due to Slade’s training, but she didn’t have this level of cohesion with anyone else she’d worked with on her teams.

She tried to keep in mind that this was her operation, but she couldn’t help watching Brock in action and found herself smiling when they’d melt into the shadows to wait for someone to pass and then he’d give her a wink once they were out of sight. He checked the locks, the positions of the guards inside and out, and she suspected that after tonight, the sheikh’s palace security was about to get another overhaul. The only thing that stumped them both was how that veiled woman had gotten out of the room.

Or had she? Keira was starting to think there had to be hidden rooms in the palace. She started a mental checklist. She hoped that Talib had the blueprints, but given the age of the palace, she had no idea how accurate they would be. While the building seemed modern, there was strong evidence that the original palace was much older and had been updated and modernized over the decades. She was willing to bet there were secrets in the older part of the palace that dated back to the days when a sheikh ruled by force—and kept an army around him.

Just before dawn, Brock pulled her back to her room. Once inside, he headed for her bed and pulled back the covers. He came over to her and whispered, “Need to make it look good.” Drawing her after him, he fell into the bed. He rolled her in the sheets, and she had to giggle. “Hey, serious work here.”

“Sorry. It’s just...” She put her hands on his shoulders. This was ridiculous. Here they were still dressed for nighttime recon, and now they were pretending to have fooled around. He lay over her, and his weight should have felt overpowering. Instead, she liked it. She liked the way he held her—like she mattered. For a moment, she wanted to grab the back of his neck and pull his mouth down to hers.

But this was Brock—Mr. Cool himself. He put the job first, and that’s what she was here to do. Any PDA shows were for an audience only.

Placing her hands on his chest, she pushed him off. She got up and stared at him. “We need to make this look good.” Heading to the bathroom, she put on lipstick. She came back and smeared a kiss on his cheek and on his neck. He gave a shiver. “What?” she asked.

He shook his head.

Reaching over, she dragged off his long sleeve shirt. “You need to look like you’re sneaking back to your room.”

“What’s next—a hickey?” he asked.

“Like I’d be that obvious,” she scoffed at him. She glanced at the muscles on display—hard abs, strong biceps. Her mouth watered at the idea of putting her lips on his skin. He had a light dusting of hair on his chest, and she wondered if it would be soft or springy. She wanted to find out—but that was way too dangerous. Once she started touching, she might not want to stop.

He stood up. Her breath caught in her throat. Was he going to kiss her again?

Instead, he put his hands into her hair. “You need to look like you’ve been rode hard and put away wet, too.”

Batting at his hands, she nodded to the door. “I need my beauty sleep.”

He left. But it took her an hour to get to sleep. She kept thinking about Brock, about that tempting body of his, and wondering what would happen if they made their playacting into something more.

* * *

Keira wandered out to the garden the next morning for breakfast. There were a few guests spread around the area, but they all seemed to be deep in conversation with others, and she only had vague recollections of seeing them the day before. Without an infusion of caffeine, she didn’t feel comfortable injecting herself into their quiet moments. She spotted PJ sitting by the pool and spa, and the woman raised her hand to beckon her over. The hot tub jets made a great cover for anyone trying to put a mic on them, and any drone observation would see two women in swimsuits having coffee and fruit under a canvas canopy.

Birds seemed to love the garden as much as anyone. Some of them set up a song, but a few perched near their seats, just about begging for crumbs.

Patting the chair next to her, PJ said, “Coffee, tea, or juice? And now I sound like some kind of 1960s stewardess.”

“You? Never. And I’ll take coffee…black.”

After pouring two cups, PJ picked up her coffee and grinned. “So spill, girl. How do you like finally working with Brock?”

“Mr. Take Charge?” Sighing, she rolled her shoulders. “I suppose he might be able to make this harder on me, but I’m not sure how. Couldn’t he have found a better way to warn me that plans had changed? It doesn’t help that he’s known here, which will make my job harder, trying to convince everyone that I’m not some secret agent sent to spy on them.”

“Well, that’s exactly what you are, but I get it.”

Keira sipped her coffee, letting the hot, bitter liquid warm her. A light breeze brushed over her skin. She could hear water lapping in the pool, and the soft hum of the hot tub jets mixed with the buzz of bees as they circled the garden. She was pretty sure Brock had saved her life outside that bar all those years ago. No matter what else, without him, she would have probably ended up dead or worse because there was no way she was going to do what Toad had demanded. Maybe that was why he was being so protective of her. She put down her coffee. “What’s your take on things?”

PJ shrugged. “I think we’re chasing ghosts. Everyone’s a little jumpy because of what happened to Erin.”

“And you. You were in the thick of it.”

Grinning, PJ looked over the fruit on the table. She speared a strawberry and popped it into her mouth. “True, but I also had Talib as backup.”

Watching her coffee go cold, Keira thought about mentioning the woman she’d seen vanish into a room. Would PJ thinkshewas chasing ghosts? Maybe she was reading too much into it.

That veiled woman could have been one of the staff. Or, given how the hallways tended to look alike, Keira might have gotten the room wrong. She pushed out a breath. Was she getting more than a room wrong? Maybe she had things wrong with Brock, too—maybe he worked like this with everyone.

“So…you and Brock? Butting heads? Or bumping uglies?” PJ asked.

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