LITMIR.BIZ

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is all very interesting, Andy, but I’m already running late.” Law checked his watch, pulled off his glasses and shoved back his chair. As he started to stand, hands planted on the table, his gaze landed once more on his screen and his mouth dropped open. “Oh my God.”

      “What?” Vincent glanced between Law and his own screen. “What?”

      “Stop the film,” Law barked, putting his glasses back on. “Can you run it backward, Dexter?”

      “What the hell are we looking for?” Quint echoed Javid’s thought.

      “The back license plate of that dark sedan,” Law informed them.

      Andy found the desired sequence and freeze-framed it. They all saw it then. Petrol Corporation’s logo, a small world globe inside the loop of a giant red P. Khalaf had been meeting with someone in a car that belonged to Quantum’s chief rival, Lawson Davies’s employer.

      Quint sat back and swore under his breath. Vincent demanded of Davies, “Whose car is it?”

      “I don’t know. They aren’t assigned.” He peered closer at the screen as though he could find the answer written there in secret code. “Could be anyone in the upper framework of Petrol.”

      “Which means if we take Khalaf tomorrow,” Quint said, “we won’t be cutting off the head of this nasty snake.”

      Whitney glanced at Javid. “But if we don’t arrest Khalaf tomorrow, that means…”

      Javid felt all eyes on him, felt the bottom dropping out of his stomach. “No.”

      “Oh, yes, dude,” Andy said with his loopy grin. “Come tomorrow, you’re gonna have to marry the daughter for real.”

      Chapter Three

      “‘Happy’s the bride the sun shines on…’” Miah peered out the porthole of the 222-foot yacht. Sunlight glistened off Lake Michigan, a huge sheet of glassy water on this cloudless day. It was nearly noon. The ceremony started at twelve-thirty. For a marriage to be happy the vows should be said on the upsweep of the hands of a clock, her mom had told her.

      “Happy, huh! I’m marrying a man I don’t even know.” Miah grabbed the lacy veil, crossed to the full-length mirror in the master stateroom and began attaching the crown-piece to her gleaming mane of jet-black hair. Her amber eyes, enhanced with subtle shades of bronze and gold, reflected the butterflies in her stomach. “A man who looks at me like I’m a possession. A man I suspect is harboring dangerous secrets.”

      Am I nuts?

      As if he stood beside her, Zahir filled her mind, and instead of the shudder her last thoughts should have brought, an unbidden allure flooded her veins, warmed her skin. He roused this heat, this erotic fire in her heart, this sweet awful need in her belly. A new fear edged along her nerves, stroked her spine and drove the heat higher—the fear that she might lose control, the fear that desire would consume her.

      “No.” She shook herself. “No.”

      She’d been with sexy men before, had had great sex before, and never lost herself. This man was no different from the others. And nothing and no one could control her unless she gave them that right. That she would never do. She’d made this decision. She’d agreed to marry Zahir all on her own. It was the right choice. For her. For Mom.

      It was the only choice.

      Miah jabbed the last pin into her hair with too much force and winced in pain as it pierced her scalp. Great. All she needed was blood all over her veil. She glanced at the clock. Where was Cailin? What was keeping her?

      She twisted in front of the mirror, checking the back of the dress, making sure all twenty-five gold-colored satin buttons were fastened. She turned to the front again, smoothed her hands down her hips, then studied her image. A designer original, the pure satin, body-cleaving gown flowed from her shoulders to swirl around her feet like melted candle wax, flattering her lean, five-nine form, enhancing the good, downplaying the not-so-good. The deep white fabric gave her tawny skin a golden glow, as much as the touches of gold at her waist, neckline and threaded through the veil gave her eyes a sparkling light. Everyone had suggested dull old white on white. The golden touches were Miah’s compromise.

      Compromise. Her new byword. Lately, everything she did required a trade-off of some kind or other.

      A discreet knock on the cabin door broke into her musings. “Miah, it’s me.”

      “It’s about time.” Miah tore open the door. “I was starting to wonder if you were going to show up.”

      “My God…you’re stunning.” Emotion welled in Cailin’s blue eyes. “Oh damn, my mascara.” She blinked away the tears before they spilled. “You just look so awesome. I cannot believe it. In another hour, you’ll be a bona fide princess.” She curtsied and dipped her head. “Her Royal Highness, Princess Miah of Nurul.”

      “Idiot.” Miah laughed and pulled Cailin inside, shutting the door behind her.

      Her friend wore flip-flops, cutoff jeans, a halter top and a grungy baseball cap—and somehow made the look sexy. She ripped off her hat and glasses in one motion. Her face was flushed. Probably from rushing. Or maybe she’d run into Redwing.

      “Bobby didn’t follow you, did he?”

      “No. Though, I know ‘The Carrion’ would love to get an exclusive on your wedding.”

      “The Carrion,” actually The Clarion, had earned the vulturous nickname for its exposés based on lies and half truths, and for hiring scumballs like Bobby “The Buzzard” Redwing as reporters. “As though I’d like my wedding photos in that tabloid rag.”

      Cailin chuckled wickedly. “I brought T and J with me, just in case Bobby tried anything.” T and J were Thomas and James, two of her four brothers, both heavyweight boxing contenders. “If he was lurking somewhere on the pier, he’s gotta be real sorry by now.”

      “Ouch. Serves him right. The last thing I need is him showing up.”

      “Don’t fret. If by some miracle he did evade T and J, he’d never make it past the security you have aboard this floating mansion.”

      “They give you a bad time?”

      “They insisted on searching me.” Cailin made a face, then gestured at her outfit. “I told them it was obvious I wasn’t ‘carrying concealed.’ I let them go through my purse, but none of that hands-on stuff.”

      “Well, that explains the flush on your face when you came in.” Miah laughed, and pointed to an ornate screen beside the bed. “You’d better hurry. Your finery awaits you there.”

      Cailin kicked off her flip-flops and slipped behind the screen. Miah could hear her clothes hitting the floor, then the swish of silk against skin. Cailin’s voice drifted to her, sounding muffled, as though she had something over her head. “I noticed the name on the yacht is Anjali. Isn’t that…?”

      “My birth mother’s name—yes.”

      “Then, the yacht belongs to your father?”

      “I’m not sure.” There was still much she didn’t know about her birth father. “He said it belonged to friends. He has a lot of friends in this country.”

      “And enemies, too, apparently.” Cailin alluded to the security and the fact her wedding was taking place on a private yacht in the middle of Lake Michigan, instead of some easily accessible, public chapel.

      Miah disdained the persecution many Middle Easterners had suffered in recent times. “His life hasn’t been easy.”

      Her father, Sheik Khalaf Al-Sayed, had entered the world as the second son of the Emir of Nurul. Nurul was a small country, bordered on one side by the Red Sea, on the other by Saudi Arabia. His older brother eventually succeeded to the throne and, shortly thereafter, married Princess Anjali.

      Khalaf

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