LITMIR.BIZ

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asked, “Do you speak Arabic?”

      Hazel nodded. “Fluent in it. I can argue politics and cuss out a cab driver with the best of them.”

      “And there haven’t been any nasty comments or innuendos flying around you from the soldiers?”

      “Nope.” Hazel looked at her closely. “You going to be able to hack it in this country?”

      Katy drew herself up straight. “Of course.” Why in the world was she being singled out for harassment by the Army? Surely they didn’t know or give a flip for who her brothers were!

      The older woman nodded. Paused. Told her sagely, “Don’t go out by yourself. Eat in the hotel or go with a group into the bazaar to buy food. And don’t touch any of the meat from the street vendors. It’ll give you a case of Montezuma’s revenge you’ll never forget.”

      Katy smiled at the small overture of friendly advice. “Thanks.”

      Hazel nodded briskly.

      Thoughtfully Katy wandered downstairs to snag a couple pieces of fruit and returned to her own room. She unlocked the door and let herself in. Night had fallen while she’d been gone, and she had to cross her room to reach the lamp in the corner. The white gauze curtains billowed in the breeze, and again she stopped cold.

      She hadn’t left her window open.

      She turned around slowly, scanning the dark corners and shadows dancing in her room. Nothing there. She was alone. She let out a slow breath. Still in the dark, she moved over to the floor-to-ceiling casement windows and shut them. She made a special point of locking them, as well. Only then did she move over to the lamp and switch it on. It bathed the room in soft yellow light.

      She looked around again. And froze. There was something on her pillow. A note. She moved over to it and looked at it without touching it. It was a single sheet of beige linen stationery folded in half. In cramped cursive were the letters M-l-l-e, the French abbreviation for Mademoiselle. Gingerly Katy picked it up. Unfolded it. More of the cramped cursive.

      She translated the French quickly in her head.

      King Nikolas is not dead, and we desperately need your assistance in finding him. Please help us in this vital endeavor, mademoiselle. We shall wait with utmost urgency until you succeed. We will contact you soon. Be warned—there are those within the lion who would use you to gain their own ends.

      Within the lion? Of course. Il Leone. The palace. So, rumors were already floating around that King Nikolas lived, were they? That didn’t bode well for the man she’d met earlier. Of course, the warning in this note didn’t bode well for him, either. If his enemies were already watching her, then she’d have to be extremely careful not to lead them to the hidden king.

      And then there was the direct threat to her. Someone in the palace wanted to use her for some reason, eh? Why was that just not a surprise? Who could this note be warning her of? Major Moubayed and the Army? Nikolas himself?

      The more relevant question at the moment was who had gotten into her room to leave this cryptic little message? And how? She was sure the door had locked shut behind her when she’d gone next door to talk to Hazel. And there was no way she’d left the window open. She even remembered thinking the room was too warm and closed it before she went out. Surely nobody had climbed up the face of a five-story building to sneak in her window and deliver this note! Someone on the hotel staff with a master key, then?

      She picked up the phone. A female operator answered in English. Now how did she know to do that? She must have a list of the room numbers the Americans were staying in. Katy asked, “May I please speak to the manager?”

      “Regarding what, Miss McMann?”

      Katy replied, “Someone has broken into my room. I need to report it to the manager and the police.”

      The operator answered without any noticeable surprise, “I will report it to the manager right away, ma’am.”

      That was weird. Shouldn’t a break-in alarm a hotel employee at least a little bit? And the woman didn’t ask if anything was stolen or if Katy was okay. Katy replied, “I really would prefer to speak to the manager myself.”

      “That is not possible, mademoiselle.” The woman’s voice shot up by at least half an octave, and now definite alarm rang in her tone.

      Katy blinked. Had the operator just called her mademoiselle on purpose? She replayed the sentence in her head. That was definitely a special emphasis the woman had placed on the word. What in the world was going on here? She could understand the hotel not wanting to involve the police. Especially with the city under martial law. But why was the operator running interference on her at least speaking to the manager?

      “I swear to you, mademoiselle, no harm will come to you in this hotel.”

      There it was again. That heavy emphasis on the word mademoiselle. And real desperation coursed through the operator’s voice now.

      “Uh, okay. I believe you. I will leave it in your hands to report this to the manager and the authorities.”

      Katy frowned through the woman’s gushing thank-you. “What’s your name?”

      “I am Hanah.”

      “Thank you for your help, Hanah.”

      “You are welcome. And thank you.”

      Katy hung up the phone, roundly confused. The hotel operator had left her this note? Clearly if Hanah wasn’t the author, the woman was at least aware of its existence. Why would someone in the hotel feel obliged to warn her about treachery in the palace?

      Speaking of which, she had some homework to do. She checked the window latch again and carefully locked the door behind her as she stepped out into the hall. Hopefully there was no law against women going to a men’s floor to visit in this backward country. She made her way downstairs and knocked on Don Ford’s door. He opened it immediately. A group of six men from the team were seated on the floor, a large picnic spread out on a cloth between them. It looked as if they were having a great time. A pang at being excluded stabbed her gut.

      “What can I do for you, Katy?” Don asked.

      “Do you have a copy of the Geneva Conventions with you?”

      “Which one?”

      “The one pertaining to treatment of prisoners of war,” she answered.

      “Do you want all one hundred and forty-three articles plus annexes or one part in particular? Did you run into a problem today?”

      Again her internal alarm bells went off, shouting at her not to answer that question. “I just want to read up on a few things,” she answered with what she hoped was casual ease.

      “I’ll get it.” Ford went across the room to dig in a big leather satchel.

      One of the other men looked up at her slyly. “How’d it go working with Larry?”

      She smiled pleasantly and said without missing a beat, “He was an absolute dear. I’m so glad Don paired me up with him.”

      Everyone gawked in surprise and she bit back a grin. There. Let them chew on that. Nothing like killing ’em with kindness.

      Ford held out a sheaf of papers about sixty pages thick. “There you go. Holler if you have any questions about what it means.”

      As if after growing up in her family she couldn’t read legalese and make sense of it? She smiled politely and said smoothly, “Thanks. I’ll be sure to ask if anything comes up that’s beyond me.”

      Good ole Don blinked rapidly a couple times, as if he’d just remembered who she was. A little red around the gills, he showed her to the door and wished her good-night.

      She fumbled loudly at her door for long enough to let someone climb out her window. She entered her room cautiously, gun-shy at the idea of accidentally surprising an intruder. But all was as

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