Page 85 of Dalla's Royal Guards

Her mind raced. “Anything else?”

“Kramer O’Toole and a guy named Harlem Jones are circling this hard. O’Toole called in a freelancer—Stella. Real nasty piece of work, even in black-ops circles. As for Jones... I don’t know his angle yet. Hell, I still can’t believe it is him. It doesn’t make sense if it is. Anyway, he met with Bogadottir just before the convoy left for the airport.”

“She met with him?” Debra asked, watching another flight board flicker to Narva.Departure in one hour.

“Oh, yeah. I was assigned to tail O’Toole’s IT kid, Kyle Worthington. He’s an arrogant little punk with sticky fingers and zero tradecraft. I’ll admit, seeing him with Stella shocked me. Pretty ballsy move for a twerp like him. As I was scanning the room, I noticed Jones. He isn’t the type of guy you ignore. I could tell he was waiting for someone. A few minutes later, in walks the lady who’s plastered all over Kashir in statues and murals and tourist merchandise. Bogadottir walks in and sits across from Jones like she knows him. Not long after she came in, the brothers showed up. I thought for sure they were going to draw weapons.”

“How do you know it was Jones?”

“It’s weird. I don’t really know him, but I did meet him once, about twenty years ago, not long after I first started with the division. Like I said, he isn’t the kind of guy you forget. He was meeting Reynolds—the director before Wilkes. When I saw him again, I thought I was losing my mind. It took some digging in the archives, but I matched a face with a name—at least, I think it’s him. But the guy hasn’t aged a day.”

“What happened after the meeting?”

“By the time I saw them again, they were with Hadi, en route to the airfield. I stayed with the twerp—he was my assignment,” Harris said.

Debra was quiet. “Keep digging. Quietly. I want to know where Jones is now. Who he is. What he wants.”

“Yeah, me too. What about Stella?”

She eyed the shadowed reflection in the concourse window. “I’ll take care of Stella,” she replied, her voice like steel. “You focus on Jones.”

“Copy that.”

Debra ended the call and let her hand fall to her side. She stared at the board once more, then down at the digital boarding pass glowing on her screen.

Narva. Gate 6B. Now boarding.

A grim smile curved her lips.

If she was lucky, she would be on Narvan soil before sundown.

And if the whispers were true...

Then the Warrior of the Sands wasn’t a ghost. She wasn’t a myth.

Which meant she was chasing a real person—with a unique, questionable past.

Sunlight from the open balcony doors kissed Dalla’s skin. She lay nestled, eyes closed, in a protective cocoon of steady heartbeats, lazy breaths, and the subtle hush of Narva’s sea breeze. For thefirst time in what felt like forever, she wasn’t waking in a bed of sand, fear, or in a hazy world that she couldn’t remember.

She was waking in safety.

She stretched slightly, toes curling beneath the covers, only to suck in a surprised breath when two sets of hands stirred against her skin.

One trailed upward, fingers gentle and reverent.

The other slid low, slow, purposeful.

A soft laugh slipped from her lips. She blinked open her eyes to see Nasser grinning down at her. He was propped up on one elbow, his golden-brown eyes alight with mischief.

“Good morning. I think she is happy to see us,” he murmured, his voice still husky with sleep and desire.

“You two have been saying that every morning for the past three mornings… and every afternoon and evening, too,” she teased.

It had all been wonderful. Dalla could tell with every touch and sound that this wasn’t just about desire. This… this was love. Deep, aching, all-consuming love.

Musad’s low chuckle rumbled against her back when his arm banded around her waist, turning her so that she was pressed up against his aroused cock.

“I think we should add brunch and a few other times of the day.”