Page 116 of Enemy of My Enemy

“Adam.” Faisal’s low voice broke his thoughts. He followed Faisal’s finger to the next blaring headline:President Spiers’s Long-Dead Wife Found Alive in Russia, Held Prisoner for Years.

Holy shit.

Details on her rescue were vague. Who had been holding her, even vaguer.

Nothing added up.

But, he definitely wasn’t calling Reichenbach. Not now. Not with that. He slid his phone into his pocket and went back to hovering over Faisal’s shoulder as Faisal read through the news and reset his intel scrapes to download to his current laptop. His old computer had been destroyed in the attack, but his server had backed everything up and could redirect to any of his other systems.

Faisal set his laptop aside and patted the massive bed. “Habibi.What would make me feel better is if you were sitting with me.”

Adam folded down into the bed, his arms wrapping around Faisal like they’d never left him. Faisal sighed into his hold, tucking his forehead against Adam’s neck, and watched the sea until his eyes slid closed.

Adam’s thoughts raced, from Russia to Reichenbach to the president’s wife and back. It would be Madigan’s style to upend everything. Keep everyone off balance.

Later, Adam extricated himself and laid his lover down gently. He went to Faisal’s closet and pulled out shirts and jeans, some of the thousands of pieces of clothing that Faisal owned. Faisal and Doc were about the same size, both on the slender side, and Doc was still wearing the same suit he’d bought him in London, rumpled and worn-looking. He slipped out of the bedroom and stilled, catching sight of Doc sitting on the edge of the deck, his toes grazing the azure waters.

He brought cold beer as a peace offering, holding it out to Doc when he sat beside him. Doc nodded his thanks and took a long pull.

Doc said nothing. He just kept staring out over the waters, his eyes squinting behind a pair of sunglasses he’d picked up somewhere.

Adam picked at the label on his bottle. It was one of the Carakale beers, from the time he and Faisal had spent a long weekend in Jordan, and he’d introduced Faisal to beer at Jordan’s sole microbrewery. It had been his first drink—

He cut his wandering thoughts short with a sigh.

“Just say it. Say something.” It had been a few days since Adam’s breakdown and confession in the hospital hallway under Doc’s frozen stare.

Doc exhaled, his cheeks puffing out, and took another gulp of his beer. “The nephew of the crown prince of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia?” Squinting one eye almost all the way closed, he turned to Adam, his head cocked to one side.

“I know.”

“Jesus Christ. I knew you were fucking insane, but this…” He shook his head.

“He wasn’t the nephew of the crown prince when I met him. He was just Faisal.”

“Oh, so that little fact snuck up on you? You missed it between the palaces and the armored cars and the royal bodyguards?”

“It wasn’t like that.” Adam rolled his bottle in his hands. “He was… undercover, I guess. Not living like a royal. Working in the Saudi Intelligence Directorate, instead of overseeing it.”

“How long?”

“Two years. But I ended it almost a year ago.”

“Doesn’t seem like it’s over.”

Adam stayed silent.

“Who knows?”

Adam shifted, and his toes flicked at the surface of the sea. Warm water rolled over the top of his foot, arching away in fat droplets. “You. Prince Abdul.”

Doc tipped his head back. “Jesus Christ, L-T. You are anabsoluteshitshow.”

“Don’t think I’m going to be an officer much longer.” He kicked the water again, harder, an angry splash breaking the clear surface.

“You think?” Doc’s tone wasn’t kind. “This has international incident written all over it. Not to mention the serious ‘foreign influence’ violations with your security clearance. You’re fucked, man. They could throw you in jail for this.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” he whispered.