Page 7 of Her Irresistible Sheik (Al-Sintra Family #9)

“This will be your personal space,” Mikail said quietly, watching her reaction.

Nahla stepped into the suite like a soldier walking into enemy territory—back straight, chin high, but her fingers curled tightly into fists at her sides. Her nails pressed into her palms as she forced herself forward, refusing to show weakness.

He noticed the tremor in her hand as she reached for the light switch. So subtle most would miss it—but not him. Not after years of reading people before they even knew they’d been seen.

She was brave. Damn brave. Braver than most men he knew.

The infamous assassin was now targeting her, and yet here she was—surveying her new surroundings with feigned nonchalance.

She gave the spacious room a slow, deliberate glance, then tilted her head and nodded slightly, like a queen approving unfamiliar territory.

He almost smiled.

But then she turned, and sunlight from the tall windows hit just right—casting a shadow between the folds of her blouse. His gaze lingered a second too long, following the delicate line of her collarbone, the dip of her neckline, the shadow that hinted at more.

Desire surged—raw and unwelcome.

Mikail turned away sharply. He would not dishonor Saif’s trust—or his own code—by seducing the woman under his protection.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, his voice clipped and distant, then forced himself to walk away before he did something he’d regret.

Instead of retreating to his office, Mikail stalked down the corridor to the far end of the hall and entered his security command center—a room far more suited to his current mood.

Inside, the walls were lined with dark monitors casting a low, blue glow over everything.

The hum of electronics filled the air, along with the sharp clatter of keyboards and low murmurs of tactical discussion.

Tom Hinton, ex–British Special Forces and now his head of security, looked up from the central bank of monitors.

“What do we know?” Mikail demanded.

Tom didn’t flinch at the tone. “Not much more than we did this morning,” he said, nodding toward the nearest screen.

“We tracked him from Paris. That website you flagged—adorable dog, by the way—gave us the lead.” Despite the grim subject matter, Tom’s mouth twitched with amusement.

Then he turned serious again. “After Paris, the trail went cold until Lativa.”

“Hector,” he prompted, turning toward the next workstation.

Hector, a wiry tech genius with thick, dark curls and the kind of oversized glasses that constantly slipped down his nose, spun his chair around.

“I’ve started mapping Clyde’s travel patterns.

He only uses public transit after completing a mission.

That’s his post-strike routine. Which works to our benefit because most major cities now use high-resolution surveillance and cross-checked biometrics.

Once we had a confirmed image, it became easier to run historical matches. ”

He pushed his glasses back up with a knuckle, already warming to his subject. “Even with disguises, there are constants—eye socket distance, nostril width, and lip curvature. I’ve found matches going back four years in six different countries.”

Tom let out a low whistle. “And before the missions?”

“Nothing,” Hector replied, adjusting his glasses again. “He doesn’t take transit to the target. He doesn’t rent vehicles. Either he’s walking miles, which I doubt, or—”

“He’s using borrowed cars,” Tom guessed.

“Exactly. Unregistered or stolen. Possibly carjacked. That’s the biggest hole in our pattern.”

Mikail folded his arms. “So how do we fill it?”

“I’m working on a code that’ll tap into each city’s traffic camera systems,” Hector said, his fingers flexing as if already typing. “Right now, they only scan drivers. I’m building something that can scan passengers too—expanding the facial recognition field. But there’s still a problem.”

“What’s that?” Mikail asked.

“If he’s hiding—footwells, cargo space, the trunk—we can’t see him at all.”

“Don’t we use heat detection in the shipyards for human trafficking scans?” Mikail asked, his voice tightening as he connected the dots.

Hector blinked. Then his eyes lit up. “Yes! Infrared heat signals—we use it to detect lifeforms in shipping containers! If we could link that to traffic cams—”

“You could scan for unusual heat signatures inside vehicles,” Tom finished.

“Exactly. It wouldn’t identify the person, but it would flag anomalies. I could cross-reference flagged heat with recent transit scans to isolate potential hiding spots.”

“Do it,” Mikail ordered. “Even if it’s messy. Every second counts.”

Hector was already spinning back to his terminal, muttering under his breath as lines of code scrolled across the monitor.

As the blue light flickered across Mikail’s face, he felt the flicker of something else—anticipation.

The man coming after Nahla had made a mistake.

He’d made himself visible.

And Mikail never missed a target.