Page 18

Chapter Eleven

M ornings in the harem were not what Lottie expected.

She woke far earlier than she was anticipating to an empty bed.

Bili had gone for a run—she was crazy like that—but when Lottie dragged herself bleary eyed into the breakfast room she was astonished to find Beauty and Indira had been running too.

There was a gym she’d completely missed on the tour yesterday and a squad of personal fitness trainers had arrived.

A crossfit class was running and a small group were doing yoga on a gorgeous shala that overlooked the gardens and the Mediterranean.

“Does no one sleep in around here?” Lottie grumbled. She rubbed her eyes and re-tied the sash on the satin dressing robe she’d found hanging in their ensuite. It had Malik’s name embroidered on the front in decorative Arabic.

Genevieve was wearing the exact same robe.

Eew.

“I try,” Genevieve said. “The noise from the fitness freaks doesn’t make it easy.

” Her hair was in an unbrushed tangle, piled on her head with a claw clip.

In addition to Malik’s sleazy robe, she wore battered fluffy slippers she must have brought from home, sleeping shorts and a singlet top.

Without the makeup and the million-dollar dress from last night she looked just like Lottie looked after a night on the town—in serious need of some very good coffee and, preferably, a fry up.

She showed Lottie to the breakfast table.

“Ignore them,” she said, waving a thoroughly disinterested hand at the health nuts living their best lives around the rest of the resort.

“I will introduce you to the chef and our barista. Then I’ll take you to meet Sofia in the spa—she does the best full body massages— and Lilya and Maryam who you’ll want to get to know for facials and waxing and stuff. ”

That sounded more like it.

“Coffee, though?” Lottie asked. Urgently.

Genevieve grinned at her. “My kind of woman. Come and meet Bruno.”

Kayley Jones found her just as she was hoeing into a bacon sandwich. Kayley was giving her phone a suspicious frown.

“You and Bili,” she said. “Car. Now.”

“What?” Lottie mumbled it around a mouthful of what was quite possibly the best bacon sarnie south of the Thames. The Mediterranean even. For a country wedged firmly in Muslim-majority north Africa, it was sinfully divine bacon. Adam the chef was a freaking god. She dribbled grease down her chin.

“You’ve been summoned to the palace. Get dressed. Immediately. The car is waiting for you.”

Lottie looked at her sandwich. She looked at Genevieve. Genevieve raised her eyebrows and shrugged.

“Now, Lottie. Find Bili,” Kayley said. She sounded irritated. “You never keep the Qasira waiting.”

A thrill shot through Lottie so hard she nearly passed out—a fucking threesome with Zynara?

—but then commonsense took over. The Qasira didn’t know Lottie and Bili were friends.

She was also heading the first day of the Green Futures summit.

There was an entire day of conferencing over on the Azure islands that had probably already started.

She couldn’t picture the Qasira ordering in two of the harem’s sexiest women just to calm her nerves before a day of politicking.

Well, actually, she could—and some truly intoxicating images almost had her choking on her bacon—but this couldn’t possibly be a request from Zynara. This was something else.

Very regretfully she put her sandwich back on her plate and went to find Bili. Hair and makeup was completed in a record five minutes flat and they were bundled out to a very sleek black car with dark tinted windows. Kayley frowned from the door and stabbed at her phone.

Ace lounged in the backseat.

“Had to get you out of there somehow,” she said. “Did you two get all frocked up for little old me?”

Lottie thumped her.

The car skirted the palace and headed downhill to the medina.

The medina was the old part of Azzouan, a maze of cobalt-blue alleyways, sun-drenched stone walls and intricate tilework that gleamed in a thousand tiny mosaics in the morning light.

The car barely managed to nose a block in before the labyrinth of narrow winding streets forced them out and onto the cobblestones.

The air was heavy with spice—hungry and warm with cardamom, nutmeg and fenugreek.

Market stalls spilled over with silk slippers, handwoven rugs and delicate silver jewellery.

The scent of lavender blended with the ever-present hint of jasmine and the faint salt of the sea drifting in from the coast. Arched doorways were graced with pots of red geraniums. Vivid canvases in yellows and blue were stretched above carved cedar balconies to provide protection from the sun.

Narrow laneways burst into sudden courtyards where palm trees stretched above it all.

Ace led them deeper into the maze.

This wasn’t a tourist trap. Untouched by time or modern development, the medina was alive with genuine Ain Zargieri life.

Close to the palace, it housed the old money families that had held court for centuries.

Suited palace officials took tea at their favourite tea houses alongside gnarled older men who played chess on upturned milk crates, or who wove wicker into brooms, a kitten jumping at the bright orange cotton they used for the weave.

Ace stopped at a cafe tucked into a quiet alcove beneath the shade of an ancient orange tree. The courtyard was cooled by a stone fountain. The windows were filigree screens, the seating arranged for maximum visibility with minimum exposure.

Lottie knew a safe house when she saw one.

She glanced at the unassuming staff, all neutral in their attentions but sharp around the eyes. Too discreet. Just a tiny bit too casual. This wasn’t any cafe. This was Circle territory, and she’d bet anything Ace had a bed upstairs.

“Clever,” Lottie murmured, settling into a cushioned bench against the wall where she could watch the entrance and the exits.

“I do my best,” Ace said. A tray of sweet mint tea hit their table without Ace even having to ask.

They got to business immediately. “You two haven’t wasted any time.

Nice media leak last night. Watch your back, though.

Malik might be feeling cocky after detonating his sister’s interests, but he isn’t going to like media backlash so soon.

It won’t be too hard for him to guess it came from his own harem. ”

“Oh, he’s going to have way more on his mind soon enough,” Lottie said.

Ace sipped her tea. “About that. I got your message. Not that I don’t love a bit of wanton destruction of billionaire property, but why are we blowing up his boat again?”

“It’s symbolic,” Bili explained. She waggled her eyebrows at Lottie. “Apparently.”

“Of?”

“His ridiculous excess and disregard for his country’s ideals and best interests.” Lottie used her best serious agent voice.

Bili and Ace both pulled faces.

“Because it will really piss him off. Embarrass him in front of his bros.”

“And because Lottie thinks the Qasira will appreciate it,” Bili explained.

Ace looked interested. “Explosives as a love language. I can rate that.”

Lottie couldn’t decide if they were making fun of her or not.

“Do we have the gear?” she asked.

“Eighty percent prepped,” Ace said, thoroughly casually.

She smeared brown butter and honey over a thousand hole pancake and transferred the whole delicious mess to her mouth.

“Give me a day and a team will move in under the guise of catering while the ship is at the Azures for the summit. It will be ready to detonate any time after luncheon tomorrow—which, according to the Summit schedule, finishes at two. It will be up to you to ensure the boat is clear of people. The Nightingale isn’t going to be thrilled if there’s collateral. ”

Bili lifted her chin. “I’ve got some ideas for that.”

Ace nodded.

Lottie couldn’t contain herself. “C4?” she asked, trying her best to sound nonchalant. She took a sip of tea.

“Please. I’m not an amateur,” Ace protested.

“Semtex then?”

Ace swirled the tea in her own glass. She looked deeply unimpressed. “So ten years ago.”

Lottie grinned despite herself. “Okay then, oh wise master of destruction, what’s gonna make the boat go boom?”

Ace leaned in, suddenly recognising a kindred spirit.

“HMX-based polymer bonded explosive, custom blend. My own recipe, so absolutely don’t ask me about it, but I’ve added a dash of octanitrocubane.

Shaped charges, obviously. Magnetic placement, hull-level, ideally under the engine room and fuel tanks. ”

“Sexy.” Lottie fanned her face.

Ace smirked. “You’d know.”

Bili deliberately dropped her spoon to the table with a clatter. “Oh great. There’s another one of you. Why do I feel like I’m surrounded by teenage boys? Shall we compare gaming rigs next?”

Ace ignored her. “I have very high standards when it comes to controlled demolitions.”

“ Controlled is a very strong word,” Lottie mused.

“Is that what we want? Ideally, I’d like to send that floating monstrosity up in a glorious fireball.

I want something to rival the mess Malik made of the Qasira’s hydrogen plant last night.

Something to delight the masses and live in memes on Twitter forever.

Are you sure we can’t use rocket launchers? ”

“Hmm.” Ace was thoughtful. “I’m beginning to see your point. More octanitrocubane?”

Lottie whispered it like it was holy. “All the octanitrocubane.”

Ace grinned and held up her hand for a high five. Lottie smacked it reverently.

Bili thunked her head against the table. “You two are insane.”

They talked logistics for a few more minutes until Ace asked what progress Lottie was making with the Qasira.

Lottie felt her face turn red.

Bili snorted her coffee.

“I’ve made contact,” Lottie said, with dignity.

“Oh, she’s definitely done that,” Bili confirmed.

Ace looked from one to the other and shook her head.

“Hey! I’ve also made contact with one of the Qasira’s best friends,” Lottie protested.

“He gave me his card. He has a club in the medina—” She pulled out the card Sami had given her and frowned at it.

If she had the address right, the club was— just down the laneway from the safehouse they were currently in.

Lottie narrowed her eyes at Ace.

That was convenient. Was the Circle keeping tabs on Zynara’s friend, or was it the other way around?

Ace smiled serenely back.

Lottie checked it out just before they left the medina.

“Two minutes,” she called to Ace.

Sami’s club blended naturally into the rest of the medina, its white facade marked by a simple arch and dark wooden screens—colonial architectural and traditional Ain Zargieri elements in equal measures.

A bouncer at the door was the only indication the place was anything more than just another cafe.

Lottie gave the man a look that said she came here every day. He gave a tiny nod in reply.

Inside, the 1930s ambiance was off the scale.

A spacious central room with a high ceiling lost beyond second level balconies and crowded with tall palms. Soft lighting glowed from lamps and wall niches.

A striking black and white art deco pattern was tiled on the floor.

Tables with white linen. Smoking corners.

A grand piano pride of place. A bar of dark polished wood, discreet smoky mirrors and all the fine whisky you could wish for.

Lottie was instantly in love with it. She thought of Harry back in her dingy little club in Blackcroft and knew the woman would go nuts for Sami’s place.

Lottie could totally picture herself there , singing on that little stage, vibing that Hollywood glamour like she was born for it.

Maybe a hot princess in the audience watching her with heavy eyes, knowing full well they’d fly back to her tower at the end of the night, drunk on each other’s bodies, intoxicated by the other’s touch.

She could leave gloomy old Blackcroft and heartlessly grey London behind forever and stop risking her life for her country. She could stop spying. She could stop lying. She could—

Lottie shook her head. Where the hell had that bullshit come from?

She had to admit something inside her had changed since last night. She’d always treated this job as a game—and the people who played around her merely as pawns. But she knew who had made her change.

The way the Qasira had looked at her had struck Lottie hard.

That gaze had been tolerant at first, a polite charade from behind a regal mask, but that mask had slipped rapidly.

Zynara had looked at her with need , as if there was something deep within Zynara that knew she—slippery, sly and morally depraved Lottie Finch—was precisely what she had been looking for.

It was a powerful thing to be needed.

Lottie was crossing to the bar when a vision drew her up short.

At the end of the bar, a woman sat with her back to the door and her head in her hands.

It was the Qasira, in the same suit she’d worn last night.

She cradled a glass, but as Lottie watched Sami appeared with a plate of food. He placed it in front of her, took the whisky from her hand and poured her a glass of tea.

He caught Lottie’s eyes over Zynara’s shoulder.

She was just about to stumble forward when Sami shook his head. Just a fraction—just enough so that Lottie could see the warning but Zynara was not disturbed.

She nodded, then she realised Zynara had seen her in the smoky reflection of the mirrors.

When Zynara turned to look at her, Lottie was shocked at her expression. For one long, awful moment, the Qasira looked lost, tired and ready to fall—and for one crazy second Lottie wanted to be the one to catch her.

And then she blinked, and Zynara was aloof and steely all over again.

There was a beat, then Zynara turned back to her breakfast and Lottie, recognising a dashed and shattered pride when she saw one, left her to it.