“Flying into the airport in a private jet might not have been the most subtle way for me to arrive.” She pulled up her leg and unfastened the strap on one of her platform sandals. Her foot was delicate with a high arch, and she wore a thin silver chain around her ankle. “The jet wasn’t my idea. Nasim insisted.”
“The Minister of Affairs in Jamala,” he said. “Would he have told anyone about your arrival?”
“He might have informed Efraim.” She shrugged. “Don’t waste time suspecting Nasim. His primary concern in life is my welfare.”
Jake wasn’t so sure. “Tell me about him.”
“When I was younger, Nasim was a combination bodyguard and mother hen. He accompanied me everywhere, even to Beverly Hills—a place he utterly despised. The only thing he enjoyed about Southern California was the freeway system, which he considered a challenge. He always drove as though on a military campaign and bragged whenever he shaved a few minutes off the drive time.”
When Jake had gone after her, he’d been on a rise overlooking the road and had been able to see last part of the chase. She’d maneuvered her car like a Demolition Derby expert; her decision to hit the brakes had probably saved her from a rollover. “Did Nasim teach you to drive?”
“He trained me in evasive driving techniques, and in other skills to protect myself from kidnapping. Do you think that’s what was intended? Kidnapping?”
In spite of his earlier conclusion, he didn’t answer her question. They weren’t working together. “Do you have reservations at the resort?”
“Yes.” She removed her other shoe and massaged her toes. “Maybe someone at the hotel leaked my name to the enemies of COIN.”
“It’s possible.” Over the past few days, his men had done a thorough job of vetting the employees at the resort. He doubted that any of them were working with the bad guys, but somebody could have mentioned her arrival. Or the reservation desk computer could have been hacked.
She frowned. “I should have told Nasim to use a fake name.”
“Do you often use an alias?”
“Of course,” she said as though assumed names were a normal part of life. “I travel incognito to throw the paparazzi off my trail.”
“Too late for that. They’re already here.” The reporters and photographers who had showed up in Dumont at the first sign of trouble were as pesky as a swarm of gnats.
“There’s one paparazzo who is particularly annoying. His name is Danny Harold.” Her upper lip curled in disgust. “He specializes in photographs of royalty, and he’ll do anything to get an exclusive shot.”
Maggie came back into the room carrying a tray. “You always look gorgeous in the tabloids. I remember a photo of you standing on tiptoe to kiss one of the Lakers.”
“Don’t remind me. That picture started a million rumors about royal weddings, even though I only dated the guy twice.”
“The Lakers?” In spite of himself, Jake was starstruck. “You’ve gone out with players on the winningest franchise in professional basketball?”
“If you come to L.A., I can get you courtside seats.”
“Damn.” There were advantages to knowing a princess.
Maggie placed the tray on the bed and shoved a paper plate toward him. “Eat.”
Absently, he took a bite from the sandwich. When this investigation was over, he fully intended to take the princess up on her offer. It was almost worth all the strife these royals had caused to get courtside seats.
Maggie handed a plate to Saida. “Tell me a couple of your aliases.”
“As a child, I used to watch a lot of American movies. That’s when I first fell in love with this country. So I use movie names. Dorothy Gale, Bridget Jones, Holly Golightly. And, of course, Elle Woods.”
“Of course,” Maggie said.
Jake had no idea what they were talking about. “Elle Woods?”
“The heroine of Legally Blonde,” his sister informed him. “Everybody thought she was a ditzy blonde, but she went to Harvard Law School and outsmarted them all.”
“A lighthearted film with a significant message.” Saida slid an accusing glance in his direction. “It’s easy to underestimate someone based on stereotypes. Sometimes, the dumb blonde is the smartest person in the room. And the pampered princess is the most resourceful.”
Touché. He knew he’d been guilty of taking her lightly. There might be more depth to this princess than he’d thought.
Maggie said, “I love your pinkie ring. Is the design a royal crest?”
He’d noticed the ring before—a black onyx stone with a silver design that he’d at first thought was a butterfly. Looking closer, he saw that it was crossed swords.
Saida gestured gracefully, displaying the ring. “It’s similar to the crossed scimitars that are part of Saudi Arabia’s coat of arms, but this ring has no special meaning. I just liked the design, and I have earrings to match.”
“Does Jamala have crown jewels?” Maggie asked.
“An extensive collection, most of which is in the National Museum. There’s a story behind the Farrah Blue diamond. Any woman who wears the gem is guaranteed to have masculine children.” She gave Maggie a grin. “As if that’s good.”
“Tell me more,” Maggie said.
Jake finished his sandwich. Though she’d subtly rebuked him for stereotyping, he couldn’t help comparing Saida to the princess in One Thousand and One Arabian Nights. If he didn’t get away from her soon, he’d stay all night, lulled into a trance by her cultured voice. “Excuse me, ladies. I have work to do.”
Downstairs, he went through the house—pulling the curtains, locking the windows and dragging his thoughts back to the situation at hand. He couldn’t allow himself to be captivated by Saida’s charms or her promise of courtside seats. The fact that this kidnap attempt had been made here instead of California indicated that this crime was tied to all the others, including her brother’s disappearance. He needed solutions.
The antidote to Saida came when he heard his deputy pull into the driveway outside his house. Kent Wheeler was Jake’s most trusted employee and the person he’d called on his phone right after leaving the scene of the crash.
He opened the front door for the stocky blue-eyed deputy who usually wore a cowboy hat to cover his bald spot. Though out of uniform, Wheeler’s appearance was crisp and neat. His wife always ironed his jeans to leave a crease.
“What’s up, Sheriff?”
Before Jake could answer, Saida was halfway down the stairs.
“Good evening, sir.” She bestowed a mesmerizing smile on Wheeler. “Have you brought my luggage?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Wheeler wasn’t the sort of guy who would ever cheat on his wife, but he was staring at the princess with unabashed appreciation.
“Later,” Jake growled. “We’ll bring your suitcases upstairs later.”
“I appreciate it so much.” She turned and trotted back to the guest bedroom.
Staring after her, Wheeler said, “She’s something else.”
“She’s a load of trouble,” Jake said. “That’s Princess Saida Khalid, the sister of Amir. She was driving that car when it was forced off the road.”
“A real live princess. Whoa, I never thought I’d meet somebody like her.”
Wheeler remained at