His Majesty's Mistake

His jaw tightened, lips compressing as he understood that Hannah’s personal problems were far from over.

Makin’s frown deepened, eyebrows flattening above his eyes. “It’s your job to know.”

She took a quick breath. “It seems I’ve lost my calendar.”

“But your calendar is backed up on your laptop. Where is your laptop computer?”

Her shoulders lifted and fell. “I don’t know.”

Makin had to turn away, look at something else other than Hannah. Her helplessness was getting to him. He didn’t want to be angry with her, but he found everything about her provoking right now.

He focused on the desert beyond the car’s tinted window, soothed by the familiar landscape. To someone else the desert might look monotonous with miles of red-gold sand in every direction, but he knew this desert like the back of his hand and it centered him now.

“You’ve lost your computer?” he asked finally, gaze fixed on the undulating dunes in the distance.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I think I must have left it somewhere when I wasn’t … well.”

“In South Beach?”

“Before that.”

He turned his head sharply toward her. Her lavender-blue eyes appeared enormous in her pale face.

“It must have been Palm Beach,” she added softly, fingers lacing together. “Just after the polo tournament. I had it for the tournament, but then it was gone.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I should have. I’m sorry.”

She looked so nervous and desperate that he bit back his criticism and took a deep breath instead. She’d just had her heart broken. She wasn’t herself. Surely, he could try to be patient with her. At least for today.

He fought to keep his voice even. “Everything should be backed up on your desktop. When we get to the palace, you can go to your office and print off your calendar and update me later this afternoon.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He drew another breath as he considered her pale, tense face and rigid posture. Her shoulders were set, her spine elongated, her chin tilted. It was strange. Everything about her was strange. Hannah had never sat like this before. So tall and still, as if she’d become someone else. Someone frozen.

Which reminded him of last night on the airplane. His brow furrowed. “You talked in your sleep last night,” he said. “Endlessly.”

Her eyes met his and her lips parted but she made no sound.

“In French,” he continued. “Your accent was impeccable. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a native speaker.”

“You’re fluent in French?”

“Of course. My mother was French.”

She flushed, her cheeks turning dark pink. “Did I say anything that would embarrass me?”

“Just that you are in terrible trouble.” He waited, allowing his words to fall and settle before continuing. “What have you done, Hannah? What are you afraid of?”

A tiny pulse leapt at her throat and the pink in her cheeks faded just as quickly as it had bloomed there. “Nothing.”

She answered quickly, too quickly, and they both knew it.

Makin suppressed his annoyance. Who did she think she was fooling? Didn’t she realize he knew her? He knew her perhaps better than anyone. They’d worked so closely together over the years that he quite often knew what she would say before she said it. He knew her gestures and expressions and even her hesitation before she gave him her opinion.

But even then, they’d never been friends. Their relationship was strictly professional. He knew her work habits, not her life story. And he had to believe that if she’d gotten herself into trouble, she had the wherewithal to get herself out of it.

She was strong. Smart. Self-sufficient. She’d be fine.

Well, maybe in the long term, he amended. Right now Hannah looked far from fine.

She’d turned white, and he saw her swallow hard, once and again. She looked as if she was battling for control. “Do you need us to pull over?” he asked. “Are you—”

“Yes! Yes, please.”

Makin spoke sharply to the driver and moments later they were parked on the side of the narrow road. She stumbled away from the car, her high heels sinking into the soft sand.

He wasn’t sure if he should go after her—which is all he’d spent the last week doing—or give her some space to allow her to maintain some dignity.

Space won, and Makin and his driver stood next to the car in the event that their assistance was needed.

Even though it was still relatively early in the day, it was hot in the direct sun, with the morning temperature hovering just under a hundred degrees Fahrenheit. It was a very dry heat, he thought, sliding on his sunglasses, unlike Florida with its sweltering humidity.

Florida was fine, but this was his desert. This was where he belonged. They were just a few kilometers from Kasbah Raha now, and he was impatient to reach the palace.

He spent several months each year at Raha, and they were usually his favorite months.

Every day in Raha he’d wake, exercise, shower, have a light meal and then go to his office to work. He’d break for a late lunch and then work again, often late into the night. He enjoyed everything about his work and stayed at his desk because that’s where he wanted to be.

He wasn’t all work though. He had a mistress in Nadir whom he saw several times a week when there. Hannah knew about Madeline, of course, but it wasn’t something he’d ever discuss with her. Just as Hannah had never discussed her love life with him.

Makin’s cell phone suddenly rang, sounding too loud in the quiet desert. Withdrawing the phone from his trouser pocket, he saw it was his chief of security from the palace in Nadir.

Makin answered in Arabic.

As he listened, he went cold, thinking the timing couldn’t be worse. Hannah was already struggling. This would devastate her.

Makin asked his chief of security to keep him informed and then hung up. As he pocketed his phone, Hannah appeared, her graceful hands smoothing her creased turquoise cocktail dress. As she walked toward him, she gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about that.”

He didn’t smile back. “You’re still sick.”

“Low blood sugar. Haven’t eaten yet today.”