She nodded. “Yes.”

“The airport,” he called to the driver, drawing back.

“Now?” Julia’s frightened eyes met Pamjeet’s.

He gave her a nod and slammed the door, turning back to his duties as if nothing untoward had happened.

The taxi pulled into traffic and sped toward the airport in the waning daylight.

Julia tried to wrap her head around what she’d just heard. The police were looking for her? Harrison’s bribe must not have worked as well as he’d thought.

She strained to see out the back window, checking for signs of pursuit. There was nothing but regular downtown traffic-sedans, delivery trucks and the occasional limousine.

Her luggage was still in the hotel room. She couldn’t really afford to replace all those clothes, not to mention her small jewelry collection. Still, anything was better than going back to jail.

She watched the skyscrapers whiz by as the driver expertly navigated his way through intersections and traffic circles on the way to the airport. She’d switched her plane ticket to the middle of next week. Would they let her change back? Would they have any available seats?

She could get on the first plane to anywhere, she supposed. What did it matter which route she took home? And what did it matter how long it took her to pay off the credit-card bill? The only thing that mattered was that she get out of the country.

After long, tense minutes in traffic, she breathed a sigh of relief as the planes and lighted hangars of the airport came into view next to the wide, divided highway. They were almost there.

“What time is your flight, ma’am?” came the driver’s voice.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

He nodded. “There seems to be a traffic delay. I hope it will not inconvenience you.”

She shifted to the middle of the backseat, sitting straight to look out the windshield at the main terminal building. So close, yet so far away.

“Can you tell what it is?”

He nodded to the road ahead. “A roadblock.”

“An accident?”

“I don’t believe so, ma’am. It’s a checkpoint. The police.”

“Is this common?”

“Not common.”

Uh-oh. “What are they checking for?”

“I do not know.”

It couldn’t be.

But her pulse started to pound in agitation.

She was running from the police, and they had a roadblock at the airport? Coincidence?

She tried to calm herself down. There was no way they’d call out the SWAT team for attempted horse theft. The mere thought was ridiculous. She was letting herself get freaked out over nothing.

She forced herself to sit back, swiping the beads of sweat from her forehead.

They’d be through the roadblock in a few minutes. She’d buy a ticket to, well, anywhere. And she’d be on her way out of UAE.

“Do you have your passport, ma’am?”

“Why?”

“The police will require identification.”

Julia’s heartbeat thickened. She inhaled, and she could swear she smelled the stale, gray dress from the prison. She saw the wriggling centipede, felt the sharp pressure on her bladder.

“Turn around,” she said to the driver.

“Pardon me, ma’am?”

“I…” She pretended to paw through her purse. “I forgot something. I need to go back.”

“To the hotel.”

“No! Not the hotel.” Think, think, think. Would the embassy help her? Could they help her? She didn’t dare risk it. “To Cadair Racing. It’s north, on Route Eleven. Past Ajman.”

“As you wish, ma’am.”

The driver signaled and painstakingly moved one lane to the right. But there he was trapped by a panel truck.

Julia trained her eyes on the road ahead, praying for some kind of exit.

There it was.

The driver jockeyed back and forth, trying to get around the truck in the snail-paced traffic.

She glanced at the flashing lights on the looming roadblock. She clenched her jaw, clenched her fists, willed a spot to open up in the right-hand lane.

Her driver signaled, and inched, and honked and nudged.

When he successfully switched to the exit lane, she could have shouted for joy.

Brittany was in her element.

She’d always known this was the life she wanted-interesting conversation, gracious service, elegant surroundings and breathtaking fashions from around the world. Helping her parents with parties had always been fun, but it was nothing compared to the rush of being the hostess herself.

She caught Harrison’s smile from across the room, and she could tell she was making him proud. She asked Ambassador Beauregard a question about his family, grateful yet again that her parents had sent her to school in France for two years. One of the Saudi princes came toward them, and Brittany drew him into conversation, introducing him to the ambassador and mentioning their mutual interest in impressionist painters.

Then she politely excused herself, having spotted the wife of a German diplomat standing alone near the terrace door.

“Very polished,” came a deep voice beside her.

She glanced behind her and came face-to-face with Alex Lindley. “Thank you.”

“I’m not sure it was a compliment.”

She wasn’t going to let him mess with what was a near-perfect evening. “I’m going to take it as one anyway.” She kept walking.

“Want me to crack the facade?”

No chance of that. “You disappeared for a while.”

He smiled, voice laced with self-satisfaction. “You noticed?”

“No. I noticed that Harrison disappeared. You were more of a…” She timed a significant pause. “A byproduct.”

“That is a crack in that facade,” he said.

“Not at all. You don’t count since you’re not a guest. Something I can help you with?”

“You know that Harrison thinks you’re perfect?”

Brittany didn’t answer. There was really no need. She and Harrison enjoyed a great deal of mutual respect. It was why their relationship was going to work.

“So are you in love with him?”

She stopped, and drew an exasperated sigh. “You weren’t brought up around nice people, were you?”

“I spent many of my formative years with the U.S. navy.”

“That explains a lot.”

“Where you probably went to the finest schools money could buy.”

“Some of them,” she acknowledged.

“So what’s your excuse?”

“I need no excuse. I’m not being rude.”

“Oh, yes, you are.”

No. She wasn’t. She was simply responding in kind to his provocation.

“Mr. Lindley,” she told him. “You can expect to get out of a social interaction that which you put in.”

“You’re turning me on.”

Brittany’s jaw dropped open. She was honestly speechless. Did Harrison have any idea what kind of a boor he had employed?

“I’m just saying,” Alex continued smoothly, leaning slightly forward, his eyes dancing with obvious delight, “if I’m getting out of this conversation what I’m putting in…”

Then, Harrison caught her eye.

He was heading toward them, looking none too happy.

“I believe your comeuppance is on its way,” she informed Alex.

“We’ve got a problem,” Harrison said to Alex.

They certainly did.

“What do you need?” asked Alex, his demeanor instantly changing.

“Julia’s at the front gate.”

That caught Brittany’s attention.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about Julia. There was something about the passion, no, the anger she inspired in Harrison that left Brittany feeling unsettled.

“I thought she left the country this morning,” said Alex.

“Apparently, she did not.”

“You want me to go down?”

Harrison looked around. His hand went to the back of his neck. “Never mind. I’ll go.”

Then he smiled courteously at Brittany, reaching down to give her hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ve been fine,” said Brittany, determined not to be demanding, even though she would have appreciated a little more of Harrison’s attention.

“Thank you,” he said, with what seemed to be genuine gratitude.

She took comfort in his appreciation, then she and Alex watched him walk away.

They both stared in silence at the empty doorway as minutes ticked by. Brittany knew she should stay back and see to the guests, but curiosity was burning within her.

“I think we should go with him,” she finally ventured, hating the shimmer of what could possibly be jealousy, telling herself it would only take a minute.

“I agree,” said Alex, putting a hand on the small of her back and guiding her through the crowded hall. “He may need some help.”

The man named Nuri glared suspiciously at Julia while she waited in the small gatehouse. His mouth was set in a grim line, his dark eyes piercing beneath his blue turban. She tried not to squirm on the hard wooden chair, and kept her hands tightly folded in her lap.

She felt a whole lot less than welcome here, that was for sure. And she knew she was risking Harrison’s temper by showing up on his doorstep. But she didn’t have anywhere else to go.

Even if that roadblock hadn’t been intended for her-which it likely wasn’t, given that she hadn’t murdered anyone or stolen a hundred million in gold bullion-her name was probably in the central police computer. All it would have taken was for an officer to type in the particulars of her passport, and, wham, she’d be right back in jail.

At least this way, there was a chance Harrison would help her. Even if Nuri looked as if he might do her in before she had a chance to talk to him.

The door swung open, and she reflexively straightened her spine.

“Where is she?” came Harrison’s gravelly voice.

Nuri pointed with his riding crop, and Harrison turned.

She struggled to gauge his mood. But everything about him was neutral. His tone, his expression, his posture. “I thought you were leaving.”

“I tried,” she answered honestly.

His eyes squinted down with skepticism. “How hard did you try?”

She knew she needed to come clean. If she’d learned anything about Harrison, it was that he liked the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

“Robbie and Melanie left this morning,” she began. “And then I tried to leave this afternoon.” All true. “But there was this roadblock. At the airport.”

He planted his butt against the edge of Nuri’s desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “And what are you leaving out?”

“Nothing.” That was truly how it had happened. There was no reason for him to know she’d voluntarily changed her ticket.

“They wouldn’t let you into the airport? Funny, my guests all arrived on time.”

Oh, right. She’d left out something important. But she was nervous. Nuri, especially, was making her nervous.

“The doorman at the hotel,” she quickly elaborated. “He said the police were looking for me. That’s why I was afraid of the roadblock at the airport.”

“Are you making this up as you go along?”

“No!”

Harrison straightened away from the desk and moved toward her, definite skepticism in his tone this time. “And why would the police be looking for you?”

She stood to lessen their height difference. She didn’t much like it when he loomed over her. Plus, this part was definitely not her fault.

“I don’t know why they were looking for me. I thought you-” She cut herself off, remembering Nuri. Then she dropped her voice to a hissing whisper. “I thought you took care of that little thing.”

“I did,” said Harrison. “What else did you do?”

“Nothing. Nothing.”

“I have a hard time believing that.”

“Yeah? Well, you seem to have a hard time believing anything I say.”

They stared at each other for a long minute.

Then, apparently, he got tired of having an audience, because he latched on to her arm. “Out here.”

She scrambled out the door with him, along a stone pathway that led over his lawn to a garden gazebo dotted with tables and lawn chairs.

Hands on her upper arms, he sat her down on a padded chair.

“Start from the beginning,” he demanded.

There was that height difference again.

“Sit,” she told him, gesturing to the next chair.

His lips compressed into a line.

“This feels like the Spanish Inquisition.”

“No, it doesn’t. And you came to me, remember?”

“Only because I had nowhere else to go.”

Then she could have kicked herself for the sarcastic tone. She was asking this man for help. The least she could do was be civil about it.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re not the Spanish Inquisition.”

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what this is all about.” But then he did sit down.

Julia took a breath. She went through it from the beginning, all of it-changing her ticket, the doorman, the checkpoint, finally coming to Cadair.