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  “I’m going to trust you with secrets,” Yasmeen said. “Some of them aren’t mine.”

  Chapter Seven

  Yasmeen felt the world wait, her heart pause. She knew she could trust Ty, but sharing secrets needed his permission. Secrets were a burden.

  He nodded, once, and the world resumed turning.

  She reached for her cup of coffee to hide her relief. He could so easily have said no, and then, she’d have been lost. Oh, she’d have thought of a different plan, one with greater risks, perhaps, but the real hurt would have been to her heart. From their first meeting she’d felt a connection to Ty. Kismet. She hadn’t blamed him when he’d backed off at hearing about her wealthy background. The good guys did. She swallowed hot coffee and a shot of bitterness.

  Being the daughter of a billionaire wasn’t easy. Fabulous wealth didn’t so much insulate you, as isolate you. Which was why she was so loyal to The Club. Her friends in it didn’t see her money. They saw her.

  She put the cup down, drew a knee up and locked her fingers around it. She tended to gesture too much and reveal her nervousness, so locking her hands helped to give the impression of calm.

  Sitting near Ty helped, too. She didn’t think it was his military training, but part of him: a strong sense of self that gave certainty to his every action. Here in the mountains, he was as impressively himself as he’d been in the crowded Istanbul party or at the busy Dubai airport.

  “I went to an exclusive school just outside London,” she began abruptly. “It’s not an old school, as the British count age. It began in the late 1940s, soon after the end of the Second World War. I guess things had been shaken up. It was for children whose parents wanted to educate their kids privately, but without the burden of tradition. The school targeted wealthy parents from the beginning, but not just for money. The purpose was always to shape the next generation of powerbrokers.”

  She stopped. “I’m being honest, not dressing things up in politically correct language.”

  He nodded. “Is it a mixed school, boys and girls?”

  “Girls only.” She smiled. “Mum didn’t like that, but Gran insisted. Gran said I could meet boys any time—I have two brothers—but the chance to build a support network of girls in my situation only came once, while at school, and it shouldn’t be lost.”

  “In your situation?”

  “Filthy rich.”

  “Ah.”

  She knew she should let it go, that there were more important matters, but she turned to him anyway. “The money distorts everything. Some people see me as a walking bank, and they’re focused on how to crack it, crack me. Others, like you, are so freaked by the disparity in wealth that they just walk away. They let the money build a wall between me and the world.”

  “I wasn’t freaked.”

  “You felt the connection between us, the possibilities.”

  He met her gaze steadily. No evasion. “Yes. I also saw that your life experience and mine is too different. It’s not the money on its own, Yasmeen. It’s what it buys and what it protects you from. I have scars from what I’ve fought for, and you’re delicate.”

  She drew in a sharp breath. “Going back to the school.”

  “Go on.” He sipped coffee, as if their personal exchange hadn’t happened. As if he hadn’t just dismissed her.

  She stuffed her hurt away, concentrating on the scene. Sunlight caught the helicopter and glinted, white and glaring, off the metallic blue paint. A raven landed on one of the blades, incurably curious.

  “The school built its own traditions, and one of those is The Club. Students come from wealthy families around the world, but other children come on scholarship. Power isn’t simply money. It takes other forms: intelligence, charm, beauty, and connections. When we’re sixteen, some of us are quietly spoken to by girls who’ve graduated a couple of years earlier. They swear us to secrecy, tell us of The Club and invite us to join.”

  The memory of her own recruitment relaxed her. It had been proof that she was valued, and she’d lived up to that promise and challenge through the years.

  Ty was so wrong when he said she lacked scars.

  Reflexively, her hand touched her shoulder. She had to have her dresses cut a certain way to hide the puckered skin of a bullet wound. Plastic surgery could have hidden it, but she’d earned the scar.

  “Calling it The Club lets us talk about it anywhere. It’s such an innocuous title. If we’re overheard, no one pays any attention. But what we do is vital. We’re changing the world to make it safer for women and children. We have politicians, fighters, doctors, socialites, diplomats, analysts, journalists, photographers and financiers in The Club, and we’re all there because we want to make a difference, and we know that together we are stronger than our individual efforts.”

  “An Old Girls’ Network.” There was no derision in his tone, but the lack of emphasis, the neutrality of it, was its own statement. He didn’t understand how real and vital The Club’s work was.

  “An Old Girls’ Network.” Her tone mocked his words. “That successfully tracked your cellphone signal, locating you here, and put me in contact with another Club member’s aunt who lent me a helicopter to come here and find you. The aunt thought she was helping a romance, letting me surprise my American boyfriend.” Yasmeen released her death-grip on her knee. So what if she waved her hands around? The time for hiding who she was, was over. “I speak five languages fluently and have a degree in forensic science. I’ve been trained in fire arms and martial arts, and can survive in these mountains as well as you.”

  “Plus, you can fly a helicopter.”

  “Pardon?”

  He put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick hug. “I apologize. I misjudged you.”

  She stared at him, snared by the sincerity in his dark brown eyes, and enjoying the weight of his arm around her, the warmth.

  He bent towards her. “But why are you telling me your secrets?”

  “Because I trust you.” Those words came without thought. She paused, feeling the truth of her instincts settle deep; reveling in the rightness of trusting this man; of having him believe her. “Because I need your help.”

  He released her and tore a second piece of bread. “Tell me.”

  “I’m working with Interpol, pursuing a people smuggling ring.”

  He stopped chewing. Swallowed. “I really did misjudge you.”

  The moment was sweet. Suddenly, she was hungry. The barbari bread smelled delicious. She took a piece and savored the strong flavor of wheat, freshly-milled. She waved a hand. “My role in The Club is to be misjudged. If people dismiss me as a socialite, they don’t wonder about where I travel or how often my journeys take me near the world’s trouble spots.”

  “Your camouflage is perfect.”

  They smiled at each other. The promise of their first meeting danced in the air.

  “You should see our headquarters. A coffee shop in London.” She grinned. “Hipsters tried to take it over, but the owner is a Club member and she severely discouraged them. She banned beards!”

  Ty laughed, a low yet generous sound.

  She wanted to put a hand to his chest and feel his body shake with his laughter. She wanted to feel him shake with passion. Shake her with passion.

  She’d be thirty next year. Not old, but old enough to let the kids have their turn. It was time for her to assume other roles, influential rather than undercover operations, and to advise and guide rather than do.

  She waited for feelings of regret—and instead, felt anticipation. And a lot of that centered on the man beside her. He reminded her that there were other challenges in life, fundamental ones, that were joyously alive with possibilities.

  She finished her piece of bread and dusted her hands together before running them along the seams of her jeans.

  His eyes followed her movement, then snared with her gaze. Sensual awareness thrummed between them.

  “People smuggling.” She had to clear her t
hroat to get the words out.

  “And you need my help.”

  “Yes. I heard you’re a hydrologist. I need you to re-direct a river.”

  Ty shook his head, half-laughing again.

  Yasmeen was one surprise after another. But good surprises. Hopeful surprises.

  The air of the mountains was crisp and clear and filled his lungs with energy that flowed on through his veins. Intoxicating.

  “You want me to re-direct a river?”

  “It flows into the estate here in Iran where people are being held and forced to farm the land, and serve the owner of the estate. Seventy eight people. I intend to free them. Once they’re free and safe, the authorities can close in on the bastard running the place. The smugglers use his valley as a…a…holding pen. When they’ve accumulated a sufficient number of people, then they move them on, into Europe. They traffic them.”

  “Shouldn’t you let the authorities handle all of it?”

  “No. Information leaks. I want these people safe, not herded off to the next hidden estate. Or shot, as the smugglers cut their losses and move on. I can’t run the very real risk that the smugglers have informants among the Iranian police.” She put a hand on his knee. “All I need from you is a diversion, and the river is the obvious answer. It’s running full, so if it breaks its banks, no one would be immediately suspicious.”

  “How on earth will you move seventy odd people fast?”

  “The farm itself has two trucks. Once I’ve disabled the guards, we’ll head for town. In the circumstances, no one’s going to complain about riding in the back of a truck. Interpol is waiting for my signal to alert the Iranian police to the smugglers. We have our own contacts in the police who we trust to act on my information.”

  He looked at her steadily. “You’re going to go ahead with or without me, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. I’d place explosives and hope for the best.”

  “Reckless.”

  “A calculated risk.”

  He frowned. “I’d have to see the river first. See how it enters the valley.”

  She nodded. “We can’t fly over the valley, but I can get you close, and then, we trek in.” She paused, her excitement at his agreement fading. She stood and walked restlessly.

  “What else?” He watched her. For all that he fitted into the mountains, he also looked very modern. His clothes were new, his appearance very American and twenty first century.

  “I don’t want you to think I’m crazy.” She halted in front of him, felt awkward looking down at him, and crouched. “When I reconnoitered the estate, I sneaked into the main house, the owner’s residence. It’s an old stone fort that he’s renovated. I found his study.”

  This was difficult, far harder than confiding the secret of The Club. She stood again and went to pace.

  Ty leaned forward and gripped her booted ankle. “Spit it out.”

  She stared at his hand holding her, and then, at him. “I can read Arabic. He had old texts in there. Books on magic.”

  Ty released her ankle.

  She stayed where she was. She’d gotten this far, she just had to say it all. “I know it sounds crazy, Ty. But I think the smuggling guy is a magician.”

  Chapter Eight

  Yasmeen watched him, evidently waiting for his explosion of disbelief, but Ty was all out of incredulity.

  Obviously, he was an idiot. He’d trusted his instincts in everything except his response to her, and his instincts had been right. She was something special, someone amazing. It was his own pride that had got in the way. She might be rich, but he’d thought he had the edge in real world experiences. Yet you couldn’t get much more real than chasing people smugglers in the Iranian wilderness.

  He looked at her watching him with wide, apprehensive eyes. Did he believe in magic? He smiled. “Before yesterday, I might have questioned your sanity, but yesterday I freed a djinni.”

  There was a pause as she visibly struggled to process his words. Her mouth moved but no sound came out. Then she cleared her throat. “A djinni? You freed a djinni?”

  He brought Laila’s card out.

  Yasmeen stared at it. “Your djinni had a business card?”

  “She also had a dragon, who I didn’t meet.”

  Yasmeen’s stare shifted from the card to his face.

  He reached out and tipped her chin, closing her mouth.

  She pulled a face at him. “I barely believe in magic. I didn’t think you would.”

  “The dragon burned all my gear, then replaced it with new stuff.” He paused, flicking Laila’s card. “According to Laila, my djinni, the dragon was looking for a sorcerer.”

  “A sorcerer,” Yasmeen strung out the word. “A magician?”

  “There can’t be that many hiding out in the mountains.”

  “Mine’s a fair distance away.”

  “Probably not as dragons fly.”

  She blinked, then smiled. “Probably not.” She recovered fast.

  He was slower. Her smile dazzled him. He glanced down at the card he held. It was that, or kiss her. “I’ll call Laila.”

  Yasmeen put her hand over his. “What is she like?”

  He shrugged. “Friendly.”

  “Friendly?”

  “Yeah.” Friendly was definitely better than saying beautiful to describe another woman. He wasn’t that stupid.

  “She’s probably beautiful.”

  He grinned. That was Yasmeen: truth-seer and straight-talker. He punched in Laila’s number, then pocketed the card. “Laila?”

  “Ty.” Laughter lilted in her voice. “Are you checking I’m real?”

  “No. I believe you’re real. In fact…you know that sorcerer you were talking about? I think I’ve found him.”

  “What? Ty, be careful. Wherever you are, get out fast and quiet. No, wait. Is it safe? I’ll collect you.”

  “No! No, whooshing me anywhere. I’m nowhere near the sorcerer, I promise. Only, a friend’s found me where I camped last night and I—” He broke off as Laila appeared. He shut his phone. “Morning.”

  “Good morning.” But the djinni’s attention was on Yasmeen. The two women looked at one another, then seemed to reach a mutual conclusion. They smiled and shook hands, introducing themselves. “You don’t stink of sorcery at all,” Laila said.

  “Nice to know.” Yasmeen’s smile widened from friendly to amused.

  “I wanted to be sure, for Ty’s sake. Sorcerer’s are devious.”

  “As devious as a djinni?” A man popped into view: leanly muscled, tall and dark, one eye missing. “I thought we were partners in the search for the sorcerer, Laila?”

  “Darek.”

  There was frustration and something more, something Ty couldn’t identify in Laila’s voice. He was more concerned at how closely Yasmeen studied the stranger. Ty moved closer to her, protective and maybe a tad possessive.

  “Darek, this is Ty, the American you tried to incinerate. And this is his friend, Yasmeen. I was just about to discover what, if anything, they knew of a sorcerer. There can’t be more than one running around Iran unaccounted for.” Laila turned to Ty and Yasmeen, who’d moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with him. “Darek’s a dragon.”

  A dragon? Ty blinked.

  The dragon was impatient. “Where did you run into the sorcerer?”

  “Why should I tell you?” Yasmeen countered.

  Without hesitation, Darek replied. “Because he’s working with people smugglers and planning worse. Sorcerers always are.”

  “You know about the people smuggling?” Yasmeen took a step forward.

  “It’s what caught my attention and how I lost my eye. I was looking into things.”

  “As only dragons can.” Laila sounded amused. “He took his eye out and left it in Lahijan to watch for the sorcerer. The sorcerer stole it.”

  “We assume,” Darek corrected.

  Yasmeen stared at him. “How big are you in your dragon form?”

  “Thirteen feet at t
he shoulder.”

  “So your eye would be a corresponding size.” She indicated probable size with her curved hands. When Darek nodded, she took a deep breath. “I think I’ve seen your eye. A giant sapphire.”

  “Where?”

  “Inside the sorcerer’s house.”

  One moment they were standing on the mountainside. The next they were inside a massive room with a high ceiling, stone walls and comfortable furniture. A massive but empty fireplace occupied one wall. The air was desert-dry.

  “My home,” Darek said. “It’s well warded. Please, sit.”

  Yasmeen was wobbling a little on her feet, and quickly sat.

  Ty remained standing. “Do djinn and dragons whoosh people everywhere?”

  “Only when we’re panicked,” Laila said. She sat beside Yasmeen on a sofa. As she leant forward, an ornate tray appeared on the coffee table in front of them. She poured a steaming liquid into glasses. The scent of mint tea floated on the air.

  “Thank you.” Yasmeen curled her fingers around a glass.

  “Taking precautions is not panicking,” Darek said. He looked at Ty. “I should have warned you. My apologies.”

  Warned, not asked, Ty noted. But dragons that stood as high as a house and shifted into men probably had reason for arrogance. Even ones who’d lost an eye. Ty sat.

  Darek refused a glass of mint tea with a curt shake of his head. He stood by the fireplace. “Why were you in the sorcerer’s house? There is no stink of his magic on you. There can have been no compulsion.”

  Yasmeen sipped her tea. “I went there to reconnoiter. I knew him as a people smuggler.”

  “Ah.” Darek flung himself into a massive leather chair.

  Yasmeen and Darek exchanged information on people smuggling, the networks and chief actors they knew of, while Laila and Ty listened. It was obvious that the dragon cared as much as Yasmeen for the people traded and abused by the smugglers. That relaxed a tension in Ty. The dragon wasn’t just intent on reclaiming his eye, which meant Darek wouldn’t sacrifice Yasmeen or Laila to achieve his aims.