He strolled into her room, kicking closed her door. His pale blue eyes raked her nearly nude body, lingering on her big breasts and rouged nipples. “Because I have a navy full of inept fools to manage, a goddamned war with the Americans to oversee. Because”—he caught her wrist and whipped her close—“it pleases me.”
Zoe wiggled against him; he was growing hard. “Let me go, Peter.”
“Why? You summoned me to fuck you.”
“Maybe I summoned you to talk.” She scowled. But pressed herself against him.
He laughed once, harshly, and released her. “Very well, we’ll fuck later. Let’s talk. Why are you so smug and self-satisfied? What have you been up to today?”
Zoe folded her arms. “Why should I tell you—when you are so mean to me?”
He also crossed his arms, amused. “Because you won’t get what you want from me if you don’t—and I shall give it to someone else, perhaps the German, Hilda.”
Zoe flew at him, fingers extended, her long nails glinting bloodred. Before she could rake her nails down his face, he caught her wrists. She struggled briefly and went still. “Zohara’s days are numbered.”
“Really? So you are poised to destroy your favorite enemy? I never doubted that you would, darling. But why should I care?”
“You should care because it is very likely that she is a spy.” Zoe smiled at him.
“Explain.”
“Her slave is in contact with Neilsen. This morning he went to the Dane and delivered a letter.” Zoe was not going to tell him about the sack. Just as she was not about to tell him that Zohara might also be a time traveler as well as a spy. Zoe was uncertain, but she was determined to unravel the puzzle one way or the other. But Jovar would laugh at her in a very condescending manner if he ever knew that she was even considering the possibility that Zohara was from the future.
“You did not intercept the letter?” he demanded.
“My spies were told to watch only.”
Jovar paced. His blond hair was almost the same color as the moonlight spilling into the bedchamber. “I am not surprised. We need to learn what Preble is planning. I shall plant spies within the harem as well. After their damned attack on thePhiladelphia.I cannot allow him another victory.” Jovar’s jaw flexed. Zoe knew he was thinking about the public whipping ordered by the bashaw. He had not been able to sleep with her for two full weeks. “Does Jebal know?”
“He is suspicious, but not completely convinced.” Zoe told Jovar about how Jebal had ordered Zohara’s room searched. “You think she is a spy for the Americans?”
“Of course. Whom else would she be spying for?” Jovar said, pacing restlessly.
Zoe hesitated. She knew what Cameron did not know—that Blackwell was convinced she was the enemy—and spying for someone else. “Peter?”
He turned. “Yes?”
“Blackwell does not agree.”
Jovar started. “What?”
Zoe managed not to smile. “Blackwell. He thinks she is a spy—but not for his country.”
Jovar reached her in a stride and hauled her up against him, shaking her. Zoe cried out. “What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded viciously. “Blackwell vanished ten months ago!”
“No,” Zoe said breathlessly. “He is here, inside the harem.”
Jovar’s eyes widened. “You are sure? You have seen him?”
“Yes,” Zoe said with a hiss of satisfaction.
Jovar stared, but clearly he did not see Zoe. He was thinking about his dearest enemy. After a long moment, he released her. And he smiled, slowly.
34
MURAD HAD PROCUREDsome red wine for her. Alex had not drunk any alcohol since arriving in Tripoli two years ago, but in spite of that, she did not feel pleasant or comfortable or relaxed. Her heart raced wildly. She was trapped, about to pay the piper, and she knew it with certainty and dread.
Jebal watched her enter his bedroom.
