Page 59 of Serve ’N’ Protect

Pretending calm that he didn’t feel in the slightest, Markus tossed the curled passport on the coffee table. “Why?”

Mansfield looked at his clasped hands but didn’t say anything.

“Answer the question, dammit.”

“You saw us,” he answered, so softly Markus almost didn’t hear him. “In the car that night at the party.”

Cassidy was right. Whatever the hell was going on had something to do with the couple he and Jack had interrupted. “So?” he prodded, still having no clue as to why witnessing two men making out was an issue.

Mansfield’s hands tightened until his knuckles whitened and cracked. “I couldn’t risk the chance that either of you would go to the tabloids.”

“Why would we do that?” Markus began tapping his finger on the side of his leg. The missing piece of the puzzle still hadn’t fallen into place and he was getting impatient.

“I told you I murdered your colleague and tried to kill you, too.” The look on Mansfield’s face turned to one of abject misery as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I confess. I did it. That’s all there is to it.”

“Bullshit.” Markus knew there had to be more. “A man doesn’t just up and commit murder because he was caught making out. I’ll ask you again, and this time I want a straight answer.” He gritted his teeth so hard his gums squealed in protest. “Why were you so worried we’d go to the tabloids that you felt the need to kill us?”

“You don’t understand. None of you could possibly understand.” Mansfield began shaking his head. “Not every country openly approves same-sex relationships. Saudi Arabia is one of the last holdouts in which there is legal precedent for the death penalty as the prescribed punishment for same-sex sexual acts.”

“You’re American,” Markus said, narrowing his eyes.

“My lover is not.”

“I get it. He’s from Saudi Arabia. We already know that. But why would you automatically assume that we would go to the tabloids just because a Saudi on American soil is in a homosexual relationship?”

“Bodyguards feed stories to the tabloids all the time. I couldn’t take the chance.” He sat back, resignation written all over his face. “Have you ever been in love, Officer York? I mean, really in love?”

Markus’s heart squeezed with uncertainty. Even if he had a mind to gush his personal feelings to a murderer, which he didn’t, he wasn’t capable of answering the question because he didn’t know. Cassidy’s lovely face shimmered front and center in his mind, her golden hair glistening in the sun and her ocean-blue eyes shining up at him. Would he even know love if and when it ever happened for him?

“When you’re in love,” Mansfield continued, smiling grimly, “you’ll do anything to protect that person. Anything.”

That’s exactly what he’d felt for Cassidy when he’d seen her lying at the base of her stairs, semi-conscious. A hundred burglars armed with machine guns could have rushed the door and he would have protected her with his life.

Rather than answer the question, Markus growled, “Go on.”

“My lover is a very important person, and not just to me. If his sexual preference were to be made public, there would be…recrimination. Humiliation. Perhaps death.”

Markus exchanged looks first with Kade, who shrugged, then Matt, who arched a speculative brow. Meaning, like him, they thought something about Mansfield’s romantic explanation still didn’t jibe enough to kill for. And Markus’s patience was worn as thin as a tissue.

“Who is your lover? And don’t tell us it’s Mohammed Al-Amri. We know he wasn’t in the country the day of that party. You both lied about that.”

Mansfield dragged a hand down his face. “Mohammed Al-Amri is a friend. He agreed to help me out by saying it was him in the car with me that night.”

“Then who was in the car with you?” When Mansfield didn’t answer, Markus took a deep breath, struggling to hold back the tidal wave of frustration. A murder confession was one thing, but even a federal prosecutor would hesitate to indict without knowing the motive. Clearly, Mansfield was of sound mind and not some raving lunatic. Whoever his lover was, he—

A quick flash of the overwhelming joy on Mansfield’s face when the limo with the diplomatic tags had pulled up to the mansion and discharged its passengers tugged at his memory.

Christ. Now he understood. The missing piece of the puzzle he’d been searching for snapped into place louder than a bullet being racked into a chamber.

Mansfield’s lover was an important person, so much so that if he were actually put to death it would have international implications, some even affecting the United States as a nation.

He locked eyes with the man who’d tried to kill him. Unspoken understanding must have transferred to Mansfield. For the first time tonight, the man’s expression turned fearful. He really wasn’t afraid for himself.

“You’re having an affair with Faisal bin Abdulaziz—the crown prince of Saudi Arabia.” It was a statement, not a question.

Mansfield swallowed, his throat working faster now. “We met six years ago at the U.N. He procured me the position at the embassy to make it easier for us to meet privately without it being questioned.”

Cassidy was right. The abnormality of an American working at the Saudi embassy was something he should have investigated further.