Page 60 of Serve ’N’ Protect

“Faisal’s father is quite ill,” Mansfield continued in a shaky voice. “It’s only a matter of time before the crown prince becomes king. If this were to come out, it would be devastating. Faisal would never be permitted to take over the throne when his father steps down. He would be shunned by his family. If he isn’t executed outright, they might force him to leave the country.”

For the most part, Markus didn’t follow international politics much. What little he did know was that under the king’s regime, Saudi-American diplomacy had been strained at best. The crown prince had visited the U.S., specifically the White House, more frequently of late, partly, he now suspected, to see his lover, but also to make known his significantly more progressive socio-economic stance in the world of politics.

“Does the crown prince know what you did? Was he behind all this?” If so, there wouldn’t be anything Markus could do to stop this from snowballing into an international incident.

“No!” Mansfield leaped to his feet.

Kade and Matt went for the guy, but Ghost beat them to it, lunging across the table to plant his front paws on the man’s chest and push him back onto the sofa.

“Release!” Markus shouted, pushing to his feet. Another second and his dog would clamp his teeth around Mansfield’s neck, crushing his windpipe.

Ghost didn’t budge, nor did he bite. He remained standing on his hind legs, growling with his lips curled back and his paws now on Mansfield’s shoulders.

Gently, Markus rested his hands on Ghost’s back, stroking his thick coat. “Easy, boy. Release. Release.” Behind him, Matt and Kade moved closer to assist if needed.

Muscles quivered beneath Markus’s fingers, then Ghost pivoted and returned to the rug as if nothing had happened. In his dog’s mind, it was game over. Markus wished he could turn his own emotions on and off so easily. As much as he wanted Ghost to administer his own brand of canine justice by using Mansfield’s throat as a chew toy, he needed the guy alive and capable of speech so his confession could be recorded for the courts.

“If I were you,” Markus suggested drily, “I wouldn’t make any more sudden moves.”

Mansfield’s entire body shook as he cringed, eyeing Ghost warily. He crawled to the far end of the sofa, looking like he wanted to disappear into the cushions.

Markus sat, relieved to be off his feet again. His body ached and his strength was waning fast. “Now, where were we? Oh, yeah. The crown prince. Does he know anything about this?”

Remaining where he was, Mansfield shook his head. “I never told him anything, before or after. He doesn’t know. I swear it. There’s no reason for this to be made public. I beg of you, think of the implications.”

Markus was thinking of the implications.

The crown prince of a nation that disavowed homosexual relationships getting outed in conjunction with a murder investigation would make international headlines. Worse, he couldn’t imagine getting put to death simply because he loved someone. Mansfield was not only pleading for his lover’s reputation but for the man’s life.

Cassidy. They weren’t lovers, but he imagined that if they were, that if he harbored such strong emotions about her, he wouldn’t hesitate to beg, borrow, steal, or plead for her life, too.

I must be going soft. Smitten-soft. Because some inner part of him understood what Mansfield had done. Not that he would murder innocent people, but he felt an absurd, sympathetic connection to the guy, and how messed up was that? Mansfield would spend the rest of his life in a federal prison for his crimes.

“Did you try to shoot me in Leonardtown, outside the hospital?”

He closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“How did you find me?” His location had been a closely guarded secret. If there was a leak in the agency, they needed to know who it was.

“I saw you on television,” Mansfield admitted. “Tammy Teague was at the hospital that day, and the press was camped outside. You were in a wheelchair. I wasn’t sure it was you, at first, but photos of you and your dog were all over the news. It was easy.”

That was true. But his and Jack’s names weren’t. So how did—

Another piece of a damned complicated puzzle dropped into place like an anvil. It was the letter, the one McMurray had given him from the Saudi embassy. “You asked the Secret Service for our names so you could send us a letter of gratitude for working the party. That’s how you got our names, isn’t it?”

Mansfield nodded. “Yes.”

Once he had their names, it couldn’t have been hard to find out where he lived. Nothing was sacred these days. The internet made it frighteningly easy, no matter how many safeguards were in place. “Where’s the gun?”

“Locked in my desk inside the embassy.”

The embassy was smack dab in the middle of the capitol but, legally speaking, it was an extension of Saudi Arabia. Foreign soil. In other words, they’d still need a search warrant to retrieve the weapon. If the Saudis refused to cooperate and voluntarily turn over the gun, the red tape to retrieve it could take years.

He looked at the glass case over the fireplace. “Which one did you use?”

Mansfield let out a heavy sigh. “The gold one. Top right.”

The one that had entered the country in a diplomatic pouch.