She made a show of considering that statement. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”
“So, aside from kissing dogs-” he kept the conversation going “-what else do you do in Lexington?”
“Tennis.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “There are courts in the park down the street, and a group of us in the condo development that like to play.”
“We’ve got some nice courts in Windsor.”
“On the little estate?”
Was it his imagination, or was there a thread of disdain in that question?
“Yes, on the estate. Do you have something against private tennis courts?”
“They take up a lot of space.”
“We have a lot of space.”
“I don’t. But I’m thinking of putting in a gazebo some day.”
“We have a nice gazebo.” He couldn’t stop himself from hoping she’d decide to come for a visit.
“Is there anything you don’t have in Windsor?”
He could think of one thing. Her. But he wasn’t about to say that out loud. “We don’t have an orchard.”
She sighed expansively. “How
“Quit being such a reverse snob. It’s a nice estate.”
“Apparently it needs an orchard.”
“Cherry trees,” said Harrison decisively. “Acres of little white blossoms followed by plump, purple, Bing cherries.”
“You could hang a swing from one of the trees.”
“That would be nice.”
“And your perfect daughter, in her little white dress and patent leather shoes, could swing back and forth while she watched you play tennis.”
“I’d beat you,” he said, putting Julia into the fantasy. “I’ve had lessons, and I have a longer reach.”
“You think I’m coming all the way to Windsor to play tennis?”
Harrison immediately realized what he’d done.
“Or I could come to Lexington,” he offered, to cover up the blunder.
“How often do you play?”
“Once or twice a month.”
“Ha! You’re on.” There was satisfaction in her voice. “I play three times a week.”
“Really? I’m up for a match. Care to make it a little interesting?”
She leaned up on her elbow. “What did you have in mind?”
He matched her posture. “You win, I build you a gazebo. I win, you name your dog Harrison.”
“You’d build me a gazebo? As in, cutting boards and hammering nails?”
“More along the lines of write a check to a carpenter,” he said honestly. “But, yes, I’d build you a gazebo.”
She smiled, and he realized in that moment that he’d do pretty much anything to make her happy. The realization was both exhilarating and frightening.
Julia struggled against cold, hard terror as they crossed the airport terminal, heading for the security check-in. She was about to present herself to the very people who’d been hunting her down. And all she had for protection was a little red book, along with Harrison’s assurance that the men with the guns would respect it.
“This way,” said Harrison, pointing to a short lineup off to one side of the security area designated for diplomats.
She felt like an imposter.
“Relax,” he murmured.
She nodded, but she could feel the sweat gathering on her palms.
They walked quickly up to the wicket, and Harrison handed the uniformed man both passports.
The guard swiped Harrison’s through a machine and pressed a button on his keyboard. He stared at the screen for a moment, pressed another button, stamped the passport and handed it back.
Then he swiped Julia’s.
His eyes narrowed, and he looked up at her.
He said something to Harrison in Arabic.
Harrison answered and produced their marriage certificate.
The man read the document. He typed something into his keyboard, and she could see the exact second he found her old identity.
He must have pressed some kind of secret alarm, because three more security guards descended on the little kiosk.
Harrison snagged her hand and squeezed. “Don’t worry,” he muttered.
She was past worrying. She’d gone straight to petrified. This was it. They were going to arrest her here and now.
The guards seemed to be arguing amongst themselves.
One of the new guards picked up a phone.
She wanted to ask Harrison what they were saying. But she was too afraid of the answer. All she could do was stand mute and watch four stern-looking Arabs decide her fate.
The guard set down the phone.
He shot a rapid-fire question at Julia.
Harrison answered.
He asked another.
Harrison’s expression and stance didn’t waver. He provided another answer.
That guard looked at Julia’s passport.
He read the marriage certificate.
Finally, scowling, he banged the stamp down on her passport and handed everything back to Harrison.
Harrison put an arm firmly around her shoulders and ushered her past the kiosk.
She didn’t say a word as they rounded the corner and moved out of sight.
“You’re through,” said Harrison with a squeeze.
Her legs were shaking, and she didn’t think she was capable of forming an actual word.
They turned down a narrow hallway and came to a podium with another guard.
“What’s this?” she asked hoarsely.
“Relax. We’re done. This is only to get into the private boarding gates. We’re taking my jet.”
“You have a jet?”
“I have a jet.” He gave his passport to the guard.
The man checked a list, smiled at Harrison, and let them through.
Julia couldn’t help looking back over her shoulder.
But nobody was coming after her.
She was out of the UAE.
She was going home.
Chapter Fifteen
Julia had always been intimidated by the Prestons’ sprawling brick house. But having experienced the palace at Cadair, she now realized Melanie’s mother, Jenna, had made the large house homey, even intimate with her old-world decorating touches. Where Cadair was cavernous as a museum, the Preston house was filled with cushions, pottery and horse pictures.
As they often did, some of the family members had gathered in the large room behind the west veranda. The outside lights showed a windswept, leaf-strewn deck with light rain falling. But inside it was warm, and the wide- screen television broadcasted a Formula Gold night race out of California.
