prologue
“Traitorous fucking bastard!”
Marty Mathews stared at her boss, division chief Vince Deer. eld with a hidden sense of surprise as he threw the thick .le on Khalid el Hamid Mustafa across the desk.
The dull, yellow folder hit, slid then fell from the desk to scatter loose sheets of information and pictures at her feet.
Khalid el Hamid-Mustafa. The bastard son of a Saudi sheikh suspected of terrorism. His father, Aziz Mustafa was a religious hard­liner, a man who ruled one of the more barren sections of Saudi Arabia, on the Iraq border. He had tarred his sons with his own brush and in doing so had subjected his bastard son, Khalid, to years of suspicion by the United States.
It was the reason Marty had been tailing Khalid for the past two years. As a FBI agent, one on the low end of the totem pole as far as her boss was concerned, Marty had been stuck playing babysitter and peeping Thomasina to one of the most sexually active men she had ever laid her eyes on.
A dark, brooding, dangerous man. There was no doubt in her mind that Khalid Mustafa would be a very dangerous man to cross.
If she had doubted it, then the information her godfather had given her over the past years would have con.rmed it.
There was a reason why she had never reported any of the more suspicious activities Khalid had engaged in. Quite simply, it was be­cause he engaged in them at the orders of her godfather, the director of the FBI.
“No comment?” Vince snarled, his heavy brows lowered, his hazel green eyes spitting .re and brimstone back at her.
“I’m the agent who’s followed him for the past two years,” she re­plied politely. “As my reports state, there’s no evidence to support the suspicion that Mr. Mustafa has any ties to a terrorist community.”
Vince threw himself back in his chair and glared at her now. That glare was nerve-racking. It boded ill to any agent on the receiving end of it. Unfortunately, she was the agent in question.
“Two years,” he snapped. “I gave you two years, Agent Mathews, to .nd just a shred of evidence to support the suspicions we have against him. Two years. I could have convicted a .ve-year-old with that amount of time on my hands.”
No doubt he could have, but on the other hand, he  wouldn’t have had a godfather who was director of the entire FBI going over his reports, editing them and deleting minor points that could have sup­ported that suspicion because Khalid was currently his favorite mole.
“A .ve-year-old  wouldn’t have the de cadent lifestyle Mustafa has.” She rolled her eyes at the thought of it. “I rather doubt the man has the time to consort with terrorists. He’s too busy playing with his little friends.”
That was more truth than .ction, actually, no matter how much her father liked to smile and deny it.
Her boss stared back at her as though she  were a slug under a rock that somehow had dared him to touch. The very fact that he couldn’t . re her without bringing down a heavy barrage of interest in his of­.ce was only the tip of the iceberg of reasons he hated her.
The man was slowly committing career suicide and didn’t seem to have a clue. Her godfather was Zachary Jennings, the director of the FBI and Deer.elds boss. She didn’t run crying to Daddy Zach, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t well aware of the treatment she had been receiving in this of.ce since being assigned to it.
“Well, you can stop protesting the assignment,” he bit out, his tone malevolent. “You’re off. The operation is dead in the damned water, thanks to your godfather and your incompetence. What did you do, go crying to him?”
Marty sat up straighter, a frown snapping between her brows at the accusation she had thought of only moments before. “I’ve never discussed this assignment with my godfather,” she informed him, bristling at the insult, but thanking God that her godfather had taught her how to lie when she was young. “And I stopped crying to him when I was three.”
“Then I don’t have to worry about a protest on my desk when I tell you that you have to be one of the lousiest agents I’ve ever had in my division,” he stated derisively.
“The only report you have to worry about is the one I may .le, sir.” Frost .lled her voice as she stared back at him, .ghting to hide her anger. “Perhaps it  wasn’t my lack of skill so much as your lack of foresight and inability to accept the fact that Mustafa is guilty of nothing but his own sexual excesses.”
She kept her tone respectful. She assured herself there was none of the animosity that brewed inside her leaking into her tone.
He sneered back at her, and it was all she could do to keep from telling him what a fruitcake he had become over the years.
His determination to .nd any shred of evidence that he could procure against Khalid had become a running joke within the of­.ce. He refused to listen to reason, refused to see that there was nothing to tie Khalid to any terrorist. Except those that her godfa­ther had him secretly meeting with.
Now  wasn’t that fucked up?
“My lack of foresight has never been an issue.” He rose to his feet and paced to the wide windows that gave views out over DC as he blew out a hard, disgusted breath. “Either way, the operation has been ordered shut down. You’re off the case, Mathews. You can be­gin the vacation you’ve been crying over for the past two years.”
Crying over? She rather doubted it. She had submitted the request the month before she had been assigned to Khalid, and had merely resubmitted it every six months. She deserved her vacation. She hadn’t had one in over three years.
“Thank you, sir.” She just barely managed to keep the mockery out of her voice.
Not that Director Deer.eld was fooled. He glared back at her as he clasped his hands behind his back and straightened his shoulders to stare down his hooked nose at her.
“You’re excused.” He grimaced, as though there was a smell that offended him. “I’ll see you back here in one month. Hopefully by then I can .nd an assignment worthy of your mediocre skills.”
Damn. She could wait longer than four weeks before returning to this of.ce or Deer.eld’s questionable mercies. The man was a . end. She would have nightmares while on vacation concerning her return.
“Thank you, sir.” Rising to her feet, she gave him a short-lived, less than sincere smile. “I’ll see you in a month.”
Marty turned on her heel and walked quickly to the door, desper­ate to get away from the malevolence she could feel pouring from her boss.
Running to her godfather  wasn’t going to be a problem though, be­cause she had a feeling her time at the agency was history. At the mo­ment, she was being courted by more than one private protection .rm and she was seriously considering one very lucrative offer. “Mathews.” The sound of his voice as she opened the door had her turning back.
“Yes, sir?” She kept her tone calm and even. It wouldn’t due to clue him in on the fact that he was the type of director that gave the bureau a bad name.
“Mustafa is part of your little social clique.” There was a sneer in his voice.
Marty’s brows arched. “He often socializes in the same circles as my parents and godfather,” she agreed, reminding him yet again that her father was a U.S. senator and her godfather was the director of the bureau. Her mother had been a federal judge before her retire­ment