Saving her guard, p.2
Saving Her Guard, page 2
Her heart raced and sweat popped along her hairline.
She had suspected that he would try to verify her identity. Any bodyguard who knew his job would security-clear their potential love interests. Because anyone who had direct access to him would indirectly have access to his client.
After about a minute, the Dapo on the phone must have verified Latifah’s fake name because Kojo said, “No problem. Thanks.” And puffed out what sounded like a relieved breath.
“Gotcha,” she murmured, a smirk curling her lips at a job well done so far.
It had been a challenging operation to plan, considering there were many factors out of their control. But one of her strengths was the ability to improvise and adapt according to the situation.
She shoved the laundry cart in the direction of the linen room where all the sanitised laundry were kept.
The real Grace Bello had given her the floor map and directions so nothing would go wrong.
With her cover, Latifah had to act like the laundry service employee she was impersonating to avoid suspicion.
First, she pulled the burner phone from her pocket and sent a quick coded message: TB. ST.
Translation: Target bugged. Stay tuned.
Returning the phone to her pocket, she unloaded the linen from the trolley and stacked them onto the shelves. A glance around showed that bed sheets were on a different side to the towels. So, she kept the same arrangements. She worked slowly, bidding her time until she got an opening to get to her actual work.
The party for the princess would not start for another twenty minutes even if she didn’t account for ‘African time’. Then the target needed to come downstairs and mingle before Latifah might get direct access to her. She had hours to kill.
But one thing she’d learned in her previous life as a covert agent was patience. She could spend weeks, even months, waiting for the right—the perfect—opportunity to strike.
Her phone pinged, and she pulled it out of her pocket and read the reply. RT.
Translation: Roger that.
Satisfied the rest of the team were on standby, Latifah listened to Kojo make his way upstairs. She could hear everything he did—the rustle of fabric with his movement, the beep of the elevator before he exited it. His greetings to people, probably the bodyguards outside the princesses’ suites.
There was the click of a door lock.
“Good evening, My Princess,” Kojo said
Latifah pictured him bowing as he greeted the royal.
“Oh, Kojo. There you are.”
Latifah recognised Princess Isha’s cheery voice.
“Now, we’re talking,” Latifah muttered under her breath as her pulse rate spiked. She’d known it would be a great idea to bug the bodyguard. He was literally the key to unlocking the kingdom or, in this case, opening the princess’s gilded cage so she could be stolen.
“What do you think about these shoes?” Princess Isha’s said.
“They both look lovely,” Kojo replied.
“That’s no help at all,” Isha said in an amused voice. “The stylist thinks I should wear this one. But I like this one.”
“I’m really not the best person to ask,” Kojo replied.
“You don’t say.” Latifah shook her head as she chuckled.
Men. They had no clue. If a woman asked a man’s opinion, it was generally to confirm what she already wanted.
“But I think you should go with the shoe you preferred as you’re the one wearing them, not the stylist,” Kojo continued speaking.
Latifah gasped, and warmth crept across her chest.
Kojo surprised her with that bit of insight. Perhaps the man understood women just a little.
“Thank you, Kojo.” The princess sounded satisfied with his response, same as Latifah.
“You’re welcome, Your Highness. If you will excuse me, I need to get ready too.”
“Of course. Go ahead.”
Fabric rustled as Kojo moved. Then Latifah heard a door open and close. His room must be attached to the princess’s suite by a connecting door as he didn’t go back into the corridor from the sounds of it.
He opened something and closed it. Then poured liquid into a glass. Water? The sound of shrink-wrap popped, the way tablet popped from a foil wrapper. A gulping sound followed. He was drinking the liquid.
She froze, hand on the shelf, unease worming into her belly.
Did he take a pill? Was he feeling unwell?
There was nothing in his dossier about an underlying health condition. He was a healthy, fit male in his 30s. In his prime.
So, whatever he took would be for something temporary, perhaps some physical ache. A headache?
The royal’s schedule for the week had been hectic, which meant Kojo’s schedule would be twice as busy.
“Poor darling,” she whispered, feeling sympathy for him.
He was just an ordinary person doing his job. Of course, she felt some sympathy for him, especially considering the shitstorm she was about to rain down on him.
Darling? Really, Latifah? Admit it. You’re attracted to him.
Latifah puffed a sigh at the little voice in her head.
One of the side effects of being a lone wolf and working a lot by herself. She had whole-ass conversations with herself. Some would call that insanity. She would say it kept her sane.
But maybe, she was losing her damn mind if she referred to her target as ‘darling’.
Yes, she was attracted to Kojo. Had been pleasantly surprised at the heat of arousal that swarmed her body when she’d seen him face-to-face. The way he’d looked at her had confirmed he felt the same way.
There was nothing sexier than knowing that the person you craved also craved you.
She smiled now, remembering the way he’d chased after her to find out her name.
So yes, she would admit to having a thing for Kojo Hamadou. There was no shame in it. Two consenting adults and all that jazz.
Kojo was an attractive man. Not in a conventional way. He wasn’t a pretty boy like some of the princes in the Royal House of Saene. His nose was a touch too broad, too flat and with a pointy tip for his face to ever be considered pretty.
She wasn’t into pretty men, anyway.
No, Kojo seemed to be precisely what she liked. He was a big, brawling man with skin the colour of ebony, about two shades darker than her skin tone. Legs like tree trunks. Body like a brick wall. Observant eyes that watched her as if no one else existed for the few minutes she’d spoken to him. And full lips she wanted to taste.
Shame that wasn’t going to happen.
The sound of running water caught her attention. Sounded like a tap pouring into a sink. She’d head the tinkle into the WC, and now he was washing his hands.
A hygienic man. She liked that. Her smile widened.
She’d tailed enough men to know that many of them didn’t wash their hands after using the toilet. Disgusting, the lot of them.
Exactly the reason she never shook strangers’ or acquaintances’ hands when she could help it.
Kojo hadn’t extended his hand for a shake earlier. She would have refused, although she’d wanted the contact. But she’d compensated by caressing his body and the hard bulge in his trousers.
Damn, he was loaded.
Desire flared in her gut, making her nipples harden. She really could use a good tumble between the sheets. Or out of it. She didn’t really care too much about having sex in bed. Any flat surface would do—wall, table, floor. As long as it involved pleasure and her favourite brand of…
More fabric rustling in her ear distracted her from the lustful thoughts.
Kojo was changing his clothes.
Shit.
Would he remove the trousers with the bug attached? If he did, then she wouldn’t be able to track his movements. This meant she wouldn’t be able to track the royal either.
The reason she’d planted the device on him was to keep tabs on Princess Isha’s whereabouts through Kojo. Wherever Kojo was tonight, the royal would not be far from him.
Latifah had a spare device in case she needed to bug him again. She’d planned for the eventuality when she’d pretended to accidentally bump into him outside the ballroom.
When she’d seen that he was wearing formal black trousers, she’d hoped it would be the same attire he wore for the party, although his shirt had been pink, not the white required for the event.
However, it was more important that he didn’t discover the transmitter. If he did, he would become suspicious, and she might not get the opportunity to get close enough to plant a second device on him.
Now, heart racing, she listened as he dressed.
The sounds from the mic didn’t change in relation to his body. So, he must still have the trousers on, although he’d changed his shirt. She heard the soft sighs of the buttons slipping into place. A swish indicated he’d shrugged on a jacket, perhaps.
Beeping like fingers on an electronic keypad, then a pop. The hotel safe?
A slid of metal and a click.
Latifah would recognise that sound anywhere.
Kojo was checking his handgun—the chamber and the magazine. Followed by a soft, whispery slid. He’d just holstered the weapon.
Okay. He would be armed. Good to know.
There had been no weapons on him earlier when they’d interacted. She’d patted him down surreptitiously while she’d groped him as a distraction.
The squeak of a door made Latifah look up and straighten.
A young, dark-skinned man in a busboy uniform walked into the linen room.
She recognised him. Bem. They met when she arrived at the hotel, posing as an employee of the laundry service company the hotel used. She’d told Bem she was covering for a staff member who was off sick. The same staff member whose name she’d given Kojo.
Kojo didn’t know Latifah or the Grace woman. And as she’d expected, using the ‘Grace’ name meant she could be security-verified for the upcoming event a lot quicker than giving a random fake name with no hotel service history.
As long as none of the staff mentioned her fake name in Kojo’s presence, everything would be fine.
“All these people that do nonsense. Oh…” Bem trailed off when he saw her, eyes going wide. “It’s Aisha, right?”
“Yes,” Latifah said, not volunteering anything else. The less information she gave, the less likely her cover would be blown. She focused on him instead and asked in a concerned voice. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes. Well, not really. Front desk called. Apparently, there are blood stains on the bed sheets in room 4-0-7. I swear that was changed already today. Now, I have to go and change them again.”
The room he mentioned gave her an idea. She’d already surveyed the hotel layout months ago after they’d found out it would be the party venue. But there was no harm in checking out the floor where the princesses and their entourages were booked. Whoever was in room 4-0-7 was probably one of them. Who knew what she would find out?
“I can imagine the hassle,” she said sympathetically. “I can help you change the sheets if you like.”
If she went walking around the rooms by herself, someone might stop her and ask questions. But if she was with Bem, who had clearance, it should be easier. Plus, he had a master key which she needed.
“Oh. You want to help.” He smiled at her.
“Sure. I don’t mind.” She touched the linen. “What do you need?”
“Great. Thank you.” He glanced down at the digital device in his hand. “I need queen size bottom sheet and top sheet. Quilt cover and pillowcases.”
He grabbed a small trolley with cleaning equipment already loaded.
She stacked the linen on top and pushed the trolley. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“Okay.” He led the way out, down the corridor and into the service lift.
She held onto the trolley. It provided a cover and meant people didn’t really get a proper look at her. All they would see was a cleaner pushing a trolley.
When they entered the lift, Latifah asked Bem about how long he’d been working here. He seemed happy to oblige.
While nodding to his nonstop chatter, she half-listened to the earpiece.
Kojo was now back in Isha’s suite. From the buzz of conversations, other people were there, including Princess Amara, Isha’s friend. It seemed they were waiting for the ballroom to fill with guests before heading downstairs.
Latifah and Bem exited the lift on the fourth floor. She allowed the tresses of hair and pile of sheets to obstruct her face.
4-0-7 was closer to the lift than 4-1-8, but she could see down the corridor.
Two beefy men with puffed out chests in black suits and white shirts stood at attention outside what she assumed was Princess Isha’s suite. They seemed to be having a conversation and glanced in her direction. She didn’t stare directly at them, keeping her gaze averted as Bem knocked on the door to 4-0-7. When there was no reply, he slotted his electronic key in the lock and popped the door open.
He took a plastic wedge from the trolley and propped the door so it stayed open.
Latifah went inside and started stripping the bed with Bem, who continued chatting nonstop. She tuned out of his chatter and listened to the earpiece. She needed to know when Kojo and co would be coming out.
All of a sudden, there was a burst of activity and conversation in the hallway. Kojo and the entourage were heading downstairs.
Latifah straightened just as the first group went past the room door.
The bodyguards that had been outside the doors went past first. Then an elegantly glamourous woman in a cream cocktail dress. Princess Amara.
Latifah used the distraction to slip her hand into Bem jacket pocket and withdrew the master key while his attention was focused on the hallway.
Then two more bodyguards followed by Kojo and Princess Isha in a red ballgown.
As they went past, Kojo glanced into room 4-0-7. His gaze collided with Latifah’s. He didn’t falter or halt.
Her breath caught as his dark eyes widened with recognition.
Then he was gone.
Only a brief sighting, yet excitement sizzled down her spine, and her heart pounded against her chest. Adrenaline surged inside her.
Seeing him again like this could be dangerous. Yet the possibility was a thrilling aphrodisiac in her veins. It was an awful shame she would not get to fuck the man. Such a damned shame.
But she had a job to do and a princess to kidnap.
She glanced at Bem, who still seemed awestruck. “I’m going to leave you to finish off. I still have work to do downstairs. Is that okay?”
She didn’t really care if it was okay with him. But she had to make as little wave as possible. People tended to remember someone who annoyed them. And she didn’t want to be remembered. Not by Bem or any member of the hotel staff. Nothing beyond what she projected, at least.
“Ehm. Of course. I will finish here. Thank you.” Bem replied.
“Good.” Latifah pushed the trolley and hurried towards the service lift.
The real fun and games were about to begin.
Chapter 3
Standing perfectly still was one of the most natural things for Kojo to do.
Like he was doing this very moment, arms at his back to the beige wall of the glittering ballroom of an exclusive hotel in Lagos.
Around him, the place bustled with merriment at the pre-bachelorette party for First Princess Isha Saene, who was his principal assignment.
His eyes scanned the space in perpetual motion to ensure that nothing was out of place, nobody misbehaving.
The ballroom was full of foreign and local high society. Business moguls and movie stars. Afrobeat artists and international athletes. Celebrities and the crème de la crème. Everything glittered. Women in beautiful expensive gowns and diamond-encrusted jewellery. Men in tuxedos and gold watches.
Kojo was also in a suit—a specially tailored black two-piece with enough space in the jacket to conceal the shoulder holster for the handgun and hidden pockets for the tools of his trade.
One of the perks of being the primary protection officer of the First Princess of Bagumi Kingdom was that he received a clothing allowance as part of his generous benefits package. It translated to having his work clothes—suits mostly—made to be functional and classy by the royal tailors.
So, he generally blended into any crowd where the princess was present because he dressed the part. However, the fact that he was six-foot-five and built like a rugby prop—a position he played for the royal guards’ team—meant he stood out in most crowds.
Still, the elite, invitation-only guest list warranted significant security, which was why he was here along with the team from Cruz Security Solutions. The Cruz team oversaw Princess Amara’s protection. She was Princess Isha’s friend and the host of the event.
Cold air blasted from the air conditioners. The vast, open windows showed the spotlighted green grassy lawn vista, starry cobalt skies, and indigo waves crashing against white sands.
“Kenny, how’s it going at your end?” Kojo spoke into the mouthpiece of the thin headset attached to his left ear.
“All quiet on this end,” Kenny Cruz’s deep voice came through the earpiece. He was the owner of the security firm. Kojo had known him for over nine years since he started working as Princess Isha’s bodyguard. The two men collaborated for occasions like this when their two principals were together or away from home.
“Quiet is exactly how I like it,” Kojo replied in a light tone.
Although quiet wasn’t referring to the sounds of the party. Instead, it was about everyone behaving themselves, at least no more than what people did at parties.
“Kojo,” another voice said in his ear. Luke, another bodyguard, and a Cruz employee. “A server is coming your way to refresh the drinks.”
A woman in a black shirt and skirt approached, carrying a magnum of champagne. The blue tagged wristband on her left arm showed she was one of the approved servers for the princesses. They couldn’t afford to have the drinks tampered with.
