Acquiring Trouble

family."
    "And?" Khan said coldly. "I am responsible for this?"
    "No, of course not. See, while Laurel was in law school, she worked with the Justice Project. They're the ones who try to get—"
    "I know what they do," Khan said impatiently. "They work to set aside the sentences of those who've been wrongly imprisoned."
    "Yeah. Well, Laurel started up something similar, except her idea was to get justice for victims like this poor girl."
    "I can almost hear you saying 'but.'"
    "But," Travis said, "there was some kind of hush-hush diplomatic intervention in Washington, way up the food chain, on behalf of a couple of small, wealthy, oil-rich countries. Laurel's funding was shut down; the couple of D.C. politicos who'd shown an interest in what she was doing suddenly went deaf, dumb, and blind—"
    "In other words, yes, I am responsible because I am from a small, wealthy, oil-rich country."
    "No!" Travis threw out his hands. "All I'm saying is, if you try to see this from Laurel's side of the fence—"
    "Am I the ruler of some hellish piece of earth whose name nobody can pronounce?" Khan had said in white-lipped fury. "Does my nation treat women that way? Do I have anything to do with such barbarism?"
    "Of course not. But—"
    Khan had raised his hand. "Travis. It wasn't your fault. Let's drop it."
    "Sure," Travis had said, after a long, deep breath. "Okay. We'll drop it. Come back inside. Have a drink. Let me introduce you to some other people."
    "In a minute."
    Travis had started to say something. Then he'd shrugged, clapped a hand on Khan's shoulder, and gone back inside the house.
    Twenty minutes, perhaps more, had gone by, and he was still on the patio, anger burning a hole in his gut.
    He hated what had just happened.
    And hated that it had happened before.
    Not the same sort of accusation, no, but he'd been judged by outsiders who didn't know him or his nation or his people. He'd been spoken of as if he were a medieval monster.
    And yes, he knew there were places were women were still thought of as property, treated as second-class citizens, that though his father had never physically abused his mother, the way autocratic way he'd dealt with her might well be the reason she'd run away and died in the sudden sandstorm that had sent her car spinning, finally burying it in the ever-shifting, endless sands of the desert…
    What was he doing?
    So what if Laurel Cruz thought she knew all there was to know about him? So what if she believed his cultural beliefs were those of a barbarian?
    The only barbaric thing about him was that a few minutes ago, he'd thought of her and sex in the same instant, but what could you expect of a man who'd been going, non-stop, for God knew how many hours?
    Exhaustion was equally barbaric.
    He needed some rest. A long, hot shower instead of the quick under-the-spray, out-of-the-spray thing that had been all he'd had time for in the bathroom on his private plane. He needed some time alone where he could be himself, not a man cursed with a hatful of titles.
    He took a deep breath. Ran a hand through his hair. Straightened his maroon silk tie, his dark blue Savile Row suit jacket.
    Good. Excellent. He was much calmer now.
    All he lacked was a smile, and he managed that just as he walked into the living room. Caleb, Jake and Travis were waiting, looking as if they were ready to pick up the pieces.
    "Khan?" Jake said. "You okay?"
    "I'm fine."
    "You sure? Because we can end everybody home—"
    "No. Why would you do that?" He glanced around him. Excellent. No one was looking at him, which surely meant that no one had noticed the little scene that had taken place earlier. And Laurel Cruz was gone. That was even better. "Give me a minute to wash up. Then I want to meet the rest of your guests."
    "Sure. The downstairs lav is—"
    "I remember where it is." Khan clapped Jake on the back, flashed smiles at Travis and Caleb. "I'll be right back."
    What he needed was to splash his face with cold water, because he wasn't quite as calm as he'd insisted. If he were, he wouldn't have found himself looking for the Cruz woman…
    And there she was, in the foyer, standing with her back to him as she put on a tan leather jacket.
    Did she somehow sense his presence? She must have, because she went still. Then, slowly, she swung around and looked at him.
    Her eyes widened.
    Just for an instant, she looked wary.
    Then she clutched the edges of her lapels. Her chin rose, her gaze zeroed in on his. It was a