Royal Protocol
Royal Protocol
Dana Marton
Royal Protocol
Dana Marton
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u6e8beeac-1e9c-56c6-a1c7-8a3c4bd78a02)
Title Page (#u6bf5d6df-0273-5a66-8548-f2ceac775716)
About the Author (#uf6fa960f-0851-5ba5-8583-146958c39a8c)
Chapter One (#ulink_9cf27dfe-fd3b-5710-9030-cb32f4da34b2)
Chapter Two (#ulink_e870e70f-1f68-5807-bc70-6e06d2376367)
Chapter Three (#ulink_4a0b48c8-c694-5db4-ba56-42282ca5ab49)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Dana Marton is the author of more than a dozen fastpaced, action-adventure romantic suspense novels and a winner of the Daphne du Maurier Award of Excellence. She loves writing books of international intrigue, filled with dangerous plots that try her tough-as-nails heroes and the special women they fall in love with. Her books have been published in seven languages in eleven countries around the world. When not writing or reading, she loves to browse antique shops and enjoys working in her sizeable flower garden, where she searches for “bad” bugs with the skills of a superspy and vanquishes them with the agility of a commando soldier. Every day in her garden is a thriller. To find more information on her books, please visit www.danamarton.com. She would love to hear from her readers and can be reached via e-mail at the following address: DanaMarton@DanaMarton.com.
To Denise Zaza and Allison Lyons. Thank you again!
Chapter One (#ulink_f1c3577a-1bf4-54bc-bb41-5a58e2f746f9)
Benedek Kerkay, youngest prince of Valtria, stared at the evenly printed lines on the paper, but all he could see was the face of the most beautiful woman in the universe, the one who’d been holding him enthralled for years. A woman he could never have.
“Protesters are gathering at Liberation Square, Your Highness.” His secretary stood in the door of his temporary office at the Royal Opera House, shifting from one scrawny leg to the other.
Benedek cleared his head and processed the man’s words, forgetting the speech he should have been re-hearsing for the reopening of the three-hundred-year-old opera house, his most significant project yet as an architect. His muscles drew tight. “No. Absolutely not.”
Morin looked gravely ahead. A peculiar-looking little man, he was loyal to the bone at a time when loyalty was scarce. For this, he was much appreciated at the palace. He’d been with the House of Kerkay since Benedek could remember, even forsaking family for service, although rumors about him and the head housekeeper of the palace’s east wing circulated from time to time. He was such a private man that even Benedek didn’t know the truth of those rumors. Nor was he in the mood to speculate on them at the moment.
“There can’t be a protest tonight.” He came out of his seat and strode to the exquisitely restored six-foot-tall window, turning his back to Morin, wishing he could see across the five-acre Millennial Park to Liberation Square.
His fists tightened, crushing the sheets he held. Nothing would be allowed to upset the peace tonight. He’d been working toward this night for the last five years, restoring the Baroque-style building with painstaking care. Close to a thousand nobles, Valtrian celebrities and foreign dignitaries were invited to the opening night and were even now taking their seats. Rayne Williams, opera diva, “the voice of the night,” was giving her first performance outside of the U.S. in a decade.
“Call in Royal Security, call in the army, call in the National Guard, call in the synchronized parachuters for all I care, but do not—” he relaxed his clenched jaw muscles “—let anyone spoil tonight.”
“Yes, Your Highness. Only that it’s—” His secretary hesitated.
Benedek crushed the papers tighter, knowing from the look on the man’s face that he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear. “Only what?”
“A show of force at the present moment—against peaceful protesters.”
Benedek walked to his desk then back to the window, pacing the antique reproduction carpet. Disbanding the protesters by force could look like an attempt to silence the voice of the people. Not a year after the siege of Maltmore Castle where the enemies of the monarchy had attempted to kill the entire royal family and take over the country, where dozens of people died in a night of bloodshed…The royal guard marching on the people might not be the smartest thing politically. The country needed reconciliation and joint steps toward unity.
He hated politics. He’d become an architect partially for that reason. Buildings were simple. Buildings were stable. Buildings didn’t stab you in the back.
“Who’s handling it?”
“The police, Your Highness. Your brother Miklos is keeping a close eye on it as well.”
Miklos was an Army major. He had an interest in security and also played a role in it. “Call the chief of palace security and tell him I need to talk to him. Here.” Benedek was escorting Rayne to a reception at the palace after her performance. Palace Hill was just a few blocks away, not that far from Liberation Square. He needed to discuss these new developments with the chief. Maybe they needed to alter their plans. “I want the protest carefully watched and every change reported.” He drew a slow breath, nodded beyond his office door. “Are they ready?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
He tossed his crumpled speech on his desk, on top of a stack of blueprints and photos of the various stages of the building’s restoration. This building meant everything to him. His oldest brother, Arpad, had ribbed him about wanting to show the country that he was more than the youngest prince at the palace. Maybe there was some truth in that, but the project was more. It was his validation as an architect.
He straightened his tuxedo jacket. “How do I look?”
Morin seemed surprised by the question.
And Benedek was instantly annoyed that he’d asked. On any other day, he would have been too busy drawing blueprints in his mind to pay much attention to his appearance.
“Splendid, Your Highness,” Morin said at last, after an awkward silence.
Benedek nodded his thanks, knowing the compliment meant little. As a prince he was used to hearing what everyone thought he wanted to hear.
Except when it came to bloody protesters.
He passed by his secretary, strode down the hallway that looked majestic even in the staff areas where the audience would never wander. He waved his new bodyguard away. “Wait for me at the royal box,” he told the man, turning down the hall. He missed his old guard who had recently retired. He hadn’t had a chance to develop the same kind of rapport with this one yet. And he didn’t need anyone hovering at his back when he finally met Rayne Williams.
The rich carpet softened his steps on the antique floorboards. The building was like a grande dame of old with gracious curves and resplendent gilding, tantalizing textures and colors. He didn’t stop until he reached the door at the very end. The sign on the door simply said Rayne. He adjusted his tie one last time then knocked.
“Come in.”
He pushed the door wide with a smile, then stopped midmotion to stare. An unprincely thing to do. He needed to stop reacting to her like a moon-eyed teenager.
He’d seen her perform in New York several times, but Rayne Williams was a thousand times more beautiful up close. Silver eyes shone out of a face that was perfectly symmetrical; her skin was translucent and glowing, her lips ruby-glossed. Ebony strands of silky hair cascaded to well below her slim waist, while more was piled intricately at the back of her head. She was willowy, although not as tall as he was, wearing a burgundy gown, the copy of one worn by a historical heroine of Valtria at her royal wedding. The corset pushed up her breasts to the point of nearly spilling from the brocade, as had been the custom of that age.
He was all for historical accuracy. Absolutely.
He bowed deeply before she could notice his rapt attention to her cleavage. “Welcome to Valtria.”
“Thank you, Prince Benedek. I understand you’ll be escorting me to the stage tonight.”
She was unfailingly polite, even though she disliked him. He knew that for a fact. But her voice, soft and rich, still had the power to keep him spell-bound. He was to be her escort for tonight. Not nearly enough, although he’d come to accept that her remote behavior toward him was for the best.
For years, he’d gone to her performances in the U.S., sometimes two or three times a year, sending her a bouquet of Valtria’s signature purple roses each time, always with an invitation to dinner. Her response notes were always the same, she felt honored but no thanks.
And no matter how much he wanted to get closer to her, he’d never pushed beyond that. Because even as he’d fantasized about taking her as a lover, he was afraid that might not be enough. His twin brother, Lazlo, was the consummate ladies’ man. Benedek was more of a one-woman kind of guy. And Rayne Williams could never be his one woman.
He could never have her forever. He could absolutely not marry an American singer, no matter how famous and respected. The scandal alone would kill his ailing mother. Dark memories surfaced. He pushed them back. He wouldn’t make a mistake of that magnitude again. He was a prince. He was to marry a daughter of the Valtrian nobility who was even now being selected behind closed doors by the chancellor and his team.
Seeing how much positive publicity Miklos’s marriage and the birth of his son had brought to the monarchy, the new chancellor was obsessed with marrying off the rest of the princes. And Benedek was determined not to buck protocol again. He’d done that before with disastrous consequences.
He cleared his throat, then did his best to clear his mind of all the things he and Miss Williams could be doing instead of walking to the stage. He was a grown man, thirty two years old. He’d had lovers, passion, disappointments. Tragedies.
But Rayne Williams was Rayne Williams.
“If you will allow me the honor, Madam,” he said and offered his arm.
After tonight, she would stay for three more days in Valtria. Three days in which he would content himself with admiring her from afar and would not, under any circumstances, seduce her. Not that she looked like she would let him if he tried. Still the challenge—He killed that thought without mercy and took in those silver eyes that held nothing but politeness. No batting of the lashes, none of the come-hither looks he was used to from women.
On this count, at least, the royal family seemed safe from trouble.
TROUBLE WITH A ROYAL TITLE—Rayne summed up the man in front of her and continued wearing her stage smile.
He was as handsome as the devil himself, a prince spoiled by privilege, and way too young to be looking at her the way he had from the moment he’d set foot inside her dressing room.
If he noted the conspicuous lack of a gushing response to the enormous bouquet of purple roses he’d sent earlier, he didn’t show it. The roses, like all other flowers she received, were usually distributed among the support staff.
He was an exceedingly charismatic man in person, she noted with dismay. She’d been right to stay away from him. He carried himself with the unconscious grace of nobility, his body toned and agile. From what she’d read, all the Valtrian princes were serious sportsmen, and it certainly showed. The youngest prince of Valtria was no palace weakling; he was built tough like most of his countrymen. She supposed it came from living in this rugged country at the foot of the Alps.
“Whenever you’re ready.” He smiled a charmer’s smile. It looked unfairly good on him.
And despite her misgivings, she placed her hand onto his offered arm. She was taken by surprise when a shock wave of connection and awareness shot all the way to her elbow, despite the barrier of his tuxedo and her satin gloves between them.
She caught her breath, but said, “Let’s go then.” And glided alongside him without the slightest pause. She was a professional performer. If she didn’t want him to know the effect he had on her then, by God, he wouldn’t.
She’d been pursued by enough presumptuous rich men who thought all performers were of loose morals, living only to be pretty and to satisfy their every desire. They sent flowers to her dressing room, truffles, even jewelry. They had their expensive cars wait for her at the actors’ exit after performances. She’d always sent the chauffeurs home with an empty backseat.
Leaders of industry, even public figures showed up in her dressing room, ready for a quick tumble, treating her like she was the flavor of the month out of some musical revue at a downtown theatre. They didn’t know anything about her, nothing at all.
She wasn’t for sale, not ever again. All the rich perverts could keep their money and drown in it.
At forty, she was an accomplished singer and a woman of independent means. And she was damn proud of that.
But she did give a gracious smile to the handsome prince, even if she had the distinct feeling that she was being served on a silver platter to the man. To be invited to the reopening of the Valtrian opera, a historic occasion, was an honor, regardless of the fact that she didn’t want to be here. She would have rather chosen a place much closer to her home for her first transatlantic flight in a decade.
“Your tie is crooked,” she told him, registering the fact automatically.
He would give her introduction. She didn’t want him to go up on stage with his tie askew and have the audience looking at that instead of what he was doing. Checking and rechecking herself and the rest of the cast before shows was something she did without conscious thought.
An odd look flashed across his eyes as he reached up, his long, masculine fingers fumbling. Without a mirror, he had no idea what to adjust.
She drew a breath. “Let me.” She was tall, but he was taller so she had to reach up. She straightened the black cloth at his neck, pulling back too fast when her knuckles brushed against his strong jawline for a second.
“Thank you, Madam.” His focus on her never wavered.
Those intense dark eyes could be the doom of a woman if she weren’t careful, she thought for a fanciful second before she gathered herself. She wasn’t about to let on that she was oddly flustered. Flustered. At her age. By some prince nearly a decade her junior. How crazy was that? “Rayne, please, Your Highness.” Everybody in the business called her Rayne.
“If you call me Benedek.” His focused, mesmerizing intensity relaxed by a small degree.
He seemed pleased. Then he let go all the way, and the smile that slowly bloomed on his handsome face was absolutely stunning: warm, sexy, masculine. His eyes were the deep rich brown of the Swiss truffles she rewarded herself with on occasion. The manufacturer spoiled her with regular gifts, one of the perks of being a diva of her time. The title came with both advantages and disadvantages.
As did his, the thought crossed her mind. Maybe his life was as strange and as out of his hands at times as her own. Maybe they had something in common, after all.
His smile held. God help any unsuspecting woman he set his sights on. She was relieved to know that in three days, she would be leaving Valtria.
It’d been a long time since she’d been this aware of a man. She’d seen him before, but always from the stage, from a fair distance, even if he did sit in the best box each and every time. But now, having him this close and touching her, a faint charge ran along her skin, and she couldn’t quite tell if it was a quick thrill or a shiver of foreboding.
She had little time to ponder it. The closer they got to the stage, the more energy filled her body. Yet, at the same time, a great calm descended on her mind. She was in the zone. She was doing what she loved. Singing was who she was. She could certainly ignore the bedroom eyes of a young European prince.
“It’s too fuzzy! Who touched the ERS? Everything worked fine this morning, damn it.” A little man rushed by, shouting to someone over his headset, demanding perfect stage lighting.
She didn’t let that worry her. By the time the curtains rolled back, everything would be ready. She would focus only on her own performance. She’d learned that to pay attention to anyone else’s was the surest way to get distracted.
People were scurrying about with small props and sheets of paper, losing their heads over some minor crisis or the other that tended to pop up before every show. Rayne focused on what she needed to do and routinely ignored the rest.
When they reached the steps that led up to the stage, the prince motioned her forward. In her mind, she was already singing the selection from Valtria’s most famous operas. Troublesome princes with bedroom eyes or not, the country had had some brilliant composers.
She was on the second step when the building shook and she lost her footing in the period shoes that had been made to match her costume. She found herself, confused and alarmed, in the prince’s arms. He’d been coming up behind her and had caught her when she’d stumbled.
His strong arms held her as if she were a precious treasure.
Protective.
She blinked the temporary fancy away. Over the years, a great many men had wanted to do a great many things with her. Protecting her had never been one of them.
“What was that?” she asked as he set her on her feet.
“This way.” He grabbed her hand and dragged her back toward the dressing room with a dark expression on his face that stood in contrast to his seemingly pleased mood of before.
They met with his secretary halfway down the corridor, a man named Morin. She’d been introduced to him upon arrival. He was as skinny a man as she’d ever seen, with a rather large head and an incredibly long, thin nose. He kept his spine studiously straight and his shoulders pushed back. The first time she’d seen him, she’d thought he had an uncanny resemblance to a mosquito.
The image was reinforced now as, filled with nervous energy, he buzzed around the prince.
“The protest turned violent, Your Highness. A catering van just exploded in front of the opera house. There seems to be some confusion over whether it was an accident or intentional.”
Her pulse quickened. “There’s a protest?” She hadn’t turned on her television set in her hotel room since she’d arrived. She preferred to relax in silence when not practicing for her performance.
“Supposedly peaceful. I apologize,” the prince said, keeping pace. “Order will be restored at any moment. We will delay the performance by just a few minutes.” He fell silent for a beat. “No. An hour. In an hour I’ll have this fully investigated.”
A man in a dark suit came flying down the hall. “Everything all right, Your Highness?” He scanned their surroundings.
He looked like a bodyguard. Probably the prince’s.
“You’ll go with Miss Williams,” Benedek told him.
The man looked decidedly uncomfortable as he fell in step with them. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I cannot do that.” He looked extremely apologetic, but even more inflexible on that issue. “I’m required—”
“Fine,” Benedek cut him off and stopped at the point where the corridor came to a T. He turned to his secretary who’d been flitting along, wringing his hands. “Is the chief of palace security here?”
“On his way, Your Highness. I talked to him just a moment ago and—”
“I’m trusting you two to escort Miss Williams to the palace. Call for an armored car and as many royal guards as they can spare.”
The man about snapped his heels together. “Certainly, Your Highness.”
She hadn’t been to the palace yet, although she was supposed to attend a reception there tonight. She didn’t fancy going out to the streets just now. The opera house was giant and newly restored, looking sturdy enough to withstand a full-blown military attack if necessary.
“I’d prefer not to leave the building this close to my performance,” she objected, but the prince seemed to be focused on something else and was already rushing off with a last, unfathomable look at her, his bodyguard in his wake, following closely.
“This way.” Morin was certainly determined to obey his boss. He dialed his cell phone, his lips tightening. “The line’s busy. He might be outside already, investigating the explosion.”
She assumed he was talking about the chief of palace security.
Morin called for an armored car next. “We’ll go out the back entrance,” he said as he hung up.
She barely had time to process that before they neared the back door normally used by stage staff, where people were rushing out, then rushing right back in.
The secretary cast her a concerned look. “Do not worry, Madam. I’ll investigate what’s going on out there and arrange for you to vacate the premises. I shall return as soon as possible.”
Honest to goodness, he talked like that, like some old-fashioned manual.
People rushed through, bumping into her.
She moved closer to the wall to keep out of the jostling flow. The last thing she needed was for her gown to be torn just before she went on stage. “I’ll be in my dressing room,” she called after Morin, but wasn’t sure if the man heard her.
The hallway was clogged, people elbowing each other, some speaking languages she didn’t understand. It seemed like the entire staff was back here for some reason, even the lighting assistant they’d passed earlier. She gave up fighting to get to her own dressing room and stepped inside the nearest storage room instead.
She closed the door and turned the rusty key in the lock. Her dressing room had looked brand-new, but this place didn’t look renovated unless one counted the fresh coat of paint on the walls. She supposed all budgets had their limits. Money had probably been saved on out-of-the-way storage areas. She listened. If Morin called her name out there, she would be able to hear it.
Five minutes passed. She unlocked the door with some effort—the key was sticking—and, looking out, could see her dressing room. Morin wasn’t there.
She pulled back in. Everything was going to be fine.
There had been some unrest in the country the year before, but peace had been restored. Since most of the royal family were to attend tonight’s performance, security in and around the opera house was top-notch. Craig, her agent, and she had already discussed security concerns.
According to the tour she’d been given on arrival, the building had withstood three hundred years of turbulent history, including two world wars. She closed her eyes and tried to calm her breathing. She would be safe in here.
Small bottles of mineral water stood in a crate by the door. Looking at them made her realize how dry her mouth had gone from all the excitement. She grabbed a bottle and twisted the cap off, but didn’t get a chance to drink before another explosion shook the building, this one closer than the first. Jars of stage makeup rattled on the desk.
She put her drink down, then stepped to the door and pushed the purple Bombay chest—must have been a prop at one point—in front of it, barricading herself inside. The din out in the hallway was disconcerting. Maybe the rebels were trying to fight their way in through the back entrance.
Craig was in the audience. She wished she could talk to her agent, but her cell phone was in her own dressing room. She wished Benedek hadn’t left her. He would know what was going on, at the very least. His people would keep him informed.
She stayed near the door, listening. She was fine. Everything was fine. In a minute or two, Morin would be back.
“HOW SERIOUS IS THE situation?” Benedek asked again as he scanned the wall of monitors.
The director of security for the opera house was of the opinion that the peaceful protest at Liberation Square had been a ruse by the Freedom Council. The enemies of the monarchy had gathered as many of their people as possible in the vicinity of the opera house to sabotage the opening, perhaps even capture the royal family who were supposed to be in attendance.
Except that the Queen had felt unwell earlier in the evening, and Benedek’s brothers lingered by her side, running late. She’d taken to her bed over a year ago, her condition fluctuating since. So when the crowd attacked, the princes were still safely at the palace. Benedek, who’d been here since early morning, making sure opening night would be a resounding success, was the only member of the royal family currently in the building.
“How many rebels are we talking about this time?” he asked, tacking another question onto the first before the director had a chance to answer.
“About two thousand is the best we can estimate from the upper windows, Your Highness.”
He nodded. At least Rayne got out in time and was inside the palace by now, under heavy guard. He barely had a half dozen royal guards here. The rest were supposed to arrive later, with his brothers. “Who’s their leader?”
“A very angry young man, Your Highness. Goes by the name of Mario and fancies himself a freedom fighter. The palace just sent over a security report on him. Supposedly, he’s not associated with the Freedom Council.”
Maybe he hadn’t been before, but Benedek had a feeling the Council had gotten to him and were using him now.
The three nameless men who ran the council were ruthless in their quest to dethrone the monarchy and break up the country, along ethnic lines, into small republics they would have full control over.
“Should I initialize lockdown?” The director waited for his answer.
The opera house had a massive security system in place. A computer program handled the entrances, all of which could be sealed at the push of a button. But if they locked down, it would be viewed as a step toward conflict, the crowd outside would be provoked and might lay siege to the building. He didn’t want to risk the damage, not while they still had other options. “I’ll try negotiating first.”
The director paled. “I beg you to think of your safety, Your Highness. I shall go out there immediately. ”
“You stay here and keep people from panicking.”
“Your Highness—” The man tried to stand in his way and stop him while remaining respectful and deferential, not an easy task.
The royal guards stepped closer as well. His new bodyguard didn’t seem amused either.
“This is my opera house.” Benedek gave them a level look. “Anyone wants to lay a finger on it, they answer to me.”
Two bombs had already exploded outside.
The rebels, whatever they wanted, needed to know that he wasn’t as easily intimidated as that. He hadn’t started fighting yet. Before the evening turned into night, he would have the rebels gone and Rayne back on stage. Or else.
“THERE ARE THREE BOMBS in the building,” the voice said on the other end of the line, playing his trump card over and over again, sounding triumphant and frustrated at the same time.
The call had come in on a red cell phone someone had left in the security office. Nobody there now knew who it belonged to or how it got there.
The dozen men inside the opera’s security office watched Benedek intently, hoping for a resolution at last. He silently shook his head. That first bomb outside had exploded an hour ago and they hadn’t yet gotten anywhere.
“Almost a thousand innocent people are in this building. Your quarrel is with the monarchy. This has nothing to do with tonight’s audience. I’m the only member of the royal family here. You let these people go and I will willingly give myself into your hands,” he repeated his best offer, and the men around him protested again.
Negotiations were at a deadlock. He’d been trying to talk reason into the man on the other end of the line on and off for the past hour, to no avail.
The enemy was frustrated because they’d expected six princes and got only one instead.
“You say your revolution is for the people,” Benedek reminded the man. “Then don’t hurt the people, Mario. You can’t think that the publicity to your cause would be anything but negative. If you want to gain public support, murdering a thousand innocent civilians is not the way to go about it. This isn’t a glorious battle for freedom, you and I both know it. It’s mass murder. Somebody is using you as a means to an end.”
Dead silence on the other end.
“I’ll let them walk out unharmed,” the man said after a full minute, probably as frustrated with the stalled negotiations as Benedek. “But you will not leave the building. Not you, not that American singer.”
And for the first time, Benedek relaxed. “She has nothing to do with this,” he offered a token protest to make sure the man didn’t become suspicious. Thank God, Rayne had left before the building had been surrounded.
Two thousand rebels circled the opera house; five hundred police as well as royal guards, investigators, antiterrorist unit agents and other security circled the rebels. Helicopters hovered in the air above—he could see and hear them through the window. He imagined the scene must look like a giant bull’s eye from the air. With his opera house smack in the middle.
His muscles were tight with outrage.
Security forces couldn’t move without risking that the rebels might set off the bombs. They were at an impasse.
Which would remain the same even after the people were let go. Security forces wouldn’t risk the lives of their prince and a high-profile American by rushing the rebels. The rebels knew this.
“In exactly five minutes, a gap will open in our ranks directly across from the main entrance. Anyone who wants to leave the building, can walk through. They’ll have five minutes to leave before the ranks close. Anyone outside after that, between us and the building, will be shot at,” the voice on the phone said.
“There are a thousand people in here—” Benedek argued, wanting to negotiate for more time, but the line had already gone dead.
He glanced at his watch as he ran for the door. “In five minutes, they’ll let everyone leave,” he said, explaining the rest as he went.
Security followed behind to help.
He rushed downstairs and straight to the stage, flying up the steps Rayne had stumbled on not long ago, falling into his arms. Thank God, whatever was about to happen here, no harm would come to her.
The sound was on, everything was ready for her performance. The audience was in their seats where they’d been asked to remain for their own safety. Benedek addressed them, explaining everything in two minutes flat. The next three were spent lining everyone up in front of the door in a tight line, ready to go.
His phone rang.
“What can I do to help?” his brother, Miklos the Army major, asked.
“Do not come here. They’re letting people go. I’ll call you back later.” Benedek opened the front door, making sure that if there was foul play involved, his body would shield those behind him.
His security guard pushed him out of the way the next second, putting himself in front of Benedek. “This is what they want, Your Highness. Don’t make yourself a target.”
They watched as the rebel forces parted, leaving a five-foot gap to freedom.
“Run!” was the last word of advice Benedek gave to the men and women before stepping away from the door completely.
And they did, helping each other, careful not to cause a stampede, many speaking words of encour-agement to their prince as they left. He’d never been as proud of his people as he was at that moment.
“Go!” he said again when he looked back inside the lobby and spotted the royal guards and a couple of other men who hadn’t come up to the door.
He glanced at his watch. “Thirty seconds.”
The rest of the staff and audience were already crossing to freedom, clearing the ring of rebels. A lady of his mother’s age brought up the rear, running with her granddaughter in her arms. The little girl slowed her down too much, as did her gown. Benedek watched them, while yelling at the men who’d stayed behind. “You must leave! There’s no time.”
Two royal guards separated from the group and dashed out the door. One grabbed the young girl and ran; the other tossed the stately lady in her full-skirted brocade gown right over his shoulder and dashed forward with her.
They made it before the rebels closed ranks.
Benedek stepped away from the door and let it close, foreboding filling him as he took in the nearly empty space, the remains of his grand opening night. In hindsight, his hope that the delay wouldn’t last more than an hour was probably too optimistic. He glared at the men.
“You should not have stayed.” He drew a deep breath. “But I thank you for your loyalty,” he told them.
“Should probably go back upstairs, Your Highness, ” one of the older royal guards recommended, and they followed him, seeing no purpose in lingering just inside the entrance.
When they made it back inside the security office, two of the guards immediately went to monitor the cameras set up inside and outside the building. Eight royal guards had remained, plus his personal security guard, plus the director, plus three civilians.
“Peter Havek, retired police officer,” one of the civilians introduced himself.
“Tamas Havek, from Havek Construction. Brothers, I have some demolition experience. We could go and look for those bombs. With your permission, Your Highness.”
The director handed them each a headset, then they were on their way even as Benedek thanked them. The royal guards followed, except for the two who manned the monitors, looking for the bomb with the help of the security cameras. Over a hundred cameras had been strategically placed throughout the building.
“Craig Miller.” The third civilian spoke with an American accent. “Rayne’s agent. Where is she?” The man’s lips were tight with worry, making Benedek wonder just what his relationship was with Rayne. He looked distinguished with just a touch of gray at the temples, wore an expensive tux and an expensive watch, standing apart from the others. “She doesn’t answer her cell.”
“My secretary escorted Miss Williams to the palace an hour ago.” As soon as he had a second, Benedek was going to call and check on them. Maybe even now. He reached for his cell phone, then let it drop back into his pocket and turned when the computer behind him sounded a series of beeps.
The two royal guards at the main console were desperately pushing buttons.
“Security lockdown just self-initiated,” one reported, casting about a wide-eyed look, disbelief in his voice.
“Impossible. It can’t self-initiate.” The director rushed over.
“Someone hacked into the system.”
“I’ll recall the damn lockdown.” The director’s voice rose, along with the color in his cheeks. “I apologize, Your Highness.” He moved to a free console immediately. Seconds passed. “Whoever initialized it already changed the password.” His tone was filled with outrage.
Benedek left Rayne’s agent and stepped up to the director. “What does this mean, exactly?”
“We’re locked in,” the director told him. “Nobody goes out, nobody comes in.”
“What do they want now? With them out there, we couldn’t leave anyway—”
The red cell phone rang, cutting him off.
The man on the other end of the line said, “Bring Rayne Williams to the front door in twenty minutes. The door will open for one minute exactly and you will hand her over. If she’s not there when we open the door, we blow up the building. We’ve planted three bombs in the building.”
Chapter Two (#ulink_4bb5451e-fca8-5073-a3f9-dcf5299363fd)
“This makes no sense,” Craig said after Benedek had hung up the phone and explained everything to the men around him. “If they were going to let Rayne go, why didn’t they let her go with the others?”
“They aren’t planning on letting her go.” Benedek’s jaw clenched. “She’s to be their high-profile hostage. This way they, or at least their leaders, can get away after they blow up the opera.”
“With us in it?” Craig looked from one man to the other, wide-eyed.
The director of security nodded. “Your Highness must get out at any cost.”
“But we don’t have Rayne.” Craig wiped his sweating hands on the side of his designer tux.
“We’ll tell them that Miss Williams is unwell,” the director said, a speculative look coming into his eyes. “Play for time.”
“Why?” Craig looked between the two men. “If we tell them that she’s not here, maybe they won’t blow up the building. Without a hostage, the second they make a move, security forces will massacre them. The rebels won’t risk that. They won’t do anything if they don’t have her.”
“Their main goal is to end the monarchy. They have me trapped. Whatever happens, they’re not going to let me leave here.” Benedek lay down the somber facts. “You shouldn’t have stayed.”
A moment of silence passed as each man considered what might happen next.
“We need time to find a way to get Prince Benedek out of the building,” Benedek’s security guard said. “If we tell them that Miss Williams isn’t here, they might turn this into a suicide mission and blow up the building right now.”
“I’m not going anywhere, unless we all go,” Benedek stated flatly. “If we tell the rebels that Miss Williams is unwell, but will go out shortly, we might gain enough time to find the bombs and disarm them. It’s in their best interest to wait for her. They’ll want to wait.”
“Why is that?” Craig asked.
“They think my brothers will rush to my rescue and then they can get all the princes.” The absolutely maddening thing was that he knew his brothers would come. No amount of common sense, palace security, probably not even a royal order from the Queen would hold them back.
He had to solve this problem before that. He needed enough time to find and disarm the bombs with the help of their resident demolition expert, but not so much time that his brothers could come up with a plan and show up here. The difficulty was in the balance.
“Except, we can’t call the rebels back to negotiate. ” The call had come in as an unregistered number and could not be redialed.
He’d been hotheaded enough at the beginning, so outraged by the attack that he’d wanted to rush out to give a piece of his mind to the bastards. He’d now cooled enough to realize that risking his life was not the best course of action. For one, if anything happened to him, his brothers for sure would be over here in the next second, starting a civil war.
“Now what?” Craig asked.
“Now we spread out and comb the building for those bombs.” The director handed a headset to Benedek and one to Craig. Everyone else already had them.
With his bodyguard on his heels, Benedek took off toward the lower levels. Having worked on every detail of the renovations, he knew the building like he knew the names of all Valtrian kings back to the ninth century, the beginnings of the monarchy. First he went to the area that housed the furnaces and air conditioning. He checked under, behind, and on top of every piece of equipment.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
His bodyguard helped, too, making the process faster. They went to the prop room next. Then costumes, tension growing in his shoulders as he moved from one area to the next. He walked through the giant backup pantry that would be used by the five-star restaurant that would soon open inside the opera house.
He checked his watch before moving on. They had less than five minutes left.
“Couldn’t find anything,” someone checked in over the headset.
“No bomb here either,” another voice said.
Benedek’s cell phone rang.
“Your Highness. I got caught up in a tussle behind the opera house and lost my phone,” Morin, his secretary said. “I apologize for not being in touch sooner. I just got into the palace. Is there anything anyone can do from here?”
“Until further notice, your only job is to take care of Miss Williams.”
“Your Highness?”
Something in his tone sounded the alarm for Benedek. “She’s safe with you. Correct?”
“She didn’t come with me, Your Highness. She wasn’t let go with the other hostages? I just heard—forgive me, I just got in.”
Benedek’s blood ran cold at the thought of any harm coming to her. “She’s probably with the chief of palace security.”
“I just talked with him. He hasn’t seen her.”
His muscles tightened, his complete focus on the man on the other end. “Where did you see her last?”
“Just inside the back entrance.”
Benedek ended the call and spoke into his headset. “Rayne Williams is in the building. Start looking for her, keep looking for the bomb. I repeat, Rayne is in the building. Find her.”
NOBODY HAD COME for her.
Nearly two hours had passed since Morin had left. She’d listened at the door, waiting for him to call her name in the hallway, but he hadn’t. Nobody had. All noise had stopped, in fact, over an hour ago, as if all staff had cleared out.
She had tried to leave several times, but the ancient key had gotten stuck in the lock then broke right off when she’d tried to force it. She had shouted for help to the point of risking damage to her vocal cords, but nobody had answered.
And then, at last, she heard her name called.
“Rayne!”
She’d never been as glad to hear another sound in her life. She thought she recognized the voice. “Prince Benedek?”
The door handle rattled.
“It’s stuck.”
“Stand back,” he said.
The door burst open with a bang in the next second.
“Are you all right?” He stood in the threshold like some theatrical hero, in his impeccable tux and with blazing eyes. She noticed again how tall he was, the breadth of his shoulders, the incredible depth of his gaze. His was the kind of presence critics called “mesmerizing” in a performance.
He was years younger than her, for heaven’s sake.
She gathered herself and stomped out even the smallest spark of attraction. “Fine. Thank you.” She smoothed her hair into place and lifted her chin. She hated anyone seeing her shaken.
His bodyguard stood outside in the hallway, inclined his head. “Madam.”
Benedek took her hand without preamble and pulled her after him. Again, his touch was electrifying, his hand enfolding hers, warm and secure. She’d taken her gloves off earlier, and now found the skin-to-skin touch disconcerting.
“Where’s everyone else?” The utter silence of the building had been making her increasingly nervous.
“The rebels let the audience leave. Only fifteen of us stayed here. Including you. The building is locked down.”
“So they can’t get in?” Oh, good.
“So we can’t get out.”
Her lungs constricted. “We’re trapped?”
The tight expression on his face was enough of an answer.
“Where are we going?” she asked, but he began talking into his headset, something she hadn’t noticed earlier.
“I’ve got Rayne. We’re on our way to the restaurant. Found any bombs yet?” He paused to listen. “Seek cover.”
She went weak in the knees. “What bomb? Did they find it? What do you mean?”
“The rebels might have explosives in the building.” He glanced at his watch and was now out and out running.
“Why are we going to the restaurant?” She ran up the stairs by his side.
He let her hand go so she could hold up the folds of her voluminous skirt with both hands and not trip. She no longer cared about wrinkling her gown before the performance. There would be no performance tonight. They would be lucky if they still had an opera house when this was all over. Or if they were still alive. She reached the top and dashed through the gilded swinging doors.
Benedek ran straight for the back. “Industrial meat cooler,” he said, as if that explained anything.
Then they were through the kitchen and at the giant, stainless-steel doors. He pushed up the lever and opened the door. They just about fell inside, his bodyguard leaping in after them.
The first thing she registered was that the place was empty, the second that it wasn’t freezing. Hadn’t been turned on yet. Thank God, since her dress was rather open on top. Then the door slammed shut, and they were enveloped in darkness.
An explosion shook the building, ten times stronger than the previous two. Whatever blew up now had been a lot nearer.
She was about rattled off her feet, careful to put out a steadying hand toward the wall and not toward the prince. But his hand shot out in the darkness, went around her waist and secured her. He was so close that she could feel his heat, the strong, solid presence of his body. Bombs, he’d said earlier. There could be more. Even closer than the last one.
Oh, to hell with self-composure for once. She grabbed on to his arm in a death grip.
She disliked wealthy men of privilege on principie. She was even more wary of Benedek, who’d watched her with a singular intensity during her performances, and at times made it difficult for her to completely immerse herself in whatever role she was playing. No other man had ever been able to do that to her, and she resented his ability to mess with her head.
But right now he was the closest thing to hang on to, and hang on she did.
“Easy,” Benedek said next to her ear, his warm breath fanning her neck, tickling its way down her skin.
Half of her was preparing for death. Her other half was…tingling.
He had a soapy scent, very expensive soap, masculine but non-obtrusive, with a trace of spice that made her want to lean closer to catch more. Instead, she peeled her fingers off his arm as her initial panic ebbed and took a deep, steadying breath from the opposite direction. She couldn’t be losing her composure just because they’d touched. They weren’t even alone, for heaven’s sake.
When, after long minutes, no further explosions came, he moved away from her. The light came on the next second. He was standing by the door. He’d probably flipped the switch.
He exchanged a glance with his bodyguard, emotions swirling in his dark eyes. Anger, out-and-out fury, was dominant. Then something else came into his gaze when he looked at her. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. A bomb just went off in the building. This wasn’t normally part of the whole opera singer experience. Lockdown or not, they needed to get the hell out of here. There had to be a way.
His bodyguard was already opening the door and checking outside.
“What are we waiting for?” she asked when Benedek hesitated for a moment.
“There are two more bombs,” he said.
“I APOLOGIZE. If I’d known that something like this would happen, if I thought that the country wasn’t a hundred percent safe, I would have never allowed you to come here,” Benedek told her.
“Yes. Well.” She seemed shaken, but was covering it up admirably, holding her head high and her spine straight, as regal as any queen. “I can hardly blame you. I’m sure you didn’t plan on getting blown up. What do they want?”
The kitchen was in shambles, chairs turned over, pots and pans scattered on the floor.
He shook his head. “We should find the others.”
“What do they want?” She wasn’t easily distracted.
“They want the monarchy gone,” he said, as his headset crackled to life.
The director was asking, “Is everyone all right?”
“Fine here. I’ve got Rayne,” he said.
One by one, everyone checked in, except the ex-cop. Benedek tried to remember his name. “Where’s Peter?”
“He was heading to the gift shop to look for the bomb last I talked to him,” the guy’s brother said.
Foreboding filled him. “Where was the explosion?”
“East corner.” The director’s voice was glum.
Benedek moved forward. The east corner of the building was where the gift shop was located. “Going there now.”
His bodyguard stepped in the way immediately. “Your Highness—”
Benedek held up a hand. Someone was talking over the headset again.
“I’m almost there,” the lost guy’s brother, the construction expert, was saying. Tamas. Benedek remembered his name.
A few moments passed. “I’m there,” the words crackled through Benedek’s headset. Then came the scraping noise of something being pushed out of the way. Then a grunt. Then complete, utter silence. The man’s voice sounded broken when he spoke next. “He didn’t make it. No need to come here.”
Benedek’s jaw clenched. He relaxed it with some effort.
Originally, fifteen people had remained in the building after everyone else had left. With the ex-cop gone, they were down to fourteen.
“We lost a man.” He passed on the news and reached for Rayne’s hand, held it for a brief second before she pulled it back.
No more information was coming through his headset, the line was quiet. He wanted to ask of the damage to the building, but how could he do that? To Tamas, the damage was absolute. He had lost a brother. Benedek gave thanks to God that his brothers had been late to the performance, that they would be spared whatever was going to happen.
As long as they were smart enough to stay away. Unfortunately, knowing his brothers as he did, he highly doubted that.
“Ceiling caved in here,” Tamas reported after a while, his construction-trained mind probably surveying even without conscious effort on his part. “Some walls collapsed, but all the load-bearing walls are still standing. No major damage to the structure. No breach in the outside wall to get us out of the place.” He paused. “I’m going to stay here for a few more minutes. ”
To say goodbye. “Take all the time you need,” Benedek said.
The siege of the opera house had its first victim. He wasn’t optimistic enough to believe that the man had also been the last.
A MAN HAD DIED.
It brought everything into sharp focus, making their situation even more frighteningly real. Rayne followed Benedek back to the security office where he was supposed to meet the others.
“How did you know they were going to detonate the bomb?” The way he’d been running for cover, it was as if he’d known exactly what was going to happen.
“They gave us an ultimatum.”
“Which was what?”
They were heading up the stairs. The prince remained silent.
“What ultimatum?”
He said nothing.
A man waited for them at the office door. Benedek introduced him as the director of security. Rayne wasn’t impressed.
“What do the protesters want?” she asked without preamble, in a voice that told the guy that she expected a clear and honest answer.
“Right now, they want you, Madam.” The man cast a nervous glance at the prince.
The words left her speechless.
“You’re not going anywhere,” the prince reassured her immediately.
Which was exactly what she’d been thinking, but she would have liked to be the one to decide that. “What on earth would they want with me?” She had no connection to this country, none whatsoever.
The prince explained with some reluctance.
A hostage. So they could get away after they killed him. And he was so insanely calm. Youth. It had to be that. He just didn’t comprehend how much danger he was in. Then again, he didn’t seem like a man who missed much. He had keen, sharp eyes that shone with intelligence. And desire if he looked at her for more than a second. She so did not want to have to deal with that.
And she wouldn’t have to if the rebels took her as a hostage so they could kill him.
She had to sit down. The folds of her gown draped over the chair, nearly making it disappear under the billowing material. Her brain chugged along at a snail’s pace.
He was to be killed.
“Hell of a country,” she said to herself.
“The best in the world.” Benedek’s eyes flashed. “Which doesn’t mean that we don’t have a few malcontents.”
“Odd, but I don’t recall civil unrest and murderous tendencies being mentioned in my pre-trip briefing. Must have missed a page,” she snapped, angry at the whole situation and that he would defend the very people who tried to kill him.
“You’ll be safe,” he promised, his tone instantly milder.
Men were coming into the room—the royal guard. A cell phone rang in Benedek’s pocket. Small and red, she saw when he took it out, handling it as if it were a poisonous snake. Tension immediately doubled as everyone held their breath.
The prince answered the call and listened. “She needs a little more time. She’s almost ready.” He pulled the phone away from his ear. “We got ten more minutes.”
“Freezer?” she asked.
“Not enough room for everyone,” he said.
The director touched his headset and spoke into it. “Tamas? Are you there?” He waited a few seconds as more royal guards came in.
Thirteen people were in the room now. Tamas was the only one missing.
“Tamas? Do you need help?” the director asked, then said after a short pause. “There’s no response.”
“The security cameras are out in that corner of the building since the explosion,” a guy sitting by the row of monitors said. They all spoke English, albeit with various accents, probably as a courtesy to her.
“I’ll go over there and see if he needs anything.” Another man got up to leave.
“We’ll all go.” Prince Benedek looked around at the people in the room. His bodyguard was scowling, but nobody questioned Benedek’s authority. She couldn’t imagine they would, and not because he was a prince. The man had a powerful presence and the aura of a leader. “It might be the safest place yet,” he went on. “The bomb in that section already exploded. Who knows where the others are?”
It made terrifying sense.
One of the older guards, Vilmos she thought his name was, protested some more that the prince should stay in the security office with some guards, but Benedek overrode him.
They trooped down the stairs then, through deserted hallways. The prince kept close to her. She found that she didn’t mind.
In a minute or two, they could see the first signs of damage, cracked walls and floor tile, then, as they turned the corner, the gift shop came into view. The ceiling had collapsed, wires hung from the wall, everything was covered in dust and rubble. It was the first visual they got of what that bomb had done, and it painted a scary future.
A body lay propped against one wall.
“Peter.” The director hurried over.
“Tamas.” The prince was ducking behind a chunk of busted wall.
She followed him and saw a man down just as the prince bent to check for a pulse. His face held so much cold anger that she drew back.
“What happened to him?”
He moved away, and she could see the bloodstain on the man’s shirt. Small cut, big stain.
“Knife wound,” someone spoke from behind her, and her head reeled.
The prince looked over the small group, even as his bodyguard moved closer to him. “Nobody goes anywhere on their own. They have a man in the building somewhere.”
He meant the rebels had a killer in the building. She glanced around, surprised at how well everyone else was taking the news. Meanwhile, her heart was racing so fast she could barely catch her breath.
Dark thoughts chased each other inside her head. The rebels didn’t trust their bombs one hundred percent. They had a backup plan, insurance, someone on the inside who could take out their small group, one by one if necessary, until he got to the prince.
“We’ll stay together,” Benedek was saying, taking control again. “We’ll be fine.”
But something told her they wouldn’t be.
They were trapped in a building rigged with some serious explosives.
And they were being hunted.
Chapter Three (#ulink_a1f950de-7fa0-5bfd-b5e8-969102e551ce)
“Have you looked out the window lately?” Miklos asked over the phone.
“Looking right now,” Benedek said. The rebel forces seemed to have dwindled. “What’s going on out there?”
They were back in the security office. At least from here they could keep track of the building with the help of the security cameras. No movement anywhere. Where in hell was the bastard who’d killed Peter and Tamas?
“The protest was staged by the Freedom Council. It’s confirmed.”
Benedek swore. He’d suspected as much.
“Some paid agitator stirred up the crowd,” Miklos continued. “Half of them didn’t know the real reason why they were marching on the opera house. They thought they were protesting new tax burdens. Now that the true reason is out, many are deserting the protest.”
“Even if every one of them leaves, the bombs remain. And we’ll still be locked in here.”
“We’re working on that.” Miklos’s voice sounded tight. “I have the bomb squad on standby. The second you find anything, you call.”
“We have other problems. Two men are dead in here.” Benedek told him who they were. “I think there’s an enemy inside.”
A moment of silence on the other end, then, “Could be that was their backup plan.”
“Or could be that was plan A. Surround the building, announce the bomb scare, and in the resulting chaos, an assassin could have killed the royal princes. Maybe using the bombs was the backup, in case the assassin didn’t succeed.”
“Except that we were late. You’re the only prince there.”
“And I want to keep it that way. I’m trusting you to keep our brothers at the palace.”
“Believe me, I’ve had my hands full with that. I had to wrestle Lazlo to the ground, not that I mind showing him who’s boss now and then.”
Benedek relaxed for a second, thinking about his twin. Then realized that if Miklos was keeping the others at the palace, that meant he was planning on coming over all alone, because there was no way Miklos could stay out of this. “Before you do anything crazy, think of your wife and your son.” It was the only leverage Benedek had.
“Don’t you worry about me, little brother.”
It wasn’t exactly the reassurance he needed to hear.
They didn’t talk long before hanging up. Benedek was putting the phone away just as the red cell rang.
“Time is up. I’m about to deactivate the lock on the front door. I better see Rayne Williams coming through there.”
The line went dead before Benedek could have demanded that the bastard call off his inside man. Not that he thought the guy would suddenly turn reasonable. But he would have liked to at least try and talk some sense into him given the chance.
“What is it?” the director asked.
“Same demand as before.”
“You should let them have me.” Rayne stood from her chair with a rustling of fabric, determination on her face. She looked like a heroine from some century-old legend. “It’d be a distraction. Maybe the security forces could grab the rebel leaders.”
Some of the guards kept staring at her when they thought she wasn’t looking. Benedek couldn’t blame them. She did look spectacular, as regal as any queen and sexy as hell in that low-cut bodice. Craig stood close to her, patting her hand now and then.
The gesture irritated Benedek—and so did the warm looks she shot back. “I can’t guarantee your safety, so no.” That she would even think that he would let her walk into danger…
She didn’t look happy with him, but after a moment said, “Even if we don’t all fit into that meat locker, you at least should go in there. You’re the prince.”
“She’s right, Your Highness,” his bodyguard immediately voiced his support.
He glanced at his watch. “Safe’s closer.”
“What safe?” Rayne was blinking at him.
“I haven’t received the new code this morning, Your Highness.” The director’s lips flattened.
“I have it.” Benedek was already heading toward the back. He opened a door that revealed a steel panel, and keyed in a code, then waited impatiently for the steel panel to open.
“WHY DOES AN OPERA HOUSE have a bank safe?” Rayne went in first as all the men motioned her forward, and she didn’t feel like arguing. The inside looked like flea market storage, which, under other circumstances, she would have appreciated. She had a weakness for flea markets and everything old.
“It’s a three-hundred-year-old opera house,” the director explained. “We have a lot of valuable antiques, furniture, paintings, Persian rugs that are hundreds of years old and worth hundreds of thousands. We use the safe when there’s work being done in the building. Also, the artwork in the hallways and rotunda are rotated continuously as pieces are restored. Some are stored here.”
The place was fairly full. With thirteen people on top of all those valuables, it was pretty crowded. Somehow Prince Benedek came to be standing behind her. As more people came in, she had no choice but to back up until her back was pressed against him. He was nearly a head taller than she, so her bare shoulders rested against his hard chest.
Normally, someone standing that close would have bothered her but under the circumstances, she felt comforted by his nearness. Comforted and something else, not that she was prepared to admit that.
Especially when she realized that she could feel his breath on her neck, that all he would have to do was dip his head to press his lips to her skin. What a stupid, stupid thing to think.
He would never do that. Why would he? So he’d sent her some flowers over the years, but he was hardly desperate. He probably had a dozen mistresses—the privilege of wealthy men. She pushed her ex-husband from her mind. Her marriage was over. She’d wasted enough years on Philip. She didn’t want to think of him ever again.
Minutes ticked by in tense silence.
The small space grew warm from their body heat. The day had been unseasonably warm for spring. She held still, not wanting to move against Benedek, but she was aware of their bodies touching, aware of every breath he took. A drop of sweat rolled down her neck. She hoped he wouldn’t notice that.
Heat grew inside her as well. Insane. They were fully clothed and in the middle of a crowd. She wasn’t the type to have her knees go weak at the sight of a man or from a touch. She wasn’t what they called sensuous. She’d accepted that over the years. It wasn’t important.
But if she did have some hidden side, couldn’t it have come out for any other man but him? She was done with rich and powerful men, and he was richer and more powerful than any that she’d met.
The building shook. The prince’s strong arms came to hold her around her waist like before. Without conscious thought, she put her hands over his, like before, feeling rattled for more than one reason.
Her body didn’t miss a thing, no matter how loudly her mind protested.
“Basement,” the director said, guessing the location of the bomb.
“I didn’t get around to checking every room down there,” Benedek said.
He’d been down there with the bomb? Her hand squeezed his without her meaning to do it.
“The good news is, the building is still standing.” He didn’t move away. “One more bomb and they have nothing to threaten us with.”
The director, in front, was pushing the safe door open. Since there was barely air to breathe in there, they came out, but stayed close by.
The red cell rang. Benedek put it on speaker.
“I’m tired of firing warning shots. The next one is going to be a big one. Make no mistake, it will bring down the building. You have forty-five minutes to think about it.” Once again, the line went dead as soon as the last word was spoken.
She was the one the rebels wanted. At least for now. She drew a deep breath and steeled her spine, turned to face Benedek.
“If I go out, maybe it’ll cause enough of a distraction so that you and the others can escape through a window in the back. I know you don’t like this plan, but we don’t have much choice.”
“The lower level windows have wrought-iron bars,” he said, not looking the least amused by her repeated suggestion.
Of course. She remembered now that she’d admired the exquisite workmanship. “Maybe you could rappel down from a second story window on something.”
“No.” Benedek’s response was as inflexible as those iron bars.
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Dana Marton
Royal Protocol
Dana Marton
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u6e8beeac-1e9c-56c6-a1c7-8a3c4bd78a02)
Title Page (#u6bf5d6df-0273-5a66-8548-f2ceac775716)
About the Author (#uf6fa960f-0851-5ba5-8583-146958c39a8c)
Chapter One (#ulink_9cf27dfe-fd3b-5710-9030-cb32f4da34b2)
Chapter Two (#ulink_e870e70f-1f68-5807-bc70-6e06d2376367)
Chapter Three (#ulink_4a0b48c8-c694-5db4-ba56-42282ca5ab49)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Dana Marton is the author of more than a dozen fastpaced, action-adventure romantic suspense novels and a winner of the Daphne du Maurier Award of Excellence. She loves writing books of international intrigue, filled with dangerous plots that try her tough-as-nails heroes and the special women they fall in love with. Her books have been published in seven languages in eleven countries around the world. When not writing or reading, she loves to browse antique shops and enjoys working in her sizeable flower garden, where she searches for “bad” bugs with the skills of a superspy and vanquishes them with the agility of a commando soldier. Every day in her garden is a thriller. To find more information on her books, please visit www.danamarton.com. She would love to hear from her readers and can be reached via e-mail at the following address: DanaMarton@DanaMarton.com.
To Denise Zaza and Allison Lyons. Thank you again!
Chapter One (#ulink_f1c3577a-1bf4-54bc-bb41-5a58e2f746f9)
Benedek Kerkay, youngest prince of Valtria, stared at the evenly printed lines on the paper, but all he could see was the face of the most beautiful woman in the universe, the one who’d been holding him enthralled for years. A woman he could never have.
“Protesters are gathering at Liberation Square, Your Highness.” His secretary stood in the door of his temporary office at the Royal Opera House, shifting from one scrawny leg to the other.
Benedek cleared his head and processed the man’s words, forgetting the speech he should have been re-hearsing for the reopening of the three-hundred-year-old opera house, his most significant project yet as an architect. His muscles drew tight. “No. Absolutely not.”
Morin looked gravely ahead. A peculiar-looking little man, he was loyal to the bone at a time when loyalty was scarce. For this, he was much appreciated at the palace. He’d been with the House of Kerkay since Benedek could remember, even forsaking family for service, although rumors about him and the head housekeeper of the palace’s east wing circulated from time to time. He was such a private man that even Benedek didn’t know the truth of those rumors. Nor was he in the mood to speculate on them at the moment.
“There can’t be a protest tonight.” He came out of his seat and strode to the exquisitely restored six-foot-tall window, turning his back to Morin, wishing he could see across the five-acre Millennial Park to Liberation Square.
His fists tightened, crushing the sheets he held. Nothing would be allowed to upset the peace tonight. He’d been working toward this night for the last five years, restoring the Baroque-style building with painstaking care. Close to a thousand nobles, Valtrian celebrities and foreign dignitaries were invited to the opening night and were even now taking their seats. Rayne Williams, opera diva, “the voice of the night,” was giving her first performance outside of the U.S. in a decade.
“Call in Royal Security, call in the army, call in the National Guard, call in the synchronized parachuters for all I care, but do not—” he relaxed his clenched jaw muscles “—let anyone spoil tonight.”
“Yes, Your Highness. Only that it’s—” His secretary hesitated.
Benedek crushed the papers tighter, knowing from the look on the man’s face that he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear. “Only what?”
“A show of force at the present moment—against peaceful protesters.”
Benedek walked to his desk then back to the window, pacing the antique reproduction carpet. Disbanding the protesters by force could look like an attempt to silence the voice of the people. Not a year after the siege of Maltmore Castle where the enemies of the monarchy had attempted to kill the entire royal family and take over the country, where dozens of people died in a night of bloodshed…The royal guard marching on the people might not be the smartest thing politically. The country needed reconciliation and joint steps toward unity.
He hated politics. He’d become an architect partially for that reason. Buildings were simple. Buildings were stable. Buildings didn’t stab you in the back.
“Who’s handling it?”
“The police, Your Highness. Your brother Miklos is keeping a close eye on it as well.”
Miklos was an Army major. He had an interest in security and also played a role in it. “Call the chief of palace security and tell him I need to talk to him. Here.” Benedek was escorting Rayne to a reception at the palace after her performance. Palace Hill was just a few blocks away, not that far from Liberation Square. He needed to discuss these new developments with the chief. Maybe they needed to alter their plans. “I want the protest carefully watched and every change reported.” He drew a slow breath, nodded beyond his office door. “Are they ready?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
He tossed his crumpled speech on his desk, on top of a stack of blueprints and photos of the various stages of the building’s restoration. This building meant everything to him. His oldest brother, Arpad, had ribbed him about wanting to show the country that he was more than the youngest prince at the palace. Maybe there was some truth in that, but the project was more. It was his validation as an architect.
He straightened his tuxedo jacket. “How do I look?”
Morin seemed surprised by the question.
And Benedek was instantly annoyed that he’d asked. On any other day, he would have been too busy drawing blueprints in his mind to pay much attention to his appearance.
“Splendid, Your Highness,” Morin said at last, after an awkward silence.
Benedek nodded his thanks, knowing the compliment meant little. As a prince he was used to hearing what everyone thought he wanted to hear.
Except when it came to bloody protesters.
He passed by his secretary, strode down the hallway that looked majestic even in the staff areas where the audience would never wander. He waved his new bodyguard away. “Wait for me at the royal box,” he told the man, turning down the hall. He missed his old guard who had recently retired. He hadn’t had a chance to develop the same kind of rapport with this one yet. And he didn’t need anyone hovering at his back when he finally met Rayne Williams.
The rich carpet softened his steps on the antique floorboards. The building was like a grande dame of old with gracious curves and resplendent gilding, tantalizing textures and colors. He didn’t stop until he reached the door at the very end. The sign on the door simply said Rayne. He adjusted his tie one last time then knocked.
“Come in.”
He pushed the door wide with a smile, then stopped midmotion to stare. An unprincely thing to do. He needed to stop reacting to her like a moon-eyed teenager.
He’d seen her perform in New York several times, but Rayne Williams was a thousand times more beautiful up close. Silver eyes shone out of a face that was perfectly symmetrical; her skin was translucent and glowing, her lips ruby-glossed. Ebony strands of silky hair cascaded to well below her slim waist, while more was piled intricately at the back of her head. She was willowy, although not as tall as he was, wearing a burgundy gown, the copy of one worn by a historical heroine of Valtria at her royal wedding. The corset pushed up her breasts to the point of nearly spilling from the brocade, as had been the custom of that age.
He was all for historical accuracy. Absolutely.
He bowed deeply before she could notice his rapt attention to her cleavage. “Welcome to Valtria.”
“Thank you, Prince Benedek. I understand you’ll be escorting me to the stage tonight.”
She was unfailingly polite, even though she disliked him. He knew that for a fact. But her voice, soft and rich, still had the power to keep him spell-bound. He was to be her escort for tonight. Not nearly enough, although he’d come to accept that her remote behavior toward him was for the best.
For years, he’d gone to her performances in the U.S., sometimes two or three times a year, sending her a bouquet of Valtria’s signature purple roses each time, always with an invitation to dinner. Her response notes were always the same, she felt honored but no thanks.
And no matter how much he wanted to get closer to her, he’d never pushed beyond that. Because even as he’d fantasized about taking her as a lover, he was afraid that might not be enough. His twin brother, Lazlo, was the consummate ladies’ man. Benedek was more of a one-woman kind of guy. And Rayne Williams could never be his one woman.
He could never have her forever. He could absolutely not marry an American singer, no matter how famous and respected. The scandal alone would kill his ailing mother. Dark memories surfaced. He pushed them back. He wouldn’t make a mistake of that magnitude again. He was a prince. He was to marry a daughter of the Valtrian nobility who was even now being selected behind closed doors by the chancellor and his team.
Seeing how much positive publicity Miklos’s marriage and the birth of his son had brought to the monarchy, the new chancellor was obsessed with marrying off the rest of the princes. And Benedek was determined not to buck protocol again. He’d done that before with disastrous consequences.
He cleared his throat, then did his best to clear his mind of all the things he and Miss Williams could be doing instead of walking to the stage. He was a grown man, thirty two years old. He’d had lovers, passion, disappointments. Tragedies.
But Rayne Williams was Rayne Williams.
“If you will allow me the honor, Madam,” he said and offered his arm.
After tonight, she would stay for three more days in Valtria. Three days in which he would content himself with admiring her from afar and would not, under any circumstances, seduce her. Not that she looked like she would let him if he tried. Still the challenge—He killed that thought without mercy and took in those silver eyes that held nothing but politeness. No batting of the lashes, none of the come-hither looks he was used to from women.
On this count, at least, the royal family seemed safe from trouble.
TROUBLE WITH A ROYAL TITLE—Rayne summed up the man in front of her and continued wearing her stage smile.
He was as handsome as the devil himself, a prince spoiled by privilege, and way too young to be looking at her the way he had from the moment he’d set foot inside her dressing room.
If he noted the conspicuous lack of a gushing response to the enormous bouquet of purple roses he’d sent earlier, he didn’t show it. The roses, like all other flowers she received, were usually distributed among the support staff.
He was an exceedingly charismatic man in person, she noted with dismay. She’d been right to stay away from him. He carried himself with the unconscious grace of nobility, his body toned and agile. From what she’d read, all the Valtrian princes were serious sportsmen, and it certainly showed. The youngest prince of Valtria was no palace weakling; he was built tough like most of his countrymen. She supposed it came from living in this rugged country at the foot of the Alps.
“Whenever you’re ready.” He smiled a charmer’s smile. It looked unfairly good on him.
And despite her misgivings, she placed her hand onto his offered arm. She was taken by surprise when a shock wave of connection and awareness shot all the way to her elbow, despite the barrier of his tuxedo and her satin gloves between them.
She caught her breath, but said, “Let’s go then.” And glided alongside him without the slightest pause. She was a professional performer. If she didn’t want him to know the effect he had on her then, by God, he wouldn’t.
She’d been pursued by enough presumptuous rich men who thought all performers were of loose morals, living only to be pretty and to satisfy their every desire. They sent flowers to her dressing room, truffles, even jewelry. They had their expensive cars wait for her at the actors’ exit after performances. She’d always sent the chauffeurs home with an empty backseat.
Leaders of industry, even public figures showed up in her dressing room, ready for a quick tumble, treating her like she was the flavor of the month out of some musical revue at a downtown theatre. They didn’t know anything about her, nothing at all.
She wasn’t for sale, not ever again. All the rich perverts could keep their money and drown in it.
At forty, she was an accomplished singer and a woman of independent means. And she was damn proud of that.
But she did give a gracious smile to the handsome prince, even if she had the distinct feeling that she was being served on a silver platter to the man. To be invited to the reopening of the Valtrian opera, a historic occasion, was an honor, regardless of the fact that she didn’t want to be here. She would have rather chosen a place much closer to her home for her first transatlantic flight in a decade.
“Your tie is crooked,” she told him, registering the fact automatically.
He would give her introduction. She didn’t want him to go up on stage with his tie askew and have the audience looking at that instead of what he was doing. Checking and rechecking herself and the rest of the cast before shows was something she did without conscious thought.
An odd look flashed across his eyes as he reached up, his long, masculine fingers fumbling. Without a mirror, he had no idea what to adjust.
She drew a breath. “Let me.” She was tall, but he was taller so she had to reach up. She straightened the black cloth at his neck, pulling back too fast when her knuckles brushed against his strong jawline for a second.
“Thank you, Madam.” His focus on her never wavered.
Those intense dark eyes could be the doom of a woman if she weren’t careful, she thought for a fanciful second before she gathered herself. She wasn’t about to let on that she was oddly flustered. Flustered. At her age. By some prince nearly a decade her junior. How crazy was that? “Rayne, please, Your Highness.” Everybody in the business called her Rayne.
“If you call me Benedek.” His focused, mesmerizing intensity relaxed by a small degree.
He seemed pleased. Then he let go all the way, and the smile that slowly bloomed on his handsome face was absolutely stunning: warm, sexy, masculine. His eyes were the deep rich brown of the Swiss truffles she rewarded herself with on occasion. The manufacturer spoiled her with regular gifts, one of the perks of being a diva of her time. The title came with both advantages and disadvantages.
As did his, the thought crossed her mind. Maybe his life was as strange and as out of his hands at times as her own. Maybe they had something in common, after all.
His smile held. God help any unsuspecting woman he set his sights on. She was relieved to know that in three days, she would be leaving Valtria.
It’d been a long time since she’d been this aware of a man. She’d seen him before, but always from the stage, from a fair distance, even if he did sit in the best box each and every time. But now, having him this close and touching her, a faint charge ran along her skin, and she couldn’t quite tell if it was a quick thrill or a shiver of foreboding.
She had little time to ponder it. The closer they got to the stage, the more energy filled her body. Yet, at the same time, a great calm descended on her mind. She was in the zone. She was doing what she loved. Singing was who she was. She could certainly ignore the bedroom eyes of a young European prince.
“It’s too fuzzy! Who touched the ERS? Everything worked fine this morning, damn it.” A little man rushed by, shouting to someone over his headset, demanding perfect stage lighting.
She didn’t let that worry her. By the time the curtains rolled back, everything would be ready. She would focus only on her own performance. She’d learned that to pay attention to anyone else’s was the surest way to get distracted.
People were scurrying about with small props and sheets of paper, losing their heads over some minor crisis or the other that tended to pop up before every show. Rayne focused on what she needed to do and routinely ignored the rest.
When they reached the steps that led up to the stage, the prince motioned her forward. In her mind, she was already singing the selection from Valtria’s most famous operas. Troublesome princes with bedroom eyes or not, the country had had some brilliant composers.
She was on the second step when the building shook and she lost her footing in the period shoes that had been made to match her costume. She found herself, confused and alarmed, in the prince’s arms. He’d been coming up behind her and had caught her when she’d stumbled.
His strong arms held her as if she were a precious treasure.
Protective.
She blinked the temporary fancy away. Over the years, a great many men had wanted to do a great many things with her. Protecting her had never been one of them.
“What was that?” she asked as he set her on her feet.
“This way.” He grabbed her hand and dragged her back toward the dressing room with a dark expression on his face that stood in contrast to his seemingly pleased mood of before.
They met with his secretary halfway down the corridor, a man named Morin. She’d been introduced to him upon arrival. He was as skinny a man as she’d ever seen, with a rather large head and an incredibly long, thin nose. He kept his spine studiously straight and his shoulders pushed back. The first time she’d seen him, she’d thought he had an uncanny resemblance to a mosquito.
The image was reinforced now as, filled with nervous energy, he buzzed around the prince.
“The protest turned violent, Your Highness. A catering van just exploded in front of the opera house. There seems to be some confusion over whether it was an accident or intentional.”
Her pulse quickened. “There’s a protest?” She hadn’t turned on her television set in her hotel room since she’d arrived. She preferred to relax in silence when not practicing for her performance.
“Supposedly peaceful. I apologize,” the prince said, keeping pace. “Order will be restored at any moment. We will delay the performance by just a few minutes.” He fell silent for a beat. “No. An hour. In an hour I’ll have this fully investigated.”
A man in a dark suit came flying down the hall. “Everything all right, Your Highness?” He scanned their surroundings.
He looked like a bodyguard. Probably the prince’s.
“You’ll go with Miss Williams,” Benedek told him.
The man looked decidedly uncomfortable as he fell in step with them. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I cannot do that.” He looked extremely apologetic, but even more inflexible on that issue. “I’m required—”
“Fine,” Benedek cut him off and stopped at the point where the corridor came to a T. He turned to his secretary who’d been flitting along, wringing his hands. “Is the chief of palace security here?”
“On his way, Your Highness. I talked to him just a moment ago and—”
“I’m trusting you two to escort Miss Williams to the palace. Call for an armored car and as many royal guards as they can spare.”
The man about snapped his heels together. “Certainly, Your Highness.”
She hadn’t been to the palace yet, although she was supposed to attend a reception there tonight. She didn’t fancy going out to the streets just now. The opera house was giant and newly restored, looking sturdy enough to withstand a full-blown military attack if necessary.
“I’d prefer not to leave the building this close to my performance,” she objected, but the prince seemed to be focused on something else and was already rushing off with a last, unfathomable look at her, his bodyguard in his wake, following closely.
“This way.” Morin was certainly determined to obey his boss. He dialed his cell phone, his lips tightening. “The line’s busy. He might be outside already, investigating the explosion.”
She assumed he was talking about the chief of palace security.
Morin called for an armored car next. “We’ll go out the back entrance,” he said as he hung up.
She barely had time to process that before they neared the back door normally used by stage staff, where people were rushing out, then rushing right back in.
The secretary cast her a concerned look. “Do not worry, Madam. I’ll investigate what’s going on out there and arrange for you to vacate the premises. I shall return as soon as possible.”
Honest to goodness, he talked like that, like some old-fashioned manual.
People rushed through, bumping into her.
She moved closer to the wall to keep out of the jostling flow. The last thing she needed was for her gown to be torn just before she went on stage. “I’ll be in my dressing room,” she called after Morin, but wasn’t sure if the man heard her.
The hallway was clogged, people elbowing each other, some speaking languages she didn’t understand. It seemed like the entire staff was back here for some reason, even the lighting assistant they’d passed earlier. She gave up fighting to get to her own dressing room and stepped inside the nearest storage room instead.
She closed the door and turned the rusty key in the lock. Her dressing room had looked brand-new, but this place didn’t look renovated unless one counted the fresh coat of paint on the walls. She supposed all budgets had their limits. Money had probably been saved on out-of-the-way storage areas. She listened. If Morin called her name out there, she would be able to hear it.
Five minutes passed. She unlocked the door with some effort—the key was sticking—and, looking out, could see her dressing room. Morin wasn’t there.
She pulled back in. Everything was going to be fine.
There had been some unrest in the country the year before, but peace had been restored. Since most of the royal family were to attend tonight’s performance, security in and around the opera house was top-notch. Craig, her agent, and she had already discussed security concerns.
According to the tour she’d been given on arrival, the building had withstood three hundred years of turbulent history, including two world wars. She closed her eyes and tried to calm her breathing. She would be safe in here.
Small bottles of mineral water stood in a crate by the door. Looking at them made her realize how dry her mouth had gone from all the excitement. She grabbed a bottle and twisted the cap off, but didn’t get a chance to drink before another explosion shook the building, this one closer than the first. Jars of stage makeup rattled on the desk.
She put her drink down, then stepped to the door and pushed the purple Bombay chest—must have been a prop at one point—in front of it, barricading herself inside. The din out in the hallway was disconcerting. Maybe the rebels were trying to fight their way in through the back entrance.
Craig was in the audience. She wished she could talk to her agent, but her cell phone was in her own dressing room. She wished Benedek hadn’t left her. He would know what was going on, at the very least. His people would keep him informed.
She stayed near the door, listening. She was fine. Everything was fine. In a minute or two, Morin would be back.
“HOW SERIOUS IS THE situation?” Benedek asked again as he scanned the wall of monitors.
The director of security for the opera house was of the opinion that the peaceful protest at Liberation Square had been a ruse by the Freedom Council. The enemies of the monarchy had gathered as many of their people as possible in the vicinity of the opera house to sabotage the opening, perhaps even capture the royal family who were supposed to be in attendance.
Except that the Queen had felt unwell earlier in the evening, and Benedek’s brothers lingered by her side, running late. She’d taken to her bed over a year ago, her condition fluctuating since. So when the crowd attacked, the princes were still safely at the palace. Benedek, who’d been here since early morning, making sure opening night would be a resounding success, was the only member of the royal family currently in the building.
“How many rebels are we talking about this time?” he asked, tacking another question onto the first before the director had a chance to answer.
“About two thousand is the best we can estimate from the upper windows, Your Highness.”
He nodded. At least Rayne got out in time and was inside the palace by now, under heavy guard. He barely had a half dozen royal guards here. The rest were supposed to arrive later, with his brothers. “Who’s their leader?”
“A very angry young man, Your Highness. Goes by the name of Mario and fancies himself a freedom fighter. The palace just sent over a security report on him. Supposedly, he’s not associated with the Freedom Council.”
Maybe he hadn’t been before, but Benedek had a feeling the Council had gotten to him and were using him now.
The three nameless men who ran the council were ruthless in their quest to dethrone the monarchy and break up the country, along ethnic lines, into small republics they would have full control over.
“Should I initialize lockdown?” The director waited for his answer.
The opera house had a massive security system in place. A computer program handled the entrances, all of which could be sealed at the push of a button. But if they locked down, it would be viewed as a step toward conflict, the crowd outside would be provoked and might lay siege to the building. He didn’t want to risk the damage, not while they still had other options. “I’ll try negotiating first.”
The director paled. “I beg you to think of your safety, Your Highness. I shall go out there immediately. ”
“You stay here and keep people from panicking.”
“Your Highness—” The man tried to stand in his way and stop him while remaining respectful and deferential, not an easy task.
The royal guards stepped closer as well. His new bodyguard didn’t seem amused either.
“This is my opera house.” Benedek gave them a level look. “Anyone wants to lay a finger on it, they answer to me.”
Two bombs had already exploded outside.
The rebels, whatever they wanted, needed to know that he wasn’t as easily intimidated as that. He hadn’t started fighting yet. Before the evening turned into night, he would have the rebels gone and Rayne back on stage. Or else.
“THERE ARE THREE BOMBS in the building,” the voice said on the other end of the line, playing his trump card over and over again, sounding triumphant and frustrated at the same time.
The call had come in on a red cell phone someone had left in the security office. Nobody there now knew who it belonged to or how it got there.
The dozen men inside the opera’s security office watched Benedek intently, hoping for a resolution at last. He silently shook his head. That first bomb outside had exploded an hour ago and they hadn’t yet gotten anywhere.
“Almost a thousand innocent people are in this building. Your quarrel is with the monarchy. This has nothing to do with tonight’s audience. I’m the only member of the royal family here. You let these people go and I will willingly give myself into your hands,” he repeated his best offer, and the men around him protested again.
Negotiations were at a deadlock. He’d been trying to talk reason into the man on the other end of the line on and off for the past hour, to no avail.
The enemy was frustrated because they’d expected six princes and got only one instead.
“You say your revolution is for the people,” Benedek reminded the man. “Then don’t hurt the people, Mario. You can’t think that the publicity to your cause would be anything but negative. If you want to gain public support, murdering a thousand innocent civilians is not the way to go about it. This isn’t a glorious battle for freedom, you and I both know it. It’s mass murder. Somebody is using you as a means to an end.”
Dead silence on the other end.
“I’ll let them walk out unharmed,” the man said after a full minute, probably as frustrated with the stalled negotiations as Benedek. “But you will not leave the building. Not you, not that American singer.”
And for the first time, Benedek relaxed. “She has nothing to do with this,” he offered a token protest to make sure the man didn’t become suspicious. Thank God, Rayne had left before the building had been surrounded.
Two thousand rebels circled the opera house; five hundred police as well as royal guards, investigators, antiterrorist unit agents and other security circled the rebels. Helicopters hovered in the air above—he could see and hear them through the window. He imagined the scene must look like a giant bull’s eye from the air. With his opera house smack in the middle.
His muscles were tight with outrage.
Security forces couldn’t move without risking that the rebels might set off the bombs. They were at an impasse.
Which would remain the same even after the people were let go. Security forces wouldn’t risk the lives of their prince and a high-profile American by rushing the rebels. The rebels knew this.
“In exactly five minutes, a gap will open in our ranks directly across from the main entrance. Anyone who wants to leave the building, can walk through. They’ll have five minutes to leave before the ranks close. Anyone outside after that, between us and the building, will be shot at,” the voice on the phone said.
“There are a thousand people in here—” Benedek argued, wanting to negotiate for more time, but the line had already gone dead.
He glanced at his watch as he ran for the door. “In five minutes, they’ll let everyone leave,” he said, explaining the rest as he went.
Security followed behind to help.
He rushed downstairs and straight to the stage, flying up the steps Rayne had stumbled on not long ago, falling into his arms. Thank God, whatever was about to happen here, no harm would come to her.
The sound was on, everything was ready for her performance. The audience was in their seats where they’d been asked to remain for their own safety. Benedek addressed them, explaining everything in two minutes flat. The next three were spent lining everyone up in front of the door in a tight line, ready to go.
His phone rang.
“What can I do to help?” his brother, Miklos the Army major, asked.
“Do not come here. They’re letting people go. I’ll call you back later.” Benedek opened the front door, making sure that if there was foul play involved, his body would shield those behind him.
His security guard pushed him out of the way the next second, putting himself in front of Benedek. “This is what they want, Your Highness. Don’t make yourself a target.”
They watched as the rebel forces parted, leaving a five-foot gap to freedom.
“Run!” was the last word of advice Benedek gave to the men and women before stepping away from the door completely.
And they did, helping each other, careful not to cause a stampede, many speaking words of encour-agement to their prince as they left. He’d never been as proud of his people as he was at that moment.
“Go!” he said again when he looked back inside the lobby and spotted the royal guards and a couple of other men who hadn’t come up to the door.
He glanced at his watch. “Thirty seconds.”
The rest of the staff and audience were already crossing to freedom, clearing the ring of rebels. A lady of his mother’s age brought up the rear, running with her granddaughter in her arms. The little girl slowed her down too much, as did her gown. Benedek watched them, while yelling at the men who’d stayed behind. “You must leave! There’s no time.”
Two royal guards separated from the group and dashed out the door. One grabbed the young girl and ran; the other tossed the stately lady in her full-skirted brocade gown right over his shoulder and dashed forward with her.
They made it before the rebels closed ranks.
Benedek stepped away from the door and let it close, foreboding filling him as he took in the nearly empty space, the remains of his grand opening night. In hindsight, his hope that the delay wouldn’t last more than an hour was probably too optimistic. He glared at the men.
“You should not have stayed.” He drew a deep breath. “But I thank you for your loyalty,” he told them.
“Should probably go back upstairs, Your Highness, ” one of the older royal guards recommended, and they followed him, seeing no purpose in lingering just inside the entrance.
When they made it back inside the security office, two of the guards immediately went to monitor the cameras set up inside and outside the building. Eight royal guards had remained, plus his personal security guard, plus the director, plus three civilians.
“Peter Havek, retired police officer,” one of the civilians introduced himself.
“Tamas Havek, from Havek Construction. Brothers, I have some demolition experience. We could go and look for those bombs. With your permission, Your Highness.”
The director handed them each a headset, then they were on their way even as Benedek thanked them. The royal guards followed, except for the two who manned the monitors, looking for the bomb with the help of the security cameras. Over a hundred cameras had been strategically placed throughout the building.
“Craig Miller.” The third civilian spoke with an American accent. “Rayne’s agent. Where is she?” The man’s lips were tight with worry, making Benedek wonder just what his relationship was with Rayne. He looked distinguished with just a touch of gray at the temples, wore an expensive tux and an expensive watch, standing apart from the others. “She doesn’t answer her cell.”
“My secretary escorted Miss Williams to the palace an hour ago.” As soon as he had a second, Benedek was going to call and check on them. Maybe even now. He reached for his cell phone, then let it drop back into his pocket and turned when the computer behind him sounded a series of beeps.
The two royal guards at the main console were desperately pushing buttons.
“Security lockdown just self-initiated,” one reported, casting about a wide-eyed look, disbelief in his voice.
“Impossible. It can’t self-initiate.” The director rushed over.
“Someone hacked into the system.”
“I’ll recall the damn lockdown.” The director’s voice rose, along with the color in his cheeks. “I apologize, Your Highness.” He moved to a free console immediately. Seconds passed. “Whoever initialized it already changed the password.” His tone was filled with outrage.
Benedek left Rayne’s agent and stepped up to the director. “What does this mean, exactly?”
“We’re locked in,” the director told him. “Nobody goes out, nobody comes in.”
“What do they want now? With them out there, we couldn’t leave anyway—”
The red cell phone rang, cutting him off.
The man on the other end of the line said, “Bring Rayne Williams to the front door in twenty minutes. The door will open for one minute exactly and you will hand her over. If she’s not there when we open the door, we blow up the building. We’ve planted three bombs in the building.”
Chapter Two (#ulink_4bb5451e-fca8-5073-a3f9-dcf5299363fd)
“This makes no sense,” Craig said after Benedek had hung up the phone and explained everything to the men around him. “If they were going to let Rayne go, why didn’t they let her go with the others?”
“They aren’t planning on letting her go.” Benedek’s jaw clenched. “She’s to be their high-profile hostage. This way they, or at least their leaders, can get away after they blow up the opera.”
“With us in it?” Craig looked from one man to the other, wide-eyed.
The director of security nodded. “Your Highness must get out at any cost.”
“But we don’t have Rayne.” Craig wiped his sweating hands on the side of his designer tux.
“We’ll tell them that Miss Williams is unwell,” the director said, a speculative look coming into his eyes. “Play for time.”
“Why?” Craig looked between the two men. “If we tell them that she’s not here, maybe they won’t blow up the building. Without a hostage, the second they make a move, security forces will massacre them. The rebels won’t risk that. They won’t do anything if they don’t have her.”
“Their main goal is to end the monarchy. They have me trapped. Whatever happens, they’re not going to let me leave here.” Benedek lay down the somber facts. “You shouldn’t have stayed.”
A moment of silence passed as each man considered what might happen next.
“We need time to find a way to get Prince Benedek out of the building,” Benedek’s security guard said. “If we tell them that Miss Williams isn’t here, they might turn this into a suicide mission and blow up the building right now.”
“I’m not going anywhere, unless we all go,” Benedek stated flatly. “If we tell the rebels that Miss Williams is unwell, but will go out shortly, we might gain enough time to find the bombs and disarm them. It’s in their best interest to wait for her. They’ll want to wait.”
“Why is that?” Craig asked.
“They think my brothers will rush to my rescue and then they can get all the princes.” The absolutely maddening thing was that he knew his brothers would come. No amount of common sense, palace security, probably not even a royal order from the Queen would hold them back.
He had to solve this problem before that. He needed enough time to find and disarm the bombs with the help of their resident demolition expert, but not so much time that his brothers could come up with a plan and show up here. The difficulty was in the balance.
“Except, we can’t call the rebels back to negotiate. ” The call had come in as an unregistered number and could not be redialed.
He’d been hotheaded enough at the beginning, so outraged by the attack that he’d wanted to rush out to give a piece of his mind to the bastards. He’d now cooled enough to realize that risking his life was not the best course of action. For one, if anything happened to him, his brothers for sure would be over here in the next second, starting a civil war.
“Now what?” Craig asked.
“Now we spread out and comb the building for those bombs.” The director handed a headset to Benedek and one to Craig. Everyone else already had them.
With his bodyguard on his heels, Benedek took off toward the lower levels. Having worked on every detail of the renovations, he knew the building like he knew the names of all Valtrian kings back to the ninth century, the beginnings of the monarchy. First he went to the area that housed the furnaces and air conditioning. He checked under, behind, and on top of every piece of equipment.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
His bodyguard helped, too, making the process faster. They went to the prop room next. Then costumes, tension growing in his shoulders as he moved from one area to the next. He walked through the giant backup pantry that would be used by the five-star restaurant that would soon open inside the opera house.
He checked his watch before moving on. They had less than five minutes left.
“Couldn’t find anything,” someone checked in over the headset.
“No bomb here either,” another voice said.
Benedek’s cell phone rang.
“Your Highness. I got caught up in a tussle behind the opera house and lost my phone,” Morin, his secretary said. “I apologize for not being in touch sooner. I just got into the palace. Is there anything anyone can do from here?”
“Until further notice, your only job is to take care of Miss Williams.”
“Your Highness?”
Something in his tone sounded the alarm for Benedek. “She’s safe with you. Correct?”
“She didn’t come with me, Your Highness. She wasn’t let go with the other hostages? I just heard—forgive me, I just got in.”
Benedek’s blood ran cold at the thought of any harm coming to her. “She’s probably with the chief of palace security.”
“I just talked with him. He hasn’t seen her.”
His muscles tightened, his complete focus on the man on the other end. “Where did you see her last?”
“Just inside the back entrance.”
Benedek ended the call and spoke into his headset. “Rayne Williams is in the building. Start looking for her, keep looking for the bomb. I repeat, Rayne is in the building. Find her.”
NOBODY HAD COME for her.
Nearly two hours had passed since Morin had left. She’d listened at the door, waiting for him to call her name in the hallway, but he hadn’t. Nobody had. All noise had stopped, in fact, over an hour ago, as if all staff had cleared out.
She had tried to leave several times, but the ancient key had gotten stuck in the lock then broke right off when she’d tried to force it. She had shouted for help to the point of risking damage to her vocal cords, but nobody had answered.
And then, at last, she heard her name called.
“Rayne!”
She’d never been as glad to hear another sound in her life. She thought she recognized the voice. “Prince Benedek?”
The door handle rattled.
“It’s stuck.”
“Stand back,” he said.
The door burst open with a bang in the next second.
“Are you all right?” He stood in the threshold like some theatrical hero, in his impeccable tux and with blazing eyes. She noticed again how tall he was, the breadth of his shoulders, the incredible depth of his gaze. His was the kind of presence critics called “mesmerizing” in a performance.
He was years younger than her, for heaven’s sake.
She gathered herself and stomped out even the smallest spark of attraction. “Fine. Thank you.” She smoothed her hair into place and lifted her chin. She hated anyone seeing her shaken.
His bodyguard stood outside in the hallway, inclined his head. “Madam.”
Benedek took her hand without preamble and pulled her after him. Again, his touch was electrifying, his hand enfolding hers, warm and secure. She’d taken her gloves off earlier, and now found the skin-to-skin touch disconcerting.
“Where’s everyone else?” The utter silence of the building had been making her increasingly nervous.
“The rebels let the audience leave. Only fifteen of us stayed here. Including you. The building is locked down.”
“So they can’t get in?” Oh, good.
“So we can’t get out.”
Her lungs constricted. “We’re trapped?”
The tight expression on his face was enough of an answer.
“Where are we going?” she asked, but he began talking into his headset, something she hadn’t noticed earlier.
“I’ve got Rayne. We’re on our way to the restaurant. Found any bombs yet?” He paused to listen. “Seek cover.”
She went weak in the knees. “What bomb? Did they find it? What do you mean?”
“The rebels might have explosives in the building.” He glanced at his watch and was now out and out running.
“Why are we going to the restaurant?” She ran up the stairs by his side.
He let her hand go so she could hold up the folds of her voluminous skirt with both hands and not trip. She no longer cared about wrinkling her gown before the performance. There would be no performance tonight. They would be lucky if they still had an opera house when this was all over. Or if they were still alive. She reached the top and dashed through the gilded swinging doors.
Benedek ran straight for the back. “Industrial meat cooler,” he said, as if that explained anything.
Then they were through the kitchen and at the giant, stainless-steel doors. He pushed up the lever and opened the door. They just about fell inside, his bodyguard leaping in after them.
The first thing she registered was that the place was empty, the second that it wasn’t freezing. Hadn’t been turned on yet. Thank God, since her dress was rather open on top. Then the door slammed shut, and they were enveloped in darkness.
An explosion shook the building, ten times stronger than the previous two. Whatever blew up now had been a lot nearer.
She was about rattled off her feet, careful to put out a steadying hand toward the wall and not toward the prince. But his hand shot out in the darkness, went around her waist and secured her. He was so close that she could feel his heat, the strong, solid presence of his body. Bombs, he’d said earlier. There could be more. Even closer than the last one.
Oh, to hell with self-composure for once. She grabbed on to his arm in a death grip.
She disliked wealthy men of privilege on principie. She was even more wary of Benedek, who’d watched her with a singular intensity during her performances, and at times made it difficult for her to completely immerse herself in whatever role she was playing. No other man had ever been able to do that to her, and she resented his ability to mess with her head.
But right now he was the closest thing to hang on to, and hang on she did.
“Easy,” Benedek said next to her ear, his warm breath fanning her neck, tickling its way down her skin.
Half of her was preparing for death. Her other half was…tingling.
He had a soapy scent, very expensive soap, masculine but non-obtrusive, with a trace of spice that made her want to lean closer to catch more. Instead, she peeled her fingers off his arm as her initial panic ebbed and took a deep, steadying breath from the opposite direction. She couldn’t be losing her composure just because they’d touched. They weren’t even alone, for heaven’s sake.
When, after long minutes, no further explosions came, he moved away from her. The light came on the next second. He was standing by the door. He’d probably flipped the switch.
He exchanged a glance with his bodyguard, emotions swirling in his dark eyes. Anger, out-and-out fury, was dominant. Then something else came into his gaze when he looked at her. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. A bomb just went off in the building. This wasn’t normally part of the whole opera singer experience. Lockdown or not, they needed to get the hell out of here. There had to be a way.
His bodyguard was already opening the door and checking outside.
“What are we waiting for?” she asked when Benedek hesitated for a moment.
“There are two more bombs,” he said.
“I APOLOGIZE. If I’d known that something like this would happen, if I thought that the country wasn’t a hundred percent safe, I would have never allowed you to come here,” Benedek told her.
“Yes. Well.” She seemed shaken, but was covering it up admirably, holding her head high and her spine straight, as regal as any queen. “I can hardly blame you. I’m sure you didn’t plan on getting blown up. What do they want?”
The kitchen was in shambles, chairs turned over, pots and pans scattered on the floor.
He shook his head. “We should find the others.”
“What do they want?” She wasn’t easily distracted.
“They want the monarchy gone,” he said, as his headset crackled to life.
The director was asking, “Is everyone all right?”
“Fine here. I’ve got Rayne,” he said.
One by one, everyone checked in, except the ex-cop. Benedek tried to remember his name. “Where’s Peter?”
“He was heading to the gift shop to look for the bomb last I talked to him,” the guy’s brother said.
Foreboding filled him. “Where was the explosion?”
“East corner.” The director’s voice was glum.
Benedek moved forward. The east corner of the building was where the gift shop was located. “Going there now.”
His bodyguard stepped in the way immediately. “Your Highness—”
Benedek held up a hand. Someone was talking over the headset again.
“I’m almost there,” the lost guy’s brother, the construction expert, was saying. Tamas. Benedek remembered his name.
A few moments passed. “I’m there,” the words crackled through Benedek’s headset. Then came the scraping noise of something being pushed out of the way. Then a grunt. Then complete, utter silence. The man’s voice sounded broken when he spoke next. “He didn’t make it. No need to come here.”
Benedek’s jaw clenched. He relaxed it with some effort.
Originally, fifteen people had remained in the building after everyone else had left. With the ex-cop gone, they were down to fourteen.
“We lost a man.” He passed on the news and reached for Rayne’s hand, held it for a brief second before she pulled it back.
No more information was coming through his headset, the line was quiet. He wanted to ask of the damage to the building, but how could he do that? To Tamas, the damage was absolute. He had lost a brother. Benedek gave thanks to God that his brothers had been late to the performance, that they would be spared whatever was going to happen.
As long as they were smart enough to stay away. Unfortunately, knowing his brothers as he did, he highly doubted that.
“Ceiling caved in here,” Tamas reported after a while, his construction-trained mind probably surveying even without conscious effort on his part. “Some walls collapsed, but all the load-bearing walls are still standing. No major damage to the structure. No breach in the outside wall to get us out of the place.” He paused. “I’m going to stay here for a few more minutes. ”
To say goodbye. “Take all the time you need,” Benedek said.
The siege of the opera house had its first victim. He wasn’t optimistic enough to believe that the man had also been the last.
A MAN HAD DIED.
It brought everything into sharp focus, making their situation even more frighteningly real. Rayne followed Benedek back to the security office where he was supposed to meet the others.
“How did you know they were going to detonate the bomb?” The way he’d been running for cover, it was as if he’d known exactly what was going to happen.
“They gave us an ultimatum.”
“Which was what?”
They were heading up the stairs. The prince remained silent.
“What ultimatum?”
He said nothing.
A man waited for them at the office door. Benedek introduced him as the director of security. Rayne wasn’t impressed.
“What do the protesters want?” she asked without preamble, in a voice that told the guy that she expected a clear and honest answer.
“Right now, they want you, Madam.” The man cast a nervous glance at the prince.
The words left her speechless.
“You’re not going anywhere,” the prince reassured her immediately.
Which was exactly what she’d been thinking, but she would have liked to be the one to decide that. “What on earth would they want with me?” She had no connection to this country, none whatsoever.
The prince explained with some reluctance.
A hostage. So they could get away after they killed him. And he was so insanely calm. Youth. It had to be that. He just didn’t comprehend how much danger he was in. Then again, he didn’t seem like a man who missed much. He had keen, sharp eyes that shone with intelligence. And desire if he looked at her for more than a second. She so did not want to have to deal with that.
And she wouldn’t have to if the rebels took her as a hostage so they could kill him.
She had to sit down. The folds of her gown draped over the chair, nearly making it disappear under the billowing material. Her brain chugged along at a snail’s pace.
He was to be killed.
“Hell of a country,” she said to herself.
“The best in the world.” Benedek’s eyes flashed. “Which doesn’t mean that we don’t have a few malcontents.”
“Odd, but I don’t recall civil unrest and murderous tendencies being mentioned in my pre-trip briefing. Must have missed a page,” she snapped, angry at the whole situation and that he would defend the very people who tried to kill him.
“You’ll be safe,” he promised, his tone instantly milder.
Men were coming into the room—the royal guard. A cell phone rang in Benedek’s pocket. Small and red, she saw when he took it out, handling it as if it were a poisonous snake. Tension immediately doubled as everyone held their breath.
The prince answered the call and listened. “She needs a little more time. She’s almost ready.” He pulled the phone away from his ear. “We got ten more minutes.”
“Freezer?” she asked.
“Not enough room for everyone,” he said.
The director touched his headset and spoke into it. “Tamas? Are you there?” He waited a few seconds as more royal guards came in.
Thirteen people were in the room now. Tamas was the only one missing.
“Tamas? Do you need help?” the director asked, then said after a short pause. “There’s no response.”
“The security cameras are out in that corner of the building since the explosion,” a guy sitting by the row of monitors said. They all spoke English, albeit with various accents, probably as a courtesy to her.
“I’ll go over there and see if he needs anything.” Another man got up to leave.
“We’ll all go.” Prince Benedek looked around at the people in the room. His bodyguard was scowling, but nobody questioned Benedek’s authority. She couldn’t imagine they would, and not because he was a prince. The man had a powerful presence and the aura of a leader. “It might be the safest place yet,” he went on. “The bomb in that section already exploded. Who knows where the others are?”
It made terrifying sense.
One of the older guards, Vilmos she thought his name was, protested some more that the prince should stay in the security office with some guards, but Benedek overrode him.
They trooped down the stairs then, through deserted hallways. The prince kept close to her. She found that she didn’t mind.
In a minute or two, they could see the first signs of damage, cracked walls and floor tile, then, as they turned the corner, the gift shop came into view. The ceiling had collapsed, wires hung from the wall, everything was covered in dust and rubble. It was the first visual they got of what that bomb had done, and it painted a scary future.
A body lay propped against one wall.
“Peter.” The director hurried over.
“Tamas.” The prince was ducking behind a chunk of busted wall.
She followed him and saw a man down just as the prince bent to check for a pulse. His face held so much cold anger that she drew back.
“What happened to him?”
He moved away, and she could see the bloodstain on the man’s shirt. Small cut, big stain.
“Knife wound,” someone spoke from behind her, and her head reeled.
The prince looked over the small group, even as his bodyguard moved closer to him. “Nobody goes anywhere on their own. They have a man in the building somewhere.”
He meant the rebels had a killer in the building. She glanced around, surprised at how well everyone else was taking the news. Meanwhile, her heart was racing so fast she could barely catch her breath.
Dark thoughts chased each other inside her head. The rebels didn’t trust their bombs one hundred percent. They had a backup plan, insurance, someone on the inside who could take out their small group, one by one if necessary, until he got to the prince.
“We’ll stay together,” Benedek was saying, taking control again. “We’ll be fine.”
But something told her they wouldn’t be.
They were trapped in a building rigged with some serious explosives.
And they were being hunted.
Chapter Three (#ulink_a1f950de-7fa0-5bfd-b5e8-969102e551ce)
“Have you looked out the window lately?” Miklos asked over the phone.
“Looking right now,” Benedek said. The rebel forces seemed to have dwindled. “What’s going on out there?”
They were back in the security office. At least from here they could keep track of the building with the help of the security cameras. No movement anywhere. Where in hell was the bastard who’d killed Peter and Tamas?
“The protest was staged by the Freedom Council. It’s confirmed.”
Benedek swore. He’d suspected as much.
“Some paid agitator stirred up the crowd,” Miklos continued. “Half of them didn’t know the real reason why they were marching on the opera house. They thought they were protesting new tax burdens. Now that the true reason is out, many are deserting the protest.”
“Even if every one of them leaves, the bombs remain. And we’ll still be locked in here.”
“We’re working on that.” Miklos’s voice sounded tight. “I have the bomb squad on standby. The second you find anything, you call.”
“We have other problems. Two men are dead in here.” Benedek told him who they were. “I think there’s an enemy inside.”
A moment of silence on the other end, then, “Could be that was their backup plan.”
“Or could be that was plan A. Surround the building, announce the bomb scare, and in the resulting chaos, an assassin could have killed the royal princes. Maybe using the bombs was the backup, in case the assassin didn’t succeed.”
“Except that we were late. You’re the only prince there.”
“And I want to keep it that way. I’m trusting you to keep our brothers at the palace.”
“Believe me, I’ve had my hands full with that. I had to wrestle Lazlo to the ground, not that I mind showing him who’s boss now and then.”
Benedek relaxed for a second, thinking about his twin. Then realized that if Miklos was keeping the others at the palace, that meant he was planning on coming over all alone, because there was no way Miklos could stay out of this. “Before you do anything crazy, think of your wife and your son.” It was the only leverage Benedek had.
“Don’t you worry about me, little brother.”
It wasn’t exactly the reassurance he needed to hear.
They didn’t talk long before hanging up. Benedek was putting the phone away just as the red cell rang.
“Time is up. I’m about to deactivate the lock on the front door. I better see Rayne Williams coming through there.”
The line went dead before Benedek could have demanded that the bastard call off his inside man. Not that he thought the guy would suddenly turn reasonable. But he would have liked to at least try and talk some sense into him given the chance.
“What is it?” the director asked.
“Same demand as before.”
“You should let them have me.” Rayne stood from her chair with a rustling of fabric, determination on her face. She looked like a heroine from some century-old legend. “It’d be a distraction. Maybe the security forces could grab the rebel leaders.”
Some of the guards kept staring at her when they thought she wasn’t looking. Benedek couldn’t blame them. She did look spectacular, as regal as any queen and sexy as hell in that low-cut bodice. Craig stood close to her, patting her hand now and then.
The gesture irritated Benedek—and so did the warm looks she shot back. “I can’t guarantee your safety, so no.” That she would even think that he would let her walk into danger…
She didn’t look happy with him, but after a moment said, “Even if we don’t all fit into that meat locker, you at least should go in there. You’re the prince.”
“She’s right, Your Highness,” his bodyguard immediately voiced his support.
He glanced at his watch. “Safe’s closer.”
“What safe?” Rayne was blinking at him.
“I haven’t received the new code this morning, Your Highness.” The director’s lips flattened.
“I have it.” Benedek was already heading toward the back. He opened a door that revealed a steel panel, and keyed in a code, then waited impatiently for the steel panel to open.
“WHY DOES AN OPERA HOUSE have a bank safe?” Rayne went in first as all the men motioned her forward, and she didn’t feel like arguing. The inside looked like flea market storage, which, under other circumstances, she would have appreciated. She had a weakness for flea markets and everything old.
“It’s a three-hundred-year-old opera house,” the director explained. “We have a lot of valuable antiques, furniture, paintings, Persian rugs that are hundreds of years old and worth hundreds of thousands. We use the safe when there’s work being done in the building. Also, the artwork in the hallways and rotunda are rotated continuously as pieces are restored. Some are stored here.”
The place was fairly full. With thirteen people on top of all those valuables, it was pretty crowded. Somehow Prince Benedek came to be standing behind her. As more people came in, she had no choice but to back up until her back was pressed against him. He was nearly a head taller than she, so her bare shoulders rested against his hard chest.
Normally, someone standing that close would have bothered her but under the circumstances, she felt comforted by his nearness. Comforted and something else, not that she was prepared to admit that.
Especially when she realized that she could feel his breath on her neck, that all he would have to do was dip his head to press his lips to her skin. What a stupid, stupid thing to think.
He would never do that. Why would he? So he’d sent her some flowers over the years, but he was hardly desperate. He probably had a dozen mistresses—the privilege of wealthy men. She pushed her ex-husband from her mind. Her marriage was over. She’d wasted enough years on Philip. She didn’t want to think of him ever again.
Minutes ticked by in tense silence.
The small space grew warm from their body heat. The day had been unseasonably warm for spring. She held still, not wanting to move against Benedek, but she was aware of their bodies touching, aware of every breath he took. A drop of sweat rolled down her neck. She hoped he wouldn’t notice that.
Heat grew inside her as well. Insane. They were fully clothed and in the middle of a crowd. She wasn’t the type to have her knees go weak at the sight of a man or from a touch. She wasn’t what they called sensuous. She’d accepted that over the years. It wasn’t important.
But if she did have some hidden side, couldn’t it have come out for any other man but him? She was done with rich and powerful men, and he was richer and more powerful than any that she’d met.
The building shook. The prince’s strong arms came to hold her around her waist like before. Without conscious thought, she put her hands over his, like before, feeling rattled for more than one reason.
Her body didn’t miss a thing, no matter how loudly her mind protested.
“Basement,” the director said, guessing the location of the bomb.
“I didn’t get around to checking every room down there,” Benedek said.
He’d been down there with the bomb? Her hand squeezed his without her meaning to do it.
“The good news is, the building is still standing.” He didn’t move away. “One more bomb and they have nothing to threaten us with.”
The director, in front, was pushing the safe door open. Since there was barely air to breathe in there, they came out, but stayed close by.
The red cell rang. Benedek put it on speaker.
“I’m tired of firing warning shots. The next one is going to be a big one. Make no mistake, it will bring down the building. You have forty-five minutes to think about it.” Once again, the line went dead as soon as the last word was spoken.
She was the one the rebels wanted. At least for now. She drew a deep breath and steeled her spine, turned to face Benedek.
“If I go out, maybe it’ll cause enough of a distraction so that you and the others can escape through a window in the back. I know you don’t like this plan, but we don’t have much choice.”
“The lower level windows have wrought-iron bars,” he said, not looking the least amused by her repeated suggestion.
Of course. She remembered now that she’d admired the exquisite workmanship. “Maybe you could rappel down from a second story window on something.”
“No.” Benedek’s response was as inflexible as those iron bars.
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Dana Marton
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Royal Protocol, электронная книга автора Dana Marton на английском языке, в жанре современная зарубежная литература