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Alec's Royal Assignment
Amelia Autin
In the Man on a Mission series, a special agent becomes one woman's most dangerous weakness…Bodyguard to the queen of Zakhar, lieutenant Angelina Mateja is unwilling to risk her reputation or her job for US special agent Alec Jones–no matter how sexy and irresistible he is. Alec's been recruited by the king to root out a human trafficking ring–not get up close and personal with a stunning woman who practically radiates touch me and die. But after sharing a mind-blowing kiss, Alec can't deny the fire simmering beneath Angel's cool exterior. As the danger–and their attraction–intensifies, Angel is forced to choose between the job of her dreams, and the man who is starting to occupy her heart…


In the Man on a Mission series, a special agent becomes one woman’s most dangerous weakness…
Bodyguard to the queen of Zakhar, lieutenant Angelina Mateja is unwilling to risk her reputation or her job for US special agent Alec Jones—no matter how sexy and irresistible he is. Alec’s been recruited by the king to root out a human trafficking ring—not get up close and personal with a stunning woman who practically radiates touch me and die. But after sharing a mind-blowing kiss, Alec can’t deny the fire simmering beneath Angel’s cool exterior. As the danger—and their attraction—intensifies, Angel is forced to choose between the job of her dreams, and the man who is starting to occupy her heart…
Their lips met. Their mouths fused as if they were both firing shots over the bow in a take-no-prisoners stance.
Hunger roared through his body, and an aching need to give her back just a tiny fraction of what she was giving him.
Angelina tore herself out of his embrace. “Why did you do that?” she asked him finally.
“Because you wanted me to.” It sounded arrogant put that way, so he added, “Because I wanted to.”
“That is not true.”
“Which? That I wanted to kiss you?” One corner of his mouth twitched upward into an engaging grin. “I wanted to. Oh, yeah, I definitely wanted to, since the first moment I saw you.”
She shook her head. “Not that. You said I wanted you to kiss me. And that is not true.”
Alec’s grin faded, and he held her gaze with his steady one. “Oh, yes you did,” he told her, accepting the truth even if she refused to acknowledge it. “You wanted to know what it would be like. We both did. And now we know.”
And nothing will ever be the same again.
* * *
Dear Reader (#ulink_807b1eea-5368-52dd-93cc-dd613f592268),
When I wrote McKinnon’s Royal Mission, part of my Man on a Mission miniseries, two characters who intrigued me were Princess Mara’s other two bodyguards—Diplomatic Security Service agents and brothers, Alec and Liam Jones. So alike in many ways, and yet so different in others. They are emotionally close, as brothers should be, so I started writing their stories simultaneously, weaving the plots together into a cohesive whole, although each book stands on its own.
But it was the brothers’ differences that caught my imagination. While both men are protectors, Alec, the older of the two, is more—more assertive, more demanding of himself, more demanding of others, as well. Alec needs a woman who understands what motivates him…because she’s motivated by the same things—honor, duty, loyalty and sacrifice. Like Alec, Angelina Mateja has stepped between danger and the person she’s guarding. Has been forced to kill in the line of duty. And like Alec, her career is the most important thing in her life…until they meet.
Readers often ask, “Where do your story ideas come from?” We live in a violent world. Tragedies happen every day. In the case of Alec’s Royal Assignment, it wasn’t just one idea, but several, sparked by real-life occurrences and what-if scenarios. And a heroine whose moral stand on right and wrong matches Alec’s…and mine.
I love hearing from my readers. Please email me at AmeliaAutin@aol.com (mailto:AmeliaAutin@aol.com) and let me know what you think.
Amelia Autin
Alec’s Royal
Assignment
Amelia Autin


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
AMELIA AUTIN is a voracious reader who can’t bear to put a good book down…or part with it. Her bookshelves are crammed with books her husband periodically threatens to donate to a good cause, but he always relents…eventually.
Amelia returned to her first love, romance writing, after a long hiatus, during which she wrote numerous technical manuals and how-to guides, as well as designed and taught classes on a variety of subjects, including technical writing. She is a longtime member of Romance Writers of America (RWA), and served three years as its treasurer.
Amelia currently resides with her PhD engineer husband in quiet Vail, Arizona, where they can see the stars at night and have a “million-dollar view” of the Rincon Mountains from their backyard.
For my sister, Diana MTK Autin, Esq., whose Edward Everett Hale quotation on FB sparked an idea, and who helped me get the legal details correct (any errors are mine and mine alone). And for Vincent…always.
Though itself part of the US Department of State, the Bureau of Diplomatic Security is the parent organization of the Diplomatic Security Service (DSS). The DSS is the primary tool by which the DS carries out its security and law enforcement mandate.
For more information, please visit state.gov/m/ds (http://state.gov/m/ds).
I have the highest regard for the work these
federal agencies perform. Nothing in this story is intended as a negative representation of the Bureau of Diplomatic Security or the Diplomatic Security Service, their duties or their employees.
Contents
Cover (#u43ffcc28-26cb-5e27-af84-4291321337a0)
Back Cover Text (#ub6497698-684e-595b-8341-cce0418ab9ee)
Introduction (#u2ad2afa4-5c84-56e3-ba93-7d3073090190)
Dear Reader (#ulink_0a5c23c6-0170-5eb9-9fda-0d04f5b78849)
Title Page (#u7307e98d-72bf-56b7-9bb3-d16e1bb4f67a)
About the Author (#ufdf5b41b-d9d6-59c1-8abb-de08830a667e)
Dedication (#uc0bc441c-7db4-587d-828f-6414afe7e3e2)
Prologue (#ulink_f737951c-b2e6-5604-a970-02170066114b)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_7871842f-7d42-5bfc-aa06-56182a4b8179)
Chapter 2 (#ulink_5ff0d646-7e2a-53c3-b392-5244a246a7b4)
Chapter 3 (#ulink_e4febc6d-3ed0-5738-8d9f-50e6080da3ba)
Chapter 4 (#ulink_17d93efa-7045-5d9b-9ae6-938bc6c4ccfe)
Chapter 5 (#ulink_7c3890de-6a94-5487-8624-96e267d5a49e)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#ulink_2ed70b74-19c7-5032-a4aa-5956eb7b7f7d)
Diplomatic Security Service special agent Alec Jones turned automatically when the front door opened and let a stream of light into the coffeehouse. He and his date were in the vestibule waiting to be seated, along with a couple of her local acquaintances—husband-and-wife schoolteachers. Alec watched with detached, professional interest as two bearded young men dressed as security guards entered. Their garb and their holstered sidearms appeared innocuous enough, but there was something off. And Alex’s sixth sense instantly went on the alert.
He glanced over at Darla, but she was caught up in conversation with her friends. Alec had only been posted as regional security officer, or RSO, for a month at the embassy where Darla had been serving for a year as personal assistant for the US ambassador to this tiny Middle Eastern nation, and this was their first date.
Alec’s eyes flicked back to the two men. They’d taken seats near the front door as if they were patiently waiting their turn at a table. But one man was peering through the curtained window as if checking out the street. The other was watching the movements of the customers in the coffeehouse with cold, hard eyes. Alec’s sixth sense was humming steadily—something was definitely wrong.
His hand slid inside the jacket he always wore, even on the hottest days—and there were a lot of hot days in the Middle East—for his SIG SAUER P229R, one of the standard-issue concealed carry weapons DSS personnel used.
Without warning, the two men abruptly jumped to their feet, drew their sidearms and started shouting commands in Arabic and broken English. Alec’s semiautomatic was instantly out.
Nearly everyone in the coffeehouse hit the ground immediately, including Darla’s two friends. But Darla was shocked into immobility. She stared openmouthed at the gunmen, frozen with fear. And when the men turned their weapons on Darla and Alec—their faces twisted with hate, a fanatical light in their eyes—Alec fired.
It was all over in seconds. The two young men lay on their backs on the floor, unmoving. Their eyes were open and fixed sightlessly, guns still clutched in their hands. The shots they’d managed to get off had gone wide—only the gunmen had been hit. Blood stained their clothing crimson, pooling around their bodies.
But Alec felt no guilt. No remorse. He knew enough Arabic to know these men were terrorists—their shouted warning to the non-Americans to take cover and leave the infidels to them was easily understood, even with his less-than-perfect knowledge of the language. Their sole intent had been to abduct or kill the only two Americans in the coffeehouse.
Alec moved on autopilot now. He kicked the guns from the hands of both men into a far corner of the room. The training ingrained in him said you never take the death of the bad guys for granted. The only way to ensure safety was to neutralize the threat by removing any and all weapons from the vicinity. He didn’t think these men had any other partners in the coffeehouse, but you could never be sure. And he wasn’t taking any chances.
How had they known Darla and he would be here? The answer to that question would have to wait. Could Darla’s so-called friends have set them up? Possibly. This coffeehouse wasn’t frequented by Americans from the embassy, but Darla’s friends had insisted it had true “local flavor,” something Darla was interested in experiencing. It was something to consider...but not right at this moment. Not with the coffeehouse patrons staring at him in horror, as if he’d instigated this confrontation.
Alec bent over and quickly checked both men for a pulse he knew he wouldn’t find. Then he rifled through their pockets. He found zip ties, blindfolds, gags and a couple of switchblade knives—confirming their intentions—but no identification. Nothing to tell him who these men were or what terrorist organization they were affiliated with.
He lifted a corner of the curtain and glanced out the window. These two likely had a driver and a getaway car somewhere outside, but he couldn’t see anything that looked suspicious. And he couldn’t very well leave the scene to check. Not now. He’d have to depend on the local authorities to follow up on the getaway car...if it was still around. The gunfire had to have alerted the driver that things hadn’t gone down as planned, and he was probably long gone by now.
Most of the coffeehouse patrons had risen from the floor in the few seconds Alex’s back was turned, and many of them had cell phones out. Two of them began sidling for the door when police sirens were heard in the distance. Alec holstered his weapon, turned to them and said coldly in Arabic, “No one is leaving. You are all...” His mind frantically searched for the right word. “Witnesses. You are all witnesses.” He culled his knowledge of the language and added, “All of you will give a complete and accurate statement to the police.” He stared them down until they returned to their tables.
Alec’s eyes met Darla’s for the first time since the shooting, and he recognized the familiar look of shock and dismay most civilians displayed when confronted with sudden, deadly violence. Darla wasn’t naive—all embassy personnel were briefed on the hazards of working in the Middle East—but she’d never taken a human life. And she seemed appalled Alec had done so. Coldly. Dispassionately.
At least that’s how his actions appeared to her, he knew. Alec wasn’t cold. Nor was he dispassionate. He regretted the necessity of this killing, but the alternative was unacceptable. He wasn’t going to second-guess himself or his actions. Not now. Not ever.
As the distant sirens grew louder, Alec sighed softly. No matter what came next, he knew two things for sure.
One, despite the fact that he hadn’t instigated this incident, he would now be persona non grata at the US embassy here. The promotion posting as RSO he’d just received a month ago was now shot to hell and gone. Even though there were plenty of witnesses to back up a claim of self-defense, the State Department was hypersensitive about the possibility of reprisals. He would be whisked out of the country as soon as the local officials allowed, in order to hush this incident up.
Two, not as important but still important enough, his budding relationship with Darla had just died a quick death, too.
Which raised another question. Would he ever find a woman who understood?
Chapter 1 (#ulink_53771efc-dcff-58d0-b05b-de04b25ad059)
Alec deplaned at the surprisingly modern airport in the quaint city of Drago, the capital of Zakhar. His computer bag was slung over his left shoulder as he made his way up the jetway, leaving his right arm free as always—he was one of the few men post-9/11 allowed to carry a firearm on board a plane, and he never went anywhere unarmed. After a quick glance at one of the overhead monitors, he headed down the wide corridor with the rest of the passengers toward Baggage Claim.
His posting as regional security officer to the US embassy here in Zakhar had come as a great surprise, given what had happened at his last posting. As if he was being rewarded instead of punished.
Despite the fact that he already spoke rudimentary Zakharan—courtesy of an earlier assignment guarding Her Serene Highness, Princess Mara Theodora of Zakhar, before she became an American citizen—he certainly hadn’t been expecting this. He’d thought he’d be banished to the diplomatic equivalent of Siberia for a long time.
Instead, it was almost as if someone had pulled strings on his behalf to get him here, but that didn’t make sense. Alec didn’t have the political connections to make this happen, and it had been bugging him ever since the word came down where he was being assigned next.
He’d heard a rumor the king of Zakhar had specifically requested him, but that rumor was so fantastical he’d discounted it immediately. The king knew of him—how could he not, when Alec had been one of his sister’s bodyguards in the US?—but the king didn’t know him.
So the reason why he’d been tapped for this plum assignment was still a mystery to him...for all of ninety seconds. That was how long it took for Alec to exit Security and spot Trace McKinnon behind the barricade, waiting for him. And he began to smell a rat. A large, deadly rat who worked for Alec’s brother-in-law, Cody Walker, at the Denver branch of the ultrasecret “agency.” Who also happened to be married to Princess Mara. And suddenly the fantastical rumor didn’t seem so fantastical, after all.
“I should have known,” was all Alec said as he shook McKinnon’s hand.
“Hey, don’t look at me. I just volunteered to meet your flight, that’s all. If you want to thank anyone, thank my wife. She’s the one who asked her brother to intercede on your behalf.”
Alec’s smile morphed into a frown. “Wait a second. I don’t want anything I haven’t earned.”
Trace spared him a cynical glance as they walked toward Baggage Claim. “You know as well as I do that in the real world it’s not always what you know but who you know. But don’t think you didn’t earn this assignment. Not to mention, you did the right thing taking down those terrorists, no matter what anyone says.”
Alec shook his head. “Diplomatically—”
McKinnon uttered a pithy, four-letter word. “You’re alive. They’re not. Score one for the good guys.”
They arrived at the baggage carousel for Alec’s flight and stood there waiting for his checked luggage to appear. “So what are you doing in Zakhar? Don’t tell me you’re on assignment here.”
McKinnon shook his head. “No, Mara and I are here on family business. The king’s wife just had a baby, hadn’t you heard? You’d better believe it’s a big deal here in Zakhar—the birth of the crown prince, the continuation of a dynasty going back more than five hundred years. This country has been celebrating almost nonstop for a month. We’re here for the christening ceremony, along with a bevy of international dignitary invitees, including our very own secretary of state standing in for the president.” He grinned. “You can thank him in person for putting in a good word for you with your boss—Mara made sure you received an invitation to the christening.”
Startled, Alec said, “Thanks... I think. Speaking of babies, I hear congratulations are in order for you and the princess, too.”
McKinnon’s smile deepened into one of intense satisfaction. “Yeah, this summer. I didn’t plan on more than one at a time, but as Mara says, children can’t help being born—they have no choice in the matter. So we’re now the proud parents of twins, a boy and a girl.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
“It’s hectic,” was all McKinnon would say. But his grin told Alec he wouldn’t have it any other way.
* * *
Following the two from a distance, off-duty lieutenant Angelina Mateja tucked her short, blond hair behind one ear and commented softly to her companion in Zakharan, “So that is the new RSO at the US embassy. He is younger than I thought for such an important position.”
Captain Marek Zale smiled with amusement, turning his intense gaze toward her for a moment. “He is thirty-six. More than a year older than the king. Not so young.”
“He appears younger.” And more handsome than I expected, Angelina thought but didn’t say. As one of the first female officers in the Zakharian National Forces, she was extremely careful about what she said to Captain Zale or anyone else she worked with.
Zakhar was fifty years behind the times in many ways, especially regarding women. The Zakharian National Forces had only opened to women after King Andre Alexei had ascended the throne of Zakhar four and a half years earlier. The men she worked with were just waiting for some sign she wasn’t up to the job. Which meant she could never be anything less than the perfect professional officer.
Angelina towered over the petite queen she guarded so faithfully. Her five feet eleven inches without shoes made her nearly as tall as most of the men on the security detail. And her skill with weapons of all sorts—not to mention her skills without weapons—made her perfectly qualified for her assignment as one of the queen’s bodyguards.
She was a formidable adversary with a hard-as-nails reputation she’d worked diligently to earn. More than one man on the queen’s security detail had lost to her during hand-to-hand combat training exercises. She’d even taken down Captain Zale once, though that was probably more from surprise than anything else. She’d never managed to do it a second time, although she’d tried. Repeatedly.
Now, watching the American heft a suitcase off the baggage carousel, Angelina felt an unusual twinge of physical attraction, a jolt of sexual desire in her belly...and lower. It wasn’t something she usually felt. Wasn’t something she usually let herself feel. But there it was.
Auburn-haired Alec Jones wasn’t nearly as handsome as Princess Mara’s husband, Trace McKinnon, who was standing next to him. But he had a male attraction all his own, and was in superb fighting shape—something that appealed to Angelina on the most basic level. Even though he was covered with clothing, she could see the muscles that pulled his jacket taut across his broad shoulders.
She had an instant’s vision of him naked—honed to muscle, sinew and bone, much as she was—and wondered what it would be like to take him to her bed instead of the man she’d picked to rid her of her virginity at the age of twenty. Curiosity had been followed by disappointment nine years ago, but—Angelina’s blue-gray eyes gleamed momentarily—she didn’t think sex with this man would be disappointing. Far from it.
Just as quickly as the thought occurred to her she banished it, but not without regret. She’d long ago resolved that any kind of romantic involvement, not to mention sex, was incompatible with her job in the Zakharian National Forces. Especially given the patronizing attitude toward women held by most of the men in the rank and file as well as the officers. Sex with any man—even a non-Zakharian—was the last thing she should be thinking about. She wasn’t about to risk her reputation, or her job, for a man. No matter how sexy and irresistible he was.
* * *
Alec turned abruptly and spotted a woman across the airport watching him. Intently. She was tall, blonde and slender, with a touch-me-and-die air about her. He didn’t know why, but she pushed all his buttons without even trying, and he felt himself responding to her. Hard. Fast. He laughed under his breath and ordered his body to stand down. But he wasn’t surprised when his body refused to obey.
The woman and the man with her were both dressed in the kind of clothes he usually wore when on duty—what he was wearing now, actually—including a jacket to hide his shoulder holster. And there was something about them that seemed eerily familiar, something that reminded him of his own expression when he unexpectedly spotted himself in a mirror in public. A watchfulness in their eyes. An alertness in the way they held themselves, as if ready for anything. Bodyguards? he wondered. He glanced around but didn’t see anyone they might be guarding. Still...
“Five will get you ten, those two are bodyguards,” he murmured to McKinnon as they walked in the direction of the pair, not even needing to indicate to his friend who he was talking about.
McKinnon laughed softly. “No bet,” he said. “I made them as bodyguards, too, five minutes ago.” He looked closer as they approached the couple, and his laughter faded. His mouth took on a grim cast and he cursed softly before adding, “I know them. Both of them. Which means they’re not here by accident.”
Since the eyes of the four had already met and held, the two Zakharians didn’t bother trying to evade Alec and McKinnon as they came up to them.
The man read the expression on McKinnon’s face, and said quickly, “Your wife, she was concerned for your safety. But she knew you would refuse protection, so she asked the queen what could be done...secretly. The queen asked us as a special favor if we would keep an eye on you when we were free to do so.” He shrugged, and a small smile played over his lips. “So we are here. Have you ever tried to refuse your queen anything?”
Alec grinned, caught McKinnon’s eye and tried but failed to stifle his smile. Substitute the words your princess for your queen, and he knew McKinnon wouldn’t have been able to answer in the affirmative. He held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Alec Jones. I’m the new regional—”
“Regional security officer for the US embassy,” the man completed the sentence for him. “Yes, we know. I am Captain Marek Zale,” he added. “And this is Lieutenant Angelina Mateja. Queen’s security detail.”
Alec shook both their hands. “Pleased to meet you.”
Angelina said abruptly, “You were once assigned to guard Princess Mara when she first went to Colorado, yes? You and your brother. She has spoken of you both with affection.”
Alec was mesmerized by both her face and voice, not to mention her body. For once he didn’t have to look down to talk with a woman—Lieutenant Mateja was only a couple inches shorter than he was, and somehow that was especially appealing. She didn’t wear any makeup, not that he could see, but she didn’t need it. Hers was an understated beauty of blue eyes so pale they were almost gray, baby-fine skin that begged for the caress of a man’s fingers and good bone structure that would age well. All surrounded by a sassy cap of straight corn-silk blond hair.
And her voice? The slightly accented English and the word order to her sentences reminded him of Princess Mara, but she spoke in a deep, rich contralto that made him think of warm, gooey caramel melting on top of vanilla ice cream. As for her body, she was lithe and lean, but there were curves for a discerning man to appreciate. And Alec was a very discerning man.
“Yeah,” Alec answered Lieutenant Mateja’s question after a few seconds. “Liam—my younger brother, that is—and I, and this guy here,” he said, indicating McKinnon with a tilt of his head, “we were all the princess’s bodyguards the first six months she taught at the University of Colorado in Boulder.” He slid a sideways glance at McKinnon. “Then she married McKinnon—” there’s no accounting for taste, his bantering tone and expression conveyed “—and the State Department decided she no longer needed DSS protection, so Liam and I were pulled off the job.”
Alec focused on Lieutenant Mateja again, wondering—as most men wondered when they encountered an attractive woman—what she’d be like in bed. He smiled inside as he imagined making love to someone he didn’t have to bend down to kiss. Someone he could stretch out next to on the sheets. Someone as toned and taut as he was. But he was careful not to let his imaginings show on his face.
She already pushed his buttons, and now that he’d heard her voice, he was even more attracted to her than he had been earlier, and that was saying a lot.
It had been a while for him. His career with the DSS meant he was often posted outside the United States—DSS special agents had to be available for assignment anywhere in the world on short notice. And his last posting had been in the Middle East. Look but don’t touch was the watchword for a prudent man in the Middle East where local women were concerned. As for Darla, the incident at the coffeehouse had put paid to any possibilities where she was concerned.
Then, when he’d been hustled out of the country, he hadn’t been back in the States long enough to pick up the threads of his social life before being posted to Zakhar. So it had been a while. Longer than he cared to acknowledge.
But now that he’d met Angelina Mateja, Alec was suddenly looking forward to his new assignment with a renewed—and very male—interest.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_afba4827-b6d3-534e-8440-23b131ac42e8)
Alec woke well before dawn. Crossing several time zones in his flight from Washington, DC, to Zakhar meant that his sleep-wake pattern wasn’t geared for local time. It would only take him a couple of days—three at the most—to adjust. But until then...he just had to suffer.
Despite the early hour, his body told him in no uncertain terms it had enough sleep. So he slipped from his decently comfortable bed, tugged on the appropriate clothes, tucked his spare SIG SAUER in the ankle holster he quickly strapped on and headed out for some much-needed exercise. Tiring his body out would help it adjust faster. Then all he had to do was force himself to stay awake until nightfall, and he was halfway there.
Alec was assuming the apartment lease held by the outgoing RSO—an apartment conveniently only five minutes away from the embassy—but until he officially took over the reins the day after tomorrow, the other guy was still in residence. The embassy had arranged for him to bunk temporarily at this little bed-and-breakfast near the center of Drago. The widow who ran it had given Alec his set of keys last night, and he quickly grabbed them off the nightstand before treading noiselessly down the stairs and out the front door.
This part of the city was mostly shrouded in darkness so early in the morning, with only an occasional street lamp to guide the way. There was light from the airport on the outskirts of town and the palace on the hill, but most of Drago was dark, its inhabitants quietly sleeping.
Alec wasn’t overly concerned. Violent crime in Drago—in all of Zakhar, for that matter—was rare. The average tourist didn’t have to worry about getting mugged.
He’d also studied a detailed map of Drago on the flight over, and had committed it to memory. It was one of the little knacks he had. His sister, Keira, called him the human Global Positioning System because, after studying a map, he could find his way just about anywhere and never got turned around or lost. Helpful for someone who travels the world, he reminded himself with a glimmer of a smile.
Now he turned left and headed toward the river, jogging at a steady pace. The air was cool, almost cold, and for a minute Alec regretted he hadn’t dressed warmer. But then he dismissed the thought. His body would warm up quickly once he really got going.
Little threads of mist floated near the ground, and the closer he got to the river the stronger and more eerie the mist became. He finally reached the embankment and turned left again. There was a wide walkway here that followed the river’s meandering course for miles. What had obviously once been hard-packed dirt from centuries of use had been paved with porous asphalt to accommodate all-weather users. He held by his father’s maxim with regard to running—go as far out as you possibly can, until your body calls it quits... Then turn around and head back. He figured this walkway would help him accomplish just that.
Alec had been jogging for roughly ten minutes when he heard the soft slap of running shoes on asphalt coming up behind him. He glanced over his shoulder but saw nothing. He slowed, then turned around and jogged in place for a few seconds until a figure materialized out of the mist and darkness, closing the gap between them quickly.
He smiled when he recognized the tall, slender woman on the footpath. “Lieutenant Mateja,” he acknowledged.
She’d obviously been running for some time. Perspiration darkened the underarms of her gray sweatshirt, but her breathing wasn’t even ragged when she briefly returned his smile and answered, “Good morning, Special Agent Jones.”
Alec swung into step beside her. “The name’s Alec.”
She considered this for a moment and then nodded her assent to his implied offer. “Alec,” she agreed. “I am Angelina to my friends.” She hesitated for a moment, then added abruptly, “It is a good omen, your name. A good omen for the job you do. Defender of the People. That is what Alec means.”
“How do you know that?”
“The meaning of names is a hobby of mine. Since I was a little girl, you understand. Names have always fascinated me. I remember when...” She hesitated.
“When...?” he prompted.
“When the king was a boy—he was the crown prince then, of course—his names caught my imagination. Andre Alexei. Manly Defender. That is what his names mean. A good omen for Zakhar, I thought, for a man who would be king someday, yes?”
“If you believe in that sort of thing.”
“He has borne that out,” Angelina insisted earnestly. “He is a man with strong convictions. He would lay down his life for what he believes. His example inspired me. His sister, too. If not for them, I would not be where I am today.”
The conversation had gotten a little too intense a little too quickly for Alec, so he teased gently, “And what does Angelina mean? Angel-face?”
She flashed a startled glance in his direction, as if gauging the intent behind his compliment. Eventually an uncertain smile played over her lips, but something about her expression made Alec think she didn’t often get personal compliments. Or maybe she didn’t allow herself to accept personal compliments very often. And isn’t that curious? he thought. A beautiful woman like her?
“So tell me,” he coaxed as they ran companionably side by side. “If it doesn’t mean Angel-face, what does Angelina mean?”
“Messenger of God.” She looked uncomfortable, as if she thought he might think she was trying to lay claim to something she didn’t deserve. “But my parents did not pick my name for that reason. They named me Angelina Zuzana because those were my grandmothers’ names. Zuzana means lily.”
“Angelina Zuzana. Beautiful names for a beautiful woman.”
She didn’t respond at first, and Alec could tell she was also uncomfortable being called beautiful. But then she said, “Thank you.” Exactly like a woman who’d been raised to be polite...even if she didn’t believe you.
A momentary silence hung between them until Alec asked casually, “If you’re so into names, what does Liam mean? Liam’s my younger broth—”
“Your brother, yes, I know. You are close?”
“Yeah. But I don’t see him very often. We’re usually on opposite sides of the world. Guarding Princess Mara together was a gift. I’m grateful for it but don’t expect it to happen again. So do you know what his name means?”
“Strong-willed Warrior.” Angelina laughed softly, clearly more at ease when the conversation didn’t revolve around her. “Your parents, they named you well for the profession you chose, both of you.” She considered this for a moment. “Or perhaps you chose the profession because of your names?”
Alec couldn’t have cared less about good omens or bad where names were concerned, or why he and Liam had picked their line of work, but he did care about keeping Angelina talking to him in this friendly way. So after a moment he asked, “What about Keira? That’s my baby sister’s name.”
Angelina darted a glance toward him, her eyes flickering over his hair. “Does she resemble you?”
He smiled ruefully. “You mean, does she have red hair, like me? Yeah. Sort of red-gold. Short and curly. Very pretty. Not really like my hair, thank goodness.” He ruffled his short crop of auburn hair.
“Then your parents must not have known,” she replied, breaking into a real smile without breaking stride. “I am not positive—it has been years since I studied the meaning of names—but I think Keira means Black-Haired.”
Alec burst out laughing. “I guess they missed the boat on that one.”
“Missed the boat?” Her forehead crinkled in question.
“That just means they made a mistake, that’s all.”
“Oh. Thank you for explaining.”
“Other than her brown eyes, Keira doesn’t really look like me or like Liam. She looks more like our older brothers...but don’t tell them I said so.”
“Why is that?” she asked swiftly.
“Well...” Alec considered the question. “Neither Shane nor Niall have red hair,” he said, unable to hide that his own red hair was a sore spot with him, “and they have all the looks in the family—and Keira, of course. Shane and Niall look nothing alike, but Keira is like the best of both of them. In a feminine version, of course.”
“Of course.”
“I came along two years after Niall, and Liam followed not quite a year later. Everyone thinks we’re twins ʼcause we look so much like each other.” His lips quirked ruefully. “Right down to our hair. Our mannerisms, and the way we talk, too. And of course, we both went into the US Marine Corps and the DSS. So I guess it’s natural people think we’re twins.” He paused for a moment. “Then two years after Liam, my mom had Keira.” He chuckled. “My dad always kidded that my mom broke his perfect record—four boys and then one girl.”
Angelina smiled perfunctorily at his little joke, but Alec could see she wasn’t really amused. Kind of like Keira, he thought suddenly. Keira had never cared for the way their dad thought less of her because she was female. Wasn’t that why Keira had always fought with brothers who were physically bigger and stronger than she was, to be respected as an equal? Wasn’t that why she’d followed all four of her brothers into the Marine Corps? And wasn’t that why she’d nearly died a few years back, because she was trying to prove to the agency she worked for that she was as good or better at her job than any man?
Alec suddenly realized they’d been jogging for a couple of miles, and Angelina had kept pace with him the entire way. She wasn’t winded at all. Her feet kept time with his in a steady cadence, like the beat of a heart. His heart. The thought disturbed him in a way he’d never been disturbed before, but he didn’t know why.
“What about you?” he asked after a minute’s reflection, trying to bring his thoughts under control by making small talk. “Brothers? Sisters?”
She shook her head. “I had a brother who died when he was a baby. Then there was me. After that, my mother could have no more children. But I have a younger cousin—had a younger cousin—who was like a little sister to me. I have not seen her in many years.” She folded her lips together as if she had intended to say more but wouldn’t.
Alec knew better than to ask her for an explanation. Not yet, anyway. Not with that closed, forbidding expression on her face. So he cast around in his mind for a new topic of conversation and settled on, “I know there’s not much crime here, but aren’t you—I don’t know—a little worried about being out alone this early? I mean, you were obviously on your own in the dark and the mist for some time before we met up. Most women I know wouldn’t risk it. Not in the States, anyway.”
Angelina didn’t say anything. She slowed slightly, and before Alec knew it, she had grabbed his arm, braced herself, and he found himself flat on his back on the grassy verge beside the path, with Angelina kneeling on his chest, one forearm against his throat.
Despite having the wind knocked out of him, the minute he caught his breath he began laughing. He couldn’t help it. “Okay,” he said, admiration leaching into his voice. “You’ve made your point.”
She scrambled up and held out her hand to assist Alec in rising, and he took it. But instead of letting Angelina help him up as she expected, he tugged sharply, pulling her down on top of him again. He rolled over swiftly, taking her with him, until she was wedged tightly between his body and the ground. She squirmed, but he had her pinned neatly by his weight and the firm hold he had on her arms. “Never assume a man’s no longer a threat,” he warned her softly. “Unless he’s dead.”
She stopped struggling then. He gazed down into her face, watching the play of emotions that flickered over it, and was surprised. Chagrin—what he’d expected to see—wasn’t followed by anger at how he’d turned the tables on her. Instead, it was quickly replaced by acceptance of a hard lesson learned. Alec had a feeling Angelina never forgot anything she learned, especially anything she learned the hard way.
Part of him wanted to stay like this, feeling her strong body beneath his the way he’d imagined the day before, but he was too much of a gentleman to take advantage of the situation. He jumped to his feet, pulling her up with him.
They dusted themselves off silently. Then, still without saying a word, they resumed their jogging. But something had changed between them. Alec couldn’t put his finger on it, and he wasn’t sure what it meant.
“You are good,” she said finally, surprising him once again. Her tone was admiring, the compliment sincere, not grudging as he would have expected.
“So are you.”
She shook her head. “With some men, yes. But not with you. You are like Captain Zale. I took you by surprise, that is all. I cannot expect to do that again.”
The sun was rising over the mountains now, dispelling the river mist and painting the eastern sky with a rosy glow that reflected off both of them. Angelina was silent for a moment and then said softly, diffidently, “I do not believe your older brothers have all the looks in the family.” Totally out of the blue. As if the subject had never been changed. Her serious blue-gray eyes met Alec’s, and he could see what that admission meant to a woman like her.
He stopped so suddenly she didn’t realize he was going to—he didn’t realize he was going to—and she kept running for a few steps. Then she halted, turned and faced him. “What is wrong?” she asked. “Why have you stopped?”
Why did you say that? He wanted to ask, but didn’t. For the first time since he’d been a callow teenager, he felt unsure of himself. Unsure of the woman he was with. Angelina was so different from all the women he’d known—except maybe his sister—that he didn’t know what to make of her.
The blood was suddenly pulsing through his body. His fingers tingled, his breath ran ragged. Not from running. His body had never felt this way after running. This was an awareness. A sudden, urgent need to eliminate the distance between them. To make her tell him what she meant by that seemingly innocuous statement and the enigmatic expression in her eyes. To touch her. Ravage her. Leave his mark on her.
She didn’t move when he did. Another woman would have quailed at the male intensity in his face. Another woman would have retreated. But Angelina wasn’t like any other woman. She wouldn’t back down. Ever. And something in Alec responded to that knowledge. Fiercely.
She was in his arms before he knew it. They were both damp, sweaty, both fighting for control of themselves, and each other. Her body was firm and hard against his, as he’d known it would be. But it was soft, too, a softness so totally unexpected it disarmed him.
Their lips met, but not in a kiss. No, definitely nothing as tame as a kiss. This was war between them, their mouths fused as if they were both firing shots over the bow in a take-no-prisoners stance. Hunger roared through his body, and an aching need to give her back just a tiny fraction of what she was giving him.
Then it was over. Angelina tore herself out of his embrace, and Alec watched as she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, as if she was removing the taste of him from her lips. As if she could wipe out the memory the same way.
“Why did you do that?” she asked him finally.
“Because you wanted me to.” It sounded arrogant put that way, so he added, “Because I wanted to.”
“That is not true.”
“Which? That I wanted to kiss you?” One corner of his mouth twitched upward into an engaging grin. “I wanted to. Oh, yeah, I definitely wanted to, since the first moment I saw you.”
She shook her head. “Not that. You said I wanted you to kiss me. And that is not true.”
His grin faded and he held her gaze with his steady one. “Yes, you did,” he told her, accepting the truth even if she refused to acknowledge it. “You wanted to know what it would be like. We both did. And now we know.” And nothing will ever be the same again.
* * *
Aleksandrov Vishenko sat in his luxurious pied-à-terre in the heart of Manhattan, sipping at his snifter of Courvoisier L’Essence, pondering ways and means. He’d been contacted—through secure channels—by Prince Nikolai Marianescu, the king of Zakhar’s cousin. The cousin who’d failed so miserably eighteen months ago to dethrone the king and take his place, and who now resided in a prison cell.
The king’s cousin had named most of his coconspirators in the plot to kill the king—including two of Vishenko’s henchmen—but he had not dared to name Vishenko himself. Now he was trying to use his previous silence—and the threat of disclosure—to force Vishenko to do his bidding. The prince wanted revenge on Zakhar’s royal couple by assassinating their precious son who was not yet a month old—the heir all of Zakhar had prayed for.
Crown Prince Raoul was vulnerable, the prince insisted. There was a perfect window of opportunity coming up for him to die a very public, very gruesome death his parents would never recover from. The perfect revenge.
Vishenko smiled to himself, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and reluctantly came to the same conclusion as the unfortunate prince who thought he still had leverage from within his prison cell. It was a false assumption, but Vishenko was not going to say so. Not yet.
He had his own reasons for wanting the child dead, and they had nothing to do with vengeance. Only expedience. A means to a desired end.
He didn’t want Zakhar’s king dead—not anymore—despite the ongoing risk of his illegal activities being exposed. Despite the fact that the Russian Brotherhood, the Bratva—a branch of which Vishenko headed in the US as well as Zakhar—cared nothing for the monarchy. Any monarchy. Or any government, for that matter.
The king was good for Zakhar, and therefore good for Vishenko—that was all he cared about. Stable governments meant stable economies, which were greatly beneficial to his various legitimate enterprises all over the world, including Zakhar. All his legitimate Zakharian enterprises had prospered these past few years under the king’s rule. And he was nothing if not a pragmatist.
He just wanted the king...distracted for a time. Wanted the king’s attention focused elsewhere, just long enough for Vishenko’s men to wind down the operation that threatened to expose his identity.
The arrival of the American embassy’s new regional security officer, Alec Jones—who the current RSO insisted was incorruptible—had prompted the Americans to suggest shutting things down immediately.
He couldn’t do it. There were women in the pipeline, and the operation was just too profitable to bring it to a screeching halt. Especially when it had just been expanded six months ago. If the new RSO was truly not susceptible to bribery—and Vishenko was by no means convinced of that, since he believed every man had his price—then perhaps Alec Jones could be...nullified...in another fashion. The Americans would balk, of course. Corruption was one thing in their minds. Murder was something completely different.
So perhaps it would be better to do as the Americans wanted and shut things down...for now. A few more weeks—that’s all his men needed to wrap things up and put the operation in Zakhar on the shelf. It could be dusted off later and reinstated if circumstances changed. If not...well, there were other European countries, after all. It would just be a matter of bribing the right officials.
Aleksandrov Vishenko had operated in the shadow world for years with few people the wiser, reaping the rewards that came to a man who had no scruples. No morals. It would not have been a bad thing if Prince Nikolai had dethroned the king of Zakhar and taken his place, for then Vishenko would have had the new king in his pocket.
Not to be, he thought with a fatalistic shrug. Prince Nikolai was in jail and would remain there. Which meant Vishenko was safe...for now. But that could change.
So the little crown prince had to die. Unfortunate but necessary. And when he did, Prince Nikolai would die, as well. Wrapping up that loose end, making it appear a suicide, would be tricky. But no more impossible than other deaths Vishenko had successfully arranged over the years, including deaths inside prisons. No more impossible than killing the crown prince.
There is one more loose end I must eliminate, he reminded himself coldly, clinically. This one would be harder to accomplish than killing the two princes—man and child—because he at least knew where they were. It was different with Caterina. She had run six years ago, vanishing into thin air, and had never been found despite the bounty he’d placed on her head. He’d agonized at first—unnecessarily, as it turned out—that Caterina would take the evidence she’d compiled against him to the feds, and he’d lived in fear for nearly two years, waiting for the ax to fall. Waiting to be arrested. Tried. Convicted. He’d finally relaxed...but not completely. His men had continued searching for her, to no avail.
Caterina had been a grievous error in judgment—two grievous errors, he admitted. Letting her into his life...and letting her live to tell. I will not be secure until all three are dead, he thought as he savored another sip of brandy. Prince Nikolai. Crown Prince Raoul. And Caterina Mateja.
Chapter 3 (#ulink_4b7a1387-0a83-5f2b-8976-0de9c25c4ffa)
Alec sat quietly in a small conference room with only the secretary of state, the king of Zakhar and a man who’d been introduced as Colonel Marianescu, head of internal security. Though nothing more was said, Alec knew Colonel Marianescu was the king’s cousin as well as his closest confidant and adviser. The fact that only four men were in the room was a dead giveaway something extremely confidential was going to be discussed.
The king opened by thanking both Americans for being there. “I asked for this private meeting with you, Mr. Secretary,” he said, his steely gaze fixing on the secretary of state before moving to Alec, “and with your embassy’s new regional security officer, to tell you I had more than just a personal reason behind my request for a new RSO at the embassy in Zakhar. I wanted to speak to you both in person—privately—to explain.”
The king’s lips tightened. “We have heard rumors of corruption and fraud at the US embassy here in Drago related to trafficking in women.” His flint-eyed expression left no doubt how he felt about this. “Prostitution, Mr. Secretary. Forced prostitution. The queen is incensed, and rightfully so—any decent person would feel the same. And the word is this corruption at your embassy is occurring at high levels. Possibly even the highest levels.”
The secretary of state looked shocked. “I can assure you, Your Majesty, that—”
The king cut him off. “I do not want assurances from you, sir. I believe you are sincerely shocked by this allegation. Nevertheless, if the rumors are to be believed, Zakharians are involved...as both predator and prey. And there are whispers the Bratva may have a hand in this, as well.”
Cold anger was coming off the king in waves. “I want this crime syndicate stopped now. Not a year from now, or two years from now, after an investigation finds proof that holds up in a US courtroom.” He glanced at Alec again. “The Drago police force is already on the case, but that investigation can only go so far. By bringing in a new RSO, whatever is going on at the US embassy will be stopped. Now. I am sure of it.”
He drew a deep breath and forcibly relaxed. Then he smiled faintly at Alec. “If I could trust you with my sister’s safety, Special Agent Jones—and I did—I believe I can trust you in this.”
The allegations disturbed Alec, but he wasn’t shocked. This wouldn’t be the first time someone in a position of trust within a US embassy was accused of visa fraud, although he wouldn’t have thought the embassy here in Zakhar was a likely target for people desperate enough to pay under the table to obtain a US visa to escape the conditions under which they lived.
But trafficking in women was different. Luring Zakharian girls and women to the United States for prostitution—and there was a premium paid for pretty blondes, of which Zakhar seemed to have more than its fair share—was a completely different prospect, and Alec could see all too easily how it could be true. Especially if the Russian Mafia—the Bratva, or Brotherhood, as it was euphemistically called—was involved.
If the king was right, that meant he was walking into a hornet’s nest when he took over as RSO tomorrow, because he’d have to start an investigation without any idea how far the corruption went. Without any idea who could be trusted...and who couldn’t.
That’s just dandy, Alec thought but didn’t say. He’d long ago learned the control diplomatic protocol demanded of his tongue. Thanks ever so much, Your Majesty, for handing me an assignment right in the middle of a secret war zone.
“Who knows of this?” he asked the king.
“Who knows that I know? Only my closest, most trusted advisers. The queen, of course, and my cousin,” he said, indicating the man who sat so impassively next to him. “Two of my bodyguards, who were with me when I was first informed. And the three policemen who immediately brought this to Colonel Marianescu’s attention, as they should have—this is a threat to Zakharian national security. And now you.
“To the best of my knowledge, no one at the embassy has any idea. That is why I allowed the world to think I was merely acceding to my sister’s insistence I do something to help you, Special Agent Jones, after the unfortunate incident in the Middle East. If I had requested the US replace the current RSO for any other reason, suspicions would have been raised. Suspicions I had no intention of raising.” The king smiled that faint smile again, a smile Alec was starting to understand. “Everything dovetailed nicely.”
Alec nodded, following the logic, and his admiration for the king rose a notch. He’d heard a lot about him from Princess Mara—some of which was secret from most of the world—and of course he’d studied up on Zakhar, its politics and its king when he’d received his assignment here. But he hadn’t expected such astute political awareness, such adroit handling of a situation that might have stymied a lesser man.
He thought about ways and means, his mind racing. Then he turned to the secretary of state. “Since we have no idea how far the corruption goes, I don’t dare trust anyone currently at the embassy—not even the ambassador. Not yet. So I think the best approach is to ask the agency to lend a hand in the investigation.”
“The agency?” The secretary of state looked doubtful, even though the agency had been created in secret after 9/11 to do what neither the FBI nor the CIA had been able to do before that tragedy, and had quickly established itself within the secret confines of the US government.
“It wouldn’t be the first time the State Department and the Bureau of Diplomatic Security asked for their help,” Alec reminded him. “The DSS borrowed Trace McKinnon from them when Princess Mara started teaching in Colorado, remember?”
“Wouldn’t the agency’s presence raise the alarm? Isn’t that exactly what you’re trying to avoid?”
Alec shook his head. “Not if we ask the agency for McKinnon. I’ve worked with him before, and frankly, he’s the best of the best. He’s already in Zakhar, with a perfectly legitimate reason for being here totally unrelated to any kind of investigation.” He nodded to himself, seeing the plan take shape in his mind. “We’re friends. He’s related to the king by marriage. It would lend credence to the rumor the king pulled strings to get me here for personal reasons. Suspicions would be lulled, not raised.”
He looked at the king, almost excited at the prospect of working with McKinnon again, even on something as troubling as this. “I think that’s it, Your Majesty. The perfect solution. The agency’s the best at this kind of covert investigation. And they’re authorized by Congress to act both within and outside US borders, so we wouldn’t be overstepping any legal boundaries. That’ll be critical when it comes time to prosecute these guys. I know that’s secondary as far as you’re concerned, but—”
“But it is of prime importance to your government,” the king answered. “That I understand.” He glanced over at the secretary of state. “I have no objections to this plan, Mr. Secretary. Do you?”
* * *
“Security in the cathedral must be tight,” Captain Zale told the queen’s security detail in the conference room on the third floor of the palace, where they had assembled. “I cannot stress this enough. Tight yet covert. The king’s security detail will be there, of course, alongside us and the men newly assigned to guard the crown prince. But the eyes of Zakhar will be upon the christening—which is being broadcast on television for the first time—not to mention much of the rest of the world. The king wishes nothing to disrupt the ceremony or detract from the religious solemnity of the occasion.”
He cleared his throat. “If possible, of course. To that end, silencers for all security participants was considered but rejected for a variety of reasons, including the difficulty of covert carry with a silencer, and the fact that it changes the balance of a gun—not something senior leadership wanted to risk. Questions?”
Angelina had questions, but she wasn’t going to ask them yet. No matter how much she and the two other women on the team tried to fit in, the men still resented it if the women spoke first in group meetings like this. She’d learned to pick her battles. She glanced left and right, and wasn’t disappointed.
“What precautions are being taken?” one man asked.
Another man threw out, “Who is responsible for advance security on the cathedral?”
“Will the guests have to pass through a metal detector as they enter the cathedral?” a third man queried. “And if so, who will be monitoring it?”
Captain Zale dealt with these questions and several others, explaining so everyone knew exactly who was responsible for what, and who would be stationed where.
There was a short silence. Then, “With so many security details there to guard the royal family, the potential exists for fractionalization instead of us operating as a cohesive whole,” Angelina said quietly. “What is being done to prevent this?”
Captain Zale cast her a quick nod of approval. “Good question, Mateja.” He faced the entire room. “There will be a dry run in the cathedral on Saturday,” he said. “A dress rehearsal, as it were. Everyone who is not on duty that day is expected to be in attendance. This will help lay down clear lines of communication between all three security details.”
His eyes narrowed. “Remember, this is not a pissing contest,” he said crudely. “The king’s men will be there, and naturally they think they are superior. That they are in command. We are the queen’s men, lesser beings in their eyes. This is not true, and I have it on the best authority—the king himself. We have been handpicked by him to guard the queen against any and every threat. So do not let the attitude of the king’s men distract you. Let them think they are superior. We know the truth. And we—not they—will ensure a successful outcome. Any further questions?” Silence held sway. “You are dismissed.”
* * *
Angelina skimmed down the wide, marble stairs of the grand staircase, her feet barely touching the carpeted treads. When she was a little girl her father had complained that Angelina never walked anywhere, that she was always in a hurry to get where she was going, and it was still true. Very little had changed about Angelina since her childhood.
Today was actually an off-duty day for her— although like everyone else on the queen’s security detail she’d been called in for the mandatory meeting just now—and she had plans. There was still time...if she didn’t dawdle.
She had one thing she felt compelled to do first—related to both her job and her growing friendship with Queen Juliana. A friendship that had quietly begun during the queen’s recent pregnancy, when the queen had confided in Angelina her fears and worries about her pregnancy in a friendly, disarming way that invited Angelina’s confidences in return. A way that made her love Queen Juliana as a true friend and not just her queen—not surprising, really, since the queen was only a year older than Angelina, and hadn’t been born to her lofty position.
Their friendship was something Angelina didn’t broadcast, though. She didn’t want anyone saying her next promotion was due to anything other than pure merit. But until she personally checked things out at the cathedral and assured herself that Queen Juliana and her baby would be safe, Angelina wouldn’t feel free to enjoy her day off.
She’d just turned down a side corridor that would take her to the vast parking lot behind the palace where her little Fiat—one of her few prized possessions—was parked, when someone called to her. “Lieutenant Mateja! Angelina, wait up!”
She turned, saw Alec Jones and was immediately torn. She hadn’t expected to see him again today and wasn’t prepared to deal with him—especially after this morning.
But courtesy had been instilled in Angelina since before she could walk, and she couldn’t just slip away as if she hadn’t heard him calling her name. As if she hadn’t seen him coming after her. “Special Agent Jones,” she acknowledged when he drew near.
“Alec,” he reminded her. “Remember?”
Angelina tried but failed miserably to control the slight flush that tinged her cheeks. Not at the reminder that she’d already agreed to call him Alec, but of the kiss they’d shared. The kiss she’d pretended she hadn’t wanted. The kiss that had knocked her world off-kilter.
Alec had been right this morning—damn him, she thought now. She’d wondered what it would be like to kiss him. And in that moment she’d wanted him to kiss her. She just hadn’t been prepared for it—hadn’t been prepared for the way her body had responded to being in his arms, either. Not at all.
But she wasn’t going to admit it to him. “Alec,” she agreed coolly. “Yes, I remember. What are you doing here?”
“Meeting,” was all he said. “Business. You?”
“Meeting.” She was as terse as he was.
“So where are you headed now?”
She considered his question for a moment and realized there was no reason not to tell him. “I am heading to Saint Anne’s Cathedral.”
He nodded with evident admiration, and Angelina realized he understood why she was going there, even without her saying another word. “Smart,” he said. “Very smart. Mind if I tag along?”
She raised her eyebrows in a question, and he added, “I’ve been invited to attend the christening.” He gave a little huff of rueful laughter. “McKinnon told me the princess wrangled an invitation for me. It would be rude to decline, especially since I’m here at the—” He stopped abruptly, and Angelina wondered what he’d been going to say. “Anyway,” he continued smoothly, as if this was what he’d intended to say from the start, “since I’ll be there, it would make me feel better to know the lay of the land. Advance knowledge never hurts, does it?”
“No, it does not,” she acceded. She hesitated, of two minds about letting Alec go with her. Then she remembered he was a highly trained professional who’d been in the bodyguard business longer than she had, and he might have insights she would find helpful. Just as he’d taught her a very important lesson this morning, there were other things she could learn from him. All at once her treacherous thoughts skittered down a path she refused to take—he could teach you many things, yes!—and though her body thrilled to that idea, she quickly brought both her body and her thoughts under control.
“How did you come to the palace?” she asked him.
“Taxi.” He smiled at her. “One of those cute little Zakharian taxis that seem to be everywhere. I could have called for an embassy limo—the official dignity of the embassy’s RSO must be maintained, I’m told—but it seemed kind of stuffy. Or I could have walked. The taxi was a reasonable compromise.”
“I have my car here,” she said. “If you do not mind being driven by a woman.”
Alec grinned as if at a secret joke, and Angelina mentally chastised herself for the verbal slipup. She knew American men were not like Zakharian men. Most of them anyway. American men were used to American women doing—and doing well—just about everything a man could do. But all Alec said was, “You wouldn’t ask me that if you knew Princess Mara used to drive herself to and from the university where she worked. That meant I was always in the passenger seat.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later they were in the vaulted main chapel of Saint Anne’s Cathedral in Drago. After identifying herself and Alec to the custodian, they were allowed to wander at will.
Saint Anne’s Cathedral was laid out like a giant cross, with a side chapel on each side of the main area, or nave, as it was called, facing the apse and the altar, effectively doubling the seating capacity. Angelina was mentally calculating sight lines—envisioning where the royal parents would stand near the baptismal font, where the two sets of godparents would stand, and where the archbishop and the other members of the ecclesiastical team would stand—when Alec spoke.
“What’s up there?” he asked, pointing to the distant loft in the rear.
She glanced up, following the direction of his arm. “Choir loft,” she answered absently, and pulled a notebook from her pocket to jot down a couple of questions she wanted to ask Captain Zale.
“How do you get up there?”
“Staircase. Access from the foyer.”
“Will there be a choir present at the christening?”
“Of course. This is an incredibly important event for Zakhar,” she informed him a little stiffly. “It is not just the baptism of a child, you understand. It is a celebration of the future of our country. Something like your Fourth of July, Thanksgiving and New Year’s celebrations all rolled into one. A two-hundred-voice choir will be singing the ‘Te Deum.’ Just as they did at the king’s coronation. Just as they did at his wedding to the queen.”
Alec nodded his understanding, but all he said was, “Then it’s not likely an assassin would try to hide up there.”
“There will be men posted there nevertheless,” she assured him. “We are taking no chances.”
Alec had wandered past the altar while she spoke, and now he asked, “What’s behind these pipes?” indicating the organ pipes, some of which stretched from floor to ceiling, in a series of wooden cases. There were spaces between the pipes, some only an inch or two, some more.
“Nothing. Just space to allow the notes to resonate throughout the cathedral. No one could stand behind those pipes...not when the organ is playing,” Angelina explained. “And the organ will be playing during much of the service. The sound waves...you have to understand the sound waves would cause such pain no one would risk it. It could rupture the eardrums. You would be writhing on the floor.”
“Hmm.” He slipped behind the pipes. Between the pipes and the wall was a large recess with access from both sides.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, following him, curious.
“What’s to prevent an assassin from wearing high-tech noise-canceling headphones?”
Angelina opened her mouth to answer but closed it again, with her words unsaid, realizing he was right. She glanced at the notebook in her hand and quickly wrote Alec’s question down—another thing to mention to Captain Zale—noting at the same time how much light the spaces between the pipes allowed into the shadowed recess. Enough light to write. Which meant plenty enough space to shoot between.
You were right to bring Alec with you, she told herself. Perhaps someone else has thought of this, but perhaps not. She turned and faced the apse, peering through one of the gaps, trying to think like an assassin. Despite the relatively narrow spaces between the pipes, up close she could clearly see everything in front of the altar. A man could stand behind the organ pipes and take aim between them. It would not be difficult.
“It’s not that hard a shot to make,” Alec said softly as he came to stand next to Angelina.
“You are correct,” she told him. “Where they will be during the ceremony—the entire royal family—I could make that shot. In the pews. At the baptismal font. At the altar. I could make it easily.”
Her eyes met his. And just that quickly Angelina’s thoughts turned from the deadly serious business at hand, to remembering what it had felt like when this man had kissed her. Held her. Caressed her. The iron hardness of his body when he’d pulled her down and trapped her beneath him early this morning. The taste of him on her lips.
So long. It had been so long since she’d let herself even think of men as men. So long since she’d let herself remember she was a woman with a woman’s heart, a woman’s needs. So long since she’d let herself relax her guard enough to even consider the possibility of a sexual relationship with a man.
But she was thinking of it now. Because he was making her think of it. Because he’d kissed her this morning as if it was a perfectly normal and natural thing—which it was—but not for her.
She shuddered and caught her breath as a wave of longing swept through her, longing for something she knew she could never have. She started to turn away, but he stopped her, his hand warm and firm on her arm. And that intensified the ache.
His lips captured hers—or was it the other way around? Angelina didn’t know who had moved first, but just like this morning, they were both aroused, both fighting for control, both trembling in the grip of a need that possessed them to the exclusion of all other thought.
“Angel,” he whispered between incendiary kisses that set off sparks throughout her body. Holding her so tightly she knew she couldn’t escape. Even if she’d wanted to escape...which she didn’t. “Oh God, Angel.”
No one had ever called her Angel. Not her parents, not her cousin, not her friends. No one. She didn’t know why, but somehow, when Alec called her Angel, it made her feel special. Cherished. Unique. A name for him alone.
He pressed her against the organ pipes, then grasped one of her thighs and pulled it up, up, until he was holding her bent knee, stroking it through the slacks she wore. But she might as well not have been wearing anything for all the protection they afforded her. Because, with her knee raised and clasping his hip, the crux of her thighs was open to him. Vulnerable. And he pressed his erection against her mound until she moaned. Moaned, and melted.
She couldn’t think. She tried, but thought was impossible. Her entire world had condensed into this moment in time, into desire that left her shaking and desperate. The only thing that let Angelina hold on to her sanity was the knowledge that Alec was as desperate as she was. That he was shaking, too. That she wasn’t the only one vulnerable.
A sound impinged on her consciousness, the sound of footsteps echoing in the cathedral, then of someone calling her name in Zakharan. “Lieutenant Mateja?”
Angelina tore herself away from Alec, just as she had this morning. But this time she didn’t try to pretend she hadn’t wanted him as much as he’d wanted her. This time she didn’t wipe the taste of him away.
“We cannot do this,” she whispered to Alec. “I cannot do this.” Putting on a calm face, she quickly moved out from behind the organ pipes. “I am here,” she told the custodian in Zakharan, thankful she didn’t wear lipstick that would now be smudged. She hoped the wizened little man wouldn’t think to look behind the pipes, wouldn’t ask where Alec was, or he’d wonder what the hell they were doing in that recessed space and put two and two together.
“You said you only needed a half hour,” the custodian reminded her. “It has been almost twice that. It is nearly noon, and I must lock up so I can go to lunch. Are you finished here?”
“Five more minutes,” she promised him. “I will be quick. I only have one more thing to check.”
As soon as the custodian walked away, Alec came out from behind the pipes. She sensed his stare, but refused to meet his eyes, ashamed of what had taken place between them. Any kind of romantic entanglement was incompatible with the life she’d chosen. Every man she’d dated—and there hadn’t been all that many since she’d joined the queen’s security detail—automatically expected that once their relationship grew serious, Angelina would quit her dangerous job.
And that was not going to happen...until Angelina herself determined she could no longer do her job to her own satisfaction. As long as she stayed in peak physical condition, as long as her reaction time meant no one was better than she was at protecting the queen, her choice was clear.
She couldn’t be soft and yielding, not for any man. She couldn’t be anything other than what she was—tough and uncompromising. She couldn’t even pretend...as other women she knew pretended. And that meant the life most Zakharian women took for granted was out of the realm of possibility for her.
Even if she didn’t get involved romantically, even if this was only sex—only sex? she asked herself, remembering how things had exploded between Alec and her—she wasn’t willing to risk her reputation. Things were difficult enough for a woman in the Zakharian National Forces. When sex reared its ugly head, men tended to look at women differently. As if they didn’t already.
This was twice now she had surrendered to her body’s insistent demands. Twice she had let Alec inside her defenses. Twice she had let herself forget who and what she was. And that was two times too many.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_2c301c1e-220b-5cde-8cdf-d21648173e4d)
Least said, soonest mended. Alec could hear the words in his head as clearly as if his mother were standing next to him reciting that old maxim. And he knew the wisest course of action was to say nothing to the outgoing RSO. What did you say to a man who was being bounced out of a coveted job to make room for you? Ostensibly because of political favoritism, but really because he was suspected of fraud and corruption?
No, it was better to say nothing at all, not even to commiserate with the guy over being displaced. So he listened politely as the outgoing RSO—a man he’d crossed paths with before—went through his calendar and case roster with Alec.
He noted that the guy had a hard time meeting Alec’s eyes, and his laughter seemed forced—signs of a guilty conscience? Alec wondered. Or just that he doesn’t quite know what to say to me, too, especially since we know each other? It wasn’t unheard of to be replaced on short notice. But it couldn’t be easy. Still, it wasn’t as if he was being demoted. Not exactly. And if he was clean, the DSS would soon place him as RSO somewhere else.
“What’s the ambassador like?” he asked, for something innocuous to say.
“Okay, I guess, for a political appointee.”
Which didn’t tell Alec much. He had an appointment with the ambassador this afternoon, and he was keeping an open mind. Even though the ambassador would also be a target in his upcoming investigation, that was just speculation at this point. The ambassador deserved respect from Alec in every way. At least until something was proved against him. As RSO, Alec was the personal adviser to the ambassador on all security issues, and was responsible for all aspects of the embassy’s security. Conversely, Alec had every intention of using the ambassador as his adviser on all things Zakharian. At least until he got his feet wet.
“Well, I guess that’s about it,” the other man said. “You have the safe’s combination already, but you’ll change it, of course.” He took a set of keys from his pocket and laid them on the desk in front of him. “You’ll need these. Everything there opens a door somewhere in the embassy.” The outgoing RSO smiled briefly, stood and offered his hand.
Alec didn’t hesitate to shake it. He couldn’t let the outgoing RSO suspect anything more than he might already suspect under the unusual circumstances.
* * *
Alec was run ragged over the next few days, but he loved every minute of it. This was work he was born to do, and he did it with style. With a flair all his own. Putting his personal stamp on the job without conscious effort.
In addition to his meeting with the ambassador, he held a meet-and-greet with the entire embassy staff, memorizing their names and matching faces to them. It was another little knack he had, a trick he’d learned back when he’d first joined the DSS—people loved being remembered. It cost him nothing and gained him willing cooperation when he least expected it.
He obtained a list of embassy employees from the ambassador on down, going back five years—including their work histories and whatever else was on file— and began going through the data meticulously. Alec had no idea how long the human trafficking might have been going on. He’d go back as far as necessary, but five years was a good start, and he’d work his way backward starting from the present. He put the current ambassador and his predecessor as RSO at the top of the list, because the king had specified the corruption could be occurring at the highest levels.
Related to the investigation, Alec met privately with Colonel Marianescu and the three policemen the king had specified were working the trafficking case from the Zakharian side of things. Zakhar’s laws were stricter, their punishments more severe than in the United States, but crime existed everywhere, and Zakhar was no exception. The same rules of evidence didn’t apply, though, and Alec couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy at how much easier it would be to make the case in Zakhar than it would be in the States, once all the evidence was assembled and indictments sought.
* * *
On Friday afternoon he met with Trace McKinnon at the palace to ensure complete privacy.
“The agency brought you up to speed?” Alec asked McKinnon when they were alone in the sitting room of the McKinnons’ suite in the palace.
“Not really. All I was told was that the State Department asked for me again—something critical and urgent here in Zakhar—and that you would fill me in on everything.”
Alec told him. It didn’t take long—McKinnon didn’t need all the t’s crossed and the i’s dotted. “I thought of you right off,” Alec said. “Especially since you mentioned in the car from the airport that the princess took a year’s leave of absence from the university after the twins were born. The plan wouldn’t work if she had to rush home to get back to teaching, because it involves her, too.”
“So you want Mara to stay on here in order to give me an ostensible reason for staying on, do I have that right?”
“Pretty much. And the job is right up the agency’s alley. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”
McKinnon nodded thoughtfully. “It tracks. And Mara did take a year’s sabbatical.” A smile crept across his face. “I’ll have to check with her, but I know what she’ll say.”
“So, you’re in?”
“Are you kidding? Making Mara happy by giving her a reason to stay here indefinitely? It’s a no-brainer.”
* * *
Angelina sat quietly in one corner of the queen’s sitting room as Queen Juliana and Princess Mara drank tea and shared confidences about their husbands and their children in the way of longtime friends—which they were.
Angelina hadn’t said anything when the queen had introduced her favorite bodyguard to her best friend a week ago, but she’d been thrilled to have finally met the princess who’d played such a pivotal role in her life. The princess was only a few months older than Angelina, but she’d been held up to Angelina as a role model by her mother since she was a little girl.
Angelina’s mother hadn’t realized Angelina wasn’t patterning herself after the princess as a lady—she was inspired instead by the princess’s scholastic achievements and steadfast determination to achieve her goals, despite the common Zakharian attitude toward women.
Angelina had been fired up to follow in the princess’s footsteps. Not in mathematics—she’d known that wasn’t her forte—but she’d pushed herself to excel scholastically just as the princess had done. She’d graduated from college a year early and followed that up immediately with law school and then a budding career as a prosecutor—as budding a career in the law as any woman could find in Zakhar—before joining the military.
Her original dream of being a prosecutor might have been supplanted by her current dream job as one of the queen’s bodyguards, but that didn’t mean her original dream was gone. Someday she’d go back to it. Just not anytime soon.
“Trace tells me you and Captain Zale met Alec at the airport,” Princess Mara said, and suddenly Angelina realized the princess was addressing her. “What did you think of him?”
Angelina wasn’t about to admit she’d met Alec more than once—or that she’d kissed him twice—so she searched for something innocuous to say about a man the princess held in affection. “He seemed...nice, Your Highness.”
“Mara, please,” the princess said. “I am an American now, and I prefer the freedom of being just me.” Her green eyes twinkled. “And Alec is many things, but nice is not a word I would have picked to describe him.” She tilted her head to one side. “Liam, now, he is nice. Sweet, too. And idealistic. But Alec?” She shook her head. “No, Alec is not sweet. And he is not idealistic. But he is a man to contend with. I would not want to be on the wrong side of him, but I would trust him with my life.”
* * *
Humming a tune under his breath, Alec left the McKinnons’ suite and headed for the grand staircase. He was just about to go down when he saw a woman come out of another suite on the other side of the landing. A woman he recognized in a heartbeat. Recognized, and wanted to talk to. Urgently.
He’d thought of Angelina whenever he’d had a free moment. And even when he didn’t really have a free moment, just a few seconds. Every night since he’d last seen her in the cathedral—since he’d kissed her until they were both trembling—he’d found himself thinking how lonely his bed was without her. As if they were already lovers. As if he knew what it would be like with her, so that her absence hurt. Physically. An ache that started—predictably—in his loins, but that spread throughout his body as he imagined her there next to him in bed.
“Angel.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried far enough.
She turned his way, startled. “Alec.” She glanced around quickly and hurried over to where he stood at the top of the staircase. “You are not to call me that,” she said in a hushed voice. When Alec tilted his head and gave her a questioning look, she explained, “You are not to call me Angel...in public.”
“Why not?” Vivid in his memory was the moment he’d first used that name, and he could tell by her expression and the warm tide of color washing over her face she was remembering, too.
“It is...unprofessional.”
“How is a nickname unprofessional?”
“Not any nickname, just that one.” When Alec raised his brows in question, she added, “Because it is too...too feminine.” Then she quickly changed the subject. “What are you doing here?”
“Visiting McKinnon. You?”
“I work here,” she reminded him. “Queen’s security detail, remember?”
“Right.” He smiled at her, his most whimsical smile. Deliberately turning on the charm. “So when do you get off duty?”
She looked as if she wanted to smile back but wouldn’t let herself. “Now, actually. I am done for the day.”
Alec remembered Angelina saying, “We cannot do this... I cannot do this,” after they’d kissed in the cathedral. But she hadn’t said why. Until she explained, Alec wasn’t about to just let it go. They had something together. Something good. Something explosive. Something worth fighting for. As long as he was in Zakhar—and he was here for at least a year, maybe more—he was going to pursue it. Unless she said no.
Alec wasn’t a wolf. When a woman said no, that was it for him—he took her at her word. The trick was persuading her not to say no in the first place. To give her a damned good reason to say yes. “I cannot” wasn’t the same thing as “no.”
Now he said, “Dinner? I’ve got an apartment—I moved in two days ago—but I haven’t had time to stock up the kitchen yet, so I’ve been eating out. I took the advice of somebody at the embassy last night—big mistake. Don’t get me wrong, the food was okay. But a man on his own in a restaurant geared for couples gets shunted off to a table behind the service door, and the waiters act as if he’s invisible.”
Angelina made a valiant attempt to hold back her smile, but it was impossible. “I cannot see you allowing that to happen. Not you.”
Alec grinned. “Okay, you’re right. I didn’t. But they tried. Believe me, they tried. It would’ve been easier if I’d had a date with me. Someone like you. A beautiful woman always gets great service.”
She wasn’t averse to the compliment—that was obvious. But just as obvious was the fact she wasn’t expecting it—either the compliment or the flirtatious way it was delivered—and it took her off guard. Despite that, she came back quickly with, “Only if she is with a man. A woman dining out on her own in Zakhar is...unusual. Breakfast and lunch are not a problem. But dinner?” Her lips quirked into a hint of a smile. “A woman alone is not considered a good tipper. But a man with a woman he is trying to impress—that is a different story.”
He thought he knew the answer already, but he moved a step closer and asked, “So could I impress you...by being a big tipper?” His voice was husky with meaning.
She didn’t back up, and he admired that about her. Most women would have...if a man invaded their personal space. But Angelina just shook her head. “You do not have to impress me that way,” she said honestly, her blue-gray eyes meeting his. “I am already impressed.”
She doesn’t play games, Alec realized with a sense of shock. But then you knew that. It was refreshing. And at the same time disarming. Tread cautiously, a little voice in the back of his head warned him. But Alec—who was so good at trusting his instincts— ignored the warning.
His voice dropped a notch when he urged, “Have dinner with me, Angel. Pick a restaurant—any restaurant you want. Just have dinner with me.” It wasn’t his usual approach. He was good at charming a woman, an approach that had worked many times before. But somehow, his usual facile charm was absent this time around. And Alec had never held his breath as he waited for an answer. That was something new, and he wondered why her answer was suddenly so important.
Angelina tilted her chin up, staring at him so intently, so seriously, Alec was sure she was going to say no. The decision hung in the balance for a moment. Then she said, “Mischa’s, in the central district, is probably the best choice. They have been there since before my mother was born.” Her eyes smiled before her lips joined in. “They are not four-star, you understand. Casual dining, not formal. But the food is good, and at a reasonable price. You will like it, I think. Even the king enjoyed eating there with his fellow soldiers when he was in the Zakharian National Forces. There is a picture of him with his unit on one wall, with pictures of other famous diners.”
“Sounds good. Where is it?”
“It is a little difficult to explain. Do you know the central district?”
“My apartment’s there. And I should tell you my sister calls me the human GPS—I’ve never gotten lost yet, no matter where in the world I find myself.”
Angelina’s smile deepened. “Where exactly is your apartment?”
When Alec told her it was on Vasska Street near Jalena Lane, she said, “But that is very close to Mischa’s. No more than five blocks away. You could walk to your apartment from the restaurant. And the market is on the way. I could help you shop—not everyone speaks English. Did you take a taxi?”
Alec shook his head. “Not this time, I’m afraid. One of the embassy cars brought me.” He didn’t tell her he wanted the embassy staff to know he was visiting his friend in the palace—adding fuel to the gossip he knew was already swirling about him. The best way to accomplish that was to have one of the embassy drivers bring him back and forth, casually-on-purpose mentioning the reason for his visit to the driver. If Alec and McKinnon met openly as friends, it was less likely someone would suspect McKinnon was involved in an investigation when he visited Alec at the embassy.
He also didn’t tell Angelina that using an embassy car and driver for ostensibly personal reasons was a violation of the rules—something he’d done deliberately. Not just to stress his friendship with McKinnon, but to spread the word he wasn’t ethically a stickler. He was going to uncover whoever in the embassy was responsible for the fraud and corruption—that was a given, no matter how long it took—it would just be easier if they approached him. So the first step was making himself approachable. If he would bend the rules in one way, why not another?
Slippery slope, he reminded himself. Most people who trod the straight and narrow didn’t realize just how true that was. Once you broke one rule, breaking the next wasn’t quite so hard. Each successive infraction became easier to justify to yourself, until you found yourself at the bottom of the pit, with no way out.
He shook off his sudden introspective mood, and said, “The driver’s waiting for me. I could have him drop us off at the restaurant instead of my apartment.”
She thought about it for a few seconds and then shook her head decisively. “No, I cannot do that.”
There’s that “I cannot” again, Alec told himself. “Why not?”
Angelina hesitated. She glanced around nervously and blurted out, “It is one thing to talk to you here—although even that is... I do not want anyone to see me leaving the palace with you on a regular basis. We were already spotted the other day when we left for the cathedral together—it was mentioned to me by two men I work with.”
Alec said the first thing that came to mind. “I wasn’t aware US embassy employees were off-limits for the queen’s security detail.”
Now she seemed flustered. “It is not that...not exactly. I cannot explain...” She looked left and right, as if she feared they were being observed. But more than that—as if she was being observed...and judged. “Not here.”
“At the restaurant, then?”
Again there was the strange hesitation that piqued Alec’s interest. “All right,” she said finally. “I will meet you there. Six o’clock?”
* * *
The assassination team didn’t even have to break into Saint Anne’s Cathedral. They walked in during vespers carrying rucksacks, joined the relatively large congregation gathered for a Friday evening service, and even made the proper responses during Mass—though neither of the men had been inside a church in years.
They lingered afterward, shuffling along with the exiting congregants and then slipping unnoticed into one of the side chapels when the rest of the crowd was making its way out the arched front doors. The christening wasn’t until one o’clock Sunday afternoon, but the cathedral would be closed for security reasons after tonight’s Mass, and the team had been warned they needed to get their weapons into place before the portable metal detectors were installed at all the cathedral’s entrances tomorrow morning. Metal detectors that would remain in place until after the christening ceremony.
The men used the privacy of the confessionals to stash their Glock 18C selective fire pistols—other weapons options had been considered and discarded because the 18C was small enough to be concealed but could convert from semiautomatic to fully automatic at the flip of a switch. Not that they intended to use the fully automatic feature—they had one target and one target only. But if something happened and they needed to escape in a way they had not planned, full auto could come in handy. As for the confessionals, they would not be used between now and the ceremony on Sunday—and the weapons would be moved to a more secure location before the security teams conducted their extensive search early Sunday morning.
A large contingent of invited guests was expected Sunday afternoon, and certain rows would be roped off for them. Television cameras would be brought in Saturday afternoon, and set up for the broadcast to the nation on Sunday. But the king had also invited the citizens of Drago to attend the christening of his son and heir. Giant screens would be erected in the square outside the cathedral and the event would be projected on them, so whoever couldn’t be squeezed into the pews or couldn’t find standing room in the aisles would be able to watch the ceremony in the immense square.
A packed cathedral and a packed square—the security personnel would have their hands full trying to watch everyone, every minute. They would not notice the two inconspicuous men until it was too late. The assassins were counting on it.
Chapter 5 (#ulink_06f33553-9422-52d4-9987-051096470782)
Angelina walked into the restaurant, her eyes quickly moving over all the diners, cataloging them. Then she breathed a sigh of relief. No one she knew was here tonight. Specifically, no one on the queen’s security detail. There were two women she knew just in passing, and she recognized a third who’d been a friend of her cousin Caterina’s in high school. The sight of Caterina’s friend brought the mystery of her cousin’s disappearance to the forefront of Angelina’s consciousness.
Where are you, Caterina? Angelina thought now. A question she’d asked for more than eight years. A question that hurt just as much now as it had all those years ago, because Angelina felt responsible in some way.
Responsible...and guilty. Guilty she hadn’t been able to prevent Caterina from leaving Zakhar in the first place, hadn’t been able to talk her out of going. Guilty she hadn’t managed to track her cousin down when she’d vanished without a trace somewhere in the United States. Why did you not stop her? Angelina’s conscience demanded now. And why did you not find her when she disappeared? Even if only to bring her body home?
The loss of the cousin who’d been like her little sister was a festering wound that would never heal unless Caterina miraculously reappeared, which Angelina no longer believed might happen. After all these years she knew in her heart her cousin was dead—but without a body there would never be closure.
“Hey,” a warm deep voice said from behind her. “You’re right on time.” She turned around to see Alec’s gaze flickering over her, masculine appreciation evident in his eyes. Angelina was glad she’d changed into a dress she’d pulled from the back of her closet—one of the few dresses in her wardrobe. She never wore dresses to work—slacks, a tailored blouse and a blazer to hide her ever-present shoulder holster were what she always wore on duty. Not just because a dress might be a distraction for whatever male team member she was working with that day, but because a dress would be a distraction for her. She just didn’t feel comfortable in a dress. Not for work.
But it was different tonight. Or maybe it was who she was with that made the difference. Alec, whose eyes made her yearn for those very things she’d long ago decided weren’t for her. Alec, whose kisses sparked a flame she’d been hard-pressed to quench...both times. Alec, who called her Angel in that strong, ardent way that demanded a response equally as ardent. As if he knew what they’d be like in bed, and it aroused him.
Now his eyes spoke volumes, and Angelina was fiercely glad she’d dressed up for him. The royal-blue color of her dress did something for her eyes, making them more blue than gray. The silky, blouson material clung discreetly in all the right places, making her aware of her femininity for the first time in a long time. The heels she’d unearthed from the bottom of her closet and decided to wear at the last minute made her as tall as Alec. She thanked her lucky stars he was so tall to begin with. Most men’s egos were ridiculously fragile if their date was taller than they were, and on the few dates she’d allowed herself in the past, she’d always been careful to wear flats so she wouldn’t tower over the man she was with. She didn’t have to worry about that tonight.
“They’re holding a table for us,” Alec told her. He placed a warm hand on the small of Angelina’s back to guide her, and a little thrill shot through her. She tried to tell herself not to respond to him—his eyes, his smile, his touch. But her body was telling her that— unlike her totally disappointing, one and only sexual encounter—sex with Alec would be far from disappointing. Something she’d already realized the first time she saw him.
Just for a moment she let herself fantasize about what it would be like with Alec, before she shut down her errant thoughts with a firm resolve. Regret stabbed through her. If her job weren’t so important to her...if Zakharian men—especially the men in her line of work—weren’t so judgmental of women they saw as women...if she dared risk exploring this attraction between Alec and her...
Angelina sighed to herself, but made sure nothing of what she was feeling showed on her face.
Alec declined a menu when they were seated at their table, telling Angelina, “Order for me, please. You know what’s good here, I don’t.”
She laughed a little at the unexpected offer—so different from most men she’d dated, who always wanted to order for her. “But I do not know what you like,” she demurred.
“Meat and potatoes,” he said with a smile. “Isn’t that what most men prefer? And no zucchini. I can eat any vegetable except zucchini. Other than that, I’m easy.” His voice dropped a notch. “I’m putting myself in your hands, Angel,” he said softly. And just that easily, her control over her body’s reactions was shattered as she imagined the alternate meaning that could be applied to his words. A sexual meaning.
He did that to her throughout their leisurely meal, from the bacon-wrapped Mediterranean dates stuffed with almonds, all the way through the dessert she usually didn’t eat but ordered especially for him: mini chocolate éclairs that were a specialty of the house. There was nothing she could call him on outright. He just had a way of saying something totally innocuous that could be taken more than one way if your mind was looking for a double entendre. And hers most definitely was.
Over dessert, he asked, “So explain to me again why I’m not supposed to call you Angel. Not that Angelina isn’t a beautiful name, but—” his eyes sought hers “—it seems so...I don’t know...distant. Formal.”
Angelina sighed. “You do not understand. I cannot allow myself to appear weak to the men I work with. Which means I cannot allow myself to appear feminine. Angel—” She glanced down at her plate, then back up at Alec, struggling to overcome her hard-won reserve. “I loved it when you called me Angel,” she admitted in a low voice. “But—”
“But not in public. I get it.”
She hesitated, unsure if he really understood. “If anyone heard you call me Angel, they might think that you...that I...” She cleared her throat. “I cannot allow the men I work with to think of me as a woman. Can you understand that? It is different for you. Where you come from, women no longer have to worry about being taken seriously. Especially women doing what used to be a man’s job.”
Alec shook his head. “My sister, Keira, could tell you that’s not true.”
“What do you mean?”
“My dad—he’s been dead for a long time now, but—” Alec grimaced. “Remember how I told you my dad always kidded that my mom broke his perfect record—four boys and then one girl?” She nodded. “He wasn’t really kidding. Keira always had to fight for respect from my dad growing up. Not because of anything she did or didn’t do. Just because she was a girl.”
It shamed him to remember. “All of us—my brothers and I—we kind of took our dad’s attitude. Don’t get me wrong, we loved Keira, just as our dad did. But we didn’t give her a lot of respect. Not then. It wasn’t until she followed us into the Marine Corps that we started seeing her as...well...as someone who deserved our respect.
“Then she went to work for the agency—the same agency McKinnon works for. And a few years back, she stepped in front of a man to take a bullet meant for him. Saved his life...but almost lost her own.” His face contracted in pain, the pain he still felt over almost losing his only sister.
Angelina reached across the table and touched Alec’s hand in silent comfort. “Why did you tell me this?” she asked softly.
“Because I didn’t want you to have any illusions about how easy women have it in the American culture.” His eyes held hers. “And because I didn’t want you to have any illusions about me, either. I’m not the man you think I am.”
“That is not true,” she contradicted. “Perhaps you do not see yourself as I do. Just telling me what you have told me, admitting it to me and to yourself—no Zakharian man I know would do this. That makes you unique, Alec. Unique to me.”
* * *
They walked afterward, both needing the exercise after the meal they’d eaten. From time to time Angelina pointed out some landmark of note, though mostly they just wandered through the central district in companionable silence.

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