by Jenny Frame
She had been trawling through all the secret MI5 files on any previous threats made to the royal family. There had to be something in there, someone who was connected to the messages she was getting.
Quincy wouldn’t discount Lieutenant Rodwell, but he wasn’t in the country to cause any physical threat, and he wasn’t the type of man who could afford to have someone do his dirty work for him.
The Queen’s cousin, Viscount Anglesey, was another obvious suspect. He had committed treason to get his hands on the crown. She had met him at various polo and horse events over the years, and he was an obnoxious man with an inferiority complex as big as his ego, but he was still in a secure unit at hospital.
She supposed he might have the means or the influence to somehow get a hired gun, but that scenario was unlikely. Then there was Thea Brandt’s network of criminal gangs. Thea Brandt had organized and succeeded in implementing one of the world’s most shocking assassinations. Her people took down the King of Denbourg and his heir in one afternoon. Thankfully Thea Brandt had been apprehended and would never see anything but the four walls of a Denbourg jail for the rest of her life.
Queen Rozala had taken the crown, and was performing her duty beautifully, along with her Crown Consort, Lennox.
But again, Thea had networks of people who had never been caught, and she probably had resources squirrelled away. She had threatened to take her revenge on Queen Rozala’s family, of which the Buckinghams were part. British intelligence and agents were involved in hunting her networks down and destroying her weapons stores.
Thea Brandt definitely required more investigation. She would ask Blade to try and find out what she could.
Quincy began to yawn. She looked over at the coffee machine and contemplated having another coffee, anything to put off going to sleep and slipping into the nightmares that lived inside her head, and her heart. But if she didn’t sleep, she wouldn’t be rested and alert for her job.
The prospect of her alarm going off at four thirty made her decision for her. She would be forced to face her nightly hell again.
She stood, and as she went to lift her suit jacket, Quincy heard the beep of the elevator. Instinct made her pull her gun from her shoulder holster. As she approached the rec room door, she heard the officers on the elevator talking to someone.
She heard laughter that she would recognize anywhere. It was Holly.
Quincy holstered her weapon. She had assumed Holly would have returned earlier in the night. She walked into the hall and saw a giggling, tipsy Holly, making the stiff protection officers rather embarrassed, with one boot on and carrying the other one in her hand.
Quincy strode up to them and offered Holly her arm. “Ms. Weaver? Let me escort you to your room.”
Holly giggled. “You are so posh. Let’s go, Stompy.”
The officers looked at her strangely. Quincy’s embarrassment forced her to move quickly. “Let’s leave these officers to their work.”
Holly saluted her. “Yes, ma’am.”
Great. This she had not expected to do last thing at night. Of course, Holly was not falling down drunk, just sweetly tipsy.
“I take it you had a good night then,” Quincy said.
“Yes! It was an amazing night. You should have fun sometime. We had dinner, then Story took me clubbing. Imagine? Story St. John taking Holly Weaver dancing.” Holly twirled around and nearly fell, but Quincy kept her on her feet. “And she thought I was beautiful, not smart.” Holly stabbed a finger in Quincy’s face.
Through Holly’s date and the haze of alcohol, she remembered that? Quincy felt put on the spot. She didn’t know what to say, but her earlier remark must’ve annoyed Holly.
“Let’s try and keep on our feet, Holly,” Quincy said.
They made it to Holly’s room door. Holly was giggling and telling herself to shush at the same time.
“Be quiet, Captain Stompy,” Holly told her sternly. “You don’t want to wake anyone up.”
Quincy held Holly by the shoulders. She had helped more than one drunk marine back to their room and saved them from getting a bollocking for it.
“You need to sleep. We’re travelling tomorrow, remember?”
“Oh yeah. Where are we going? Texas, LA? I’m confused.”
“Chicago,” Quincy told her.
“That’s it. Oh, guess what? Story wants to take me out when we get to LA.”
A small part of Quincy felt sad at that prospect. The memory of Holly’s kiss still burnt brightly in her mind, and Story St. John, a woman she had learned ran through ladies like water, was not worthy of those kisses.
But she was glad the prospect of some more dates with this famous film star made Holly so happy. Holly was strong-willed, irresponsible with Queen Beatrice’s safety, and she embarrassed her regularly, but she was kind, going out of her way to talk to Quincy when she didn’t need to. Holly deserved to be happy.
“What are you thinking so hard about, Stompy?” Holly said.
“Just that I’m glad for you, and I hope you’ll be happy,” Quincy replied.
Holly looked intently into her eyes, as if searching them for something.
“What?”
Holly furrowed her eyebrows. “I don’t know. There’s something in your eyes. Something…” Then out of nowhere she said, “When I first saw you, I thought you were an Adonis, but you need to let me sort out your hair.” She began ruffling up Quincy’s hair with her fingers.
“What are you doing?” Quincy tried to pull Holly’s hand from her head.
“I’ve wanted to do that since I met you. You need all your straight edges ruffled,” Holly said, laughing.
Quincy pulled Holly’s hands down, and Holly made a grab for her tie. As she did, she pulled Quincy’s shirt open below the neck. Holly stopped dead and stared.
Quincy took a step back and hastily buttoned up her shirt. Panic spread throughout her body. No one had seen her scarred body. Not her mother, not that she would have wanted to. No one. Flaws and scars were meant to be hidden, especially these, because they marked her failure to her marines.
Holly slumped against the side of her door, apparently forgetting about what she had seen. “I’m so tired.” She yawned and then her face went pale. “I don’t feel so good.”
Quincy looked left and right at the protection officers on the exits. She didn’t want them to see Holly like this or worse. She took the few steps to Holly and lifted her into her own arms.
“Wait, what are you doing?” Holly asked with surprise.
“Taking you to bed.” Quincy squeezed her eyes shut tight, realizing what that sounded like. “I’m helping you into your room.”
Holly handed Quincy her key card, put her arms around Quincy’s neck, and rested her head on her chest.
Quincy managed to walk through the doorway and carried Holly to her bed. “Sit there a second and I’ll get you some water.”
Holly felt good in her arms, too good, so Quincy hurried over to the minibar and got out a bottle of water. She was becoming more annoyed as time passed. That idiot actor obviously plied her with drinks. Completely irresponsible.
She brought back the water and knelt down in front of Holly. “Here, drink this.”
Holly took a big sip.
Holly’s beautiful auburn hair fell across her face, and without thinking, Quincy gently brushed it back with her fingers. Then she caught herself and pulled her hand back quickly.
What was she doing?
“You must think I’m an idiot,” Holly said.
“Of course I don’t. Everyone has a little too much sometimes.”
That term everyone didn’t apply to her. Alcohol, control, and anger didn’t mix.
“Thanks for being kind to me,” Holly said.
Quincy took her hand and said, “I’ll always be kind to you.”
Holly looked up with her drowsy, tipsy eyes and said, “I saw you before you came to work here, you know? It was at the polo. You didn’t notice me though.”
>
Quincy looked down at their clasped hands. “I’d better leave you to it. We have an early wake-up call.” She stood, and when she reached the door she felt compelled to turn and right a wrong.
“Ms. Holly?”
Holly looked up.
“You didn’t look smart. You were stunningly beautiful, and I did notice you at the polo match. I saw you.”
Without giving Holly a chance to say anything, she walked out.
Chapter Ten
Quincy woke from her sleep, gasping and sweating as always. Thank God for her alarm or else she would have been stuck in that terrifying nightmare. She could still hear the screams in her ears. Still feel the frustration that the fire and the heat kept her back from getting near to her men. Then the fire engulfed her clothes and skin as she pulled Jacob out of the building. It was so real that she could almost feel the heat radiating off her scars when she wakened.
Once she calmed and her breathing settled, she remembered one thing that was different about her dreams this time. As she’d pulled Jacob from the building, confusion and pain engulfing her, she saw Holly standing there. She was smiling, and Quincy felt deeply inside that if she went with Holly she could escape this nightmare.
Quincy didn’t know what to make of it. Then she remembered last night and how she’d felt helping Holly to her room. The truth was, she didn’t know or understand the feeling because it was new. She had trained herself to control every kind of emotion, but this exciting tingly feeling in the pit of her stomach was not something she had come across before.
She had felt attracted to people before, but this was completely different. This was not just attraction. This feeling was making her think and react in different ways, uncontrollable ways, and not knowing how to control something worried her.
She scrubbed her face and remembered what her first PT sergeant had told her. There was no problem or feeling that couldn’t be managed with vigorous exercise.
Quincy got up, pulled on her running shorts and T-shirt, and left the hotel by four thirty to have a long run. The streets of New York were quieter than usual, but still busier with people than most cities.
She looked down at her watch and saw her heart rate. She had to work harder. On her run Quincy passed so many coffee stands and shops, and they reminded her of Holly’s love of a morning brew. After her late night, Quincy guessed that she would really appreciate coffee.
Clayton had sussed Holly’s favourite coffee for her, but going into the world famous coffee shop and navigating the order was another thing. She didn’t even understand the order when Clayton gave it to her. She only ever had black coffee, and she knew others added milk or sugar or both. That was all she’d needed to know about coffee orders until now.
She stopped outside the door of the shop and said to her watch, “Holly’s coffee order.”
The note was displayed, and she walked inside the shop. The first thing Quincy noticed was the noise and chatter, despite the early hour. Some of the patrons looked as if they had been out since last night. The busy, noisy environment was not one she could ever relax in.
Quincy stood in line and looked at the menu above the counter. It appeared to be written in some ancient script for all she could decipher.
As she moved up the line she kept reading and rereading her note so she didn’t make any mistakes. Quincy arrived at the counter, and an overly bright-faced young woman was waiting for her.
“Hi, can I take your order?”
Quincy gazed down at her note and stuttered as she said, “A large wet extra shot almond-milk cappuccino.”
She looked up at the server, hoping she had understood her stumbling order, and luckily, she seemed to, because she passed the order to the young man at the coffee machine.
“Would you like that in a stay warm cup?” she asked.
“Yes, please.” Quincy replied. She had meant to ask for that with her order. A stay warm cup would keep the coffee piping hot for hours, which was essential since Holly would probably still be sleeping.
The young woman smiled and said, “You have the sexiest accent. Are you staying in New York long?”
Quincy froze. Was this flirting or just great American customer service? If it was flirting, it was totally outside her comfort zone.
“No, I’m leaving today actually,” Quincy said quickly, hoping that would be the end of the conversation.
“Pity,” she said with a wink. “Can I get you something else? Some pastries?”
“Erm…” Quincy looked at the array of cakes and pastries. She pointed at the almond croissants. She figured since Holly liked almond milk, she’d like almond pastries. She paid for her order by swiping her watch, then ran back to the hotel. She placed the coffee and pastry bag on the table just by Holly’s door and went to get a shower.
***
Holly first became aware of a dull thud in her head as she wakened. As she opened her eyes, she realized she had gone to sleep in her clothes and one boot. Then she remembered her amazing date the night before. It had been more than she ever hoped for. She might have started off nervous and shy with Story, but that had soon changed.
Story was charming, open, telling her stories and anecdotes, and as she’d found out at the club, the life and soul of the party just like she was. They had danced and sung and had a few drinks, and had an all-round fantastic time.
“And she wants to meet up with me again.”
Holly kicked her legs excitedly and all the covers fell from the bed. She turned onto her side quickly to make a grab for her phone on the side table, but her head and her stomach reminded her she’d had a few drinks.
She took a sip of water from the bottle on the table and then picked up her phone. She discovered she had lots of likes and comments waiting for her on social media. How weird. She had a wide circle of friends, but not enough for this.
Holly opened her social media app and saw picture after picture that Story had taken of them at the restaurant and the club. More of the night came back to her now. She recalled how Story was constantly on her social media, posting pictures of them. Sometimes it looked as if she wasn’t quite with Story as her guest. Funnily enough, her job title, Royal Dresser, was captioned on the pictures more often than her name.
One headline caught her eye. Story St. John by royal appointment. Sources tell us film star Story St. John’s movies are a monthly ritual enjoyed by Queen Beatrice and her friends, much to Queen Georgina’s annoyance.
Holly smacked her forehead. “Oh God, Bea is going to kill me.”
She sat up on the edge of the bed and kept her eyes closed until the spinning in her brain stopped. When she opened her eyes slowly and looked at the door, she had a flash of a memory. She was holding on to Captain Quincy around the neck and messing up her hair. “Please tell me I didn’t do that.”
Holly slumped forward and leaned her forehead on her hands. Then she saw in her mind’s eye Quincy carrying her in her arms over to the bed and getting her the bottle of water that now was set on the side table.
She looked after me, Holly thought. Why would Quincy care if she was made of stone and felt nothing, as she said she did? And why was she still awake at that time?
As she asked herself all these questions, one memory stopped her in her tracks. When she had been ruffling Quincy’s hair and tousling her tie, she had pulled down the collar of her shirt, and seen her skin was covered in burn scars. Did they cover more of her body? She did remember Quincy pulling her shirt up quickly, and the look of panic on her face.
What had happened to Quincy? Maybe this was why she’d left the Royal Marines. Queen Georgina did say she was a hero, and that was why she’d won the Victoria Cross.
Holly’s heart ached for her. How did someone like Quincy, who was quiet and shut off from those around her, deal with the kind of hurt and pain she must have gone through?
Then she realized the answer. “By not feeling. That’s what she meant by she doesn’t feel.”
But when
Holly had kissed her, she had felt not only surprise, but passion coming back from her, and when she’d gotten the opportunity to gaze into Quincy’s eyes, she saw a torrent of feeling.
There was a knock at the door. She went to answer it and found one of the hotel staff.
“Good morning, ma’am. I was sent to do the alarm calls, but I noticed these outside your door and thought you’d want to know someone left them for you.”
The man handed over a stay warm cup of coffee and a bag.
“Where were these?” Holly asked.
“Just on the table here.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Once she went back in, she took a look, and then a sip of the coffee. It was her favourite coffee, down to a tee. Then she looked in the bag and saw a sugar dusted almond croissant.
“God, yes. This is just what I need. Whoever you are, thank you.”
***
George was up early, as was her habit, but she needed to be especially early today as they were travelling to Chicago. She wanted to get all her boxes done before they travelled, so she could learn her speech on the plane.
“Come,” George said.
Bea walked in and over to her chair. She was still dressed in her silk nightdress and dressing gown.
George turned her chair, and as was their habit, Bea sat in her lap and wrapped her arms around her shoulders.
“What’s happening in the world today?” Bea indicated to George’s boxes.
George sighed. “The usual dispiriting fighting. Vospya is in turmoil again. Bo Dixon is looking rather silly for inviting the president for a state visit.”
Bea laid her head on George’s shoulder. “We could have told her that.”
George kissed Bea’s head. “Everything all right?”
“Yes,” Bea said, “I’m just enjoying the calm before the storm, with you.”