by C. J. Miller
“A man known as the Ghost makes the arrangements. I don’t know his real name or who put the hit out on her.” Her assailant was nervous, his words coming out in a stammer. He knew the odds were against him.
Who was the Ghost and where did he get his name? From having the ability to hide behind his hired assassins? The Coward might be a more suitable name.
Demetrius cracked his knuckles. “I’ve heard of the Ghost. He hires exceptionally competent criminals. These attempts have been bungling at best. It’s missing the hallmarks of the Ghost’s work.”
Demetrius had said not to provoke the assailant. Why was he criticizing the attempts on her life? The assassin’s inability to succeed was why she was still alive.
She smelled sweat and fear and gunpowder. “The Warlord of Icarus is hardly a weak opponent. The Ghost knows this and has assembled many teams.”
The Warlord of Icarus? Demetrius wouldn’t like that title. It was the first time Iliana had heard it. Demetrius was often portrayed unfairly in international news. But he was a respectable man and had done good work for his people.
Demetrius let out a bark of sharp laughter. “Is that what I’m being called now?”
The man with the gun to her head laughed nervously. “Among other things.”
Demetrius shrugged. “Let my wife go. You can die at my hands or take your chances with the Ghost. I’ll kill you quickly. That’s my best offer.”
The assailant didn’t respond, but he loosened his grip. Iliana dropped to the ground, unable to fully process what had happened when she heard the sound of gunshots. Three gunshots. She squeezed her eyes closed for a moment, then, not feeling pain, opened them and assessed her body. Had she been hit?
Demetrius was holding a gun, as were his guards.
Her assailant was on the bridge, leaning against the cables, bleeding. Was he dead? Iliana stood, her legs weak, and approached him. Could she help? Was it too late?
“Iliana, stop. He is dead.” Demetrius put his arms around her and turned her to him. “Come.”
“We have to call the police.”
“My security will handle it.”
“Call for an ambulance,” she said.
“Do you need one?” He held her at arm’s length and looked her over.
She pointed to the assassin and Demetrius’s guards. “He is bleeding. They are bleeding.”
Demetrius studied her face. “You’re in shock. The man is dead. My servicemen are fine. They will take care of themselves, and I will take care of you.”
“Those men tried to run us off the road.”
Demetrius led her toward the car he’d arrived in. “They’ve paid for their mistake.”
Iliana tucked herself against him. “They would have killed me.”
Demetrius kissed the top of her head. “I know, and I’m sorry. I should not have allowed you to be in this town alone. I should have stayed with you.”
He opened the car door for her and helped her inside. She noticed the knees of her pants were torn. She touched the back of her neck and felt wetness. “I’m bleeding.”
Demetrius knelt on the ground and looked. “It’s not your blood. I will get you cleaned up, okay?”
She could feel it, a panicked tremor in her soul, the inability to wrap her head around what had happened today. She’d come to Kontos to learn about her mother and had instead found herself targeted again by assassins. Demetrius had come to her rescue. Without him, she didn’t know where she would be. Gratitude for him swelled inside her. Her hands were shaking and then she realized her entire body was trembling. “This is not okay. Nothing about this is okay. Who is the Ghost?”
Concern was plain on his face. “I will find out.”
An angry rush of emotions rose up inside her. “Why does he want me dead?”
“I doubt it’s a personal agenda. He’s an agent for assassins.”
“Did you shoot that man?” Iliana asked.
“Yes.”
“You didn’t have a gun.”
“I always carry protection.” He slid her seat belt over her, clicked it into place and then closed the door.
He circled the car and climbed inside. As they drove in silence, Iliana went over the events of the day. Nothing made sense. Her brain felt foggy, and fear trembled through her. Her one pillar of strength and confidence was the last person she expected—her husband.
* * *
Demetrius hated seeing Iliana upset. He shouldn’t have allowed her to visit Kontos without him. He had hoped his guards would keep her safe, and they had. But if he hadn’t shown up, there was no telling how the situation would have played out.
Iliana was distressed about the incident. She kept repeating the same statements about the day and then looking at him as if she wanted him to elaborate on them or confirm she had it right. He wouldn’t provide gruesome details that would haunt her. He offered her facts that may help her understand what had happened without terrorizing her more.
Inside their hotel room, Demetrius bolted the door and led her to the bathtub, trying to keep her from looking in the mirror. She had blood smeared on her neck and face, and the back of her clothes was spattered with it.
He helped her undress, shoving her clothes into a plastic laundry bag. He turned on the shower. When it ran hot, he escorted her inside. She stood under the spray for a long time.
Demetrius watched her, afraid she would have a breakdown. She was a strong woman and she had spirit, but this would catch up with her. It had to.
Steam billowed from the shower, filling the bathroom. He felt only concern for her in this moment. She was naked, and normally that was the starting gun for his libido, but this time the emotions he confronted were entirely different. He didn’t have a name for them, but they were more complex than lust and heat.
He ran the water in the tub and dumped in some purple bubble bath from the amenity tray the hotel had provided.
“That’s too much.” She was watching him from inside the glass-enclosed shower.
“What is too much?” he asked. He was careful to keep his tone neutral. He was upset by what had happened today, but he didn’t want her to misunderstand his anger. It was directed at the people who had tried to harm her.
“The bubble bath. You poured in half the bottle.”
He’d never taken a bubble bath. “I’ll buy you more. Why don’t you soak in the bath and I’ll order some wine?”
“I don’t want wine.” Despite the heat and humidity in the bathroom, her teeth were chattering.
“Tea?”
She shook her head. “I feel sick.”
“Just the bath, then. We’ll see how you feel after.”
He helped her from the shower and into the bath. She sank down, and he found a washcloth and soap. He washed her back, cringing at the memory of the blood that had covered her. Did she want to talk about it? What could he say to make her feel better?
When he was in battle with his men, during any war, he didn’t talk about how he felt. He focused on success and winning and finding strength in the face of insurmountable odds. He rarely asked a soldier how he felt about death, injuries or violence. He helped him concentrate on the tasks leading toward his goal.
But Iliana wasn’t a soldier. Her life wasn’t filled with violence. “Can I do anything for you?” he asked.
“You are being very kind.” She leaned her head against his hand, and he brushed her face lightly.
“Iliana, you mean a lot to me.” The words felt garbled in his throat.
“Because of my inheritance.”
Not just that. She had always meant more than that. Her ability to help Alexei was important to him, but when he had met her, he had been captivated by her. “That’s not true. I’ve told you before that you are important to me.”
>
“That’s good, Demetrius, because sometimes I think I could fall in love with you. Sometimes I think I already have.”
He couldn’t think of a time he’d heard that expression from a woman. His mother had not shown him affection. He’d had lovers, but none of them had spoken those words. He hadn’t wanted them to because he couldn’t love them back. But now could he?
Parts of him were dark and twisted. He could be cold and mean and unforgiving. He worried how Iliana would react if she knew about that side of him. “I would like a wife who loved me.”
Not even on the scale of what he wanted to say, but even this admission was harder to articulate than he’d thought. He spoke his mind. He was blunt. Why were words so difficult now?
“Have you ever loved someone?” Iliana asked.
His brother came to mind. Casimir, his oldest friend. People he had established relationships with, who had earned his loyalty and respect. He cared about Iliana. She was important to him. But romantic love? “I know how to love.”
Iliana closed her eyes, and Demetrius leaned against the wall next to her, leaving his arm on the rim of the tub. She interlaced their fingers, her warm, wet hand heating his. She had stopped trembling.
He relaxed and stopped trying to think what to say. Words weren’t needed. This was enough.
* * *
The Ghost was an urban legend who had existed for the past decade, or so Demetrius had believed. No one, not even Amon or his NSS spies, could confirm the identity of the man who offered his services under that alias. Demetrius had worked with some dark and dangerous people in his life, but to his knowledge, he hadn’t crossed paths with the Ghost before today.
Demetrius could think of a dozen masterminds who had used street names to establish their reputation. They were inevitably killed or cut down by the competition. It took more than whispers on the street to maintain a lucrative business and stay alive.
With a name, Demetrius could focus his effort on finding the person hunting Iliana and her siblings. If the Ghost was taking out a hit on Iliana, that was a direct assault against him and that could not be tolerated. Demetrius had his spies spreading that message on the street. Let the Ghost think twice about coming at him. The Warlord of Icarus had his own reputation.
“Maria is awake,” Iliana said from her position on the hotel room couch. He’d obtained another phone for her, and she had been using it to stay in touch with the hospital about Maria’s condition.
Demetrius wasn’t thrilled about staying in Valencia. He could keep Iliana safer in Icarus. Working in unknown territory made a job more complex for any assassin. Icarus would be unfamiliar, and attacking the president’s wife in her homeland was far more perilous.
Demetrius would ramp up his security, and he’d err on the side of caution when it came to Iliana.
“I need to see her,” Iliana said. She sounded desperate.
Demetrius looked up from his computer. “I think we should return to Icarus. You can visit with Maria when I have a better handle on the Ghost.”
Iliana circled the hotel desk and pushed his rolling chair away. She sat on his lap and linked her hands around his neck. “I know what happened on the bridge was bad, but I need to see her. She might know who poisoned her. She might have more information about the Ghost. She’s my sister.”
Demetrius wasn’t convinced that Maria was trustworthy. She and Iliana didn’t know each other well, and Maria seemed quick to ask Iliana for favors. “What happened today was a well-planned attack. You don’t know how long you were followed.” He had spoken at length to his servicemen, and they had not noticed anyone on their tail until they’d left the psychic’s.
“I would assume not long because the assassins had other opportunities to kill me and they didn’t.”
It was distracting to have her on his lap, her body so close. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”
How had the assassins known where Iliana would be? How were they tracking her movements? He’d swept the car and her belongings for bugs. The Ghost’s network could be extensive, and perhaps anyone willing to pay for information could find it for sale.
“The fortune-teller says you are good in bed,” Iliana said. “Does that make you feel better?”
It was a little upshot to his ego. “It’s more important to me to hear what you think. Besides, how would she know that?” He would have remembered sleeping with a psychic.
“Educated guess. I didn’t deny it,” Iliana said.
He wasn’t sure where to go with that. “Is this your way of stroking my ego so I’ll agree to go to the hospital to see Maria?”
“If we go now, I promise to thank you properly tonight.”
“That is an offer impossible to turn down.” It was increasingly harder for him to say no to Iliana. She was sweet and smart, and he wanted her to be happy. If he agreed to take her to the hospital now, he could look forward to a night alone with his wife at home. “But then we return to Icarus.”
“Thank you, Demetrius, for understanding what this means to me.” She kissed him, but the gesture was unsure, tentative. He wanted to kiss her hard and fast and bend her over the desk, but he calmed himself. She had been through a trauma. He wanted to be a good man and a good husband. She didn’t want him pawing her now.
This was about comfort. He slipped his arms around her waist and held her close. He rubbed his nose along her jawline and stroked her thigh softly.
“You’d tell me if you were worried.”
A command, but also a question. He sensed she wasn’t speaking her mind.
“You know most of the problems worrying me.”
“I want to know all the problems on your mind.”
“Why?”
“So I can fix them.”
She shook her head. “You can’t fix all my problems.”
He refused to believe that. “I can try.”
She stared into his eyes, searching. “If you mean that, then I want to know the truth.”
She wanted him to tell her the reasons he was interested in her inheritance. He felt the words rising to his tongue. Speaking them might bring them closer. Where did he start? Did he tell her about his mother? Could he tell her about his family, his sick father and how he worried he had those same demons living inside him? “I have secrets.”
She ran the back of her fingers down the side of his face. “Tell me what they are, and we’ll share them.”
What if he told her and she decided she couldn’t live with a man like him? “I’ve done bad things. I’ve hurt people. I’ve been selfish.”
She took his face in her hands. “You need to tell me.”
He couldn’t take the chance and risk her leaving. “This is not the time and place. Maria is waiting.”
Iliana seemed disappointed as she stood. “Give me a few minutes and we’ll leave for the hospital.”
She was upset, but he didn’t know how to make it right without making their marriage worse.
The drive to Abele General took forty minutes. When they arrived, he and Iliana used a back entrance to avoid the media waiting outside for news about the late king’s daughter.
Demetrius was pleased to see two members of the royal guard posted outside Maria’s room. He and Iliana were allowed to enter.
Emmanuel and Theodore were sitting at her bedside. Maria looked pale and fragile, but she was awake.
She smiled faintly when she saw Iliana. “I was hoping you would come.” Maria looked at her brothers and Demetrius. “Could you give us a minute alone?”
Demetrius didn’t like leaving Iliana, but she shot him a pleading look and he acquiesced. “I’ll be right outside.” He kissed Iliana’s cheek and squeezed her hand before leaving her to speak with her sister.
* * *
When the men left—
Demetrius reluctantly—Iliana closed the door to Maria’s private suite. “How are you feeling?” she asked, sitting in Emmanuel’s vacated seat.
“Stella did this.”
Iliana hadn’t expected her to point the finger at someone so quickly. “How do you know?”
“She killed Nicholas and she tried to kill me. I warned Emmanuel, Theodore and Spiro to be careful, but they laughed me off. You’ll take me seriously, won’t you?”
Iliana was taking the threats to heart. The incident on the bridge was fresh in her mind. “Of course. Can you prove it was Stella?” She didn’t want to tell Maria about the Ghost. She wanted her sister to be safe, but Demetrius was looking into the man’s identity, and before they knew more, they couldn’t know if her assailant’s dying declaration held any truth.
“Not yet. But she called me the morning of the reading of the will. She was angling for some kind of alliance between her and me, as if I would side with that lunatic over my brothers and my mother.”
“What makes you think she poisoned you?” And how would she have gotten inside Maria’s house to do so?
“She was furious when I told her that my father’s will should stand and I wouldn’t manipulate anyone to take more than my share. I took a shower and when I came down for breakfast, I had the weirdest sensation of being watched.”
Iliana listened intently.
“The poison was in my morning coffee,” Maria said. “The doctors confirmed it. Stella knows I drink coffee. Then she didn’t show up to the reading of the will and she delayed it.”
If Stella was responsible, was their lead on the Ghost false? Or was there a connection between the Ghost and Stella? “It doesn’t look good for your stepmother, but I don’t know how we can prove it was her.”
Maria let her head fall back on the stack of pillows. “She’s making a play for the crown, and she wants our support.”
Stella was taking a long shot. To convince the king’s legitimate heirs to walk away from the will, she’d need to offer them something in return. Unless she picked them off one by one. “She won’t win me over.”