by C. J. Miller
Emmanuel’s gaze swung to his mother. “Tell me he’s lying.”
Kaliope clasped her hands in front of her and took a step toward the baron. “Of course he’s lying. He’s a dictator and a warlord. He rose to power by killing people around him.”
The baron’s eyebrows twitched together.
Emmanuel shook his head. “Don’t spin history. Tell me the truth, Mother. I’ve heard some disturbing things while I was in hiding.”
“I didn’t lie to you,” Kaliope said.
“Was Nicholas my brother?”
Kaliope brought her hands to her face and let out a dramatic sob. “He was your half brother. Your father ran around on me. He had a baby with his mistress and he asked me to raise it as ours.”
“Why would you agree to that?” Emmanuel asked.
“I was young and stupid. If I didn’t agree, what would have happened to me? He could have kicked me out and kept you. I stayed for you. But his affairs continued. I couldn’t handle it.”
“You should have told me,” Emmanuel said.
“By the time you were old enough to understand, Nicholas was a lost cause. I thought he would kill himself the way he was boozing and screwing around with women.”
“When he didn’t kill himself, you helped him along, ensuring you and your children inherited more of the king’s assets,” Demetrius said.
Emmanuel looked disgusted. “You had Nicholas killed? You tried to kill Maria?”
Kaliope looked at the baron, then Iliana, then Emmanuel. “This is a family matter. Let’s talk about this in private.”
Emmanuel shook his head. “We are among family. We will talk about it now.”
“How dare you talk to your mother that way,” Kaliope said.
Emmanuel sighed. “This afternoon, the court upheld one of Dad’s old wills clarifying the line of succession. I was crowned the king of Valencia. As your king, I demand the truth.”
Kaliope fell to her knees. “Everything I did was for you and Maria.”
“You poisoned her!” Emmanuel hollered.
“I was assured she would survive.”
“She almost didn’t,” Emmanuel said. He pointed to one of the baron’s guards. “Arrest her.”
When the guards didn’t move, Emmanuel shouted, “Guards!”
This time, the king’s guards entered the room. They stood, awaiting his command. “Take my mother into custody under suspicion of conspiracy to commit murder.”
Kaliope was handcuffed. She sobbed and pleaded with her son to change his mind, but he seemed indifferent to her hysteria.
Before she was taken from the room, Emmanuel held up his hand. “Wait, just a minute.”
Kaliope stopped crying and looked hopeful.
“I heard another story while I was in hiding. A story about a baron who wanted the king’s wife. He couldn’t have her because they were both married to others. So the baron set about chasing away his wife and jailing his two children to clear the path for the life he wanted.”
The baron stood, turning pale. “Lies.”
Perhaps he’d thought he would get away with what he had done and leave Kaliope to shoulder the blame.
Emmanuel strolled closer to the baron. “Demetrius, do you want to tell him or should I?”
Demetrius took Iliana’s hand. He needed his wife at his side. “I’m surprised my father doesn’t recognize my voice. He was certain nineteen years ago my brother and I were the men who broke into his house to kill him and steal from him.”
The baron lunged in Demetrius’s direction, but Demetrius deflected the attack. Emmanuel’s guards moved forward to intercede.
“I’ve sent a request to Blackstone Prison that Alexei Drakos be released. He will be taken to Saint Agnes Hospital for treatment, and I will have my guards escort him home when his medical condition is stable,” Emmanuel said.
Iliana hugged Demetrius, and he felt the wetness of her tears on his neck. “Finally, Alexei will be free,” she said.
The baron let out a roar of outrage.
“Alexei may want to remain in Valencia, and that will be his choice. I am stripping the baron of Aetos of his title, his powers and all benefits associated with the position. They will be assumed by the next heir, Alexei Drakos.”
Demetrius felt the ground shift beneath his feet. Iliana was in his arms and Alexei was free. For the first time in his life, he had everything he needed. His heart had never felt so full.
* * *
Under the care of his attentive doctors in Saint Agnes, Alexei looked in far better condition than when Iliana had last seen him in Blackstone Prison. He was clean, his face shaved and, while it would take time for him to heal, he was talking and smiling. The resemblance to Demetrius was stronger. As he gained weight, she guessed it would grow stronger still.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Alexei said.
“No thanks are needed. I didn’t free you. The king did,” Iliana said.
Alexei closed his eyes. Though he was healing, he was still weak and tired easily.
“I’ll leave you to rest,” she said. She patted his arm and left his room.
Demetrius was standing in the hallway, waiting for her. She had lingered an extra moment to say goodbye to Alexei. Though she hardly knew him, her joy at seeing him was unbound.
She wasn’t sure what to say to her husband. Leaving him would be impossible, but he had what he wanted. This is where their paths diverted. Did her love for him matter? Did it mean anything? “Alexei is free and now you are free of me,” Iliana said.
Demetrius touched the side of her face. “I do not want to be free of you. I want you in my life. You wanted to choose your path. You wanted to be free to decide. I will give you that option. I want you to choose me, but I won’t force you.”
If he could let her go so easily, perhaps he didn’t care about her the way she wanted to be cared for. “I have work in Valencia. Emmanuel has put me in charge of reform at Blackstone Prison. It’s a big job. And I’m going back to school. I will take and pass the bar in Valencia. I want to help people like Alexei.”
Demetrius’s eyes darkened. “I will never give up on winning you back. I had your love, and I know what a precious and rare gift that is.”
She wanted his love in return. Such a simple concept and yet fraught with problems and complexities. She turned to go, but he grabbed her hand and spun her around to face him. “Before you leave, you have to know I can let you out of my life, but I won’t let you out of my heart. I love you, Iliana. I’ve loved you since you first mouthed off to me when I offended the queen.”
Iliana felt joy spread through her. “I didn’t mouth off.”
Demetrius kissed her. “I don’t know why it took me so long to place a word on the emotion I feel for you. I’ve seen some messed-up relationships, and I was afraid you and I would follow in those footsteps. But I know that would be impossible. I love that you’re smart and spirited and you follow your heart. I love when you sleep beside me and wake next to me. I love those things so much, I will win them back.”
Happiness filled her chest. His love was all she had wanted. “What if you’ve already won me?”
“Then, I will spend every day trying to make myself worthy of that love. I want to be your family. I want to be your home. I want to be your everything.”
Iliana hugged him and kissed his cheek. “I love you, too. Now take me home, Mr. President. To our home.”
“Here or in Valencia?”
“I guess we’ll have two homes. Can we make it work?” she asked, feeling excited and hopeful about the future.
“We can make anything work. Home is wherever we can be together.”
* * * * *
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THE SECRET KING
Available now from Harlequin Romantic Suspense!
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FBI Agent Lara Grant has finally put her life as an undercover operative behind her and started a new assignment in New York City. But her past and present collide and become ever more twisted as a spate of murders send a message that is cruelly, chillingly personal…
Tough Justice: Exposed (Part 1 of 8) by New York Times bestselling author Carla Cassidy
Tough Justice: Watched (Part 2 of 8) by Tyler Ann Snell
Tough Justice: Burned (Part 3 of 8) by Carol Ericson
Tough Justice: Trapped (Part 4 of 8) by Gail Barrett
Tough Justice: Twisted (Part 5 of 8) by Gail Barrett
Tough Justice: Ambushed (Part 6 of 8) by Carol Ericson
Tough Justice: Betrayed (Part 7 of 8) by Tyler Ann Snell
Tough Justice: Hunted (Part 8 of 8) by New York Times bestselling author Carla Cassidy
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TOUGH JUSTICE
Episode One
Exposed
Prologue
The ledge outside of the tenth floor window of the hotel had a beautiful view of Central Park. It was also dangerously narrow and covered with pigeon crap.
A cold late September breeze sliced through FBI Special Agent Lara Grant as she stepped out of the window of room 1021 and onto the ledge.
She leaned with her back against the window frame and eyed the man who sat on the ledge about five feet to her right. She shouldn’t be here. She’d been in the middle of a meet and greet with her new unit when the call had come in. Talking down potential jumpers wasn’t in her new job description, but the man had asked for her specifically by name.
She had no idea who he was, had never seen him before in her life. It was nine-thirty in the morning, and the last place she wanted to be was on a breathtakingly small ledge trying to stop a stranger from committing a very public and messy suicide.
“Bad day?” she asked.
“Bad life,” he replied. He didn’t look at her but, rather, stared straight ahead. “Are you FBI Agent Lara Grant?”
“You asked for me and here I am. What’s your name?” she asked. Despite the coolness of the day, his forehead shone with perspiration. She tried to gauge how best to connect with him. What persona could she pull out of her professional hat to get him down to safety? Tough talk or sweet and honeyed? Too soon for her to tell.
“Sean.” He leaned over and looked down below where Lara knew the NYPD had gathered, along with a growing crowd of looky-loos and local reporters.
“Sean what?”
“It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now.” His voice held a weary hopelessness that shot tension through Lara.
It had been her experience that there were two types of people who crawled out on a high ledge and threatened to jump. The first were the people who wanted drama and were usually easily talked down from a window or a bridge.
The second were the serious ones, people who were more than willing to take the plunge to end their lives. Her initial observation was that Sean was dead serious.
“What’s going on today, Sean?” She kept her voice conversational and nonthreatening.
“I just can’t take it anymore.”
“Take what?” Lara made no move toward him. Her job was to keep him talking until a team on the ground got her some personal information about him that she could hopefully use to get him off the ledge and to safety.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“You obviously thought I would. You asked for me specifically to come here and talk to you.” She could hear the crowd below now, some asshole yelling “jump.”
Sean wasn’t a small man. Despite his seat on the ledge, he appeared tall and muscular; but as he looked at her, there was the darkness of impending death in his eyes. “I was wrong. I thought you might be the one to understand everything, but nobody will.”
“Try me,” she replied softly. “Talk to me, Sean.” Sweet and honeyed instinctively felt right for now.
He shook his head, closed his eyes and leaned back against the building.
“Sean, at least tell me your last name. It doesn’t seem fair that you know mine, and I don’t know yours.”
“Dunst. I’m Sean Dunst, and I deserve to die.”
“Sean Dunst,” she repeated. “It’s nice to meet you.” Lara was wired and knew an officer on the ground could hear what she said. With his full name they could now hopefully get her some information that might be useful.
Another cold gust of wind whipped around the building. “It’s freezing out here, Sean. Why don’t you come inside where it’s nice and warm and we can talk?”
He shook his head and didn’t reply.
For the next three hours he refused to speak. Lara kept up a running conversation in an effort to make a connection. Her legs shook from the effort of balancing on the ledge. In her long-sleeved black T-shirt and jeans she wasn’t dressed for the wind. She fought against shivers that threatened to throw off her balance and send her crashing to the ground below.
It would be just her luck to have survived everything she had in the past to meet her end here and now because of some screwed-up guy on a ledge.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m getting hungry, Sean. I skipped breakfast this morning, and I’ll bet you didn’t eat, either. Why don’t we order up some room service with a pot of hot coffee, and we can talk inside,” she said, and still he didn’t reply.
What was taking so damn long? Why hadn’t anyone whispered in her ear some information that would aid her in getting this guy back inside and down to safety? This needed to end.
“I’ve done things…terrible things,” he said, finally breaking his long, agonizing silence.
“Haven’t we all?”
“Not like this.” He began to cry. Not silent, seeping tears, but, rather deep, ugly cries. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed, snot bubbling out of his nose with the force of his hysteria.
“I’m sure things aren’t as bad as you think,” Lara replied. At least he was talking again.
“You can’t understand. Nobody can. I’ve done horrible things.” He swiped at his nose with the back of his long sleeve and looked at her. “I need to be forgiven.”
She was cold and tired and starting to get a little pissed off. “I can’t forgive you for something I don’t know about. Tell me what you’ve done, and maybe you can forgive yourself.”
Her earpiece crackled and filled with a deep male voice giving her details. A nine-year-old girl named Tina. Found deceased…murdered near Dunst’s home. Primary suspect…not enough ev
idence to convict.
The guy on the ledge was a suspected child killer. For just a moment Lara wanted to shove him off herself. “Tell me about Tina.”
He visibly stiffened. When he looked at her again it was with knowing eyes. He’d killed the kid, and he realized now that she knew it.
“You see why I have to jump?” he asked softly. “It’s the only way out for me.”
“You’re guilty?” She held his gaze, her voice reflecting none of the revulsion that bubbled up inside her.
“Yes.” The single word tore from his lips, and his features twisted with inner torment.
Lara continued to stare at him, her face schooled to reflect nothing. “And you believe you deserve to pay?”
“Yes.” The answer was a sibilant whisper.
“Then how dare you try to take the easy way out,” she replied harshly.
She’d changed her mind. He wasn’t going to jump. She knew it with a gut instinct that had served her well over the years. If he was a serious suicide he would have already flung himself off the ledge. He wouldn’t have sat here for the hours that he had.
“Man up, Dunst,” she said, dropping the pleasant conversational tone she’d previously used. Sweet and honeyed definitely wasn’t cutting it. “You know you don’t want to jump. Come inside, and deal with whatever you need to like a man.”
It took another long hour to finally talk him into giving himself up. She climbed back through the window, and thankfully he followed her into the upscale hotel room.
Once they were inside, she cuffed him with his wrists behind his back and then led him toward the stairs that would take them to the ground floor and into the custody of awaiting officers. Ten freaking stories, but she didn’t want to throw him into an elevator where other hotel patrons might be present despite the police effort to keep them out.
It was nearly two o’clock. Over four hours she’d wasted on this creep who had finally stopped crying and now wore a weary resignation on his face.