by Katie Knight
A new idea occurred. “Can someone pull up a map of the locations of the previous terrorist attacks here in the city?”
Soon the information popped up on one of the large, flat-screen wall monitors. Z stood before it, arms crossed. “Silvester’s been scheming behind Es’s back for months. Ever since we went to DC. He stayed back home in Prylea and started dismantling all the things King Renault had put into place, thinking he’d be the next ruler. That included temporarily shutting down military training exercises here in Prylea. God, why didn’t I connect the dots before?”
“Well, you have been a bit busy over the last few months,” Deacon said, snorting.
“Funny. Not.” Z gave his friend a flat stare. “Any word on that surveillance footage of the limo yet?”
“No, sir,” the guard said. “But I did find something else.”
Z and Deacon walked over to where the guy was sitting behind his computer and stared over his shoulders at the screen.
“There were no distinguishing marks on the SUV the kidnappers used to abduct the princess, sir. But look here.” He froze a frame of footage and zoomed in on the license plate. “The license plates were a dead end. Stolen. But look here, there’s a small sticker in the upper right-hand corner. Some kind of parking permit, perhaps. Anyway, I was able to hack into the police surveillance footage of the city and surrounding areas and track any signs of this same plate heading in an eastern direction.”
“And?” Z asked, squinting at the fuzzy black and white image on-screen.
“And we got a match, finally. Looks like our SUV was spotted heading toward the coast about two hours ago.”
Adrenaline pounded through Z’s system as he rushed back to his maps on the table. “Okay. That coincides with my theory about that cottage at the beach. Can we get a drone out there to be sure?”
“Already on it, sir,” Z’s bulky bodyguard said. “We should be getting a signal right about… now.”
Aerial views of a rather barren-looking landscape soon appeared, with waves pounding the shores of the slender peninsula in the distance. The drone gradually grew closer and a house appeared, appearing as desolate as the area around it. There was one access road in and out. Z’s gut tightened with stress and yearning. Part of him wanted Es to be there, just so he’d know for sure where she was. The other part of him hated the fact that Silvester was such an asshole to leave a pregnant woman to fend for herself in some isolated cottage. She could be hurt. She was surely tired and hungry and thirsty. There’d be hell to pay if he ever got his hands on that bastard Silvester.
“Sir, I’ve got it!” the guard at the computer said. Z and Deacon rushed back over to the screen to see a shot of the same SUV that had taken Es out of the city, now departing from the house on the peninsula. With the windows tinted black, it was impossible to see who was inside, but Z doubted they’d take Es all the way out there only to turn around and bring her right back again. He inhaled deeply and shut his eyes, focusing on his gut instincts. Deacon was right. He should’ve been listening to his gut the whole time. And his gut was telling him Es was there, in that house by the beach.
“She’s there. I know it.” He turned to head back to the maps. “Now, we need to figure out a rescue plan.” Z riffled through the maps until he reached one with a detailed layout of the peninsula. “I’d love nothing more than to swoop in by helicopter and get my wife, but that would only put her in more danger, especially since Silvester most likely left at least one guard there to watch her. He’s evil as hell, but he’s not stupid. Deacon, what do you think?”
“Water’s probably the best route.” Deacon studied the same map of the peninsula. “Get a couple boats, leave from this port here then circle around to the house from here. Take them by surprise. Guards won’t be expecting that, not this time of year, anyway.”
Z felt a bit of his tension ease as he looked up at his best friend and trusted SEAL cohort. “You staying to help?”
“Hell yes. Just tell me where you want me, dude.”
“Perfect.” He turned back to address the room at large. “Guards, gather round. We’ve got a princess to save. Listen up. Here’s what we’re going to do…”
Chapter Thirty
Esme opened her eyes several hours later. Her neck was sore from dozing in such an awkward position and her throat felt dry as sandpaper. The sun had set and a chilly breeze blew in through the drafty old house. The room she was sitting in was dark now and shadows lurked in every corner. She yawned then tried to stretch, forgetting about her hands and ankles being restrained. The tape pulled tight against her skin and she cried out in pain. As if in agreement, the baby kicked hard, its tiny feet thumping a drumbeat on her too-full bladder.
Ugh. She squinted through the empty room at the bright yellow light shining out from beneath one of the doorways. Someone else was here! Slowly, voices began to trickle into her consciousness and her pulse raced. Someone was here, and maybe they could let her up to use the restroom. That thought was quickly followed by another, more sinister one—someone was here and maybe they were going to kill her after all.
Her breath caught as panic took hold.
No. She took a deep breath. Well, as deep as she could, considering her awkward position made getting more than half a lung-full of oxygen difficult. Okay. Okay. Think, Es, think. What would Z do in this situation?
Thinking about her beloved husband helped calm her. It also helped steel her resolve to get the hell out of here and make sure Silvester never got his hands on her throne or the chance to hurt anyone she loved ever again.
Right. Z was a trained SEAL. He’d consider his options, make logical choices, have a plan. Es checked quickly around her but found nothing to assist her in escaping. The best she could hope for then was to perhaps discern exactly who it was in the next room and what they were doing so she could figure out her next move. Satisfied with that step, she squirmed in her chair, slowly inching forward across the hardwood floor until she was close enough to hear what the voices were saying.
Two men were talking. One voice she didn’t recognize.
One she did.
Silvester.
He’d come back, apparently.
The other man could be one of the henchmen he’d had with him before, she supposed. But as she picked up more words from their conversation, her doubts about that grew. Nothing against security guards. In fact, they’d saved her butt more times than she could remember, this afternoon notwithstanding. But she had a hard time picturing the two thugs from earlier sewing anything. And the two people in the kitchen were currently discussing measurements for a suit.
“Sir, I’m telling you the latest cuts from the Paris shows are all slim and barely graze the top of the shoe,” the unidentified man said. “Of course, it’s entirely up to you if you’d rather go with something different for your coronation, but the height of fashion is what you’ve always been known for.”
“Shut up,” Silvester said, his tone unusually snippy. That was interesting—her cousin did not normally show his emotions so easily, unless provoked. Then again, kidnapping a royal and holding her hostage might stress a person out under the best of circumstances.
“Ass,” Es grumbled quietly to herself. So, he’d come here to have his coronation suit tailored. Pompous jerk. He just assumed he’d win, that Es and Z would be so easy to defeat.
“Sir, I—” the tailor started.
“I said, shut up!” Silvester all but growled. “Do you hear that?”
Es’s breath froze and her eyes widened. Had she spoken louder than she’d imagined before? Had she made noise moving her chair closer? Had—
Then she heard something as well. A low roar that grew louder by the second. A motor perhaps? Except it was coming from the windows on the side where the water was. No, that couldn’t be right. It was December. A person would have to be crazy to take a boat out on the water at this time of year. Crazy or…confident!
Z! It had to be him. Her heart sped again,
this time with anticipation. He’d found her, somehow, someway, and he was coming to rescue her. She grinned in the darkness and whispered down to her baby, “Don’t worry, kiddo. Daddy’s here now!”
“Go out there and take care of it!” Silvester yelled and Es could hear the sound of rounds being chambered in guns. Her breath caught. If the henchmen came through here, they’d see she’d moved her chair and might take her out for good measure. Footsteps pounded loud on the hardwood floors and she squeezed her eyes shut, praying that between the chaos outside and the shadows, they might not notice. In the end, it turned out she didn’t need to worry anyway because all hell broke loose moments later.
“Ready?” Z asked through his Bluetooth headset. They weren’t exactly coming into the situation with any kind of stealth, but using the device made it easier to keep in touch with Deacon over large distances.
“Let’s do this,” Deacon’s deep baritone crackled over the communication line.
They’d anchored their boat at the dock near the end of the peninsula then walked through the wetland marshes until they surrounded the beach house. Z had stationed his security team around the perimeter of the property to catch any stragglers, while he and Deacon were storming the cottage on their own, each targeting a different entrance. Given the level of outrage burning though Z’s veins at the moment, he could’ve taken the whole of Prylean army on his own, but it was nice to know Deacon had his back, just in case.
The darkness gave them decent cover as they darted toward the walls of the home then pressed their backs against the wall. Z had his Glock locked and loaded, just in case. He didn’t plan to kill anyone tonight, but it was always best to be prepared. Deacon was stationed on the other side of the house. Through the shadows, the stream of light from the window nearby looked strangely yellow and bright. He could hear muffled voices inside, both male, and his heart skipped. He hoped Es was okay.
Eyes closed, he said a silent prayer for strength, then turned and kicked in the door beside him. Pitch black greeted him, followed by a few muffled groans. Weapon at the ready, Z squinted through the shadows to see where the noise was coming from. He could barely make out the shape of a person, bound to a chair, a baby bump prominently protruding from the front.
Esme. My Es. My everything.
Blood pounding, he fought the urge to run to her and pull her close, but there was still work to be done before they were safe. Through a closed door on the other side of the room, he could hear the same male voices, arguing loudly. Loudly enough, apparently, that they hadn’t even heard him bust down the door. Or maybe they were fighting because of it. Pressure did weird things to people, he’d discovered. Some became braver while others caved and cowered.
He suspected Silvester would fall into the second category.
Grinning, now that he knew his beloved was safe, Z leaned back out the door and waved his hand for the others to come in. This part had been Deacon’s idea. A line of Prylean journalists filed into the dark living room as quietly as possible. Silvester did love the limelight, so taking him down for all to see would be sweet revenge indeed.
Z motioned for everyone to stay back as he crept toward the still-closed door. Light shone from beneath it, and Z whispered into his Bluetooth headset, “Showtime!”
He crashed through the door into the kitchen at the same time Deacon smashed through from the outside. They found Silvester half-dressed, in just an untucked white shirt and pants, his dark eyes shrewd as he crossed his arms. Beside him stood a shorter, skinnier man with round, wire-rimmed glasses and a tape measure around his neck. From the bolts of cloth and assorted trimmings on the counters, Z surmised Silvester must’ve been having a fitting for a new suit.
Maybe he could wear it to his trial for kidnapping.
“Hands up,” Z said, waving his gun at the two men. The tailor complied immediately, trembling all over. From his pasty white complexion and panicked expression, Z was surprised the guy hadn’t passed out already. Silvester, on the other hand, leaned his hips against the counter and smirked.
“How undignified.” Silvester shook his head. “I’ll do no such thing.”
Deacon grabbed the tailor’s arm and yanked him out of the way before stepping closer to Silvester and pointing his Sig Sauer right in the guy’s condescending face. “Do it.”
Silvester blinked at the large, angry man with a weapon aimed between his eyes and shrugged. The guy was either crazy courageous or incredibly stupid. Neither seemed to fit. Finally, he sighed and slowly raised his hands, along with one sardonic brow. “I’m not sure what you hope to accomplish by this overblown show of heroics, but—”
Z snarled. “What I hope to accomplish is to free my wife and make sure you never have the power to hurt her or our baby or anyone else in our family ever again.”
“How touching.” The implied eye-roll in that statement made Z’s finger twitch on the trigger of his gun. If he didn’t have a dozen reporters waiting in the next room to document all this, he might’ve been tempted to end this with a single gunshot right now. As it was, he’d have to settle for ruining Silvester’s reputation in the eyes of the public instead. “None of this will do any good, you know. The people of Prylea love me. They’ll never believe I did anything to harm Esme—and if either of you accuse me, I’ll just find some way to twist it around and make you sound crazy. The people want me as their ruler. I’ll do things for this country you and your pathetic princess out there could never dream of.”
Instead of firing, or even punching the guy, Z clicked the safety on his weapon and lowered it, jamming it into the holster at his side before stalking back to the door to call in the media. “Yeah?” Z just smiled as the reporters and cameramen filed in one by one and Silvester’s slick confidence began to crumble before his eyes. “I’m not so sure they’ll love you so much after this live broadcast tonight.”
He glanced over at Deacon who whispered something to one of the journalists—a friend of his from another black-ops mission. The woman nodded, then called out to the small crowd of media. “Right, and we’re live in three…two…one…!”
Bright lights seared the space and every camera pointed on Silvester, now sweating and pale under the attention. The female journalist walked closer and shoved a microphone in his face. “What can you tell us about your motivations for abducting Princess Esme and her unborn child?”
Another reporter shouted, “What about the men that were captured by palace security fleeing your property moments ago?”
“Is it true that you were behind the attempted bombing at the Christmas Markets earlier this week?” yet another journalist asked.
“Well…I…um…” Silvester’s nervous stammer was music to Z’s ears. He snatched a knife from the butcher block holder nearby then, after a nod to Deacon, rushed back out into the living room to free his wife. The lights weren’t working in the living room, but the illumination from the kitchen was enough for him to slice through the thick tape securing her ankles and wrists.
Es looked shaken and scared and more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen in his life. Once freed from her uncomfortable position, she collapsed forward into his arms, her sobs muffled by the front of his shirt as she cried.
“Shhh, princess. I’m here. I’ll always be here for you,” Z whispered, his lips buried in her hair. He inhaled her good Es smell and tightened his hold on her, realizing that his words were true. When he’d first come into this whole deal, he’d wanted nothing more than to get back to the only family he’d ever known—his SEAL team. But as the months passed and he’d spent more time with Es, he’d slowly made a new family, with her. She was his everything now, his reason for existing, his beacon in the darkness. If she’d have him, he planned to stay with her and their baby forever.
Es’s tears gradually subsided until she quieted in his arms. He rocked her gently as they sat on the floor, her in his lap. At last she raised her head slightly to look up at him, her eyes huge in the light from the kitchen door. �
��Thank you.”
He cupped her cheek and smiled. “For what? Saving you is my job.”
Her sweet smile fell a bit and she lowered her gaze. “Right. I keep forgetting that this is all part of our deal. Sorry.”
She tried to pull away, wincing slightly at the raw flesh on her wrists and ankles from where the tape had abraded her skin. Z refused to let her go. “Wait. I need to tell you something.”
Es sighed and relaxed in his arms, giving a small nod, her expression pensive as if she was waiting for bad news.
Z swallowed hard around the constriction in his throat. “Look, I realize I signed a contract going into this that we’d have a baby and stay together a year, then we’d go our separate ways, but—”
“Oh, God.” Es gasped and pressed her hands to her belly.
“What?” Now it was Z’s turn to panic. “What’s wrong? Is it the baby?”
“No. He just kicked really, really hard.” She shrugged. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt your ‘I’m leaving’ speech.”
“My what?” He scrunched his nose.
“I feared this might happen, what with your friend showing up from the SEALs and then this whole mess with Silvester. You want to go back to your team now. I get that. And if that’s what you really want, I’ll let you go.” Her voice caught on those last words and his chest squeezed tighter. “I never want to keep you from doing what you want to do. I love you too much.”
For a moment, time seemed to slow around Z as her words penetrated the adrenaline still pumping through his system. She was willing to let him go. Because she loved him.
His battered heart leapt for joy. She loves me. Years of grief and recriminations and false beliefs fell away. He’d lived most of his life with a lingering anger toward his parents for leaving him alone when he needed them most, toward his father for putting them all into such a dangerous position in the first place. But now he forgave them, letting the past go to make way for the future. A future he hoped to build for their son with Es by his side.