McKinnon's Royal Mission

by Amelia Autin

  * * *

  He had always known that with great power came great responsibility. He had never hesitated to exercise both when called upon, had never shirked the difficult life-or-death decisions most men never faced. Now he bent a hard stare on the two men standing at military attention in front of him. Young. Proud. Warriors both. The crème de la crème of his fighting corps, men he had trained with. Men he trusted with his life. Men who were nearly fanatical in their desire to protect him—from anything. And even more importantly in this situation, men who would willingly kill or die on his command. Knowing he could be sending them to their deaths, but knowing, too, he had no other choice. “Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?” he murmured to himself. That reminder was the final deciding factor.

  “Make no mistake,” he said abruptly. “You have not volunteered for an easy assignment. This man has killed before. He could kill again if he perceived you as a threat. Even if you are not killed, you could be captured. Imprisoned. Put to death or left to rot for years, with no possibility of escape. No reprieve. No chance for freedom. The prison doors would open only if you were willing to talk. But that must never happen. No one must ever know. Are we clear on that? Lukas? Damon?”

  Both men replied with military precision and fervor, and he allowed himself a faint smile. “Good,” he said approvingly. “You will be met upon your arrival, and your contact will provide you with cash, documents and everything else you need to maintain your cover. Cars have been arranged that will be nearly impossible to trace, but do not let yourself be spotted. Changing vehicles often will help, so rotate at least twice a day.”

  He flipped open a file, turned it around so it was facing his men, and spread the contents out on the desk in front of them. He pointed to the picture of a handsome, dark-haired, blue-eyed man only a few years older than he was. “This is your target. He is always armed, and I have it on good authority he has lightning-fast reflexes, so be wary.”

  He paused for questions and got none. “I want daily reports. Your contact will provide you with the cameras, encrypted computer, virtual private network and internet access account you will need to do this.” His eyes narrowed. “Stay in the shadows. Watch him carefully from a distance. Photograph him. But do not kill him. Let me repeat, do not kill him. Not yet. He dies only on my direct command. I say if and when. Understood?”

  Affirmation came with the same military promptness. “Good,” he repeated softly. “Very good. I am depending on you. Do not fail me in this. You are dismissed.”

  * * *

  October slid into November. The days grew colder and shorter, and several times it snowed, although the snow melted after a few days. Now when Mara and whichever bodyguard was on duty left for work the sun was barely up, and when they returned the sun had already set. Trace refused to let Mara ride Suleiman in the dark, so she was restricted to riding him only on the weekends. But Trace rode with her every weekend now, whether or not he was on duty.

  And although they did nothing else, they talked. Since that afternoon in his cabin when they’d shared their darkest secrets, it was as if a dam had been breached for both of them. Mara confided in Trace as she had once confided only in her brother. And Trace...Trace did the same—hesitantly at first, but as day followed day and week melted into week, he opened up to her in ways she’d never imagined.

  The taciturn man she’d first fallen for was replaced by a man who shared his thoughts, and to a lesser extent his emotions. Not what he was feeling where she was concerned, but other, deep-rooted emotions that played across his handsome features as she watched and listened, enthralled.

  “...I was on the bomb squad in Afghanistan—disarming them. A futile effort in a futile war. But someone had to do it. If you’ve ever seen a child maimed or killed by a roadside bomb, you’ll understand why I volunteered for that duty. Why I’m still alive is a mystery—a little bit of skill, I guess, and a hell of a lot of luck. Not everyone was as lucky. But at least the civilians were protected...

  “...I’d worked for D’Arcy as a US marshal ever since I got out of the marines. When he was recruited into a new agency and asked me to join him I couldn’t tell him no. I respect him more than any man I’ve ever known. Don’t get me wrong, Walker’s a great boss—he’s brilliant and his instincts are always right on target. But D’Arcy’s in a class by himself, and yeah, there are times I miss working for him...

  “...No man likes to admit failure. So when my marriage failed, I refused to admit it for the longest time. I kept thinking if I just tried harder, Janet would realize her suspicions were groundless. I’m no saint, Princess, but I never cheated on her. Never. I can’t help it if women find me attractive, but I took my marriage vows seriously. The bottom line was she just couldn’t bring herself to trust me, and that defeated me...

  “...Keira’s special. She was my partner for three years, and we closed some tough cases together. She’s a whiz at research and analysis. Except for D’Arcy, I’ve never known anyone better at solving a puzzle no one else can solve. I was glad for her when she and Walker got married—I really was. But I lost the best partner I’d ever had when she gave up being a field agent and took a research-and-analysis job with the agency, answering directly to D’Arcy—and that still hurts. Not even being Alyssa’s godfather quite makes up for it...

  “...I saw Keira lying in a pool of her own blood, Walker beside her, desperately trying to save her life. And I knew in that instant I had never really loved my wife, not the way a man should love the woman he marries. Not the way Cody loves Keira. He would have taken that bullet for her in a heartbeat, the same way I—”

  Trace never completed that sentence, but Mara knew what he was thinking. As her bodyguard it was his job to protect her, even if it meant sacrificing his own life. But she wasn’t just a job to him, not anymore. He loved her the way Cody loved Keira, and he would take a bullet for her in a heartbeat. It was in his voice when he called her Princess when they were alone—tender and loving now, not mocking. It was in his eyes when she turned around suddenly and caught him watching her with that deep longing and a hunger she was just beginning to understand. He never let anyone else see, but she knew in her heart no man could look at a woman that way and not love her.

  Mara blossomed, knowing herself loved. Even though Trace had not touched her since that time at his cabin, these were halcyon days for her, each one more special than the day before, and each one leading to the inevitable conclusion. And though part of her was impatient for the words of love, another part of her was content to let Trace tell her when he was ready. She just wished it would be soon. Andre never asked when they spoke on the phone, never pushed her for details in any way, but it had been more than five weeks since she’d told him she was in love, and she knew he was waiting for her to tell him more. There just wasn’t anything to tell him...yet.

  * * *

  “Given the acceleration, which is a second-order differential equation,” Mara explained, writing with a dark blue erasable marker on the whiteboard in the small classroom where she taught her grad students, “if you integrate you get the velocity.” She quickly added several more figures and symbols, the marker squeaking slightly in her writing haste. “If you integrate again, you get the distance traveled.”

  She glanced back at her students. “See how that works?” Expressions of intense concentration and comprehension met her questioning gaze. “Remember, while pure mathematics has a beauty and meaning of its own, it is applied mathematics that drives our world.” She smiled at them. “Engineers in the room, take heart. We are heading into your territory now.”

  Mara glanced regretfully at the clock. “And that, I think, is all for today.” She held up one hand to hold the class for a moment. “Do not forget, your term papers are due next Friday. No excuses,” she warned, but with the understanding smile that reminded her students she was available if any of them were struggling with the
concepts and needed assistance. She placed the marker in the little trough beneath the whiteboard as the room exploded with sudden chatter and the noise of a dozen students slinging textbooks and notebooks into backpacks or briefcases and surging toward the door.

  Trace rose from his seat near the front of the room as they did so, moving quickly yet with an apparent lack of haste toward Mara’s side, his own backpack slung over his left shoulder and his right hand casually tucked inside his jacket. Two students whom Mara knew were engineering grad students and study partners stayed back and approached her with questions, which she answered after giving each question careful thought. A third student, a young man of obvious Arabic descent hovered by the door, waiting, and when Mara was free he darted forward to pose his question. After a long and detailed discussion that involved use of the whiteboard again to demonstrate what she meant, the student eventually left.

  Through it all, Trace’s eyes had never left the face of the young man talking with her. Now he followed the student to the classroom door, closed it behind him and locked it while Mara wiped the eraser over the whiteboard until it was clean. She drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly with a little sound of satisfaction, allowing herself to relax finally as another strenuous week came to an end. She loved teaching, but her students kept her on her toes, especially her grad students. Their questions sometimes stretched her brain to its limit, but tough questions were a good sign. It proved she was reaching them. It proved she was making them think, and that was even more important than the concepts she was trying to impart.

  Now that they were alone, she turned to Trace and allowed herself to smile at him in a more intimate fashion than she did when others were around. Sometimes he smiled back, but today wasn’t one of those days, and Mara hid a sigh. “What is it?” she asked.

  “We have new intel on that man,” he said curtly, indicating the student who’d just left with a tilt of his head.

  Mara’s brow wrinkled. “Intel? What is that?”

  “Intelligence.” When she still looked at him with confusion, he added, “Military speak for information gathering.”

  Comprehension dawned. “My students?” she asked in disbelief. “You are spying on my students?”

  “Not me personally, but yes, the State Department has a dossier on every one of your students. What did you expect?”

  Mara sank onto the edge of the desk and removed her eyeglasses, staring at him dumbfounded. “I...I had no idea.” She gazed up at Trace. “Why?”

  “To keep you safe, of course.”

  “But...they are students.” Mara knew her dismay was obvious. “They would not harm me.”

  Trace shook his head. “You can’t know that for sure.” He hesitated for a moment. “That young man who was just here, for example. Good student, right? Head of the class. Applies himself diligently. But what do you really know about him? Did you know, for instance, that he has a second cousin in Lebanon with suspected ties to Hezbollah?”

  Mara’s thoughts flew to the young man in question. So earnest. So polite. So eager to learn whatever she could teach him. She could not envision him as a terrorist, or even as someone with terrorist leanings. “What does that have to do with Zakhar? With me?”

  “Maybe nothing. But we can’t take chances with your safety. By knowing everything we can about those around you we can plan accordingly, so we’ve read the dossiers the State Department compiled. And we continue to get updates.”

  A sudden realization startled her. “Alec and Liam, too? They have read these secret reports on my students?”

  “Of course. And not just your students. The faculty and staff here, too. Not to mention the people you brought with you from Zakhar.”

  Mara covered her face with her palm and made a sound of distress. “I did not know,” she whispered. There was silence between them for a minute, then she glanced up sharply. “Does Andre know of this?”

  Trace’s mouth twitched into a rueful smile. “It was his suggestion. Command, really, but couched in diplomatic terms. Even if he hadn’t raised the issue, though, I would have.”

  “But why? I cannot believe...this is worse than the paparazzi. To spy on people. To pry into their private lives. To hold the sins of others against them.” Mara knew she was getting worked up, but this was something she had never imagined the only two men she loved in the whole world would have in common. Concern for her safety, yes, even a fierce desire to protect her. That she understood. But to go this far? To suspect everyone?

  “Whose life can stand up to such intense scrutiny?” she demanded hotly.

  “How did you know when we first met that I once spent six months in Zakhar?” Trace asked reasonably.

  “That was—” Mara stopped short. She’d been about to say that was different, but she suddenly realized it really wasn’t. She remembered that even before she’d left Zakhar she’d read dossiers, complete with pictures, on all three men who would be guarding her, bare bones dossiers submitted by the US State Department but expanded by Zakhar’s secret intelligence service. She hadn’t thought about it at the time, hadn’t even considered that this was exactly what she was protesting against now.

  But no one’s life is free of things they would rather keep private, she thought. Mine certainly is not. A wave of warm color surged into her cheeks as she remembered the intimate details of everything she and Trace had done at his cabin weeks ago. There is nothing to be ashamed of, she reminded herself sternly. We did nothing wrong. And yet, she knew she would not want anyone else to know about it. What they had done was personal. Private. A memory she cherished, but not one she wanted broadcast to the world. She didn’t even want it contained in some secret report that someone might read.

  A thought came to her unbidden, and she blurted it out. “You did not...no,” she said, shaking her head as if she could make the thought go away by her denial.

  “Didn’t what?”

  “You would not,” Mara reassured herself and him. “You would not betray to anyone what we did in your cabin.” Trace stiffened but he didn’t respond, just looked at her from under his dark eyebrows, a forbidding expression on his face. She added quickly, “I am sorry. It is a despicable thing to accuse you of, and I know in my heart you would not.”

  Trace still didn’t speak, and a little calmer now, Mara asked, “Is it even legal for your government to spy on its citizens this way? Zakhar, yes. This I understand. The citizens of Zakhar do have rights, but not the same rights as people in this country, and Andre would do whatever he needed to do to protect me. But that is Zakhar. So I must ask again. Is it legal to do this here?”

  “No laws were broken.” He moved a step closer and slid his backpack from his shoulder onto the desk beside her. “Before 9/11 maybe, but not now. The world changed after 9/11, and our laws changed, too.”

  Mara gazed up at him, regret in her eyes. “That was a terrible tragedy. But is not the loss of freedom, the loss of privacy, just as tragic?”

  Trace laughed abruptly. “You want to debate US political policy, Princess? Discuss the nature and meaning of privacy and freedom as defined by the US Constitution?”

  She shook her head. “No. I am Zakharian, and I have no right to criticize. It is just...” She searched for the words. “Some things should remain private. I do not like to think of people’s privacy being invaded.” She had suffered too much herself at the hands of the paparazzi and the tabloids over the years, had suffered too much over the loss of her own privacy to easily accept this invasion of privacy being perpetrated in her name.

  “This was all put into motion months ago,” Trace said gently, holding her gaze with his. “Before you even arrived in this country. It wasn’t your decision, and it still isn’t. You’re not responsible.” His hand came up to cup her cheek briefly before he drew it away sharply as if he’d been burned. “But, Princess, you should know by now
that just like your brother I will keep you safe, no matter what I have to do.” He started to say something more, but stopped himself with a shake of his head. Then his face hardened and he repeated, “No matter what I have to do.”

  And though Trace didn’t say the words Mara longed to hear, she knew he wasn’t just talking about doing his job. Somehow that thought managed to allay her dismay over what she’d just learned. She still didn’t like it. But she understood. Just as she understood why Andre would go to any lengths to protect her, she understood why Trace would, too.

  Chapter 11

  Mara and Trace were riding together the last Saturday in November when she broached the question she’d been longing to ask. The air was crisp and cold now, and they were both bundled up warmly as they cantered across the snowy landscape. They pulled up when they reached a small rise that gave them an unhindered view of the Rockies; both horses snorted and stamped their hooves, their breath making white clouds in the frosty air.

  “I love this view,” Mara said, smiling dreamily at Trace. “Every time I come here I think of home.”

  “Still miss Zakhar?” His eyes were turned outward as he asked the question, scanning the horizon for any sign of a threat, but the landscape was deserted and there was no one to be seen for miles around.

  “Not as much as I used to,” she answered honestly.

  He focused his attention on her finally and asked, “And your brother?”

  Mara’s smile faded, and she knew her heart was in her eyes. “Not when I am with you.” They stared at each other for several seconds, until Trace turned away with a muttered oath. “Andre is sending the plane for me after finals are over, so I will be able to return to Zakhar for Christmas break,” she said, apropos of nothing. She took a deep breath. “Will you go with me?”