“No, madam. I haven’t had any contact with either your husband or Ivan. All I know is that I received the Code Orange text alert from a member of Mr. Menshikov’s security team.”
Fear stole the air from the inside of the SUV, trapping me in a vacuum. At the airport tarmac, I exited the vehicle in a daze, not seeing or hearing anyone. Everly guided me to the plane, refusing to release my hand. I’d been through tragedy before—first with my parents and then Aunt May. I understood the fragility of life and how quickly it could be stolen from us. My time with Roman had just begun. I couldn’t lose him. Not yet.
Julie and the baby met us at the base of the stairs. The sight of them raised new concerns. Her eyes were wide with alarm. “What’s going on? No one will tell me what’s happening.”
“I know. Me neither.” I pulled her into a hug. “All they’ll tell me is that there’s been an assassination attempt on Roman’s life.”
“Oh my God.” The color drained from her already wan complexion. “Rourke, I’m so scared.”
“It’s going to be okay. We’ll get through this.” Although I wanted to break down, I needed to be strong for the both of us. Everly buttressed my confidence, her shoulders square, eyes alert. I wanted to be like her. I straightened and lifted my chin. “Our husbands are smart men. We have to have faith in them.”
“I had a bad feeling when Ivan left for this trip.” The baby cooed and waved tiny fists in the air. She bounced him in her arms. “Something felt off to me.”
“Ladies, there’s no time. We need to get off the ground.” Lance gestured toward the jet impatiently.
“I’m coming with you,” Everly said. Grim determination shadowed her face.
“You can’t be a part of this.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to put you in danger.”
“Too late,” she said with a shaky smile. “Someone needs to keep you sane. Is that going to be a problem, Lance?”
“No, ma’am,” he replied before offering a hand to help me up the stairs.
11
Roman
I felt terrible about lying to Rourke, but under the circumstances, I had no choice. The less she knew about the rebellion, the safer she’d be. If everything went as planned, I’d fly into a private airfield in Zurich, meet with my informants, and return to New York City before anyone noticed I was gone.
The second I stepped off the plane onto the tarmac, I knew something was wrong. Ivan sensed it, too. The car he’d scheduled to meet us was nowhere in sight. A green sedan sat a few yards away. We stood at the base of the stairs, stalling, waiting for the uneasy feelings to pass. Light, drizzling rain pattered on the pavement and rolled off our umbrellas.
“I don’t like this,” Ivan said. He placed a hand on my arm and motioned to the plane. “Go back inside. I’ll call the driver again.”
There were no gunshots, no armed assailants, just a burning, searing pain in my left side. Ivan clutched his chest, his mouth open in surprise. I saw the light in his eyes flicker and extinguish as his life slipped away. The dull thud of his body hitting the tarmac would echo in my ears for the remainder of my life.
“Ivan? Ivan!” My knees buckled beneath me. I needed to get to him. Even though I knew it was too late, I couldn’t accept the reality.
“Mr. Menshikov, we need to get you back onboard. Now.” Rough hands seized me beneath the arms and dragged me into the airplane. Warm wetness spread over my ribs and trickled down my hip.
“Where’s Ivan? Help him. I’m fine. Get him to a hospital.” I tried to escape, but the strength had evaporated from muscles.
“Sir, no. He’s gone.” Spitz, Ivan’s first in command, laid a gentle hand on my arm.
Two of the flight attendants came forward. A quiet, blue-eyed female attendant stripped away my shirt while the male attendant pressed a clean towel to my side. Blood seeped soaked the first towel and he replaced it with another one. I stared at the hole below my ribcage, disbelieving. My veins felt like they carried ice water. I shivered, shaking uncontrollably. “It doesn’t hurt. I’m fine,” I said, over and over.
“He’s in shock. Bring blankets. Turn up the temperature in here.” Insistent hands patted my arms and legs, searching for additional wounds. I melted into the seat, unable to hold myself erect any longer.
Spitz turned to the pilot. “Get us the fuck out of here.”
The engines roared to life, and within seconds, I heard the pilot asking for emergency clearance to takeoff. After a few hops, the nose of the jet lifted into the air, and we began a steep ascent into the sky.
A million thoughts raced through my head, tumbling over and catching upon each other. My heart raced. Warmth returned to my body, bringing with it searing, white-hot pain. I struggled to maintain consciousness. “Who were they?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got our people on it. They could be anyone.” Spitz ran rough fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair. Deep lines bracketed his mouth. As a new addition to the team, he’d come highly recommended. He was former CIA and an ex-Marine. “This came out of nowhere. We had no idea.”
“Whoever they are, I want them to pay for this.” The nose of the plane angled upward, bouncing on rough pockets of stormy air. I grimaced as the jostling sent streaks of fire shooting down my legs.
“We won’t stop until we find them. I give you my word, sir.”
“Rourke.” My voice cracked on her name. Spots swam in front of my eyes. The pain spread through my ribs and into my guts.
“I’ve already initiated a Code Orange. Operation Sidecar is in full swing.” His voice faded. “She’s being relocated as we speak.”
The plane leveled off. My vision narrowed to a pinpoint and extinguished into blackness.
The next time I opened my eyes, we were taxiing down the runway and pulling into my private hangar at Gatwick. Each time I drew in a breath, sharp needles stabbed my chest. I moaned and tried to sit up, but the firm hands of the flight attendants held me in place.
“You need a real doctor,” Spitz said. “We have to get you to a hospital.”
“There’s no time for that.” I pushed away the hands and sat up. The bleeding had stopped. Spitz, trained in field triage, had cleaned and dressed the wound the best he could, using the plane’s first aid kit. I gingerly touched the gauze wrapped around my waist.
“You’re one lucky son of a bitch. The bullet went straight through. In one side and out the other. I don’t think it hit anything vital. Otherwise, you’d be dead by now,” he said in a dryly observant tone.
“I don’t feel lucky,” I replied, fighting against the rising bile in my throat, thinking of Ivan. The flight attendant handed me a glass of water. I took a tentative sip. “Set up a Skype with Cordoba and Vasiliev. I want answers. We’re going to need to redouble our efforts at Kitzeh. We’re obviously making them nervous, or they wouldn’t have tried to take me out.”
“Alright. Whatever you say, boss.” He shook his head in disagreement but dug his phone out of his pocket anyway. Using his thumb, he scrolled through the screens. “The assassination attempt is all over the internet. Someone went straight to the press with the news.”
Desperation consumed all reason. I grabbed his arm. His eyebrows lifted. “I need to talk to my wife.” My voice sounded like I’d walked a thousand miles through the desert, rough and unrecognizable. She’d be shattered by the news. I had to get in contact with her.
“Not a good idea.” He shook his head, expression grim. “Not yet anyway. Whoever tried to kill you is probably watching her, waiting to see if you’ll get in contact, wanting to know if you’re injured or dead. You need to lay low for a bit longer. Right now, we have the advantage. Use this time to set up your next move before they find out you’re still in the game.”
12
Rourke
Once we arrived in London, two helicopters delivered us to Roman’s estate. Milada and her mother had been evacuated to a separate, undisclosed location. Decoys had been sent out to confuse the media and any
one watching our movements. The thoroughness of Roman’s plan impressed, scared, and irritated me. I still had no idea why we were in danger or the source of the attack.
The helicopter hovered over the winding lane to Bellingham Manor, idyllic gardens, and bubbling fountains. From the air, the vastness of the estate took my breath away. Rolling pastures stretched for miles in every direction. The last time I’d been here had been to attend the masquerade. Because of the late hour and my nervousness, I’d failed to notice the beauty of the property. Today, I stared at the opulence, seeing but not comprehending. Nothing mattered to me but Roman’s safety.
The house was bigger and grander than I remembered, its exterior aged by centuries of history. A shiver ran up my spine. How many other women had taken refuge behind its walls, worrying about their men?
As the helicopter touched down on the landing pad, Everly nudged my elbow. “Look. It’s like Downton Abbey or something.” At least two dozen employees had lined up along the steps to the main entrance.
“The staff is aware of the security breach against your husband,” Lance said. “And they’ve all been sworn to secrecy; however, it would be in your best interest to refrain from discussing the situation in front of them.”
After we exited the helicopter and came toward them, a middle-aged man with gray hair around the temples and lines of worry across his forehead stepped forward to introduce himself. “Good morning, Mrs. Menshikov. I’m Gerald MacDonald, head butler of the estate. On behalf of the estate, I’d like to welcome you to Bellingham Manor.”
I looked up into his kind eyes. Was it morning? I’d lost track of time. My body felt like it was the middle of the night. “Good morning, Gerald. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The words clung to my tongue. I probably looked like a deranged American with my frizzy hair and eyes swollen from lack of sleep.
“The pleasure is all mine, madam. I only wish our meeting had occurred under happier circumstances. We all respect and admire Mr. Menshikov very much.”
I blinked back tears of frustration and anguish. “Thank you, Gerald. I appreciate it.”
With great fanfare and solemnity, he introduced me to each person on the steps. Butlers, maids, footmen, gardeners, gamekeepers—the list of job titles went on and on. I repeated each person’s name through a haze of exhaustion and shook each offered hand. The entire time, I was dying inside. This was too much. I needed to be alone. To lick my wounds and prepare for whatever happened next.
At the top of the steps, Gerald gave a slight bow and motioned to the doors with a sweep of his white-gloved hand. “If you and the guests would like to come inside, there’s a hot breakfast waiting for you in the dining room.”
Food was the last thing I wanted. Remembering my companions, I turned to face them. Julie held the baby close to her heart. Her tears had dried, and an expression of brokenness added years to her age. She gave me a fleeting smile when our eyes met. Everly stayed by my side.
“I think we’re all exhausted,” I said. “Perhaps you could show us to our rooms first?”
“Certainly. Your rooms have been prepared, and we took the liberty of having clothing purchased for you and your guests. I was told that you’d left in some haste and had no time to collect your belongings. Should you need anything, we’ll be happy to accommodate.”
Of course, Roman had thought of the smallest details. I followed Gerald up the grand, sweeping staircase to the second floor. Our footsteps echoed in the enormous hallways. This was the floor that had been off-limits during the masquerade, and now I could see why. Priceless portraits, tapestries, and medieval weapons hung on the walls. These were Roman’s prized possessions. I had to wonder how many others had been allowed to see them.
“I’ve taken the liberty of placing the mother and child in the nursery,” Gerald said when we’d entered a new wing of the home.
“There’s a nursery?”
“Yes, Mr. Menshikov had the furnishings delivered a few weeks ago.”
A nervous twitter teased my belly. We hadn’t discussed children. He already had a teenaged daughter. I’d been too busy caring for my aunt and trying to survive to contemplate motherhood. What if I never had the opportunity to have kids with Roman, to see him hold our baby for the first time, to watch them together? I placed a hand on chest to ease the ache.
“Madam, are you feeling okay? Can I get you anything?”
“No. I’m just tired.”
We left Julie and the baby at the nursery and Everly in a suite overlooking the courtyard. At the end of the hall, he opened wide double doors and stepped aside to allow entry. I blinked, thinking I’d landed in someone else’s life. Ornate crown moldings, detailed frescoes, and dark woods covered every surface. The furnishings were in tones of cream and gold with pale blue accents. In the center of the room sat the largest tester bed I’d ever seen. I ran a hand over the elaborate carvings on the posts.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Gerald stood near the fireplace, hands clasped behind his back, a pleased smile on his face. “It belonged to Mary, Queen of Scots. Mr. Menshikov purchased it specifically for you.” He nodded toward the balcony doors. “The desk and chair belonged to Napoleon Bonaparte. The chess set was a favorite of King Henry VIII. Does it not suit your taste? I can arrange to have it changed, or I can move you to another room, if you desire.”
“It’s perfect.” I raised a hand to stop him from continuing, too overwhelmed by the assassination and a trans-Atlantic flight to pretend interest any longer. “You’ve been very helpful, Gerald, but I need a minute alone. Do you mind?” I didn’t want to be rude, but the threads of my self-control had worn dangerously thin.
“Of course. Take as much time as you want. Lunch is at noon. Dinner at seven-thirty. If you need anything, dial extension eleven for service.” He bowed again, this time lower and longer, and vanished out the door.
I sank onto the edge of the bed and buried my head in my hands. Not knowing where Roman was or how he was doing had my guts churning. Under different circumstances, I’d have been eager to explore the estate and every room of the manor house. Now, I just wanted to curl up on the massive bed and cry.
A knock on the door prevented my meltdown. The woman on the other side of the door wore black trousers and a gray polo shirt with the Bellingham Manor logo on the left breast pocket. “Pardon me, ma’am. I thought you might like some tea.” In her hands, she held a silver tray. She set it on a small table near the fireplace. “Would you like me to pour?”
The English held their tea very dear. I’d never quite gotten the hang of the proper way to serve, so I nodded. The hot beverage soothed my nervous stomach. While the woman flitted about the room, fluffing pillows and tidying things, I nibbled on a scone. My appetite had vanished, but I needed something of substance in my belly.
“May I get you anything else while I’m here?” she asked. Upon second glance, she seemed much younger, maybe thirty-three or thirty-four. “I could draw a bath for you.”
The thought of submerging my aching body in a soothing bathtub sounded like heaven. “That would be awesome. Do you mind?”
A small smile curled her lips. “Of course not. It’s my pleasure, madam.”
Fifteen minutes later, she opened the bathroom door. A copper claw-foot tub sat in the center of a marble floor. Tall windows offered a view of the gardens and lake with the top of the castle keep visible above the treetops. Blue skies had given way to gray clouds. Raindrops pattered against the glass.
“Is there anything else?” She hovered near the door.
“It’s Andrea, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Have you worked here very long?”
“Fifteen years. I’m a fourth-generation employee,” she remarked with pride. “My father’s the head groundskeeper, and my mother’s in charge of the kitchen.”
“That’s remarkable.”
“Yes, ma’am, it is. We’re very fortunate. The previous owners ran into financial trouble, and Mr. Menshik
ov was kind enough to take over and restore the estate back to its former glory.” She glanced at the floor, a slight blush coloring her cheeks when she spoke Roman’s name. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to your bath.”
She exited on silent feet. I undressed and slid into the water up to my chin. The constant hovering of the staff had my frayed nerves on edge. The staff at Roman’s penthouse remained unseen except at mealtimes or during events, but Bellingham Manor seemed more like a posh hotel than a home. I wasn’t sure I could adjust to being waited on hand and foot. Although, it was nice to have a bath prepared for me. Knowing that Roman liked to draw a bath for me while having this kind of service at his disposal made his gestures even more appreciated. He did little things for me because he wanted to and not because he had to.
Thinking of his generosity renewed the threat of tears. I fought them back. If I let them flow, I might never get them to stop. Until I knew what had happened, I preferred to believe Roman was alive and well and fighting to come to me.
When the water chilled, I toweled off and wrapped myself in the luxurious velour robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Andrea had put together an outfit and laid it across the bed. Navy drawstring slacks, an ice-blue sweater, and buttery-soft brown leather boots. The clothes fit perfectly. A textured knit scarf finished the picture to perfection. I swept my hair into a neat bun at the nape of my neck and marveled at the transformation in one of the mirrors. Shadows of exhaustion darkened my eyes, but aside from the fatigue, I looked like the lady of the manor ready for a casual day about the estate.
Unable to rest, I opened the door to find Everly outside my room. “I’m too exhausted to nap,” she said. “How about you? How are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” I snapped then immediately regretted my harsh tone. “I’m sorry. That’s a lie. I’m going crazy. I need answers.”
The Exiled Prince Trilogy Page 29