by Tia Louise
“What?” His voice is a shout. “I’m going with you.”
“I need you to stay with Zee. Protect her. I’m going to finish that bastard tonight.”
“I’m going to finish him,” Logan argues.
“You’re wasting time!” I gasp, wiping away the tears. “Somebody get to Ava!”
Reggie is already gone, headed in the direction of the royal couple. Cal’s eyes meet mine, and I see the fierce determination burning there.
“I won’t let him get away this time. I promise you.”
28
Double Strike
Cal
Reggie takes off in the direction of Rowan. I signal Freddie. He’s across the room in a plain black tuxedo and no mask, but he’s hampered by the multitude of guests. We’re not alerting the crowd of what’s happening in the hopes of avoiding a panic.
I scan the four exits searching for a skull mask, gold damask, and a black cape. So many masqueraders are in the ballroom, and the legion of headdresses and Venetian costumes makes it almost impossible to find him.
“Like a needle in a haystack,” I growl, pushing through the dancers.
Frustration tightens in my chest. I promised Zee. I promised myself—I will not let Wade Paxton slip away this time. A thump at my wrist, and I pull my sleeve up to check my smart watch. It’s a text from Freddie. Southeast corridor.
Turning quickly, I catch a glimpse of a man in a black cape moving quickly and steadily through the dancers toward the south door leading out, and I immediately spring into action.
Grabbing arms and waists, I gently but firmly move the party guests aside, keeping my eyes on that black cape. He’s ahead of me. He’ll be out into the courtyard before I make it to the exit, but he’ll still have to cross to the palace gates before he’ll be able to hail a cab or get in his car. For security reasons, the courtyard is completely cleared of all vehicles during royal events.
Sure enough, he’s gone, but I’m making better time. I’m right after him in mere seconds. He’s moving slower to avoid drawing attention. Too late, you bastard, you’ve already got my attention.
Out in the courtyard, he’s walking fast in a straight line to the black wrought-iron gates. Mask gone, I pull off the white tie at my neck and break into a run. The noise of my shoes echoing on the cobblestones alerts him, and he breaks into a run as well. My only hope is that he’d planned to hail a cab and doesn’t have a car waiting. Would he be that stupid?
Paxton is through the gates, but just as it slams, I’m pushing it open. He doesn’t stop at the line of cars, rather plunging into the crowd of spectators instead. His skull mask is still over his face, but I’m exposed. Smart motherfucker. He knew the crowd would stop me.
I see him ahead, slowing to a stroll now. He pauses at the corner and turns back to face me, doing a little salute in my direction before resuming his casual walk into the night. The sight of his audacity flashes my chest. NO! He will NOT get away this time.
Instead of diving into the crowd, I run to the first Towncar. “I need you to drive me one block north—just on the other side of this crowd! Quick!”
The driver answers in the affirmative and pulls the black vehicle out of the circular drive. The spectators part, leaning forward to see who is leaving early. I look away from the flashbulbs popping in the windows and strain toward the edge of the crowd. It’s like the shore of a great sea.
Once we’re close, I pat the man on the shoulder, toss him a fiver, and dive for the door. “Thanks, old man. You’re a life saver.”
I’m out the door and running full speed in the direction Paxton was headed. It’s possible he had a car waiting for him around the block, but I have to hope he didn’t. I have to believe he’s cocky enough to think he won again.
I’m right.
My breath is coming in heavy pants when I skid around the beige stone building, and looking up the winding alley decorated in colorful lights and little tables at the cafés, I see a man in a gold suit slowly walking away. He must have ditched the cape.
I break into a run, dodging pedestrians and casual diners until I’m almost to him. My wrist catches on a wrought-iron grate, momentarily stopping me. He takes a left off the main route, and I snatch my arm free. When I reach the point where he turned, I see it’s a narrow, dark alley. With only a moment’s hesitation, my military training kicks in.
I’m defensive, stepping slowly into the potentially deadly space. My eyes are dazzled from the lights of the street. We’re behind the shops, where the garbage cans and back doors meet in a dingy corridor.
Looking ahead, I see it’s a dead end. Either he’s still here or he was able to escape through the back door of a restaurant. I take careful steps. My arms are up as I turn quickly around every dumpster and box where he could be lurking.
“Don’t know when to quit, do you, MacCallum.” I jump back at the sound of his voice, loud behind a stack of crates. We’re facing each other, and I do a quick blink to ensure it’s only us.
We’re alone here.
“I’ll quit when I’ve finished you,” I say, my voice hoarse from running.
“Murdering a prime minister is a capital offense. You’ll hang for it.”
“Yes, and attempted murder of a king is punishable by death. It evens out.”
He reaches up to remove the skull mask. His dark hair is greased back, and the thin moustache quirks over his lips. “Let’s see what you’ve got, boy.”
His fists rise, and while I know Freddie will use the GPS on my smart watch to find us, I’m happy to spend the time it takes them to get here beating his ass.
A lunge forward, and he attempts a swipe at my jaw. I dodge and plant a solid right jab in his mouth. A satisfying crunch and a grunt of pain from Paxton gives me more pleasure than I expected it would.
“What did you think would happen coming here tonight?” I say, circling him, watching the line of blood slowly trickle down his chin.
“Just reminding your fiancée who holds the cards in this town.” His dark eyes glitter, and my throat tightens.
“Don’t you ever speak to Zelda. Don’t you ever go near her.” I’m breathing fast, rage clouding my judgment.
“I don’t have to,” he says with a sinister grin. “My men are in every part of this country.”
Which is why we won’t be living here, I think. “They’ll scatter without a leader,” I say, moving closer. I want another shot at this asshole.
“Perhaps,” he says, not taking his eyes off me. “Still, I have other ways of inspiring your cooperation. A royal baby is an incredibly powerful chess piece.”
The snarl rips through my throat as I lunge at him. I’m not in control at this point, and I’m finished reasoning with a thug. Zelda’s battered face, her tears, and her severed finger are in my mind. Seth’s mutilated body… our baby girl.
My arms are around his neck, and I grip his face in my hands. In one swift move, I’m ready to finish him, but he lunges hard, throwing his body weight against me. I have him in my grip. His arm moves, punching me strong in the torso just as I make the twist, snapping his neck, ending his life.
He drops to the pavement in a dead heap, but I stagger back, falling heavy against the brick wall. Pain rips through my side, forcing a loud curse from my throat. When I look down, I see the twisted handle of a knife extending from my side at the level of my waist.
With every breath the pain slices deeper. A river of dark red blood soaks my white breeches. I’m bleeding fast.
“Fuck!” I groan as my knees give way, and I slide to sitting against the wall.
I’m hidden behind the stack of crates, and I’m gasping for breath. Fatigue sweeps over me as with every heartbeat another gush of blood pumps from my body.
I fumble with my sleeve, doing my best to pull the cuff back. I’ve got to text Freddie. I’ve got to tell them where I am. I can’t wait for them to find me. I’m running out of time. Searching with my fingers, a flash of panic grips me. My smart watch is gon
e. I must have lost it when my arm caught on that grate. They’ll track the GPS, but it’s not near enough to this alley.
Blackness closes in, starting from the edges of my vision. I’m cold, and my fingers aren’t following my brain’s instructions. I try to shout when the noise of voices echoes at the mouth of the corridor, but all I get out is a whispered “Freddie…”
I look across the way to Wade Paxton’s dead body. Fighting with everything in me I try to hold on.
But I’m not stronger than this.
The clock is counting down faster.
My eyes won’t stay open.
I’m bleeding out.
After everything we’ve survived, all we’ve been through, with my last conscious breath I call to her.
Zelda…
29
Backup
Zelda
Being stuck waiting in my suite is torture of an entirely different kind. I have my phone at least, so I’m able to text Ava and know she’s okay. She’s in her suite with guards stationed all around. She and I are under lockdown on Rowan’s orders until the palace is secured.
Logan alternates between pacing the balcony and standing in the hallway just outside my door. I run my fingers over the heavy blue velvet of my costume, thinking with a sigh how Cal was supposed to help me out of it. Damn Wade Paxton.
“I’m going to change out of this costume,” I call in the direction of the balcony where Logan currently stands watch.
He doesn’t reply, and I leave the sitting area to go into the bedroom to slowly remove the elaborate getup. It’s heavy, and I could use some help with the buttons in the back, but I’ll figure it out.
After a series of twists and stretches that would make a contortionist proud, I’m out of the heavy thing. I toss it on the small sofa and walk over to the closet. It’s a warm night, and I take out a filmy cotton dress with crisscross spaghetti straps. It’s loose around my middle, and I don’t bother with shoes. Standing in front of the mirror, I start the process of removing pin after pin as my hair drops around my shoulders in large curls.
“So much for the masquerade,” I say mostly to myself.
“We checked every guest as they came in.” Logan answers, causing me to do a little jump. “Sorry,” he says quickly. I thought you knew I was here.
“I guess I did,” I say, trying to keep my hands from trembling. “I-I wasn’t really sure where you were.”
It’s stupid to act awkward around Logan. He’s been with Cal and me for so long, and he helped to save me. We’re friends for chrissake.
He takes one step from the balcony into my sitting room. “I wanted to apologize.” Looking down, he clears his throat. “If I made you uncomfortable earlier. I guess I expected you to stay in the palace.”
For a moment, I pass my eyes over this fellow. He’s very tall and a bit bulkier than Cal. He has short dark hair and a light scruff on his jaw. A dark brow pulls severely over blue eyes. He’s very handsome. He should stay here and find a lady of his own.
“You don’t have to apologize,” I say, giving him a kind smile. “And I hope you change your mind about resigning. Cal needs you. You and Freddie and he are a team.”
Clearing his throat, he runs a hand over his mouth. “We were a team. Lately… I’ve had trouble engaging.”
I’m still not quite sure I understand. “Maybe you need a little break?”
He only does a half-smile and turns to face outside. I look over to the wet bar and think how if Cal were here we’d share a nightcap, discuss the evening, tease each other and fall in bed to have sex or search for a movie to watch… or both.
“It’s difficult not to be angry with him,” Logan quietly confesses. “I would never have let you be taken.”
“Excuse me?” My sharp tone causes him to look back at me. “Cal gives me my freedom. He knows I don’t like feeling trapped.”
“Sometimes decisions must be made for your own protection. Like right now. You have to stay in this room until we’re sure it’s safe.”
My lips press together. “Look, I appreciate what you’ve done for me, your part in my rescue…” An edge is in my voice. “But you will not criticize Cal to me or blame him for what happened.”
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I didn’t mean to make you angry.”
“Logan,” I exhale and walk to where he stands at the edge of the balcony. “We’ve all been through a hideous ordeal. Perhaps a little time away… perhaps you could meet someone to share your time with—outside your official duties here.”
“Right.” His smile is bitter, and I get the distinct feeling my encouragement backfired.
“I hope I didn’t overstep or invade your privacy by saying that.”
“Please don’t patronize me.”
“I would never!”
“You are more than an official duty.” His eyes burn with something new… and just as fast the shutters close. His tone returns to formal. “Forgive me. I take my position here very seriously. It’s impossible not to feel I would have handled things differently.”
My bottom lip goes between my teeth. I don’t know if I should say thanks or apologize. I decide to simply nod and say, “Okay.”
I go to the wet bar and pour a ginger ale for me. No champagne with the little princess onboard. Tracing my finger along the edge of the glass, I think about Cal, and his team and my idea at the ball before everything blew up.
“You should stay in Monagasco,” I say. “It’s your home, and you love it here. We’re leaving anyway.”
“Right,” he says, that tightness returning. “You’re leaving the security of the palace and the guards.”
Weariness rolls over me in waves, and I can’t retread this argument. “Either way, I hope you find happiness. I am grateful to you for all you’ve done. Now I’ll say goodnight.”
“Sleep well.” His voice is quiet. “I’ll be here.”
As exhausted as I am, however, sleep never comes. I lay in our enormous, king-sized bed staring at the ceiling and listening to the sounds of the palace after dark. I think about Cal out there somewhere, and freaky Wade Paxton and his horrifying mask. The sight of it still makes me shudder.
The ball was cut short and all the lords and ladies and dignitaries returned to their houses or castles. Ava and I were sent to our rooms like children.
“No, that isn’t fair,” I sigh, turning again in my bed. “We were sent heavily guarded to our secure rooms.”
My window is open, and I listen to the noise of night birds. I hear cicadas screeching. I miss Cal. I want to be in Tortola, or at the very least, I wish we were at Occitan so I could go down to the shore. I wonder what Ximena and Selena are doing…
Hours drag by, and Cal doesn’t return. Logan’s footsteps as he walks from my sitting room out to the balcony echo in my quiet suite. The baby isn’t big enough to disturb me, but I can’t seem to get comfortable around my belly.
I’m about to throw back the blankets, grab a robe, and demand he play a round of blackjack with me when my phone lights up, buzzing and vibrating. A soft tap on my bedroom door follows next, and I hear shouts and the scuffling of feet in the courtyard below.
Logan appears in my room, and the expression on his face shoots dread through my veins.
“What’s wrong?” I demand.
Scooping up my phone, I see Ava is calling me. I haven’t heard from Cal. In one fluid movement, I’m out of the bed, grabbing my robe and holding it in front of me as I approach Logan.
“We need to go to the hospital,” he says. “There’s isn’t much time.”
* * *
My heart is breaking, and I can’t seem to breathe. Ava sits beside me clutching my hand, and I can’t stop shaking. My entire world is crumbling, and I’m on the edge of a cliff, facing the end of everything.
Wade Paxton is dead, but before he went down, he used that same fucking knife—the one he threatened me with when I was trapped in the bathroom during the grand prix—and jammed it into Cal.
My Cal…
He’s in a room far from us fighting for his life. Fear claws at my throat as a fresh wave of tears fills my eyes. Rowan’s face is ashen. His mother sits stoic, staring at the floor in front of her, and all we can do is wait.
Wait and wait.
Minute after minute.
One second, two seconds.
Fifty seconds, one million…
We’re waiting for any change, for a word from the doctor. For Cal to come out of the coma.
“Paxton was aiming for his heart,” Freddie says to Rowan.
They speak softly to avoid alarming the queen.
Or me?
I don’t know.
All I know is I’m leaning forward in my chair, straining every muscle in my body to hear their words.
Rowan’s jaw is clenched, and anger permeates his tone. “Why did it take you so long to find him? You had GPS! You should have gone directly to him.”
“His watch was missing.” Freddie’s voice is strained. “It’s a miracle we found him at all.”
“It’s a miracle he was so close to the hospital.”
Guilt is heavy in the guard’s voice. “There was so much blood. I thought we were too late…”
The door bursts open, and a small, female doctor emerges. It appears to be the same woman who treated Ava, and I briefly wonder if they have a royal physician. We’re all on our feet.
“Majesté,” she begins in French, speaking to Rowan, but I’ve been here before.
I clutch his arm before she can say another word. “English, please!” I shout.
The doctor is taken aback, but she clears her throat and continues in English laced with a thick French accent.
“His majesty is in hypovolemic shock,” she says. “We’ve given him platelets, plasma, dopamine, and now a steady supply of fluids and antibiotics. Still, he does not wake up.”