by Romancing the Crown Series (13-in-1 bundle) (v1. 0) (lit)
"Look, I'm very sorry about your cousin, I really am, but still, I can't—"
Max couldn't quite read her tone, but there was an edgy look in her eyes. As if she was waiting for a trap to snap, or to be pushed out of a plane without benefit of a parachute.
"There's no need to be upset. I've already covered the bounty money," he reminded her.
She could feel her hackles going up. Did he think he could just buy her off like some strolling hostess of the evening that had given him a good time? She'd thought he'd understood her better than that. Obviously she was giving him too much credit.
It figured. "It's not just about the bounty money."
What was she getting so annoyed about? "You said the other day that it was. That you didn't care what the sheriff and I did with the prisoner as long as you got the bounty money. I believe dancing was mentioned," he said in an effort to get her to smile and drop the subject.
So now was he laughing at her? He was certainly making her sound callous and greedy. Was that what he thought of her? Was she just someone to buy off?
Well, why shouldn't he think of her that way? Look at the world she came from. Look at where he came from. The mountains and flatlands, that's what they were. And the mountains looked down at the flatlands.
She gritted her teeth together, enunciating every word. "It's about giving my word to the sheriff that I'd bring Weber back."
"It's Salim," he reminded her. "Jalil Salim, not Kevin Weber. And as I remember, your word was rather twistable."
Incensed, she pulled her hand away from his. "Not to the people who count."
He read between the lines and her tone. "And I don't count."
Cara's chin shot up. "Now who's twisting things around?"
The woman blew hot and cold at the same time. He was getting very weary of this dance of words. "You tell me."
Right, big joke. Cara's eyes narrowed, pinning him.
"I don't think anyone can tell you anything. You seem to have the answers to everything." Afraid that she was going to say something that might offend the people around her, she gathered up her skirt, preparing to go. "If you'll excuse me, I think I've had enough old world charm for one evening."
There was a huge pain in the middle of her chest that was working its way up her throat and seriously campaigning against her eyes. She could feel tears forming. Alarmed, she began to plow her way off the dance floor, brushing passed Lorenzo.
"Is something wrong?" the duke asked.
She stopped only long enough to be polite. "I suddenly have a splitting headache. If you'll excuse me, I need to lie down."
Lorenzo turned toward his older brother, glad that Max had finally found someone. "Looks like you have a regular spitfire on your hands."
As far as Max was concerned, the old-fashioned term described Cara Rivers to a t. She was spitting fire all right.
And he felt fire burning through him every time he took her into his arms.
"Not at the moment," he corrected his younger brother, indicating his empty hands. "But I—"
The king came up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Max, would you mind giving me a moment? I'd like you to take a walk with me in the garden."
Max hesitated, torn. He wanted to go after Cara, to smooth over whatever it was that had gotten wrinkled. But maybe it would do her some good to have a few minutes to herself. To get whatever bur had gotten under her blanket out and become civilized again.
He turned toward his uncle and inclined his head. "Of course."
Max gestured for the king to lead the way.
* * *
"I know you're here for only a short while, Max, but I have to confess I have always valued having you as my sounding board." They were in the garden now, away from the lights of the palace and from prying ears. The king relaxed, looking at his nephew fondly. "You, above anyone, have always demonstrated that you have no ulterior motives when it comes to the affairs of this country, no dark side behind your opinions."
His uncle looked so serious. Max pushed aside his own concerns, placing himself completely at his uncle's disposal. "What's on your mind?"
"As you know, we believe now that Lucas survived the plane crash. The fact that he is most likely alive is being kept a secret from everyone except those who are closest to me. When I initially renewed my search for Lucas, very few people were informed." Agitation caused him to pace as he spoke. "Only those within the family and what I believed were a trusted few members of Sheik Ahmed's family knew." His expression grew grim as he thought of the information his agents had brought him. "We have confirmed that Salim knew we were searching for Lucas, that we had new evidence that he was alive." Marcus looked at his nephew. "I have received news that Salim's mission was not only to set up a front for the Brothers of Darkness in America, but to track down my son and to kill him."
The king drew a deep breath, the very thought wounding his heart. "How could he, a member of the Brothers of Darkness, have known any of this unless someone from the Kamal family told him?" To believe it was someone within his own family was unthinkable and he refused to even remotely entertain the idea. That only left his new son-in-law's family.
The new peace was fragile. He had to tread carefully. If he was wrong...
Max was piecing things together as quickly as they were being thrown at him. "Then you suspect
Marcus waved one hand helplessly in the air. "I don't know who to suspect."
The king sighed, hating the intrigue which had once seemed to spark his adolescent heart. Now he longed for only peace. Peace that insisted on eluding him.
"I have asked Gage Weston—another duke who refuses to assume his title," he interjected with a smile as he looked at Max, "to investigate this matter for me. To that end he will be attempting to work his way into the Kamals's trust."
Max was still unclear on why the revelation was being made to him at this time. "And you are sharing this with me because?"
The king smiled, knowing he could be both blunt and honest with his nephew the way he couldn't with others. "Because I want you to tell me if you think I am seeing boogie men where there are only harmless shadows in the night."
When it came to the family members he cared about, Max felt that it never hurt for them to be too cautious. "We both know that the Brothers of Darkness are a force to be reckoned with and to be wary of. No, I don't think you're being unduly cautious." For his uncle's sake, he bent the truth a little. "In your position, I would do exactly the same thing."
But Marcus knew him too well. "No, in my position, you would have tried to find things out on your own, gone into the heart of the clan and taken it on, one member at a time," Marcus pointed out. "Because, at your age, I would have toyed with the same thought. However, with age comes wisdom— and slowness. I cannot say which it is that is the deciding factor."
Max smiled at the man he had often wished fate had made his father instead of his uncle. "You will never grow old, Uncle, only wiser."
Marcus laughed heartily. "I knew there was a reason you were always my favorite." He slipped his arm around the other man's shoulders. "Come, we have kept your young woman waiting long enough. I saw the way your brother was looking at her."
Max knew that it was just harmless teasing on his uncle's part. The friendly rivalry that had existed between them as boys had never extended to the women in their lives. It was as if, without saying a word about it, out of a respect for their mother, both of them were trying not to emulate their father's life.
"She's not waiting, she's gone."
"Gone?" Marcus stopped walking. "Gone where?"
Max upbraided himself silently. He hadn't meant it to sound as melodramatic as that. "To her room, probably. To cool off."
Relieved, Marcus shook his head, doling out friendly advice. "Oh, I don't think you would want that one too cool, Max. She reminds me of someone who would warm your heart for many decades to come."
Max thought of the look on Cara's face just before
she'd spun on her heel and stormed away. And if ever a woman had stormed, it was Cara Rivers. "I don't think she sees things in that light."
They'd had a tiff, an argument, Marcus thought. Good. What was affection without adversity? Bland.
"You were always a negotiator, Max. Negotiate. Unless you have no feelings for her." Marcus pretended to peer into his eyes. "But you do."
Max didn't like having his thoughts invaded this way, even by a beloved uncle. Especially when he didn't feel as if he had sorted any of this out himself.
"I don't know."
"I do. You have your father's eyes."
Marcus stiffened just a little. "I'd rather you didn't compare me to him."
Marcus understood perfectly. They were alike in their regard for Antonio. Death had allowed them to commiserate. "Your father had magnificent eyes. It was the condition of his soul we questioned." Marcus touched Max's face fondly. "You have your mother's soul. Beautiful, sensitive and enormous." He patted Max's shoulder and then gave him a little push. "Go to her, Max, make things right. For both
of you."
Max shrugged. He didn't want to rush things. "Maybe in a little while."
"The stubbornness you exhibit is your grandfather's," Marcus told him. "Have it your way. But
don't let too much time pass."
Slipping an arm around the younger man's shoulder again, the king turned back toward the palace.
* * *
Cara moved around the luxurious room like someone confined to a prison cell.
There was no point in her remaining.
If the king had no intention of releasing Weber-Salim, or whoever the creep was, to her any time soon, she couldn't just hang around here like some bump on a log, waiting indefinitely.
Maybe Max could afford to do nothing with his time, but she couldn't. She had a living to make. The ten thousand dollars would tide Bridgette over for just so long. And they both knew that Bridgette's health was not what it used to be. Cara wanted to be prepared to help if Bridgette needed it.
Besides, staying here was awkward and just plain painful. Everywhere she looked reminded her of how different she and Max really were.
She looked in the mirror, seeing the dress that had been left for her. As if whoever left it already had known that she couldn't have packed anything remotely suitable for this evening. No one asked. It was a given.
There wasn't a future for them.
Hell, there wasn't even a present. She'd seen the way some of the other women had looked at Max during dinner. As if he was a prize that they meant to win. She couldn't compete against women like that and she wasn't about to lower herself by trying.
She'd had enough humiliation in her life, she didn't need any more.
It was nice while it lasted, she thought, but all fairy tales ended. And if she remembered her Hans Christian Anderson, they didn't all end with "And they lived happily ever after." Some didn't live happily at all.
That would be her, she thought.
But she had her pride and, no matter what Max seemed to think to the contrary, her honor. She was leaving with those intact. If she stayed, it might turn out to be another story.
Cara abruptly stopped pacing before her closet. The maid had already hung everything up and placed the suitcase in the recesses. Cara pulled it out. What she needed to do was to get her things together and leave before Max knew anything about her plans to go.
They had to have some flight leaving here for the States, didn't they? The airport wasn't far from the palace. She could just have someone drive her to the airport and take it from there.
It was a viable plan.
Her head jerked around as she heard a noise on the terrace.
Ryker.
Her heart began to hammer. Had he snuck onto her terrace to try to get her to go back to the party? Maybe it had been rude of her to leave that way, she thought, guilt nibbling at her conscience. After all, it wasn't the king's fault that she'd fallen in love with Max.
The thought jarred her down to her toes.
Love?
When had that happened?
No, it wasn't love, she insisted silently, it was lust, pure—or not so pure—and simple. Well, maybe not simple, either, but—
Damn, what had he done to her? Her brain felt like Swiss cheese.
She threw open the terrace door to confront Max and perhaps her own wavering thoughts.
"Look, don't come skulking around here. I'm not going to—"
Her words vanished as Salim grabbed her by the throat and shoved her back into her room.
Chapter 16
By the time Max and his uncle had returned from the garden to the dining area, Max had decided to call it an early evening.
There was a knowing look in the king's eyes as he looked at him.
"I understand. There are things you have to tend to." There was a wistful smile on his face. "Tread careful, Max. Be sure things aren't said in haste that you'll regret later."
"I'll do my best," Max promised. Although with Cara, that wasn't always possible, he added silently.
About to leave, Max's attention was drawn to the guard who came hurrying into the room. Seeking out the king, he whispered something in his monarch's ear.
Marcus's expression changed immediately.
Gone was the smile, replaced with the look of a leader who had once given serious thought to making a career within his country's military.
"Are you certain?" he asked the guard, his voice deadly calm.
"Yes, Your Highness. One dead, three wounded. But only he escaped."
At his uncle's elbow, Max had an uneasy feeling. "What's wrong?"
Marcus turned to him, his olive complexion uncharacteristically pale. "Salim has escaped. Someone killed the main guard at the prison. They think the escape was engineered by a person or persons associated with the Brothers of Darkness."
It didn't matter who had engineered it, what mattered now was that Jalil Salim was free. And that he'd sworn vengeance against him and more importantly, against Cara.
A sense of panic Max had never experienced before suddenly took root.
He had to get to her before Salim did.
"Your Highness," the guard was saying, "one of the guards said just before he lost consciousness he saw Salim and his men fleeing to the hills. Salim might be miles from here by now."
The king was too aware of the fact that nothing was ever what it seemed. "And then again, he might not. Where is this guard now?" Marcus wanted to know.
"They were taking him to the hospital as I left."
"Send someone there, then and find out as much as you can." Marcus ordered. "And get as many men as you can together. Salim is not going to escape us a second time." Turning, he started to say something to Max, only to see that his nephew was hurrying away. "Do you know where to find him?"
"I'm hoping I don't," Max tossed over his shoulder. He didn't have time to stay and elaborate. Not if what he was most afraid of was true.
Afraid. He had never been afraid for himself. Not even as a child and never as a solider. That was what had made him so good at what he did. He was cautious only insofar as he did not want to alert his quarry, but fear for his own well being never held him in check, never held him back.
He was afraid now. Very afraid.
But again, not for himself.
* * *
Adrenaline shot through Cara with both barrels as she found herself staring into the dark eyes of a madman. Salim was cutting the air off from her windpipe, choking her. Clawing at his hand, Cara dug her nails into his flesh and raked them down.
Yelping, Salim let her go, only to grab her arm as she tried to get away. He slammed her against the wall viciously.
She hit the back of her head. The room started to spin as she tried vainly to focus on something, to keep it fixed in place.
"What—what are you doing here?" she managed to spit out.
Even before he answered, she knew. He was going to kill her.
"Keeping my promise," Salim snarled, his unshaven face inches from hers. "I said I would kill you and that lowly scum you were with and now I will."
Her blood turned to ice in her veins. There was no doubt in her mind that this man could kill a hundred people and not feel anything but a sense of satisfaction.
Killing her would be easy.
The hell it will, she silently promised. She was not going to go out that easily.
There was no terror in her eyes. Salim wanted terror. "Beg for your life, you miserable bitch."
She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Instead she glared at Salim defiantly, knowing that in the end begging would do no good, it would only feed something depraved inside him.
"No."
Enraged, he twisted her arm so hard, Cara sank down on her knees before him, unable to stand.
"Beg," he roared maniacally.
Dizzy, with pain shooting through her arm, she sank her teeth into his thigh.
Screaming, Salim let her go, staggering backward.
As she scrambled to her feet to get away, Salim grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her back. The guttural cry that escaped her lips was completely involuntary.
Running down the corridor, Max heard the cry.
He didn't remember taking the last several yards to her door, hardly remembered hurling himself against the dark mahogany barrier. Horrible scenarios were all crowding his brain at once, chilling his heart as he broke into the room.
Still holding her by her hair, Salim pulled Cara to her feet. A gun appeared from nowhere in his hand. He aimed it straight at Max.
Max curbed his impulse to hurl himself at the man. Salim was crazy, he could turn the gun on Cara instead and shoot her. "There's no way you'll get out of the palace alive."
Salim narrowed his eyes malevolently. Feebleminded infidel, didn't he understand that all this was for a greater good, a higher power? Lives, even his, were unimportant.
"Perhaps, perhaps not. But this I promise you—the two of you will be dead by then. You and this worthless bitch."
As his lips peeled back in a satisfied grin, Salim cocked his weapon, keeping the gun barrel trained straight at Max's head.
"No," Cara shrieked, throwing her weight against Salim's hip as she simultaneously grabbed his arm to throw his aim off.