Operation: Monarch

by Valerie Parv

  For two people who'd been through what Dr. Pascale and his wife had, they recovered remarkably quickly. By the time she had reported the success of the mission to Prince Lorne and arranged for the police in Perla to pick up the kidnapper on Black Cat Cay and launch a full investigation, the Pascales had showered and changed into dry clothes borrowed from Brett.

  When she joined them in the living room they were cradling glasses of the promised scotch. Since her bathing suit had dried anyway, Serena had settled for wrapping herself in a terry cloth robe she had found in the bathroom. It was also too large and she'd had to roll the sleeves almost to the elbows to free her hands. She saw Garth give her a startled, then warm, look of approval.

  Brett was performing barman duty. "There's pizza on the coffee table. Help yourself."

  She followed her nose to the open boxes, scenting pepperoni, her favorite. She took a generous slice and bit into it standing at the table. She hadn't realized how hungry she was. Judging by the empty boxes, she wasn't the only one. She took another slice with her to the couch.

  Gusto heaved himself up and came over to her, tail thumping. She stroked his massive head, and he settled across her feet as soon as she sat down. She had a suspicion that the pizza crust was the bigger attraction, confirmed when she offered him some. Feeding him was like posting a letter, she thought as a chunk of crust disappeared.

  "Drink?" Brett asked.

  "No thanks, but I'd kill for a cup of coffee."

  Such a trite phrase, she thought, the second it came out of her mouth. Tonight she had killed, or at least created the conditions for a death. Knowing it was the man's own greed that had killed him didn't make her feel any better about it. Nor was she happy about destroying whatever evidence the cabin might have yielded. But it was done now and as a result the Pascales were alive. Serena had been in law enforcement long enough to know when to count her blessings.

  A sweater several sizes two big over rolled-up jeans made Helen Pascale look pale and fragile. Serena would bet that a fisherman's flannel shirt and jeans weren't Dr. Pascale's preferred attire, either, but he wore them with the élan of designer apparel. Her admiration for the couple notched higher.

  Brett brought her the coffee, and she smiled her thanks. Reaction would probably catch up with the Pascales later. For now she appreciated their steadfastness as she probed for anything they could tell her about their ordeal. Beyond the name Henri, there wasn't much.

  Serena decided not to tell them yet that one of the young men had died in the burning hut. The memory was likely to trouble her sleep for some time to come. No sense burdening them, as well. They'd been through enough.

  "You're sure you don't want me to call a doctor," she asked when she noticed Helen's eyelids start to droop.

  "Young lady, I am a doctor," Pascale reminded her tersely. "Under the circumstances we were treated reasonably well. There's nothing physically wrong with us that a good night's sleep and some decent food won't fix. That, and catching the people who think this is any way to treat the court physician and his wife."

  "The local law agrees with you, Doctor." She turned to Brett. "Can you find a bed for the Pascales?" She had hoped to fly them all back to Allora tonight but could see that Helen Pascale was at the end of her endurance, despite putting on a brave face. Serena decided to notify the helicopter pilot that they wouldn't be returning to the villa until morning.

  Brett reached for his crutches. "No problem. Follow me."

  The doctor placed a hand on his wife's shoulder. "You go ahead. I want to have a word with our rescuers."

  Helen hesitated as if reluctant to let her husband out of her sight. Not hard to understand, given what she'd endured over the past few days. His smile seemed to reassure her. "I'll say good-night then."

  Brett also turned back. "Help yourself to whatever you need. I'll see you in the morning. Gusto, time for bed." The big dog gave Serena's bare legs a last friendly lick and got up, trotting out of the room in Brett's wake.

  Doctor Pascale waited until his wife was out of earshot, then leaned toward Serena and Garth. "This has to do with the American president's visit, doesn't it?"

  She could see why Prince Lorne regarded the doctor as his confidant. Not much escaped him, she was sure. "It's possible, although we aren't sure of the exact connection yet."

  "We think Carramer First wants to destroy any chance of the Americans establishing a base here, although we don't know why," Garth said.

  The doctor's eyebrows lifted. "Isn't that outside the scope of their usual activities?"

  Garth nodded. "We're fairly sure a Mr. Big, known only as the Hand, is using the members of Carramer First to pursue an agenda of his own. The Hand's followers may not even know what it is."

  The doctor's brow wrinkled. "Does this have anything to do with a package the kidnappers kept asking me about?"

  Serena traded looks with Garth. "What did they tell you about it?"

  "Not much. They seemed to think I already knew where it was and what was in it. It seemed safer to pretend I did."

  "Probably the only reason they kept you and Helen alive," Garth surmised.

  "I don't think they really wanted to harm us. They weren't much more than kids. Helen got one of them talking and he thought it was all a big adventure."

  "An adventure with guns and live ammunition." Serena shuddered at the memory of swimming for her life through a hail of bullets.

  Garth was an arm's length away. She wanted to be strong, but she found herself wishing he would move closer. In the warmth of his arms, she might be able to quiet the tremors she couldn't stop.

  But he stayed where he was. "Those two sound more like the members of Carramer First I knew."

  The air grew thick with the doctor's obvious disapproval. "You belonged to that crazy bunch?"

  Garth didn't flinch from the doctor's contempt. "Years ago, until I outgrew them."

  She didn't point out that as far as the organization was concerned, Garth was still a high-ranking member. Thinking of the reaction of the crewman aboard the Cradle Rock she hoped Garth himself was clear on where his loyalties lay now.

  "Looking so much like Lorne, I thought you were a long-lost royal cousin. Now I find you're no different from those juvenile delinquents who kidnapped us."

  "Garth may be a lot closer to Prince Lorne than a long-lost cousin," she said quietly. "The contents of the package your captors were so keen to locate may prove he's the prince's older brother."

  To his credit the doctor didn't balk, although she saw the quick flare of shock in his pale-blue eyes. "D'amou," he muttered in Carramer. The epithet was short for mare d'amou, and literally meant for the love of the sea, although there was a much earthier translation that wasn't usually used in polite company.

  She wasn't given to swearing, either, but this time she was inclined to agree with the doctor.

  He studied Garth intently. "Given the resemblance, it's possible. Not likely, but possible."

  "Why not likely?" Garth asked.

  Pascale drained his scotch. "Because Lorne's parents lost their first son at birth."

  "Prince Lorne already told us about Louis," she said. She went on to detail the investigation so far that suggested the baby may not have been stillborn after all. "After I intercepted the package containing Louis's birth certificate and other identifying material, we expected Carramer First to try to get it back. As the only survivor of the group attending Princess Aimee around the time of Louis's birth, you were probably expected to know more about it than you did."

  The doctor cupped his chin between thumb and forefinger. "I always knew Armand Junot was more trouble than he was worth."

  She straightened. "Junot was the physician who delivered Prince Louis, wasn't he?"

  Pascale nodded. "I hate to admit it, but he and I were colleagues. Or more accurately, rivals for the job of royal physician. He was older than me and he had a big problem." He looked with distaste at the empty glass in his hand. "He liked alco
hol more than he liked being a good doctor."

  She refrained from pointing out that Pascale had ample justification for drinking tonight. He wouldn't have had such a long, stellar career or be so revered by the royal family if it was a habit. "Our investigation showed he was a problem drinker. Do you mean it affected the performance of his duties the day Louis was born?"

  "He used to say alcohol made his hands steadier. I tried to talk to him about it, but he brushed me aside. He left me no choice. I reported his behavior to Prince Eduard." Pascale dragged in a deep breath. "That was the end of Junot's chance of becoming royal physician."

  "You got the job instead?" Garth asked.

  "I would have preferred to get it without costing another man his career, but there was no alternative. Junot never forgave me for reporting him to the prince."

  "He ruined his own career," Garth insisted. She wondered if he was thinking about Junot's role in his own life. If he was Prince Louis and Armand Junot had somehow intervened, the course of Garth's future—possibly the future of the entire kingdom—had been irrevocably changed.

  She laced her fingers together. "Junot's problem can't have become obvious until after he delivered Princess Aimee's baby, otherwise he would have been relieved of duty."

  The doctor put the glass down. His hands were remarkably steady, she noticed, once again impressed by his resilience. "He was about to be relieved the day Princess Aimee was attacked by a former suitor. Keer, I think was his name. I assume you know it was the attack that sent her into labor?" When they nodded, he went on, "Junot had me barred from the delivery room. Since his dismissal wasn't official at that moment, he could get away with it. The princess was already in enough distress without her physicians arguing over who had the right to deliver her child, so I stepped aside."

  And he had regretted it ever since; she heard what he didn't say. The self-recrimination was plain on his craggy features. She was amazed at the clarity of the doctor's memories of over thirty years ago. His quick mind was legendary. Now she understood why. "Do you know what happened to Junot after he left the royal household?"

  The doctor's mouth tightened. "I wasn't likely to keep in touch, but I heard he gave up medicine in favor of career drinking. His father was one of Prince Guillaume's closest advisors. When he died, he left Armand enough money to indulge his passion without the need to work for a living, not that anybody would employ him after word of his dismissal got around."

  She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. "Police records show that Junot died in a nursing home a few months ago from alcohol-related health problems. Flat broke and alone by then."

  Pascale sniffed. "I'm surprised he lasted this long. Didn't he have a wife and son?"

  "The son stayed with him at first. Felice Junot left him years before, last heard of in Australia," she supplied, remembering her research.

  "From the sound of things, Junot was never in any condition to seek revenge for his dismissal," Garth mused. "Guess that disqualifies him as our Mr. Big."

  He stretched an arm along the back of the couch, not touching her, but making unwelcome visions dance in her head. Tonight wasn't her first brush with death, and she was used to the kind of clarity that came with such a near miss. Such experiences had a way of concentrating the mind wonderfully.

  Right now hers refused to concentrate on anything except how much she wanted to feel Garth's arm lying across her shoulder, his fingers idly stroking her nape. They were warm, dry and safe for the moment. The pizza and hot coffee was spreading fingers of warmth all through her. She felt herself lean toward him.

  With an effort she shook off the vision and straightened. "Junot might not have been capable of plotting revenge on the royal family or against you, Dr. Pascale, but he did have access to the items we found in the package."

  Pascale inclined his head in agreement. "He could have taken them after the birth as souvenirs of his glory days, hanging on to them all these years. When he died someone else may have come across them, a staff member from the nursing home, say."

  "It makes sense. If whoever found them belonged to Carramer First, they could have realized the potential of the items and sent word to the Hand. If he's as devious as he's reputed to be, he could have decided to use them and Garth's resemblance to Prince Lorne to further his goals."

  Garth sat up. She tried not to sigh too obviously as he withdrew his arm. "Shouldn't we check out the people who were around Junot when he died?"

  "'We' won't do any such thing," she denied. "I'll call in our suspicions and let Matt take care of it."

  The doctor looked interested. "Matt?"

  "My partner when I was a cop, before I joined the R.P.D. He's doing the legwork while I'm taking care of Garth."

  Alongside her she felt Garth's body tense in protest and decided she could have chosen her words with more care. She almost laughed at the demonstration of male ego, until she remembered what he had done for her tonight. "So far the caretaking is fairly mutual," she added. "But until Prince Lorne gets the results of the DNA test, Garth has to be protected in case he turns out to be the true ruler of Carramer."

  Pascale looked skeptical. "I agree the resemblance is strong. Do you believe you're Prince Louis?"

  "Did you see the baby's body?" Garth countered.

  "Nobody did except Armand Junot and his nurse."

  "Who was conveniently killed in a road accident," Serena said.

  Shock made the doctor pale. "So I'm the only one left."

  She nodded. "This is starting to look more and more like a conspiracy."

  "Stretching over thirty years? It hardly seems possible."

  "It's possible if somebody is working to a time frame of their own choosing," she asserted. "Although it's hard to believe nobody but Junot saw the baby after it was stillborn. What about Princess Aimee herself?"

  The doctor folded his arms over his chest in a lecturing pose. "These days when a baby dies at or soon after birth, it's common to let the mother hold her child and even take photographs to help her through the grieving process, but such things weren't routine thirty years ago. Along with the handpicked staff at the royal retreat, I attended a memorial service, but the child's body had already been taken away for cremation. Princess Aimee was in such a state that her parents decided it would be easier on her if the birth was hushed up and her collapse blamed solely on the shock of being attacked by Keer."

  He fixed Garth with a gimlet glare. "Were your parents—I mean the ones who raised you—members of Carramer First?"

  "No." Serena answered for him.

  "Naturally you checked." Garth's tone was scathing.

  "It's my job."

  The doctor stifled a yawn. "Do you think you two can continue this discussion without me?"

  She jumped to her feet, feeling guilty for not considering the aftereffects of his ordeal. "Of course. If there's anything you need…"

  "Only a good night's rest. Helen and I didn't get much sleep at our island retreat."

  Garth stepped behind her. "Would you like something to help you rest?"

  "If I need chemical help, I'm licensed to prescribe it for myself, thank you. Just direct me to the bedroom."

  Garth did so, returning moments later to report that the doctor and his wife were comfortably settled. "I wonder if he speaks so abruptly to Prince Lorne."

  "He does," she said. She had begun throwing out the boxes and gathering up glasses and cups. Now she paused with her hands full. "When you've delivered as many royal babies as he's done, including Prince Lorne himself, it probably seems foolish to stand on ceremony."

  "Pity he didn't deliver Louis. We might have a few more answers."

  She disposed of the remaining pizza and stacked the glasses on the bar. The rest of the cleanup could wait. "Disappointed?"

  "What do you think?"

  She touched his arm. "I think you're more disturbed by this situation than you're letting on. There's no shame in admitting it."

  "If there's anything to
admit, you'll be the first person I'll share it with," he stated.

  She masked her disappointment. Still the one-man show. Which reminded her. "Speaking of sharing things, when did you and Brett decide to run your own production tonight without telling me?"

  He blew out a breath. "It worked didn't it?"

  She ignored this, her anger rising. "You took a hell of a risk. Before you involved Brett, did you tell him who you could be?"

  "He's my oldest friend. I'm not about to say, 'Hey buddy, better start bowing to me, because I could be your sovereign ruler.'"

  "Even if it turns out that you are?"

  His eyes glowed. "What the blazes does it matter?" He stilled suddenly. "That's what this is about, isn't it? You didn't care about me as an ordinary man. Now that there's a chance I could be king of Carramer, you've changed your tune."

  "You're crazy. I didn't care about your background when we were at school, and it matters even less to me now."

  "Are you sure, Serena? When we were kids, you only kissed me on a bet. Apart from your condolences after my folks died, I never heard from you again until you found out I might have royal blood."

  "You didn't hear from me because I didn't think you wanted to."

  He didn't believe her, she saw. "If my bloodline is so unimportant, how come you bring it up at every opportunity?"

  "If you are the true monarch, it's my job to protect you."

  "Ah, yes, my ever-vigilant protector. Refresh my memory. Who saved whose butt tonight?"

  She was so angry she had to clench her fists to keep from lashing out at him. "You saved mine. There, I admit it. You saved my life and I'm grateful. In some cultures you would own me, body and soul."

  She realized she had said too much when she saw a dangerous glint come into his gaze. He moved closer, sliding both hands over her shoulders to pull her closer. "Now, there's an interesting thought."

  In his grasp she felt boneless. She told herself it was reaction to the night's adventures, but knew it had much more to do with finding herself in Garth's embrace. He was wrong. She didn't want him because he might be royal. She wanted him because he was Garth. And never more than right at this moment.