Nothing.
I was beginning to feel like an idiot.
“Give me your keys,” Jack said.
I handed him my car keys, and he walked over and started to unlock the door.
“I told him you had a stalker ex,” Lynn said, her teeth chattering.
Jack glanced back at me. “Did you leave your car window down?”
“No,” I said, walking toward the car. Sure enough, the car window was down, about half way, as was the one on the passenger’s side. “What in the Hell?” I muttered as I checked out the car.
I didn’t see any physical damage.
Jack opened the door and sat on the seat. “Son of a bitch.”
I jumped. “What?”
“The seat’s frozen.” He climbed out of the car.
“What do you mean, it’s frozen?” Lynn asked.
“Like someone dumped water on the seats and let them freeze in the wind.” Jack hit the driver’s seat, and sure enough, the damn thing crackled like ice.
“Now that is probably the strangest thing I’ve ever seen,” Lynn said. “Why on earth would someone freeze your seats?”
I shook my head. “Because he could?” I really and truly hoped it was only water that was on the seats, and not something else.
“Well, when you call the police—”
“I’m not calling them,” I interrupted.
Lynn put her hand on my shoulder. “Honey, you need to call them. This is vandalism.”
“And what, they’ll tell me I have no proof that Jim did anything, so I’m outta luck.” I didn’t mean to sound so nasty, but it was true. What could the police do? Take a look. Make a report? A lot of good that will do me.
I glanced over at Jack, who was leaning over my car seats. “What are you doing?”
“Taking pictures,” he said. “For when you change your mind tomorrow.”
“I’m not changing my mind,” I replied.
He glared at me, a little wrinkle in his brow. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
“Oh, Sydney, I think you’d better listen. He can get ugly when that crinkle’s in his brow.”
I glared at Lynn and her commentary. “Thank you, but really, I think I can handle this.”
Jack grabbed my arm and drug me to the car. “Your seats are frozen. With what smells like urine. If you don’t do the right thing about it, then I will.”
I threw my arms up in the air. “Fine.”
Jack pulled out his phone. He must have had someone on speed dial, because in a second, he said that police were on their way.
I rubbed my head.
I really hated my ex-husband.
Even though Lynn and Jack were trying to be helpful, it pretty much was as I said it would be.
There was really nothing that could be done without evidence, and the bar didn’t have any video cameras that pointed in the direction of my car. So I was shit-outta-luck.
Once again, it was my word against his.
I told the police we’d had a messy divorce and that there was a restraining order against him. The officer was at least somewhat nice. He did empathize a bit—saying that there was a good chance it was my ex. They managed to pull a decent couple of prints off the car window, and they’d run them through the database, see if anything came back.
Though since Jim had no priors that I knew of, he wouldn’t be in the system. Unless he was fingerprinted when given the restraining order. Did they do that? I didn’t know.
It didn’t matter, I was too tired to care when I got home. Jack and Lynn were going to drive me, but I figured I would have to clean out the car eventually anyway, so I opted to take it home.
Jack had put a blanket down over my seat. It sorta sucked up all the ice mixture, and at least kept me dry. Unfortunately, though, I think Jack was right. I couldn’t smell it in the parking lot, but by the time I got home, the liquid was starting to melt, and yeah, it smelled like piss.
I wanted to kill him.
I wanted to strangle the police because there was nothing they could do.
And to make it even more interesting, I called my insurance agent Sunday to find out if vandalism was covered with my car, and sure enough it was—but after a thousand dollar deductible.
Friggin’ figures.
So I spent almost all my Sunday attempting to clean out the seats of my Nissan. After using two different carpet cleaners, I found that the best thing to get piss out of the seats was that Oxy stuff in the tub. Powder worked wonders. Heck, my seats looked almost new when I got done.
Too bad the car didn’t match.
By four o’clock on Sunday night, I was bushed. There was still a little bit of wine in the bottle I’d opened on Tuesday, so I poured myself a glass.
I was starting to relax on the couch when my cell phone rang—scaring the crap out of me.
I really needed to change that ring tone.
“Hello?”
“Sydney?”
I perked up. “Hadrian?”
“Hey, how are you doing?” he asked. His voice slid over me, and it started to relax me better than the wine.
“Well, I’m not in jail,” I muttered.
“Why would you be in jail?”
I shook my head. “My stupid ex.”
“What happened?”
“He broke into my car and pissed on the seats.”
“You have to be kidding me. Did you call the police? Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
“I’m fine.” I quickly recapped everything for him, and from the snorts and semi-growls he made as I told him, he wasn’t very happy.
“Does he always do this stuff?”
“He never liked getting a divorce, and the camera thing in Vegas really chapped his hide.”
“Do you need protection? I could send a bodyguard out.”
“I doubt you can send the royal guard to watch over me. I’m not anyone special.”
“You’re special to me.”
I smiled at that. “I appreciate the sentiment. There’s not much that can be done. He’s an obsessive bastard that’s going to keep pushing until either he gets what he wants. Or I push back hard enough.”
“I don’t like that.”
“I don’t like it either. But it is what it is.” I drank some of my wine. I needed to change the subject. Talking about what an ass the ex was made the tension go nuts in my shoulders again. “Have you thought of what you’re going to do with the dinner for one idea for the show?”
“I’ve had a couple of interesting ideas,” he said. “I play around in the kitchen here, running through stuff.”
“Good. How’s your cousin doing?” I felt like I was cutting his hair, running through all the questions I had in my arsenal for conversation while I worked. But the questions worked, it kept Hadrian talking, and I didn’t have to.
“He’s sitting up and talking today. Not a lot, but he’s conscious. He’s absolutely elated, though.”
“Why’s that?”
“His wife is pregnant.”
“Wow, that’s good, right?”
“It’s awesome. I’ve been worried about her all week and taking her on walks, getting her out of the bedroom where Michel is so she can get some air. Making sure she eats, that kind of thing.”
“Bet that’s been a challenge.”
“Yes, she’s called me every curse word in the world this week. And being cursed at in Italian is quite entertaining. But now that Michel’s doing better, she’s more comfortable with leaving the room. Especially since both Michel and myself keep on her about it.”
“Well, it’s not been on the news today that he’s woken up. All I’ve heard is that he’s in a coma.”
“What have you heard in the media about the attack?”
“Everything.” I let out a sigh. “I’ve heard that it was orchestrated by a faction against the mining on Koros. There’s talk that it was internal, and you’re the primary suspect, trying to get the throne and all that.”
Hadrian snorted.
I couldn’t blame him, I about spit out my coffee when I saw that one myself. “Also, there’s another story that it was a contract hit, that Dante had a gambling problem, yadda, yadda, yadda.”
“If it was a contract hit, it wouldn’t have been in public like that. Dante would have disappeared.”
“Well, you know how the media is. A whiff of something, and boom, they run on a tangent.”
“You have no idea. I think I’ve gotten my assistant pregnant four times now.”
“My God, I couldn’t stand her presence for the car ride to the airport. How do you put up with her?” I bit my lip as soon as the words came out. I probably shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t my place.
I’ll blame it on the wine and my lack of food today.
“I really don’t know anymore. She was a wonder when she started. Now she’s become very overbearing.”
I pulled my legs up on the couch, crossing them. “So fire her.”
“I’d like to, but she runs my life. I’d be lost without her.”
“That’s what they want you to think,” I told him. Flashes of my relationship with Jim came to mind. How he slowly manipulated me to feel like I was nothing without him. “They want you to feel like you can’t live without them, that you’re not worth anything without them controlling your every move. That you’re not capable of running your own life.”
“You speak from experience.”
“You know what I mean. I doubt that you’re really that irresponsible that you can’t keep that little Blackberry of yours filled with your schedule and keep up with it.”
“I know I’d be constantly fiddling with it. She’s always got hers out, emailing, making appointments, doing all kinds of stuff with it. It would be a lot of responsibility.”
“But it would be your responsibilities. You’d be the one who said, yes I want to do that cover for Kitchen Gourmet magazine, or no, I don’t want to be in People again.”
“True.”
I took another drink off my wine, suddenly feeling remorseful. I mean, here I was, telling him what to do, when he was trying to get away from anyone telling him what to do. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tell you what to do, Hadrian. I just—” I stopped myself, I didn’t want to qualify it. He didn’t need me justifying my thoughts.
“I know what you were doing.”
“Still, I feel bad for being bossy.”
“Don’t. You’re telling me what I needed to hear.”
“Well, let’s change the subject, shall we? I’m thinking about getting rid of the blue hair.”
Hadrian smirked. “Why is that?”
“Well, it’s really hard to keep up, and I’m bored with it now. I kinda want to darken it, maybe go back to my natural.”
“Which is?”
“Dark brown. Not quite as dark as yours.”
“That could be interesting.”
We chatted a bit longer about menial stuff. I found out there’s a seven-hour time difference from my house to his place, so I couldn’t call him at night unless it was really, really late. He teased me about it being in the fifties over there, and I told him he was an ass, since it was below zero here with the wind chill.
Mostly, though, we talked, like we did when we were in Vegas and no one was following us around. For those few minutes on the phone, I didn’t think about Jim, or any of the shit going on with either of us, even the fact that we’re separated by an ocean and another continent.
“I am really glad I interrupted your wish, Sydney.”
I smiled. “I’m glad you did too.”
He let out a yawn. “I need to go. It’s almost two in the morning. I’m sure there’s a full schedule of crap I have to do tomorrow.”
“Like what?”
“A press conference to talk about how Michel’s doing. I don’t know if I’ll be doing any speaking. I’m not planning on it, but I might be asked questions.”
“About what?”
“More than likely, if I’ll be staying in Koros or going back to do my show anytime soon.”
“And what are you doing?”
“That depends on the king.”
“Oh. Well, I’ll watch it if I can find it on the news.”
“Good, I hope that you can.”
We said our goodnights, and I hung up the phone, happy as a clam. At least it wasn’t totally a wham-bam for him.
I know that it wasn’t for me.
Chapter Fourteen
Hadrian took another drag off his cigarette. He wasn’t in a pleasant mood.
For the last few days, he’d been plagued by bad dreams about Sydney. He kept seeing her getting hurt or worse at the hand of her ex-husband.
Four times in as many days, he’d considered calling in a bodyguard for her, someone he could trust, to keep an eye on her. But then he had thoughts about her falling for the bodyguard, and forgetting about him, and that wasn’t good either.
And it didn’t help that something was bugging him considerably about the whole attack on his cousins. There was something, a nibble in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t remember what it was that nagged at him.
Whatever it was, he knew it was significant.
The clickity clack of heeled shoes hitting the cobblestones in the courtyard yanked his mind out of his morose thoughts.
He snubbed the cigarette out in time to see his mother, one Margaret Drake, rounding the corner of the walkway, heading right for him.
“Hadrian Drake,” she said, her usual cheery demeanor gone. She had that purse of her lips, the one that screamed he was in trouble about something. He felt like he was five again and got caught hammering nails in the trim.
“Mom.” He stepped up to the pathway and leaned down, kissing her on the cheek.
“Don’t get sweet with me, Hadrian, I want to have a word with you.” She waved that finger at him. Her eyes narrowed.
“Of course, Mother.”
She plopped herself down on the nearest bench. “You, young man, need to explain yourself.”
“About what?”
“You’ve been more moody in the last four days than you were at the funeral. I want to know what’s bothering you.”
He let out a sigh. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Don’t give me that, boy. I changed your diapers. I know.”
“It’s nothing of importance,” he said. And really, what could he say? That he was worried about Sydney, a woman he knew less than two weeks?
“Don’t make me pull your ear.” She crossed her hands over her chest. “You should be doing the samba. With Michel doing much better, and the announcement that Heather is pregnant, you should be elated. You can go back to Los Angeles and get back to your life. Which I’m surprised you haven’t left yet. What is the matter?”
“It’s a thousand things, Mom.” And it was. He was terribly torn. He wanted to go back to LA to work on his show, but he also was worried about Sydney and wanted to help her, to make sure she was okay.
And there was something about the attack too. His mind felt overwhelmed with thoughts.
“Is it Michel?”
“A little,” Hadrian replied. “There’s something fishy about the whole thing—like I’m missing the piece of the puzzle, but I can’t figure it out. It’s right there in front of me, dancing around, and I can’t grab it.”
She patted his knee. “You’ll figure it out. Do you know when you’re going home?”
He shook his head. “The king has asked me to stay for a while.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Surely he doesn’t think you’re responsible for the attack on Michel and Dante.”
“I did have the most to gain out of the whole mess.”
“Hadrian! How dare you talk like that. You might have gained the crown, but that doesn’t mean you’re the one who would do that. You’re not the type to do such a thing.”
“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult.”
�
��You’re not cold blooded enough,” Margaret said.
“No, he’s not.”
Hadrian and Margaret jumped. Alicia had come down the path, sneaking up on them.
“You’re right, Alicia, he’s not.”
“You two don’t have a clue what I’m capable of.” Images of Sydney’s ex-husband came to mind. He could kill him. Or at least maim the bastard.
“You couldn’t be calculating enough to create a coup like this,” Alicia said. “Passionate? Yes. If someone, were, say, attacking your mother, you’d probably kill them. But to set up and organize an attack on the princes? You don’t have the know-how.”
“How do you know?” he asked. Sydney’s words about how they keep you down and make you think you can’t do it came to mind.
“Because I run your life, Hadrian. Nothing happens in your world that I don’t allow.”
“You didn’t allow my trip to Vegas.”
“And look at what a fuss it was to get you here. If you would have stayed home for a few more days, we wouldn’t have had to deal with any of that mess.”
Margaret glanced at Hadrian. “What mess?”
“Sydney, the woman you talked to on the phone? Her ex was there, manhandling her when we were leaving the hotel, and me and the guards broke up the fight.”
“Not to mention created quite a commotion in the hotel lobby.”
“My goodness, is she okay?” his mom asked. “She seemed like such a nice girl.”
“She’s fine.”
“She’s a commoner who got in the way, taking up necessary travel time to get here, where you were needed,” Alicia snapped, glaring at Hadrian.
He waved her off. “It lasted seven minutes.”
“Between that and dropping her off in Kansas…”
“You stopped in Kansas, and you didn’t have me meet you there? I could have flown back with you,” his mom interjected.
“Everything was so fast, Mom, I didn’t think about it.” And he probably should have. Would have saved a plane trip. She was, what four hours, maybe five, from Wichita, where Sydney lived…
It gave Hadrian an idea. “Mom, you still got keys to my lake house?”
“Of course.”
“When you go back, I want you to send someone over to…well, whatever it is to make it livable.”
The Reluctant Prince Page 14