Royal Lockdown

by Rebecca York

  Of course, the guy around the corner could be some random Boston citizen who’d taken advantage of the blackout to come down here and look around for stuff to steal, but Shane didn’t think so. Not when there were far more valuable treasures upstairs in the main sanctuary.

  Unbidden, an unsettling thought leaped into his mind. When they’d been trying to escape from the gunman outside, FBI Agent Ben Parker had been drawn to the gunfire. And he’d given what sounded like a plausible reason for sending them into the church rather than back to the Hancock Tower, which had been swarming with cops and Secret Service agents.

  In retrospect, that seemed like a bad decision.

  Had the FBI agent innocently directed them into a trap? Or had he known exactly what he was doing?

  What if the agent was one of the key players in the evening’s plans? Maybe Liam Shea had paid him to help set up the hostage situation then pretend to guard the perimeter of Copley Square. What if Parker was really keeping people in the square rather than keeping people out?

  As Shane sent his mind scrambling back over the evening, he couldn’t remember seeing Parker during the crisis.

  He hated to think the worst of the FBI agent. And he didn’t know why the man would have been working with Liam Shea, since he didn’t have any part in the original drama. But what if he’d needed money, and Shea had offered it to him?

  Shane clenched his teeth. He didn’t have time for a lot of speculation about Parker now. He’d better focus on the man coming down the hallway. At least it sounded as if there was only one other person out there. But what if Parker had come along to help take them down? What if he’d circled around the other way and now they were boxed in?

  A voice rang out in the cavern of the church basement. “I’ve got you trapped, Peters. So give up.”

  He didn’t bother to answer.

  After a few seconds, the voice called out again, “Come out of hiding and I’ll do you a favor.”

  Oh yeah?

  “I’ll shoot you first. Then you won’t have to watch King Frederick’s precious daughter die.”

  Beside him, Ariana suppressed a strangled sound.

  He slid his arm around her, holding her close, trying to reassure her.

  In the darkness, she brought her mouth close to his ear so she could speak without being heard. “That was pretty direct,” she whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  Still in a whisper, she continued, “He didn’t have to call out to warn you he’s coming. I think he wants to talk to you. Play with you for his own satisfaction. It sounds like you’re right about who’s behind the hostage situation.”

  He nodded against her lips.

  “That means you can keep him busy talking while I look for a back way out.”

  He wanted to tell her it was too dangerous. Instead he said, “If you find another way out of the building, take it.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath as she absorbed the implication of what he was saying. “I’ll come back for you.”

  “Get out while the getting’s good,” he ordered. “And don’t come back.”

  Chapter Eleven

  To Shane’s relief, Ariana didn’t stay around to argue. Instead she slipped into the darkness, and he was left to face the man who had already tried to kill them once.

  “Who are you?” he called out.

  Their nemesis answered with a harsh laugh. “Oh come on. I believe you can figure it out. Unless you’re a lot stupider than I thought.”

  “I know you’re one of the Sheas. But not Liam. And I know you let the president go but you still have Vice President Davis. So I’ve got to assume Liam is with him.”

  “Right. The vice president is the big prize!”

  The man hadn’t exactly answered the question, but the exchange gave Shane important information. Shea was just around the corner in the hallway. And he was sure Shane Peters didn’t have a weapon, otherwise, he’d be making himself too much of a target.

  To reinforce that conclusion, the man chuckled again. Apparently he figured he was in the catbird seat, and he was enjoying this game very much.

  “Help me out here,” Shane said, working to keep his voice conversational when he felt as if his throat was about to close. “I can understand that your old man is bitter. I can understand why he’d be crazy enough to take a roomful of high-profile hostages and start killing them. But you have your whole life ahead of you. Why are you throwing your future away?”

  “I’m not!” The denial was followed by a string of curses that Shane hoped Ariana couldn’t hear.

  As he listened to the outburst, Shane decided she was right about this guy. He could have cut the conversation off by leaping around the corner with his gun blaring. Apparently he was as interested in talk as action.

  That made him vulnerable. More importantly, the longer Shane kept the dialogue going, the more time Ariana had to get away. “Explain it to me, then,” he said, as if he had all the time in the world to chat.

  ARIANA RAN DOWN THE HALLWAY, working her way quietly toward the side of the church away from the Hancock Tower. Or at least she thought that was where she was going. In the darkness of the basement, she could be completely turned around.

  But she did know one thing. Shane was doing his best to keep the man with the gun busy. And she would do her best to find a way out of here.

  What if there wasn’t an exit up this way? Then the guy with the gun had them trapped. Or worse, what if the man rushed Shane and started shooting? She didn’t want to think about such an attack or what else might happen in this tomb-like basement. To Shane or to herself.

  She’d told herself that she and Shane Peters didn’t belong together. But that didn’t stop her from caring about what happened to him.

  When he’d dropped the sapphire, her fury at his duplicity had blazed up. Fury at him and fury at herself for letting him make a fool of her.

  Maybe she should hold on to that anger and redirect it toward the gunman. Maybe that was the way to stay strong. She didn’t know. Her emotions were too raw, so she tried to focus on the job she’d set herself as she moved as far away from the men as she could. But their voices still drifted toward her, and she found herself listening intently as she crept through the basement corridors.

  It was obvious that the man out there hated Shane. She hoped Shane could use that knowledge to his advantage.

  “I DIDN’T COME HERE TO TALK about myself,” the man stalking them said. “I came to talk about you. I thought you were reasonably intelligent. What are you doing down here in this basement where you’re trapped like a rat in a sewer?”

  Shane didn’t answer immediately. He knew there were at least two ways out of here—both on the wrong side of the gunman. Maybe Ariana would find another one that they could use.

  “Well?” his tormentor demanded.

  What answer would work best? What would keep this guy talking long enough for Ariana to get away?

  Shane wound the shoe polish-smeared T-shirt around the can of pork and beans he’d picked up. And tied it to keep the can inside.

  At the same time, he was mindful that he had to keep the conversation going, so he called out, “I’m down here because it seemed like the best way to keep Princess Ariana LeBron safe.”

  The man snorted. “Keep her safe. Oh sure. You brought her down here so you could be alone with her. I heard what you were doing. Taking advantage of her.”

  Shane felt his blood pressure shoot up. But he knew the taunt was designed to make him lose his cool and do something stupid—like maybe rush out into the open where the guy could shoot at him. Calmly he kept working on his weapon.

  The man around the corner in the hallway raised his voice. Or maybe he’d used their conversation as a cover to get closer. “You couldn’t even take care of your little brother. Why do you think you can take care of the princess?”

  “Leave my brother out of this!” Shane growled.

  “He was just a kid. You left him in foster care and w
ent off to college.”

  Shane felt his stomach muscles clench. He was on the edge of losing his cool, but he knew that was what this guy wanted.

  So he stuck with his original plan—keeping this guy engaged so Ariana could get away.

  But he couldn’t stop himself from thinking back over the choices he’d made in his life. His decision to get an education still haunted him. But he’d known that without a college degree, he was going to end up like his old man—with no skills and no way to get a good job. So he’d taken the full scholarship that MIT had offered him and gone off to school.

  “I was just a kid, too,” he shouted, hating the defensive sound of his answer.

  “You were old enough to know what you were doing. Like your low-life father.”

  The jab hit home, and Shane could feel his blood boiling. But he knew that losing his temper would be fatal. So he ordered himself to answer in an even voice. “I’m not my father.”

  “We all carry around the baggage our parents laid on us.”

  “You’re speaking from personal experience?” Shane asked, regaining his calm. “You had some problems with your own father? Like when he went to prison and left your poor old mother to support her three sons.”

  The man didn’t answer in words, but Shane heard him make an angry sound before starting to hurl insults again. “My father didn’t have a choice. Your father slunk away into the night and left your mother flat. That was his decision. Nobody snatched him away from you.”

  Shane bit back a retort because anything insulting he said was going to inflame Liam Shea’s son. Instead he started working on his second smoke bomb.

  “Then your mom had to go out and take any menial job she could find,” Shea called out.

  “My mother did honorable work. What did you do—make a life study of my family?”

  Shea snorted. “Of course. It’s always best to know the enemy. I know about you and Chase and—” He stopped short.

  “And who else?”

  “We’re talking about you. You grew up dirt poor. Is that why you have such a fancy house now? Is it why you only take on rich clients who can pay through the nose?”

  “I do pro bono work,” Shane answered, wishing he didn’t feel the need to justify himself to this guy. Or was it Liam Shea’s son he cared about?

  He knew Ariana had to be listening because he could hear his voice echoing through the church basement. Maybe his answers were as much for her as they were for the man who taunted him.

  As if Shea was picking up on his thoughts, he asked, “How do you like the princess hearing all this dirt about your family?”

  “Keep her out of this!”

  “Why? I came down here to kill her.”

  “Then you’re wasting your time.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  ARIANA CLENCHED HER HANDS into fists. The conversation had circled back to her again. To her death.

  Determined to spoil the gunman’s plans, she kept running. When she came to a place where another hallway branched off, she paused, then took a corridor lined with glass panels. To her relief, it led to a stairway. At the top was another hallway. This one led to what looked like office space. Beyond that was an exterior door. Hallelujah.

  But when she got a little closer, she saw a sign that said Alarm Will Sound If Door Is Opened.

  She wanted to scream in frustration. She had intended to open the door and prop it open with something heavy.

  Change of plans. She couldn’t take a chance that the alarm would sound—even with the power off.

  Time to start back and tell Shane she’d found an exit.

  Or she could still leave. Shane had told her to do that. And if she escaped from the church, she might find help outside. Maybe she’d even find that FBI agent again and tell him that Shane was in trouble.

  Stopping in the darkness, she debated her best course of action. She could go for help, but by the time she brought anyone back, it might be too late. And she wasn’t sure she trusted the agent who had sent her and Shane in here. He’d said they’d be safe in the church, but the man chasing them had found them.

  IN THE DARKNESS SHANE GOT ready to make his move. The voice taunting him drew closer. Come on, you bastard. Get yourself into a better position. Just a little closer, he silently urged.

  “What did I do to you?” he shouted.

  “You know damn well what you did. Eleven years ago. And tonight. You stole that sapphire tonight, didn’t you?”

  “What’s the sapphire to you?”

  “I want it!”

  “Well, I don’t have it.”

  “You’re a lying bastard. Do you like adding lying to your list of sins? Your dad went to jail for theft, didn’t he? Was that your biggest aspiration—to end up like him?”

  “Shut up,” Shane snarled. He didn’t have to listen to this. He could—

  He could what?

  He knew this guy was trying to push him into making a mistake. But he was too smart for that. He hoped.

  “You think you’ve got tonight figured out,” Shea shouted into the darkness. “You came up with the brilliant idea to steal the sapphire. But how do you think you found out that tempting green jewel was going to be at the reception, Mr. Genius Security Expert?”

  “I…” Shane stopped. He’d gotten an e-mail that supposedly came from Ty. His friend had told him that the sapphire was going to be at the party. At the time, he hadn’t questioned where the message had come from.

  “That e-mail wasn’t from your good friend Ty Jones. It was from us. We told you,” the gunman bragged. “To make sure you showed up.”

  “Nice of you,” Shane muttered. So he’d been suckered. But that didn’t change anything now, he thought as he fumbled with the other item he’d found tucked into a shirt pocket in the charity collection. A box of matches.

  Under the circumstances, they were priceless.

  He pulled one out, holding it against the striking strip on the side of the box.

  Almost time to spring his surprise.

  Just before he could light the match, a flash of movement to his right made him whip his head around, prepared to fling the can without lighting the match.

  When he saw it was Ariana coming toward him along the hallway, he clenched his teeth.

  He’d told her to get out of here. And now she was back.

  But why was he surprised? He already knew she was too stubborn to follow orders.

  “I told you to leave.”

  “Not without you,” she answered, speaking in a barely audible voice. “I found an exit. But we can’t open it until we’re both there. It says an alarm will sound.”

  “Go on. Get moving. Go back there and open the door.”

  “It will make noise.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “I’m not going without you,” she said again, and he detected that royal petulance in her voice. Too bad she’d been raised to expect lesser mortals to obey her.

  He heaved in a breath and let it out. “You have to give me a little lead time. Go on. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “Are you lying?”

  “No,” he answered, hoping that was the truth. He’d try to get to the door, but he didn’t know if he could make it.

  “Okay,” she told him. Then just as she moved again, a bullet slammed against one of the walls of the hallway, making a resounding racket, and he knew he was out of time. The guy was moving in for the kill.

  “Go,” he ordered.

  Apparently the bullet convinced Ariana it was time to split. She darted back the way she’d come, and he took several steps back along the corridor, pulling open one of the doors and using it as a shield while he scraped the match against the striker.

  It was old and brittle and broke in his hand. Cursing, he had to start again, fumbling for another match out of the box.

  This time he held it farther down the wooden shaft and worked more carefully, risking burning his fingers. To his relief, the head sputtered
and ignited, and he quickly moved his fingers away from the flame.

  He held the match to the T-shirt and the soft fabric flared up. Then the shoe polish on the cloth caught fire.

  Black smoke suddenly billowed up from his makeshift smoke bomb, and he started to cough.

  Another bullet hit nearby. Shane turned to face the end of the hallway, then threw the weighted T-shirt. It flew through the air and hit the stone floor.

  “What the hell?” a man’s voice rang out. The question was followed by coughing.

  Good. Unfortunately, Shane was coughing, too.

  He’d known the fumes from the burning shoe polish would be bad, but he hadn’t known they would get to him so quickly.

  Running feet pounded toward him along the hallway. They were followed by a loud clattering sound as the assailant rammed into the poles that Shane had stretched across the hallway between two chairs, and went sprawling on the hallway floor.

  The clatter of the wood hitting the stone surface was accompanied by gritty curses.

  “Now, now,” Shane called as he sprinted down the hallway. “You don’t want to defile a house of worship.”

  His only answer was more curses as the guy picked himself up. Maybe he’d sprained his knee or something.

  At any rate, the poles had slowed Shea down. He was moving more slowly through the smoke, looking for more booby traps.

  Shane took the opportunity to ready the second smoke bomb, but his hand wasn’t quite steady as he lit another match and held it to the second T-shirt. Farther back in the hallway, he could hear the man’s lungs continuing to protest, just as a loud ringing noise split the air.

  The fire alarm. Thank God. He didn’t want to damage one of Boston’s landmarks. He only wanted to get away with his life.

  When he found out how much the repairs cost, he’d send the church a check.

  The sound of the other man’s coughing receded, and Shane knew the smoke bomb had had the desired effect. Rather than shooting, Shea was thinking about how to save his own ass.