Royal Lockdown

by Rebecca York

  “I don’t want it to be over,” she whispered.

  “Neither do I,” he answered, admitting that much as he shifted her hand so that he could press a kiss into her palm.

  He felt sudden tension shoot through her.

  “What?” He sat up, his gaze riveting to the door, as he prepared to face an enemy charging toward them. But no one had discovered their hiding place. They were still alone.

  “We could run away,” she said in a shaky voice.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  She made a small sound. “Only partly.”

  He understood completely. He had always enjoyed women, but he’d never met one he could have imagined spending the rest of his life with. Now he was holding her in his arms, and she was forbidden to him. This interlude never should have happened. Really, his only choice was to deliver Ariana safely back to the people who must be frantically looking for her.

  “I want to stay here a little while longer,” she murmured.

  He moved his arm so that he could look at his watch. It was close to three in the morning, and he knew he shouldn’t give in to temptation, but he was helpless to deny her. To deny himself.

  “Yes, we’ve got a little while,” he agreed, feeling the precious seconds with her slipping by, each one like a hammer strike against his heart.

  AN AIDE CAME STRIDING BACK to Agent Harold Wolf’s makeshift command post, his expression resigned.

  “Now what?” Harold snapped.

  “We have a communication from the State Department. King Frederick of Beau Pays is on his way over here to personally supervise the search for his daughter.”

  This time Wolf’s curse could be heard halfway across Copley Square. “We can’t have foreign operatives running around Boston when the situation is already explosive. Tell him to stay home, and we’ll inform him as soon as we find his daughter.”

  “It’s too late. He’s already taken off.”

  “How long do we have?”

  “Seven hours.”

  Wolf cursed again. He was short staffed. He needed every man here, combing the building, looking for the vice president. But he wasn’t going to be responsible for an international incident.

  “Okay. Give the police a direct order to go to that street address where she was last seen,” he muttered, knowing that they might or might not respond.

  SHANE LAY ON HIS BACK, his fingers knitted with Ariana’s.

  “Tell me about your life,” she said.

  His whole life. How long did he have? Ten minutes? He thought for a moment, wondering which details to pick, and knowing he couldn’t tell her everything, even if he wanted to. His missions for Eclipse were a secret. Nobody knew the identity of the men of Eclipse. Even Dana Whitley, who worked in the Pentagon by day and relayed assignments to the team by night, didn’t know their names. If he were getting married, would he tell his future wife?

  He stopped that thought in its tracks. It was completely out of place here tonight. He wasn’t going to marry Ariana. He was going to take her back where she belonged. Then he was going on with his life, even if he was having trouble imagining the future without her.

  “I live in an underground house,” he said.

  “You’re kidding. A cave?”

  “No. I had it built into a hillside, so you can’t see it until you’re almost on top of it.”

  “Don’t you feel like a bear in a burrow when you’re in there?”

  “No. It’s a lot nicer than an animal den.”

  “I didn’t mean to insult you,” she said quickly.

  “That’s okay. It does have light. From sun tunnels. They’re like skylights with special tubing that let in natural light and magnify it. Aboveground they look like ventilator shafts.”

  “Is your furniture modern?”

  “My electronics lab is state of the art. In the living area, the sofas and chairs are contemporary because those are the most comfortable. But they’re mixed in with a lot of antique cabinet pieces.”

  She gave him a considering look. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d like antiques.”

  “This guy is too gauche?”

  She blushed. “I might have thought that at first. Now I picture you in a no-nonsense, modern setting.”

  “I like feeling connected to the past. I like sitting at a desk and imagining a French merchant sitting at the same desk three hundred years ago and writing out his receipts. Only he used a quill pen, and I have a computer.”

  “Then you’d fit right into my world. We’re tied to the past by our traditions, but we take advantage of modern technology and we’re always looking toward the future.”

  They stared at each other. They were skirting dangerous territory. His fitting into her world was impossible, and they both knew it. Before he could point that out, she asked another question.

  “What do you do for fun?”

  “I like classic movies. And classic cars. I have six in my garage. I’ve got a 1956 Thunderbird. A 1930’s Rolls-Royce. A 1949 Ford. I play chess with people around the world. We each have a board set up and e-mail our opponent our moves.”

  “My father does that! Maybe you can play him sometime.”

  “Maybe,” he answered, doubting it, so he went on. “I have a fully equipped gym. And I spend a lot of time working out.”

  She ran her fingers lightly along his arm, stopping to squeeze his biceps. “I can tell.”

  “And I like tinkering in my lab. Inventing equipment I can use in my work or modifying gear that’s already on the market.”

  Her voice turned husky. “Tell me about your bedroom. I want to picture you there.”

  Lord, he wanted her there. In his bed. But he kept his voice even as he said, “It’s modern, actually. And very spare. I have a slab of walnut for a headboard. A king-sized bed. Low square bedside tables. And drapes on the wall across from the bed, so it looks like there’s a floor-to-ceiling window. But the drapes hide the flat TV screen that hangs on the wall. And I have nice warm Berber carpet on the floor, with Turkish area rugs on top.”

  “No other furniture?”

  “It’s in the dressing area.”

  “And you have a luxury bath.”

  “Yeah. With a steam shower.” He shifted so that he could play with a strand of her blond hair. “Enough about my environment. What about your bedroom?”

  “It’s Danish modern. No nonsense.”

  “What a letdown. I’d already put you in a fairy-tale setting with lots of gold and lots of carved pieces.”

  “Too extravagant,” she said immediately. “I hate the idea of being a stereotypical princess.”

  “Never! What do you do for fun?”

  “I don’t have much time for it.”

  The way she said it made his heart contract.

  She went on quickly. “There’s so much to do, especially since my mother died two years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I keep busy. Committees. Charities. I lend my name to a lot of good causes because I know it will help raise money. But I don’t just sit back and let other people do all the work. When I left home, I was in the middle of planning a job-training program for women that included day care for their children.”

  “All that’s good. But you need time for yourself. Otherwise, you’ll burn out.”

  “I’m starting to realize that,” she said in a small voice. “If you were going to be my social director, where would you take me?”

  “White-water rafting,” he said.

  “That sounds like fun.”

  “And on a Mediterranean cruise in a small yacht. We’d stop at hidden coves where we could swim with nobody bothering us.”

  She laughed. “We’d have to wear bathing suits in front of the crew.”

  “Then let’s make it a sailboat we can handle by ourselves. Do you know how to sail?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll teach you,” he said. But when he heard a siren in the distance, he realized he was letting h
imself get too much into the fantasy of continuing their relationship. “That could be the police looking for you.”

  “Yes.”

  “We have to take you back.”

  “I don’t want to go back.” She twined her arms around his neck and pulled him close, then brought her mouth to his for a hard, desperate kiss.

  She put her emotions into the kiss. Emotions that matched his. It was so tempting to let her take him under, but he allowed himself to enjoy the contact for only a few seconds. Then he forced himself to raise his head. “If you keep that up, we’ll end up making love again.”

  “That’s what I was hoping.”

  “We can’t,” he said, forcing himself to be the sensible one when he badly wanted to give in to temptation.

  “I know,” she whispered, then rolled away from him. “I was hoping you’d let me have my illusions for a few more minutes.”

  “They weren’t illusions.”

  “Then what?”

  “A precious time together.”

  “Very precious,” she agreed.

  The quaver in her voice tore at him. But he knew he would only make it harder for the two of them if he didn’t do the right thing now.

  Maybe her thoughts were running along similar lines, because she dipped her head and climbed off the chaise. Turning her back, she began collecting the clothing she’d scattered around, and he thought she was probably feeling shy about her nudity.

  He allowed her as much privacy as he could while he tugged on his own clothing, then gave up the struggle to keep his gaze off her. As he watched, she crossed to a mirror hanging on the wall and started to pull the remaining pins from her hair. He followed her. Even when he knew he shouldn’t touch her, he moved in close, helping her remove pins she couldn’t see, then combing his fingers through the silky strands so that her beautiful hair hung around her shoulders and down her back in a golden cascade.

  She tipped her head to the side, giving herself a critical inspection. “I look like a mess.”

  “You look beautiful,” he answered, lifting her hair so that he could bend and kiss her neck.

  When he looked up, she was staring at him in the mirror, and he saw the moisture glistening in her eyes.

  He ached to turn her and hold her close. He ached to say that he was never going to let her go. But the forbidden words stayed locked in his heart.

  She was the one who broke the contact. She blinked, then hurried back to the chaise, where she fumbled on the floor and found the tennis shoes they’d taken from the church.

  Quickly she shoved her feet into the shoes, then looked up, her face set in stark lines.

  “Let’s go,” she said in a gritty voice.

  He longed to take her in his arms and kiss her one last time. But he could see she was deliberately distancing herself from him. And he knew that distance was their only real choice.

  He had to return her to the real world. But as he thought about the chaos in the city, he looked around, hoping to find something he could use as a weapon if he needed it.

  He saw that the mirror hung over a waist-high counter. Farther along he saw a small kitchen area with an under-counter refrigerator, a sink and several drawers and cabinets. He crossed to the kitchen and started opening drawers till he found a couple of kitchen knives. He took the larger one and shoved it into his belt.

  Ariana eyed the weapon. “I hope you’re not going to need that.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.” He laughed. “I wish I had a gun I wasn’t going to need.”

  They had been safe in here for a few hours. But he took nothing for granted as they prepared to leave the refuge. He made her wait at the entrance to the summerhouse while he studied the silent garden. Then he led her across the open space around the pool. When she arrived at the gate, she started to reach for the knob.

  But he pulled her hand back. “Wait. Let me go first.”

  She looked as if she wanted to protest, but she finally stepped back.

  He opened the door and peered out into the darkness. The area was clear, but he was still being cautious. He stepped onto the pavement, then scanned the street, startled that the outside world looked much as it had when they’d left a few hours ago. He felt as if he’d lived a lifetime in the summerhouse with Ariana. It wasn’t enough, but it would have to do.

  “All clear,” he called softly.

  She came up behind him, just as a bullet plowed into the stone wall inches from his head.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Shane ducked back inside the garden, slamming the door in the wall behind him, then clicked the lock closed.

  “What happened?” she gasped. “I thought we were safe.”

  “So did I. But somebody’s shooting at us. Again.”

  In the moonlight, her face had turned pale. He gave her arm a quick squeeze, wishing he could do something more reassuring. Instead, he turned, looking at the garden with new eyes. When they’d first come in here, it had seemed like a refuge. Now it felt more like a death trap.

  “Come on,” he whispered.

  He ushered Ariana into the shadows along the wall, then around an elaborate outdoor barbecue grill built into a tiled work surface.

  He didn’t have to tell her to crouch behind the barrier. He’d found them cover, but he was still cursing as he drew the knife he’d taken from the small kitchen. Lucky he’d thought of it. And lucky these people had built a fortress of an outdoor cooking center.

  He hefted the weapon in his hand, judging the weight and balance. It would be very satisfactory in a close-quarters knife fight, but not so great when the other guy had a gun.

  He and Ariana were sprawled on an uneven surface. Reaching down, he found that the area behind the grill was lined with river rocks.

  They’d make good missiles. Too bad he didn’t have the makings of a slingshot.

  “Who’s out there?” Ariana whispered.

  “It could be the punks who attacked us. Or it could be Shea.”

  “Him? But how would he find us?”

  “I’d like to know.”

  When he heard a noise, he looked cautiously around the edge of the grill area. As he’d expected, he saw the door in the wall open and the figure of a man step into the garden.

  In the darkness, Shane couldn’t get a good look at the guy’s face, but the man was dressed in coveralls like the ones the gunman had been wearing in Copley Square. He held his gun out in two hands, like a character in a TV cop series.

  “Looks like Shea,” Shane whispered as he picked up two of the rocks in his free hand.

  Their hiding place was only thirty feet from the door in the wall, and he wished to hell there was more distance between Ariana and the gunman.

  Was there any way to get around him and out to the street? Not unless they lured him farther into the garden. And even then, there wasn’t much maneuvering room since the swimming pool took up a good part of the open area.

  He brought his ear close to Ariana’s. “I’m going to throw the rocks to our left. When I do, run to the right and make for the house. Put the corner of the building between you and the shooter. Then get inside.”

  “How?”

  “You’ll probably have to break a window, and he’ll hear it. But get in, then get out the front door. When you’re outside, go down the street. Get away from here.”

  She picked up two of the rocks. “Where will you be?”

  “Right behind you.” I hope, he silently added. “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now.” He hurled one stone and then the other, sending them flying against the wall. As he’d hoped, a barrage of bullets began pounding the wall. Maybe the guy would use up his ammunition and have to reload. Could Shane jump him then?

  Ariana took off, running toward the bulky cover of the house, and he prayed that the ruse would last long enough for them to get into the house.

  When the shooting continued, Shane hustled after Ariana, expecting to hear the sound of breaking glas
s. But all he detected was a series of thumps.

  He reached the shadow of the structure just as the man with the gun figured out that the rocks weren’t his quarry. The assailant whirled in the other direction and directed his fire toward the building.

  Shane felt a bullet whiz past his shoulder. Then another one so close it nearly parted the hair on the top of his head.

  Much too close for comfort.

  He sped up and careened around the corner just in time to see Ariana smash the rock against the sliding glass door. The stone just bounced back.

  She turned to him, her face filled with terror. “I hit it as hard as I can, but it won’t break.”

  Looking along the back wall of the house, he cursed under his breath. The house had obviously been modified in the past few years, and there were no windows at ground level along the back, just sliding glass doors.

  “Safety glass. It’s hard to break.” Grabbing the rock from her, he smashed it against the door surface with all his strength. His success rate was no better than hers. As he braced for the gunman to come roaring around the corner, he searched for something heavier to use as a battering ram.

  An expensive cement planter full of geraniums sat beside the door, and he picked it up, grunting as he heaved it against the glass. This time the door cracked. Then, with the characteristic of safety glass, small pieces began falling out of the pane and tinkling to the ground.

  Desperate to get Ariana inside, he rammed his shoulder against the vertical surface, bits of glass sticking in his shirt as he enlarged the opening. Around him, he could hear the chips of glass falling and bouncing like large pieces of hail.

  “Come on, come on,” he muttered. As he pulled on the glass, making a hole large enough to climb through, he kept expecting the guy with the gun to come charging around the corner. Apparently he thought he had them trapped, and he was being cautious.

  It seemed as if centuries were passing, but Shane knew they’d only been standing there for a few seconds.