by Rebecca York
“Yes.”
He beckoned toward the officer who had searched Shane. “Did you find any identification on this man?”
“No, sir.”
Ariana struggled to keep her tone even. “He lost his wallet and his cell phone, in the church. We had to change our clothes…”
“Oh yeah?”
She could imagine what the detective was thinking. Unfortunately, she could also imagine newspaper headlines. Beau Pays Princess Accused of Robbing Church, Breaking and Entering in Boston Blackout.”
Using her best princess voice, she said, “We were dressed for a fancy reception when we escaped from the gunman. We couldn’t run around the city looking like that. So we put on clothing from the church collection. We’ll be glad to replace the items and make a sizable donation to the church.”
She glanced at Shane for confirmation.
“Yeah, we’ll make a donation,” he said, but he sounded as if he wasn’t betting that they’d get the chance.
Just then one of the uniformed officers came back into the room. “The garden’s full of shell casings. And the barbecue is shot up.”
“And the corner of the house,” Shane added.
“And a sliding glass door in back is bashed in,” the officer continued.
“We broke in to get away from the gunman,” Ariana said quickly.
The detective sighed. “We’d better sort this out at the station house.”
One of the men grabbed Shane’s arm, and she saw his body go rigid and his expression darken. For a terrible moment she thought he was going to wrench himself away and start running. Then, to her vast relief, he got control of himself. He gave her a long penetrating look, then mouthed the words “Call Ty,” before allowing the policeman to lead him to the door.
Call Ty, she repeated. Ty. And then she remembered. His friend, the Secret Service agent.
“Can I make a phone call?” she asked.
“To whom?”
“To Secret Service Agent Ty Jones. He was with the vice president at the Hancock Tower. I saw him speaking to Shane Peters at the reception, so I know he can identify him.”
When Tyndall hesitated, Ariana finally reached the end of her patience. “I’d appreciate your letting me locate him,” she said in a tone that elevated her several steps above the men around her.
“How are you going to get him?”
“Put me through to the Secret Service.” She held her breath, waiting to see if Tyndall would give her that much consideration. After what felt like centuries, he pulled a cell phone from his pocket. But instead of handing it to her, he began punching in numbers. Then, giving her a narrow-eyed look, he moved away where she couldn’t hear what he was saying.
Her breath grew shallow as she watched his tense body language.
When he came back, his expression was grim. “Agent Jones has his hands full at the moment. He may or may not be able to come down to the station house.”
Screams of frustration clogged her throat, held back by years of self-control training. Instead, she gave Tyndall a direct look and said, “Agent Jones is a friend of Mr. Peters. He’ll come as soon as he can.”
“Believe me, I’d like to clear this up,” Tyndall said, his voice almost kind.
Was he finally feeling sorry for her? Had someone on the phone told him what they’d been through up on the sixtieth floor of the Hancock Tower?
She might have asked, but she was starting to think that the less she gave away, the better.
So she silently followed Tyndall outside and toward one of the patrol cars.
When she didn’t see Shane inside, panic clawed at her. Then she spotted him in the car behind hers.
She had spent countless hours of her life driving in motorcades through her country and in foreign locations during state visits.
Tonight’s trip through the darkened streets felt like the longest journey of her life. They drove in a tight convoy of four police cars. As she looked out the window, she saw a scene out of a nightmare.
Some vehicles had crashed into each other and into lampposts. Down the block, people were running through the streets, piles of groceries and other goods in their arms. And in the distance, a fire lit up the sky.
The city was out of control and on the edge of panic, and these men were doing the best they could to keep the situation from deteriorating further.
“I guess you’re having a difficult time tonight,” she said in a quiet voice.
Detective Tyndall grunted. “Yeah. Seems like half the city is out looting and shooting. The other half is hunkered down, thinking this is a terrorist attack.”
“Did they give you any information about the hostage situation at the Hancock Tower?”
“Some,” he answered laconically, and she knew that he wasn’t going to give her anything she could use.
They reached a solidly built stone structure where emergency lights illuminated the barred windows and grimy walls. The lights also gave her a clear view of Shane and the two officers who helped him from the back of the police cruiser. She knew they were going to arrest him, and she knew that stain would always be on his record, even if it was ultimately proven that he had done nothing wrong.
This misadventure could be a personal disaster for him and a professional disaster for his security business. And all because he’d been trying to protect her.
She wanted to shout out that this was her fault. But she knew it would ultimately make things worse. So she stood there watching two officers march Shane up a short flight of stone steps.
One of them reached for the knob, then froze as a screeching sound split the air. She turned to see a black car shoot out of the darkness and pull up in front of the police station.
A man jumped out and charged up the steps.
“Agent Jones. Secret Service,” he shouted, holding out a leather case with his badge.
Everybody stopped in their tracks.
“I have identification for this man, Shane Peters,” he added as he pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket. “This is a photocopy of Peters’s driver’s license. I also have a letter from the president of the United States personally commending Mr. Peters for his heroism tonight. The president wants him released from custody immediately.”
“Talk about going to the top,” Tyndall muttered.
Ty turned to him. “Are you in charge?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Ty hurried toward him and handed over the papers.
Tyndall looked at them, then turned to the officers who held Shane.
“Take the cuffs off him,” he said.
“Thank you,” Ariana whispered. She wanted to run to Shane and throw her arms around his neck, but she understood that she couldn’t behave that way in public.
Instead she turned to Ty Jones. “Thank you,” she said again.
“I’m glad I could get here in time.” He pulled more papers from his briefcase. “And this is identification for Princess Ariana of Beau Pays.”
She blinked. She’d forgotten that her own identity could also be in question. But Ty Jones had remembered, and he had cleared that up, too.
After turning over the papers, he walked to Shane, and the two of them shook hands stiffly, then began talking in low voices. That was more than Ariana could take. She’d been through hell with these two men, and she wanted to know what Ty had found out. Leaving Tyndall’s side, she walked up the steps.
“Tell me what happened,” she said.
Ty turned to her. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Thanks to Shane.”
“We need to get you out of the city.”
“After they make a statement,” Tyndall broke in. “We have to make a report on the break-in and the shooting.”
Ariana wanted to object. They’d been through so much, and she didn’t want to waste any more time with the police.
But Shane gave her a firm look. “We’d better make an official report so the correct version gets on the record.”
> She considered the advice and realized he was right. So she nodded, and they both followed Tyndall inside.
“I’ll expedite this,” he said after he’d led them down a short hallway. “We have the guy’s weapon. We can match it to the bullets all over the house and at the church.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“I’d like you to each write up a separate report,” he said.
Her stomach clenched. She’d thought she and Shane could confer. But apparently the detective wanted to make sure their stories matched.
Shane caught her expression. “Just write what happened. You’ll be fine,” he said.
“Okay.”
They were in the police station for over an hour. Finally, Tyndall told them they were free to go.
Although Ariana could barely stand to be in the station house another minute, she forced herself to take a few more minutes. Turning to Tyndall, she said, “Thank you so much. We’d be in a lot of trouble if you hadn’t come along. My father will want to thank you for your service to me. I’m sure he’ll want to call you.”
“Maybe he can speak to me in person,” the detective answered.
“What?”
“He’s on his way to Boston.”
“No!”
“You don’t want to see him?”
Recovering her equanimity, she said, “I came to Boston because he was ill. He shouldn’t be traveling.” She stopped and swallowed. “When is he expected to arrive?”
The detective looked at his watch. “Four and a half hours.”
She breathed out a small sigh. The timetable gave her some wiggle room. But maybe she didn’t have as much time as she needed.
Her heart had started to pound, and she felt as nervous as when they’d been hiding in the church. Her father had never been a patient man, and she knew he worried about her too much since the death of her brother and then her mother. She hated to think what he would do when she had to speak to him.
As if he were reading her mind, Tyndall said, “I may be able to patch you in to his plane.”
“Does he know I’m all right?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“In that case, I don’t have to speak to him immediately,” she said, then asked in a quiet but firm voice, “Where am I supposed to meet him?”
“At Otis Air Force Base.”
“Merci.” She gave the man a quick smile which she thought probably looked forced. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to be able to give the Beau Pays sapphire back to him.”
The detective looked flustered, since that detail had apparently slipped his mind. “The sapphire. Yeah. I forgot about that. Give me a minute.”
He rushed off and spoke to the uniformed officer who had put the jewel into an evidence bag.
Moments later he was back and handing her the national treasure.
“Thank you so much,” she said, then turned to Shane. “Can you keep this safe for me?”
“Certainly,” he answered without missing a beat. As he put the jewel back into his pocket, he asked, “Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” she managed to say, even when she knew that the next few hours were going to be as difficult as the last few.
When they reached Ty’s vehicle, he got into the driver’s seat.
After a moment’s hesitation, Shane climbed into the backseat with her. She needed to feel connected with him, wanted to reach for his hand, but she couldn’t do that in front of Ty. Instead, she clasped her hands in her lap before asking the Secret Service agent, “Do you know which one of the brothers went after us?”
“We believe it’s Colin.”
“And what about Vice President Davis?”
Ty’s face darkened. “He’s still missing.”
“You searched the building?”
“Yes. He wasn’t there.”
“Did you find out if that blood in the stairwell was from him?”
“We had to fly it to a lab outside the city. We’re waiting for the results.”
She studied his worried face. “I’m sorry you can’t get any information.”
“I was supposed to keep him safe,” Ty bit out.
“You didn’t have control over what happened tonight,” she said softly. “Liam Shea and his sons went to a lot of trouble to set up tonight’s scenario. They had everything planned down to the last detail.”
“And you two screwed up his plans, big time. I’m relieved you’re safe. I was worried when I found out you didn’t get on the chopper.”
“Sorry. That was my fault,” she and Shane said at the same time.
“We can assign blame later,” the agent said. “Mean-while, I have a piece of good news for you,” he said, turning to Ariana.
He had said good news, but she couldn’t stop her stomach from tightening.
“Your bodyguard, Manfred Werner, is going to make it.”
She stared at him in shock. “I—I thought he was dead.”
“So did the Sheas. They left him on the floor, and he had sense enough to play dead. He was wearing a Kevlar vest, and that saved his life.”
“Thank God,” she breathed.
Shane covered her hand with his. Not caring if Ty was watching, she turned her hand up and knitted her fingers with Shane’s. When he tightened his grip on her, she returned the pressure.
“I was horrified when I thought he’d been killed,” she murmured. “Thank you so much for telling me.”
“Well, he has a leg wound, and his chest is badly bruised from the rounds he took.”
“Yes.”
They were all silent for several moments. Then Shane asked, “What about the power plant? Is the utility company making any progress on repairing it?”
“They’re working on it. But it’s going to be off-line for a couple of days.”
Shane looked out the window, toward the darkened city, then toward the police station. “I feel sorry for the Boston cops.”
“The crime wave will subside when the sun comes up,” Ty said.
“And start up again tomorrow night,” Shane said.
Before Ty could answer, a long black limousine pulled into the street in front of the police station, and a uniformed driver got out. “I’m supposed to pick up Princess Ariana of Beau Pays,” he said in a loud voice, addressing nobody in particular.
“Let me make sure he’s legit,” Ty said, then climbed out of their car and walked toward the man. “Secret ServiceAgentTy Jones. I’d like to see your identification.”
“Of course,” the driver said, reaching into his pocket and bringing out a driver’s license along with a folded sheet of paper.
Ty pulled out a flashlight and carefully examined the man’s credentials.
Ariana waited with her stomach tied in knots.
Beside her, Shane let go of her hand and shifted in his seat.
She went rigid as she anticipated his next words.
Clearing his throat, he said, “I guess this is where we say goodbye.”
Chapter Seventeen
“No!” Ariana gasped.
In response to her outburst, Shane gave her a piercing look.
She swallowed hard and struggled for calm. She’d been dreading this moment since they’d left the summerhouse. They’d been pretty busy since then, and she hadn’t been able to settle on a strategy. Now she hoped that appealing to Shane’s protective instincts might be the best way to go.
Making her voice just a little trembly, she said, “I’d feel safer if you stayed with me until I have to leave the city.”
As he considered her request, she held her breath.
“Let’s hope your safety’s no longer an issue,” he said stiffly, and she knew he was seeing her as Princess Ariana again.
Her heart was blocking her windpipe, but she managed to say, “Please…don’t leave yet.”
He shifted in his seat. “Won’t that just make things worse?”
“I hope not.”
“All right, then.”
S
he let out the breath she’d been holding. “Merci.”
They both climbed out of Ty’s car and into the waiting limousine. Once the driver had started the engine, she pressed the control that closed the opaque window between the passenger compartment and the front seat.
Shane was sitting rigidly beside her. “What’s that for?”
“I need to talk to you.”
When she reached out and touched his shoulder, he jumped.
“Not a good idea to get too close,” he said, his voice gritty.
“I think you’re wrong,” she answered.
“About what? There’s no future for us,” he said, making the words very clear and distinct.
“I see you can’t speak frankly.”
“I’m trying my damnedest to do just that. If you can’t face reality, somebody has to.”
She had never allowed herself a personal relationship with a man who wasn’t part of her family. Not until she had met Shane Peters. She’d gotten to know him, to admire him. When they’d made love, it had been the most emotionally fulfilling experience of her life.
As they sat in the backseat of the limousine, she realized that they had slipped into stereotyped roles—the unreachable princess and the commoner. And she was the only one who could bridge the gap that had sprung up between them.
“We need to bring this back to a personal level,” she said softly.
“Don’t!”
“If I make a fool of myself, at least I’ll never have to see you again. But I want you to know that I’m having trouble imagining a future without you. I think you Americans have an expression—the bottom line.” She swallowed. “The bottom line for me is that I want you to come back to Beau Pays with me.”
She saw intense emotions chase themselves across his features, but his words were sharp. “You’re engaged to another man,” he said, punching out the words.
“I was engaged, yes. But I can’t marry Jean Claude. I’d be living a lie. If I made love with him, I’d be thinking about you.”
“I don’t want to hear you say that.”
“But it’s the truth. I’ve gotten closer to you tonight than I ever got to him. I kept him at arm’s length, and he allowed that. I realize now that he was flattered by the idea of marrying me, even though he didn’t have any strong feelings for me. But you do.”