The Makeover Mission

by Mary Buckham

  Yeah, like that's why he wanted to slide into that water beside her.

  "Lucius?" she said while he dithered. The first time she'd ever called him by his first name.

  He was a goner.

  "I'll grab a suit." He rose from his seat, ruefully shaking his head. Ten minutes. He'd give himself ten minutes to swim a few brisk laps, and be done.

  Easy.

  Until he heard her laugh. He'd crossed to the far side of the pool, closest to the men's changing room when her laughter stopped him.

  She'd silently glided to the edge of the pool across from him and was waiting there. For him. A big grin across her expressive face. Her eyes glowing, even from this distance.

  "I'll race you to the other side if you ever get in here," she teased. She was flirting with him. Actually flirting.

  "You think you can win against me?" he asked, more to hear her response than anything else.

  "You betcha, big guy."

  "Wanna bet on that?"

  Her grin deepened and his heart flip-flopped.

  "I will if you will."

  He was beyond being a goner if a simple smile could make him feel as though a sledgehammer had just broadsided him.

  "It's a bet." He turned to take another step when the room erupted before him.

  Then all went black.

  "Ekaterina, if you say he's going to be fine one more time, I'm going to scream."

  "Yes, mademoiselle," came the soft reply, one that made Jane feel as if she was plucking wings off a butterfly.

  It wasn't the maid's fault that Jane was trapped in this bedroom that had felt more like a cage for the past three hours. That news was impossible to get. Or that, except for knowing Lucius was alive, though hurt, there'd been a wall of silence ever since the king's brother, Eustace, had pulled her screaming off Lucius's still body. The one she'd dragged bleeding from the pool.

  "I'm sorry, Ekaterina." Jane crossed to the far window. "I'm not doing real well with hearing nothing."

  "What is it you need to hear?"

  She whirled to see Lucius standing at the open doorway between the two rooms, the king's brother at his side.

  "You're—"

  "I'm not dead. No."

  He sounded so cold. So remote. And he looked like hell. A raw gash across his forehead. Bruises darkening his jaw. A sling cradling his left arm.

  But he was alive. And there. Less than ten feet away. A few steps and she could touch him, make sure with her own hands that he still breathed. But not with Eustace Tarkioff looking on. And Ekaterina.

  "No one would tell me anything." She kept her tone as composed and calm as his. "I didn't know how bad…"

  "A few cracked ribs. Sprained wrist." He raised his left arm slightly and couldn't hide the wince. Or else she was beginning to see below the stoic exterior too well. "Nothing that won't heal within a few days."

  "You could have been killed."

  "Only a slight possibility." It was the king's brother who answered. "The explosive device was a small one. A direct hit might have done serious damage, but, as you can see, the major is fine."

  "Fine? You call almost getting killed fine?"

  "Enough." Lucius's voice cut her to the quick. It wasn't a request but an order. "His highness is correct. If the bomb was intended to kill someone, it would have."

  And that was supposed to make her feel better?

  "But I thought you said Elena—" Too late, Jane caught herself and glanced at Ekaterina before correcting her words. "I thought you said very few used the pool. If someone had wanted to harm … me, why plant a bomb there?"

  Lucius's expression tightened. The king's brother's paled as he answered. "Perhaps someone who did not know your habits. Sloppy work by sloppy people."

  There was something more going on here. Jane wasn't an idiot, as much as these two were treating her like one, but there was something else happening here besides a near-miss experience for Lucius. And herself too, for that matter.

  But obviously she was going to be kept in the dark.

  Fine. Lucius had told her to trust no one the first day they'd arrived in Vendari. She'd been forgetting that little point. Lucius was alive. Hurt, yes, but everything about his manner told her she was way out of line for being so concerned.

  They were back to square one with Jane as a pawn. Whatever she thought might be happening between her and Lucius was obviously not going to happen. They were not friends. They were nothing but strangers caught up in a deadly game.

  Now all she had to do was keep reminding herself of that fact and she just might get out of this crazy place alive. Not unscathed. It was already too late for that. Or it wouldn't hurt so much that not once since he'd entered the room had Lucius looked at her. Really looked at her. No quick smile or nod of assurance. Nothing.

  She'd been a fool to think things were changing between them. But that was over. Even librarians knew to be wary once burned.

  Jane found the next several days passed swiftly. Though there was a new group to meet and greet every time she turned around, there was also a certain pattern to the hours, and to her time spent with Lucius McConneghy.

  They'd moved to the palace the day after the incident, as it was being called. Living in the palace was actually very much like living in the villa, only on a larger scale. More soldiers at every corner, bigger rooms, longer hallways. Early mornings she'd meet Lucius to share a short and constrained breakfast. He'd brief her on the upcoming functions, his tone as dry and impersonal as if he were her lifelong social secretary. Then the limo would arrive to whisk them somewhere where the inevitable speeches took place, with her offering a few words and the pressing of flesh.

  She was actually becoming quite good at it. Though McConneghy gave her no more words of encouragement. In fact he barely talked to her at all except to brief her on who'd they'd be meeting, what she was expected to do and the need for her to eat more. As if she could with her stomach churning constantly.

  The evenings also fell into a general pattern. Her schedule was still being kept light, so they'd return to the palace by late afternoon or early evening. She'd change into another of Elena's form-hugging dresses and join McConneghy in the formal dining room.

  Thus far, the king had only made cursory appearances, for which she was thankful. It was hard enough keeping her composure under McConneghy's cool, gray-eyed stare; no telling what she'd do with the frowning inspection of Tarkioff.

  Conversation over the evening meals was as sparse as that between them the rest of the day. No more periodic smiles or small talk to put her at ease. If anything, McConneghy pulled further behind his enigmatic mask of control and composure, leaving her feeling both alone and lonely.

  The old Jane, as she was beginning to think of her librarian self, would have accepted the silence; after all most meals through her childhood consisted of a similar routine. But now she wanted something more.

  But, and against her better judgment, she found she wanted to know more about the major, about where he came from, what he did outside of this particular mission, how he felt about any number of things. But if she thought No Trespassing signs were erected before, the electric fence around any questions was even worse now.

  She wanted to point out she wasn't a master spy or someone who was going to use any golden gleams of information to harm him. But it was obvious the man had spent most of his adult life being reticent.

  That shouldn't be her concern, she reminded herself after a particularly grueling day. Another silent and strained dinner awaited her and, if she missed that short time period when the major seemed to grow closer to her, maybe it was better to be safe than it was to be sorry.

  Stuffing away regrets that would only mean pain in the long run, she paused outside the dining-room doorway, pulled up the front of her dress a bit, brushed back her hair and took a deep breath. She stepped forward and stopped in her tracks.

  "Your Majesty." She glanced around for McConneghy.

  "Major McConneg
hy is detained this evening." Viktor Tarkioff's smile slashed against the darkness of his skin, his eyes looking small and squinty in the light of the candle glow. "I thought it was appropriate that I keep you company in his place."

  He moved toward her, extending his arm for her to lay her hand across. It was silly that she hesitated. After all what could this man possibly do to her?

  "Thank you." She let him lead her to a seat near his at the far end of the table. "I know how busy you are."

  "Not too busy for a beautiful woman."

  She told herself this might be the best time in the world to find out if she could convince the king to let her return home. He leaned forward to help her scoot her chair forward and she took a deep breath.

  "I have not seen much of you and the major these last days." He spoke before she had a chance. Once in his own seat he reached for a glass of amber-colored wine. "I fear he has dominated all of your time in my country. People will begin to talk soon, of the interest my political advisor has taken in my fiancée."

  Jane felt goose bumps along her arms. Surely the man was joking. Or did he expect her to step into this charade with no one to help her, no one to protect her? That was the only thing McConneghy was doing. His job and nothing more.

  "I'm sure you're mistaken, Your Highness. Major McConneghy has been nothing but the soul of discretion."

  "Indeed." The king's tone said one thing, his expression another. "But I do not wish to spend my meal discussing the major. Tell me how you've found Vendari?"

  With a whisper of relief, Jane launched herself into a glowing report, most of it sincere. Vendari was a beautiful country, with breathtaking scenery and hardworking, charming people. But she also was unable to ignore the grinding poverty, lack of sanitation facilities, the primitive conditions she saw even as the limo drove through parts of the capital city. She held no doubts there was much more she was not allowed to see.

  But the king did not appear to be the type of man who wanted to hear about those impressions.

  "I'm glad you're finding your stay enjoyable," he said, as the main meal was set before them. "I have worked hard to make my country the power that it should be, but it has not been easy."

  Vendari a powerful country? Jane choked on the bite of rice pilaf she had just swallowed. It was a little like calling a kitten a lion in disguise. Obviously the country possessed some type of strategic value or McConneghy would not be going to such lengths to ensure its continued peaceful existence. But a powerful country?

  "I understand that Vendari is very important to my country." At the risk of antagonizing her host she decided to probe. "But I'm not sure exactly what it is Major McConneghy offers your country in return."

  "So the good major has chosen not to boast. I will explain then. The major is a conduit between his country and mine."

  "A conduit?" She'd thought he was a political advisor. "A conduit for what?"

  "Your country is a big country. So very big. But it is not always the big countries that are the most important."

  "Like Vendari?" It was a stab in the dark.

  "My dear, the world is a very complex place." He was obviously ignoring her question. "Your American way is sometimes so simple. You see something you want, you go in and take it."

  "That sounds like colonialism."

  "It is one of the prerogatives of power."

  It sounded as though he approved. But what did this have to do with Vendari and the United States? Or with the major?

  The king continued, swirling the wine in his glass. "There are times when big countries find it more expedient to avail themselves of the strategic importance of smaller countries."

  "Like Vendari?" she repeated.

  "Vendari is very strategic in this region. We are small, but small does not always mean powerless. Though only a fool gives away the horse and the grain."

  Okay, now he'd lost her completely. Fortunately he seemed in love with his own voice and continued.

  "Vendari has needs. Your country has needs. Your major is the conduit between the two."

  "So in order to get what the United States needs in this area, the major helps you get what you need?"

  "Exactly."

  "And what does Vendari need?"

  "Many things. We have a very long history. Unfortunately it contains a lot of instability. Not all see the wisdom of a strong ruling house. And when some are unhappy, it is all too easy for those with souls of vipers to align themselves with like-minded individuals in a country."

  "Like Pavlov Rostov?"

  "So the major has briefed you on certain aspects of the situation."

  "Mission," she said automatically, then wanted to groan aloud.

  "There are those who wish to sit where I sit. I must ever be vigilant of those who seek to usurp my power. The major's job is to keep me pleased. If I am pleased, I might be able to help his country more when they need our strategic location. It is really very simple you see."

  "Yes, I see." She didn't, not really. But maybe that was because she didn't really care about Tarkioff and his power base, not when her thoughts dwelled on Lucius McConneghy. How could someone choose a life so much in the shadows? How could he walk the fine line between his country's needs and another's? It was a position fraught with land mines. One wrong step, and there would be no winners, only casualties.

  "I am surprised your Major McConneghy did not explain his position more clearly."

  He'd have to talk to her to do that, she thought peevishly, but there was more to it than that and she knew it. McConneghy didn't trust her. Ever since the explosion in the pool room he'd made it perfectly clear that they both might be involved in the same strategic mission, but he was on one side of the fence, and she on the other. And it hurt. More than it should.

  "The major is a man of few words." Maybe she was getting the hang of this say-nothing-when-you-talk, political way of communicating.

  "One must always be wary around a man with his own agenda."

  "Wary sounds a bit extreme. I would think that one must trust to a certain extent their—" What did he call Lucius? "their advisor." She noted the king's frown and quickly added, "Though I realize a man like yourself needs to be an astute judge of character and trust would not come easily."

  He preened under her words.

  "And as such a judge you would know whom to trust and whom not to," she added.

  "True. Very true." The words slurred slightly. The king was getting downright foxed.

  "And I would also think you would not allow a man you were wary about to become too close to you—or those you care for."

  He eyed her silently before remarking, "Are you saying that since I use the major to keep certain areas of my life under control, that thus I should trust him?"

  She wondered if the real Elena knew she was described as "certain areas." "You don't trust him?"

  "My dear Miss Richards." The king obviously forgot how dangerous it was to speak her real name where anyone could overhear, or he was too tipsy to care. "A man in my position trusts no one. No one at all. Is that clear?"

  "Yes. Perfectly clear."

  "In fact," he leaned closer until the scent of his wine breath wafted over her. "I have grave concerns about your major."

  This surprised her. "What kind of concerns?"

  "You know you are very much alone in my country."

  The shift of conversation had her blinking. That and the look in the king's eye. Not that he shouldn't be looking at her, after all she was the spitting image of his wife-to-be, but still, it was unnerving.

  "We were talking about the major."

  "Ah, yes." He glanced at his empty wineglass and shrugged. "You, too, should be worried about the major."

  "Why?"

  "You are a pawn. One in a very vulnerable position."

  "I know that someone has attempted to take your fiancée's life before and tried again the other day."

  He waved his hand as if to dismiss such a casual concern. "There is m
ore than that."

  It was her turn to lean forward, aware of how empty the room was, of how, except for the king's rather labored breathing, it was cloaked in silence.

  "What is it you feel I should know?" She hoped she was ready for the answer.

  "You walk two very different tightropes."

  "Two?"

  "Ah, yes." He waved his hand as if encompassing more in the empty room. "The major says he wants to protect you, no?"

  "He has mentioned it." There was something here, beneath the words spoken, a tension creeping into the room, into her very bones.

  "Did he also mention that you are being used to lure in those who attempted to harm my Elena?"

  The words took several seconds to register and when they did Jane felt cold, icy cold. "You mean I'm being used as bait to attract the individuals who have already tried once to kill Elena."

  "Of course, my dear Miss Richards."

  "I had not thought about that." It made sense of course. Perfect sense. Too bad that didn't help the large lump in her throat.

  "You see, Miss Richards. A very vulnerable position. It is why the major watches you so closely."

  Of course he did, she realized. She was his cheese. A very compliant, gullible, willing hunk of cheese and she had believed him when he told her he would protect her.

  "You mentioned two tightropes. What is the other one?"

  "Ah, think Miss Richards." His hand layered over hers. "Do you not realize that if the major thinks he controls your destiny—you also control his."

  "I don't understand."

  "To the world at large you and I are to be married, are we not?"

  Jane tried to sort out the nuances beneath the words she was hearing. "Yes, I guess you might say so."

  "And yet the major, he is with you every day."

  "Yes, he's with me."

  Protecting her, or at least that's what she thought he had been doing. Now she knew better.

  The king leaned back. "So it is obvious."

  As mud. "I'm sorry, but I'm still confused. I don't understand what the major escorting me, or your fiancée, has to do with my controlling his destiny."

  "It is still two weeks until my marriage, and here you are, a beautiful woman, alone and vulnerable in my country."