Royal Pursuit

by Susan Kearney

  Photographers had already gathered at the gates to await the diplomats’ arrivals. Flashbulbs popped when she greeted Alex, but she knew that the publicity would focus on the new Vashmiran queen, who had returned to the United States for the first time since her marriage.

  All eyes went to Nicholas and Ericka. Taylor took advantage of a moment of relative freedom to greet Alex. “Hi, gorgeous,” she whispered in his ear when she really wanted to hug him. But a quick protocol briefing from Ericka back at the hotel had informed Taylor that the royal family didn’t do much touching in public. A kiss, even one on the cheek, or hand-holding would be sure to end up in the tabloids. It would be hard enough to let go of Alex without being reminded of him every time she read a paper or tuned in to the news. Better to keep their relationship private.

  “You look ravishing,” Alex told her, then slipped his arm through hers.

  “Any last-minute complications?” she asked, knowing Hunter remained in close contact with the king and that Nicholas would brief his brother.

  Alex didn’t get a chance to answer her as Anton Belosova joined them. The former fisherman who had become a brilliant secretary of state seemed to carry a heavy burden. The man always looked disheveled—even in his freshly pressed suit. The loss of his wife and her betrayal had aged the man well beyond his fifty-five years. Deep circles lined his eyes and the scowl lines between his nose and mouth ran deep.

  “Good evening,” Anton told them. “We are having good weather for a party. Yes?”

  “Yes.” Alex and Anton made small talk while Taylor continued to monitor the arrivals.

  The king and queen welcomed their guests as car after car deposited people. While the English language predominated, she recognized French, Chinese, Arabic and a multitude of others she couldn’t identify.

  Taylor spotted the security chief wearing a suit and tie at the front gate, then saw him stride purposefully around the building. Meanwhile, the general held court with military men from several countries, and circulating servants attempted to usher the crowd into the building. With the night balmy, the breeze gentle and not a cloud in sight, Taylor wished she could have relaxed. Even more, she wished she could have followed the security chief on his errand, but she didn’t dare leave Alex’s side.

  Princess Tashya, wearing a gorgeous floral gown, arrived a bit late, her eyes dancing with good humor as she hung on to Hunter’s arm. Taylor had met the princess only once at dinner, but from their short conversation, she had no doubts they’d hit it off. However, it didn’t matter. After the ceremony, the royal family would return to Vashmira. She wouldn’t be going with them. Her job of protecting Alex, as well as their affair, would be over.

  She would heal, she told herself fiercely. She would be fine. She would move on with her life.

  Alex nudged her toward the embassy’s front doors. “Shall we go in?”

  “Let’s walk around,” she suggested.

  He raised one adorable, aristocratic eyebrow. “Want to get me alone?”

  “Something like that,” she muttered, wondering how one man who had such an insufferably large ego could be so damn appealing.

  Several other couples had the same idea, so any private conversation between them was curtailed. Taylor realized that a real group of gardeners must have trimmed the hedges, weeded the flower beds and mowed and edged the grass.

  She and Alex walked together and with every step the strains of music grew in volume. Men and women danced on the back deck, but her gaze didn’t linger on the happy couples.

  She frowned as she peered through a hedge and spotted something white propped against the air conditioner condenser unit. “That wasn’t here when I came by earlier.”

  “The air conditioner?”

  “A propane tank.” Taylor pried apart the hedge and peered at more gadgetry. She saw a blinking timer attached to the tank.

  Oh, God.

  She spoke to Hunter through her earpiece. “I’ve found a bomb. On the west wall. It’s set to go off in five minutes.”

  “HUNTER SAYS TO get you out of here.” Taylor grabbed Alex’s arm, her fingers biting through the sleeve and into his flesh with urgency. She wanted to take him to safety and her tension communicated itself through her fingers.

  Alex shook his head, his concern for his family and friends and guests skyrocketing above his own need for self-preservation. “We have to get everyone out of the embassy before it explodes. How far away will be safe?”

  Taylor pressed her hand to her ear as she hurried him toward the dancing couples. “Hunter’s people have found two more bombs.” She scowled, clearly not pleased by the information she’d received.

  “What?”

  “They’ve already disarmed two and the third will be dismantled within a minute.”

  Alert security guards hurriedly escorted guests out of the embassy onto the back decks where the main festivities were being held. Oddly, no one appeared alarmed or panicked. In fact, people were drinking and laughing and talking as if unaware of the danger. The band kept playing and couples continued to dance. Clearly the security teams believed the danger was over, but had evacuated the building to be safe. Apparently, security had decided that informing the crowd and disrupting the party was unnecessary. So why didn’t Taylor let up on her fierce grip of his arm?

  Why was she urging him deeper into the crowd? Had she spotted a weapon? A stalker? And if so, why had she yet to alert Hunter?

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “It’s just a hunch, but finding and disarming those bombs was too easy.”

  “What?”

  “Those bombs may have just been a diversion. That’s why they could so easily be disarmed.”

  A diversion? That meant she believed something else was about to happen. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Taylor didn’t worry for no reason. He believed in her hunch, and yet he also understood her reluctance to say anything to Hunter without hard evidence of her suspicions.

  She shouldered through the dancing couples, heading straight toward Tashya, Ericka and Nicholas. Surrounded by Secret Service agents, who tried to appear inconspicuous and who weren’t succeeding, Nicholas shook hands with the Turkish ambassador.

  Alex let her drag him forward since this was a direction in which he wanted to go. “Where are you taking me?”

  “No one protects better than the Secret Service. Just don’t stand too close to Nicholas. He’s the most likely target.” She spoke into the microphone to Hunter, “Why haven’t you gotten the king the hell out of here?”

  Taylor listened intently to someone speaking through her earpiece, shook her head, then looked up at Alex, her eyes pooling with anxiety. “The king has refused to leave.”

  “This is his party.” Alex felt obligated to side with his brother, but that didn’t mean his stomach hadn’t knotted or that his hands hadn’t chilled. He’d caught Taylor’s anxiety and it rattled him.

  “Why doesn’t the king send his wife and sister to safety?” Taylor asked, winding through the crowd that stood more closely packed as they neared his family.

  “You don’t know Ericka. And Tashya is even more stubborn. Quite simply, they won’t leave unless Nicholas does.”

  “Your entire family’s impossible,” Taylor muttered under her breath as they finally approached Nicholas.

  Taylor’s eyes suddenly went wide. She’d been looking at Alex, then spun around, peered into the trees and spoke through the microphone hidden in her ear to Hunter.

  Alex leaned down to hear her say, “Oh, God. There’s a sniper on a neighboring rooftop. The cream-colored two-story building with the green-slate roof.”

  She flung herself at Alex, wrapping her hands around him to shield him.

  Unwilling to pry her arms from around his neck, he held her tight but turned them both so his back protected her. “Now what?”

  “I saw a red light, the kind from a scope, right on your forehead.”

  Taylor was trying to protect him with her body.
For a moment, pure rage that she would do such a thing rapiered through him, the emotion so primitive and savage that it rocked him back on his heels. A still rational part of his mind told him that it was her job to protect him. But this wasn’t about a job. This was about his feelings. He couldn’t lose her. Wouldn’t let her put herself at risk for him.

  Taylor tried to pull him over to the fence where they could take cover. Alex would have none of it. She’d told him herself that he probably wasn’t the target. His brother was.

  He yanked Taylor the other way, using his superior strength to tug her along. “Come on. We have to tell Nicholas.”

  “He already knows.” She tapped her ear, reminding him of the two-way communication device. Taylor tried to plant her feet and tug him back. “The Secret Service will protect the king. It’s my job to protect you and I cannot do that if you expose yourself as a target. Can’t you just for once—”

  He kept tugging as she continued to protest and they’d reached his brother. One moment Nicholas appeared normal, the next, he wore the red light of a target on his forehead.

  Alex didn’t stop to think. He released Taylor’s hand. Lunged between his brother and the sniper.

  Alex never heard a shot fired. But all of a sudden people were screaming. And his legs felt like putty.

  When he next opened his eyes, he realized he must have passed out. The crowds were back behind a cordon of police. He was lying on his back. Taylor was leaning over him, blood splattered on her pretty dress. Tears in her beautiful eyes streamed down her cheeks as she swore at him. Swore words he didn’t know she knew.

  At the blood on her dress, he winced and prayed the blood was his. “You okay?”

  She smoothed back his hair. “I’m fine. Don’t talk.”

  Cold chilled his flesh, his fingers and toes. So cold. “Nicholas?”

  His brother knelt beside him and took his hand. “I’m here.”

  “The sniper?”

  “Hunter’s men got him.”

  “Good.”

  “Quit talking,” Taylor ordered. “Save your strength. The paramedics are on the way.”

  She leaned over him, her eyes twin pools of fear. He tried to sit up to reassure her, but he was too weak. Tried to talk, but the words didn’t come out. He needed…rest.

  Blackness tunneled around his field of vision.

  He fought to stay awake. Pain radiated through his chest and along his nerves. He told himself he’d been shot—not burned. It did no good as shock caused him to tremble. His head fell back as he gritted his teeth against the ice stealing over his bones.

  Ice so cold, he flailed. Changed his field of vision. And spotted someone familiar in the crowd that stood silent and watching on the back lawn, a crowd being held back by a cordon of police officers.

  How long had he been out? Minutes?

  A man broke through to the front of the crowd. No one seemed to notice. Everyone was too busy staring at Alex, fascinated no doubt by his blood. Did they think it would come out blue?

  He tried to grin at his own joke and choked on the blood in his throat.

  Was Alex seeing things? Ira Hanuck appeared to be speaking to the crowd, but the roaring in Alex’s ears prevented him from hearing. Beside the security chief, Anton Belosova appeared oblivious to the third man. A uniformed man with a gun, who stepped to the forefront of the crowd. No one else seemed to notice.

  Alex tried to speak. Damned his weakness. His lips moved but no words came out. He had to… Had to…

  Using his last remaining strength, Alex slipped his hand up Taylor’s dress to her thigh, pulled out her weapon. Aimed. Fired.

  The general dropped like a sack of flour, his weapon falling from his outstretched arm. And then everything turned dark.

  TAYLOR HELD ALEX’S icy hand, unsure if he could hear her. “Hang on, Alex. Don’t you dare die on me. I’ve never lost a client and I don’t intend to lose one now. I’m not going to forgive you if you up and die on me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Please, Alex. Fight.”

  Paramedics gently shoved her aside. Someone threw a shawl over her shoulders. Barely realizing she was shivering, Taylor hugged it to her, her mind numb with fear. The bullet had lodged in Alex’s chest and he’d lost a tremendous amount of blood. Hunter had packed his tie into the wound and applied pressure, but his face had been grim.

  She hadn’t dared to ask if Alex would live. The dark, shuttered look in the eyes of the men around her said more than she wanted to know. It had seemed to take hours for the paramedics to arrive, and when she glanced at her watch, she couldn’t even hazard a guess at how much time had gone by.

  She’d driven herself to the hospital, where she’d sat through the night in the lounge. Alone. Apparently the royal family waited elsewhere. She held no grudge. No one knew of her relationship with Alex or how deeply she felt about him. Information on the prince’s condition hadn’t been given to anyone but family members until 6:00 a.m. in the morning, when the palace press secretary announced that Alex had survived surgery and remained in intensive care, his condition critical. Alex wasn’t expected to regain consciousness for hours, maybe not until tomorrow.

  Knowing she wouldn’t be allowed to see him, Taylor drove home in an exhausted daze. Automatically, she picked up the newspaper, unlocked her front door and collapsed on her sofa. The assassination attempt had made headlines, but she couldn’t bring herself to read about it or to look at the horrible photographs of Alex lying on the ground.

  She must have dozed. When she wakened, it was five o’clock in the evening and she flipped on the television news. Apparently General Vladimir had planned a military coup, but hadn’t dared to begin his revolution while the royal family lived. Mark Willard, the man hired by the general to garrote Alex, had recovered and, hoping for a lighter prison sentence, he’d cooperated with the authorities. He’d tried to delay the embassy opening by starting the fire. His testimony and recorded conversations with the general revealed that Vladimir had assassinated King Zared I—Alex, Nicholas and Tashya’s father. Then the military man had plotted to kill Nicholas and Ericka by encouraging his mistress to go after the new queen and king, and his aide to murder the princess.

  A clean death from Alex’s bullet had been too good for the general. Taylor viciously wished he’d had to go through the humiliation of a trial and been forced to spend his remaining years in a jail cell. History would label him a betrayer. A man reviled by his people. She hoped the traitor who had shot Alex would be buried in an unmarked grave and that his soul would be scorched in hell.

  Fury and bitterness burned through her. She clenched her fingers so hard that she had to wipe tears from her cheeks with the backs of her hands. A video clip of Alex riding a magnificent stallion appeared on the screen. The television anchor’s voice was solemn. “The prince has not regained consciousness. His condition is stable, but critical.”

  Stable but critical. What did that mean?

  She changed channels but the news was the same on each one. Nervous energy made it impossible for her to sit still. She paced, tripped over a robe that had fallen from the back of the couch where she’d left it days ago. She picked up the robe and hung it in her closet. She tossed laundry into a basket and washed a load of clothes. She tidied the kitchen, scrubbing the countertops with savage energy. Then she swept, vacuumed and mopped the floors. Still, unable to rest, she tackled her windows.

  Hours later, her hands wrinkled from scrubbing, her arms tired, she sat on the floor in front of her refrigerator, which she’d emptied and cleaned. She’d yet to put back the condiments when the news came on again.

  She couldn’t look at the clips of a healthy, handsome Alex again or it would disintegrate what was left of her already fragile heart. She held her breath as they recapped the news of the assassination attempt, waiting to hear about Alex’s condition. “In other news, Prince Alex has regained consciousness. Doctors now say they expect him to make a full recovery.”

  Sitting on the
kitchen floor between a bottle of pickles, ketchup, mustard and olives, Taylor burst into tears. He was going to live. He was going to make it. Relief so enormous that it stole away her strength seeped through her.

  Alex was alive!

  Chapter Fifteen

  Taylor called the hospital the day after she’d learned that Alex would survive. They refused to put her call through to him, since he remained in intensive care. A kindly nurse told her only family members could visit, but people were putting bouquets of flowers on the Vashmiran embassy sidewalk and holding a candlelight vigil, if she cared to join them.

  Numbly, Taylor hung up the phone. She wanted to be with him. She told herself Alex was drugged, hurting, not in his right mind. He couldn’t exactly ask for her to join him at his bedside if he was unconscious.

  She told herself to remain patient.

  Three days later, she returned to the hospital, determined to sneak into ICU if necessary. She learned that Alex had been flown by air ambulance to Vashmira to begin his recovery. He was no longer in the country.

  Although she knew that, in all likelihood, Alex hadn’t made the decision to go without even saying goodbye, his leaving hurt. Hurt like a sharp scalpel that flayed at her newly won confidence. She’d always known he would leave her—but she’d never thought it would slice so deep or that it would take so long for her to stop bleeding.

  The huge check she received from Vashmira and the thank-you note from King Nicholas almost seemed like a slap in the face. The only good thing to have come out of the entire incident was that the press had played up her role and her business had picked up—so much so that she’d hired a secretary and two full-time investigators to take on the cases she didn’t have time to handle.