by Ann Jacobs
During his weekly meetings with his friends, Laura had fallen into the habit of spending those hours out at a movie or a play at the Abbey Theater. But on a Tuesday night in July, she returned to the flat early because of a migraine. She planned to take some pain medication and head straight for bed. When she entered the room, Cian Slughan, a wiry man with a punk blond haircut and a goatee was speaking in a thick Belfast accent, "Your lady can take care of the little bugger, can't she? What else does she have to do all day?"
Six pairs of eyes looked up at her as she closed the door. Declan gazed at her, a speculative expression on his handsome face. "Well, here she is now. Why don't we ask her?"
"Ask me what?" Laura said, her heart suddenly drumming. She didn't like the way 'the lads' were staring at her.
Declan gave her the lazy smile that always turned her heart over and quickened her breathing. "How do you feel about being a nanny for a few days, love?"
"Nanny for who?"
Although his face still wore a smile, his blue eyes had hardened, giving him the cunning expression of a fox. It sent an icicle chill down Laura's back.
He turned to his friends and laughed. "She wants to know who she's going to mind, lads. Shall we tell her?" After a few noncommittal shrugs, Declan looked back at Laura. "We're talking about royalty, love. No less than the off-spring of the Prince and Princess of Wales."
Chapter Four
"Declan, you can't do this! It's crazy!"
Declan threw the last of his whiskey down the back of his throat. "It's not at all. Our intelligence has it worked out down to the second. It will be easier than holding up a village bank. Don't you worry about that, love."
Laura whirled around, her head throbbing worse than ever. She strode to the window overlooking the quiet side street. "I'm not talking about how easy it will be. I'm sure you do have it all worked out. I'm talking about the whole idea. Declan, he's just a child! He's not a legitimate target."
"He's British," Declan said, his voice harsh. "And he's royalty. That makes him a legitimate target."
Laura bit her lip. Was there no reasoning with this man? It had been all she could do to keep her mouth shut while his friends were still here. But once they'd left, she'd lost no time in voicing her objections. It had had no impact upon Declan at all.
She stared at him-at this man who'd suddenly become a stranger. "What are you going to do to him?"
He looked at her and his eyes softened. "Why, we're just going to hold him here a few days. Until they release a list of prisoners in Long Kesh. Once they agree to our demands, we'll let the pampered little bugger go."
"And if they don't?" Laura asked, her heart beating unsteadily.
He turned away. "They will."
"But if they don't?"
He bent his head to light a cigarette. Laura reached out and grabbed his shoulder. "Answer me, damn it! What happens if they don't agree to your demands?"
Declan turned his head slowly and stared at her, his face rigid as if it were chiseled in stone. "If they don't," he said softly, "then we'll have no choice but to let them know how serious we are."
Moments ticked by as their eyes locked in silent understanding. Finally, Laura backed away, her heart racing. When she spoke, her voice was ragged with horror. "I can't let you do this, Declan. I'm sorry, but I just can't."
His brooding gaze held hers. His face was as unyielding as carved marble. "What are you going to do, Laura?" he asked softly.
She swallowed hard. "I don't know…but I have to do something…"
"You're not thinking about warning the Brits, are you? An anonymous phone call perhaps?"
Too late, Laura realized she shouldn't have said anything. Now, her silence was speaking for her. Declan took a long draw on his cigarette and exhaled, the smoke trailing from his nostrils in gray wisps. Moving almost casually, he stubbed the cigarette out in an ashtray and reached for the gun that fit snugly into his shoulder harness. Laura's heart skipped a beat as she watched him turn it over in his hands, examining it as if he'd never seen it before.
A cry of dismay escaped her lips. Declan looked up, his blue eyes inquisitive. Upon seeing the look of horror on her face, his expression softened. "Ah, darlin'…" He crossed the tiny room and enfolded her in his arms. His lips pressed against her head. "You know I could never hurt you."
She stood stiffly until the warmth of his hard body seeped into hers. Finally, she relaxed against him, knowing he was speaking the truth. He kissed her again, this time on her left temple. "But you know…" he whispered, the breath of his words fanning the side of her face. "…There's not a thing I could do to protect you if the other lads found out. Informers pay a harsh penalty here, love."
His hand moved on her back and she became aware of the icy steel of the gun he was still holding.
"A harsh penalty, indeed," he murmured. And once again, she felt his warm lips against her temple like a benediction. But the heat of his kiss wasn't enough to stop the knife-like chill that skittered down her back.
* * * * *
The night before the kidnapping, knowing it was their last one alone for some time, Declan made love to her with an intensity that surpassed all the times before. Three times through the night, they'd feasted on each other's bodies, and still, that hadn't been enough. Now, in the dim light of dawn, Laura's gaze swept over Declan's nude body, and she wanted him again.
Her fingers whispered down his stomach, skimming the thatch of dark hair above his groin. He sighed in his sleep, twitching slightly. She caught her breath, feeling herself growing wet. There wasn't much time left. And she wanted him once more. One last time before everything changed. He would be leaving soon.
Her hand brushed against his penis and went on to stroke his muscular thighs. He gave a soft moan. She kissed his chest, tonguing his nipples until they hardened, then reached down and enclosed his already rigid shaft in her hand, stroking him. His breathing changed. She continued to nuzzle her way down his chest, dipping her tongue into his navel for a taste. With her back to him, she straddled his waist and bent down to take his thrusting cock into her mouth.
He groaned. "Jesus, Laura…you're driving me daft, woman…"
Suddenly he took over, withdrawing his engorged penis from her mouth, and rolling her onto her back in one smooth motion. He slid down her body, and his tongue dove into her moist core, greedily taking what she was giving so freely. The orgasm flooded through her in rolling, ocean-like waves, and even as she exploded, he continued to nuzzle her as if he couldn't get enough of her essence. But Laura was impatient. She wanted him inside her. He understood her silent request. His entry was full and forceful. He plunged deeply, the tip of his cock just grazing her G-spot. She shuddered and shivered with each powerful stroke, taking all of his length, her legs wrapped around his lean waist. Pleasure merged into exquisitely sweet pain, and too soon, it was over.
Sweat-soaked and exhausted, they lay in each other's arms, not speaking. Declan stroked her damp hair, his lips cemented to her moist forehead. She gasped against the hollow of his throat, her palm pressed against the hammering of his heart.
It would never be like this again.
Something deep and dark inside her told her that their time together was fleeting. There would be no going back after the mission of the day was completed. And intuition told her that only trouble would come of this insane plan. Trouble, and very possibly something worse. Perhaps even death.
The alarm clock buzzed, and Laura knew their time was up.
* * * * *
The stomp of feet on the stairs warned Laura that the dreaded moment had arrived. In the hours after Declan had left the night before, her hands had reached out for the phone numerous times, only to draw back trembling. At the last meeting held in their flat, she'd seen the hostile glares of the others and known that Declan had told them of her threat to go to the police. Cian Slughan, the blond man with the goatee, was, apparently, the leader of the Dublin-based IRA cell, and he rarely spoke to h
er, or even acknowledged her presence. But one of his henchmen, a sinister-looking man by the name of Sullivan had taken an instant dislike to her. He'd made a point of relating an overly loud story of an informer in Belfast who had been "knee-capped" for his troubles. Crippled for life by an automatic weapon.
"Too good for him, if you ask me," Sullivan railed, casting a malevolent look in Laura's direction. "I bloody well would've put a bullet through his treacherous brain."
The look on his face had appeared in Laura's mind every time she'd reached for the phone. He would not only kneecap her, he would enjoy doing it. And Declan? Would he do nothing to stop it? Laura just didn't know…and she found she couldn't take the chance of finding out. Besides, he'd assured her they wouldn't hurt the boy. England would agree to their demands. They wouldn't risk the life of a possible heir to the throne.
The door burst opened, and Declan strode in, carrying a bundle wrapped in a blanket. Laura gasped, knowing that reality had finally caught up with her imagination. Sullivan and two other men followed behind Declan, their pistols drawn, faces wary. Declan disappeared into the bedroom with his burden.
A spark of hope filled Laura's heart. "Are you being followed?" She didn't stop to think that if the Garda were on to them, it meant the end to her and Declan.
The gunmen didn't answer, but Sullivan threw her a withering glance. Declan returned to the sitting room, closing the bedroom door behind him. "See anything?" he asked the lone gunman peering out the window into the dark street.
"Not a bloody thing," he said tersely.
Declan heaved a sigh of relief. "So far, so good."
Laura glanced toward the bedroom door. "Why is he so quiet?"
A flicker of a smile crossed Declan's face. "We had to drug the little bugger. A feisty thing, he is! Nearly bit Seamus' hand clean off, didn't he, lads?"
For the first time, Laura noticed that the gunman at the window had a bandage wrapped around his hand.
"Good fookin' thing it wasn't me," Sullivan muttered. "I would've strangled the little bastard."
Laura had no doubt he meant what he said. With revulsion, she turned away and spoke to Declan. "Can I see him?"
Declan shrugged. "Might as well. You're going to be his nanny for the next few days." He had promised her that the boy would be home with his mother in a week at the most. That's if the Brits met their demand. If not…Declan had shrugged, not completing his sentence. It had sent a shudder through Laura.
The glow from a street lamp provided enough light that she could easily make out the small shape in her bed. His chubby face was pale against the pillow, his eyelashes dark crescents. He wore a navy blue school uniform of shorts, blazer and shirt. His tie was loosened. Laura guessed him to be around seven or eight. Whatever, he still had his baby fat. Her heart went out to his mother, surely distraught by now. Hours had passed since his abduction. How had they managed to do it, she wondered. Despite the fact that Prince Harry wasn't next in line for the throne, the security surrounding the Prince of Wales' son had to have been almost insurmountable.
Laura reached out to touch his damp blond head. "Prince Harry…" she murmured. Almost as if he heard her, he sighed deeply, his sweet mouth forming the shape of an O. Laura's heart skipped a beat. "Don't you worry, Harry. I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you."
* * * * *
The prince awoke the next morning while Declan was out buying breakfast. Before leaving, Declan had made sure Laura was aware that Sullivan and another young man named Clancy would remain in the sitting room. Clearly, they would be taking no chances of leaving her alone with the boy. What did they think she'd do? Make a run for it with a fifty-pound schoolboy in her arms?
Laura had received very little sleep the night before. Declan had left her alone in the bedroom with the prince and joined his cohorts in the sitting room. She'd tried to get some sleep on the mat she'd used in those first days after Declan's arrival, but her racing brain had refused to let her rest.
She was standing at the window, wondering how her life had become so crazy when she heard a rustle of movement behind her. When she turned around, she saw a pair of curious blue eyes staring at her.
"Who are you?" the boy asked in a girlish English accent.
The enormity of it hit her. Here she was, an ordinary American, about to have a conversation with a possible future King of England. Her heart skipped a beat as she took a step toward the prince.
"Don't be afraid," she said, her voice husky. "We're not going to hurt you."
He stared at her solemnly, his face devoid of fear. "You speak queerly," he said, bright eyes curious. "You are not from England, are you?"
Before Laura could answer, the door burst open and Declan strode through. "The lad is awake," he called over his shoulder. In horror, Laura saw that his gun was drawn. He stopped in front of the prince, staring down at him, his face stern. To Laura, he looked like a stranger, not at all the man whose body she knew so intimately.
"I hear you're an intelligent young man," Declan said to the prince. "So I'll tell you this once. I don't want to hear any racket out of you. It goes against my grain to bound and gag a young lad like you, but I'll do it if you give me reason." Declan gestured to Laura. "This is Laura. She will be looking after you until it is time for you to go home. And that will be before you know it. In the meantime, we've bought some books and puzzles, a game or two, as well. If you are famished, we have breakfast cereal and fruit. Would you care for a bowl of porridge?"
When the boy didn't answer, Declan shrugged. "Well, let her know when you're hungry." He turned and strode past Sullivan who stood in the doorway a moment longer, staring grimly at the prince. The ruthlessness in his dark eyes sent a chill down Laura's spine. Finally, Sullivan pulled the door closed, and she heard his footsteps walking away.
Laura and the prince stared at each other. From the sitting room came the sound of Sullivan's harsh voice. "Bloody little Royalist. We should feed him what the Brits served me at Long Kesh. Pigswill, it was. Why should we pamper the little brat?"
Embarrassed, Laura moved toward the boy. "You really should eat something, you know."
"You are American," the prince said, as if suddenly realizing it. "Why are you with these horrid Irishmen?"
Laura halted in her tracks, staring at the boy's pale face. And she realized she wasn't an ordinary American, at all. An ordinary American wouldn't be an accomplice to the kidnapping of a British prince.
Chapter Five
Laura spent the next three days getting to know Prince Harry. He was a bright boy, and as she'd always expected of the British upper class, polite to the point of extreme. In the first two days, they passed the time by putting together the puzzles Declan had provided or half-heartedly watching the tiny TV he'd brought in. Laura discovered the prince was more enamored with books than TV, so she encouraged him to read aloud to her. When that grew tiresome, she drew out a deck of cards and taught him Black Jack.
"You learn quickly," she told him after he'd beaten her three times. "You could clean up in Vegas."
He looked up at her, his blue eyes gleaming with sudden inspiration. "Of course! But they are holding you prisoner, as well, are they not? You are too kind to be one of them."
He was right, she realized. She was as much a prisoner as he, but in a different way. It was her love for Declan that was holding her captive here. Since the prince's arrival, there had been no intimacy between them except for a heated look in his eyes when he spoke to her and an occasional reassuring touch of his hand on her shoulder. And at those moments, Laura knew he was thinking about that last night together before the prince arrived. She would look at his mouth, and think of the pleasure it had brought her over and over that night, and how much she needed it now.
His expression told her the same torrid thoughts were going through his head. He was suffering withdrawal as much as she was. At night when she slept on the mat next to the bed where the prince slept, she fantasized about Declan creeping
into the room in the early hours, and slipping onto the mat next to her. Silently, but confidently, he would part her legs and plunge his throbbing sex into hers, and just inches apart from a sleeping child, he would rock her to a quiet, intense orgasm that would leave them both shattered.
But this was just fantasy. Declan would never defile their lovemaking by exposing it to a child, and Laura would never want that. Declan might be an IRA man, but he was an honorable one. Still, she just wished the whole thing were over. Not only for the safe return of the prince to his family, but because she wanted things to go back to normal for her and Declan.
A door slammed from the sitting room and Laura looked up from the card game. She heard the rumble of Declan's voice mingled with the harsh Belfast tones of the ringleader, Cian Slughan. When had he arrived? And what did it mean?
"Hit me, please," Prince Harry said quietly.
Laura dealt him a card. He knitted his brow in concentration, but she had a feeling that like her, he was trying to hear what was being said in the other room. One thing was clear. Cian was not happy.
The prince threw down his cards. "Black Jack."
Laura smiled and stood. "Okay. I've had it. How about some tea and biscuits?"
"Yes, I would fancy that."
Prince Harry began to shuffle the cards, his chubby face bland. A smart cookie, Laura thought. It wasn't tea and biscuits he wanted, but information. When she stepped out into the sitting room, the conversation came to an abrupt halt. A guarded look crossed Cian's angular face and his brown eyes grew hard as pebbles.
Declan gave her a preoccupied look, his face stony. "What is it, love?"
"The prince wants tea," she said. "Is something wrong?"