Crown of Solana

by Susan Sheehey

  A tinge of sympathy crossed Arias’ gaze. “I would like to think your father viewed me as a friend as well as his devoted servant, Princess. I was fond of him, if I may be so bold.”

  “My impression from him of you was similar.”

  He cleared his throat, glancing back at the palace. Royal guards followed at a distance, always at the ready. “If I may ask, is His Highness Prince André joining us for this meeting?”

  Alanna pursed her lips through a sigh. There’s the first sign. Maybe he doesn’t trust me. Or my age. “Unfortunately, no. He’s been unexpectedly detained.” Ever since she found out Gemma had left last night, she hadn’t been able to see her brother at all. Holed up in his room drowning in grief, again, with probably half the Crown’s wine collection.

  “Perhaps that is best,” Arias replied. “For my news today will spark a most displeasing response.”

  Her chance for a hopeful meeting fell to the cut grass below her feet. “Whatever you tell me, sir, be aware I will tell the prince. He and I share total responsibility right now.”

  “I am well aware, Your Highness. As is the topic of my report. I know you would both want to know this information as soon as possible.” He stopped and glanced at the few guards, standing at a distance.

  “One of the other reasons—I’m sure the most important—my father loved these gardens,” Alanna began quietly, sensing the anxious mood. “The cameras out here have no microphones.”

  Arias smirked at her. “If I may be so bold twice, Your Highness, you are very much like your father.”

  She hid her smile. “Please tell me. What has you so concerned?”

  His deep sigh echoed across the gardens, even quieting the fountain. He began again with a hushed voice. “Parliament and the people seem to be dividing into two camps for Solana’s future. One believes you are destined to ascend because of André’s exile, which automatically disqualifies him. Many are angry with him for behaving so recklessly in his youth, and for not being here at their time of need. The other camp supports his ascension, simply because he is the eldest. With your father’s death, they believe his exile is officially over.”

  Alanna absorbed his words carefully, keeping her expression neutral. She’d heard similar rumblings from her other advisors, but none had explained them as explicitly.

  Flynn was right. They aren’t concerned with the Crown’s reputation. Neither mine nor my brother’s.

  “Have they expressed these opinions to you directly?” she asked.

  “Some. I wouldn’t bring this to your attention if I felt they were only fleeting sentiments.”

  “How long have you heard these rumors?”

  “Since André’s return. Do you wish to know their names?”

  She shook her head, and a strand of her hair came loose from her Dutch braid, grazing her chin. They continued to stroll through the pathways. The guards kept their distance, per her instructions. But there were still plenty of cameras watching their every move. “No. It is better I don’t know. I’m going to ask a large favor of you, sir.”

  “I’m at your disposal, Your Highness.”

  She inhaled deeply, keeping her poker face in play. Time to see if he is truly a friend or merely placating. “I need you to quash these discussions. Quickly and quietly.”

  He sighed. “Of course, I already have been, Princess. But there’s been a more disturbing development over the last few days.”

  Her stomach tightened, not sure she wanted to hear it. To bear the burden of such bad news alone. But she had to, if he were to take her seriously and trust her decisions. She kept pace, determined to act normally to those watching. “Yes?”

  He lowered his voice to a whisper. “There has been talk of dissolution and overturning the monarchy all together.”

  Her heart buzzed between her ears, and she tripped over an uneven pavestone. There was no preventing her stunned stare at Arias. “Why?” The word came out as a croak.

  “Resentment. That the Crown couldn’t protect the people from this invasion. The uncertainty of who inherits the throne is adding more fuel to the bonfire.”

  A deep breath to calm her pounding heart only worked slightly. The rose scent from the bushes in the outer edges helped clear the haze of fury as well. The people have every right to be upset. Uncertainty drives a wedge between even the most vigilant supporters.

  “I understand,” she finally replied, much more calmly than she felt. She forced herself to think of Flynn and his “silent giant” demeanor, imposing yet gentle. Imagining him back on the yacht deck in the pouring rain, so capable and formidable against the storm, eased her muscles and simultaneously warmed her imagination for later. He was her steadying force, rejuvenating her confidence amid the stress of this news.

  “What would you like me to do?” he asked.

  “As you have been. Your best to dissuade them. André and I will do our best to reassure the people that the Crown can and will restore peace.”

  He nodded with a deep bow. “Your Highness.”

  “The last thing our people need is rumor weighing them down, which would only make them pack their luggage for good.”

  “WHAT IS A SHOTGUN DOING in your luggage?” Dormund’s piercing stare from across the interrogation table was more annoying than intimidating. The wet-behind-the-ears deputy tried to pull off the good-cop-bad-cop routine, sans good cop. But at least he’d taken off the ridiculous clichéd aviator sunglasses.

  “Because the airline wouldn’t let me carry it over my shoulder.”

  Dormund’s lip twitched. “Why did you have it on the plane at all, funny girl?”

  Funny girl? Gemma bit down on her tongue. “I own it.”

  Everything I own is in that bag.

  The cuffs pulled at her wrists. The son-of-a-bitch had chained her to the damn table.

  “On an international flight? That’s hardly legal. You can’t bring foreign weapons into the U.S.”

  “It’s not foreign. I bought it here, in the U.S. It’s a Remington. American made.”

  Dormund’s lip lifted into a smug smile. “We’re confiscating it.”

  “The hell you are. And why am I still handcuffed? I thought you said I wasn’t arrested.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then why the handcuffs, Rosco?”

  “How ‘bout you start from the beginning. How did all those bodies end up at Mrs. Lawson’s ranch?”

  “I already explained that.”

  “Explain it again.”

  “Why? Are you deaf?”

  He adjusted his collar through a sigh and took the seat across from her. “Good Lord, feisty doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

  “Who the hell said I was feisty?”

  “Your friend, Shane Pierce. He was gonna pick you up at the airport, correct?”

  Gemma snorted. “Shane would never say a word as ridiculous as feisty, let alone about me.”

  “His father told us you’d be there.”

  Gemma pulled back the urge to spit across the table. Son of a bitch. “Who needs neighborhood watch when Rock Pierce is near?” That, and he relishes in humiliating me at every turn.

  A knock pulled Dormund from his chair, and in walked Sheriff Brooks with the ugliest scowl she’d ever seen him wear. And she’d seen him quite a bit throughout her life.

  He braced his hands on his duty belt, and all six-foot-five of the once-muscular sheriff brooded over the shorter deputy. “What the hell are you doin’?”

  Gemma blinked. She’d never heard him curse. He was a tough old bulldog, but always fair and professional with her.

  Dormund flustered.

  “All I asked you to do was pick her up and bring her here. Why the hell are you interrogatin’ my witness?”

  “She’s a suspect in a murder case. I’m getting her statement.”

  Brooks sucked in air between his crooked front teeth. “You were tryin’ to make your bones on the wrong woman, deputy. Get those damn cuffs off her now. We’re not ani
mals.”

  Dormund fumbled with the keys on his belt and let her loose.

  Brooks removed his ten-gallon hat and set it over the edge of the metal chair. “My apologies, Gemma. He’s our latest rookie.”

  “I can tell.”

  Dormund glowered at her but held his tongue and leaned against the corner wall.

  Brooks plopped a large file onto the table, the thunk echoing across the room. A deep sigh and adjustment of his belt later, he sat across from her, with the creaks from the chair as loud as the thunk. “What a mess.”

  Gemma nodded and swallowed. “I always have been, haven’t I?”

  Brooks harrumphed and crossed his arms over his chest. His scrutinizing stare was always meant to make her feel small and intimidated. But like in her youth, it reminded her of a grumpy Smokey the Bear. Only I can prevent injustice.

  Yet it wasn’t Brooks that made her shift in her chair. It was the purpose of the investigation.

  She clasped her trembling hands together. “Thank you for arranging her burial. I can’t forgive myself for leaving her like that.”

  The wrinkles in his forehead deepened.

  “So you’re admitting you killed Mrs. Lawson?” Dormund interrupted.

  Gemma glared at him.

  “Get the hell out a’ here!” Brooks barked.

  Dormund huffed and scowled at her.

  Gemma couldn’t help herself. “Adios, Rosco.”

  Dormund left, and Brooks snorted. “Cocky, overzealous prick.”

  Most cops are.

  “I’m sure I already know the answer to this, but I have to ask. Did—”

  “No,” Gemma said emphatically. “I did not kill Reyna.”

  The man’s sad and simultaneously accusing gray eyes imprisoned her in the chair.

  Go ahead, say it. ‘I knew I was making a huge mistake all those years ago putting you with Reyna Lawson. The woman was too good for you. Something told me, one way or another, you would be the death of her.’

  She cleared her throat, suddenly dry and raspy. “I did everything I could to protect her.”

  “You failed.”

  Those two words ripped at her brain like razors to her soul. She could almost see the shreds of her pride falling to the floor. Failure and guilt waterlogged her heart. Story of my life.

  “Who did this?” he asked quietly.

  “Terrorists.”

  He raised a bushy, gray-haired brow.

  “From Solana,” she continued. “One in particular. An assassin named Vasco. He came here looking for André.”

  “Reyna’s nephew?”

  “No, Reyna’s nephew is Stefano. André’s bodyguard.”

  “Uh huh. André is this famous prince, right? Why were they here?”

  “Hiding from the terrorists.”

  Brooks held her gaze, skeptical as the day was long. She’d seen that look many times from him over the years. Only she’d been much younger, with a bigger attitude when he’d had less gray hair and more understanding with a newly orphaned, troubled kid.

  “Hiding from terrorists. In Primrock, Texas?”

  Gemma nodded.

  “I’m not buyin’ it, Gem. How are we supposed to believe that?”

  “Because it’s the truth. Did you see the other bodies in the house and in the barn? The heat they were packing?”

  “We didn’t find weapons.”

  Her throat dried instantly.

  “We found Reyna’s body on the couch with her gut blown open,” the descriptive sheriff went on, causing Gemma to shift at the image. She remembered it vividly. “Her house littered with bullets, and a pile of burned carcasses in the barn. Horses and human.”

  “Holy shit.” Cold ice speared down her spine. More of them must have come through behind us and removed the evidence. Stefano was right. They were right behind us, and we almost never made it out.

  “Tell me the truth.” Brooks leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms again. “This André and Stefano. They did it, didn’t they? They killed Reyna and kidnapped you and Rico.”

  Gemma’s mouth fell open. It was the lesser offensive response other than outright laughing at the ridiculous assumption.

  “Or during target practice one day, somehow, she got shot, an accident like. And they ran to protect themselves. But took the two of you with ‘em so you wouldn’t turn ‘em in. Am I gettin’ warm?”

  “If that were the case—which is nuts—why in the world would they let me go, and I’d nonchalantly walk out of the Abilene airport asking my friend to pick me up?”

  “Maybe you escaped.”

  “And leave Rico behind? Never in fiery hell.”

  “A witness claims in the few days leading up to Reyna’s death, those men took over her home, threatened another witness, and brainwashed you.”

  This time, Gemma burst into laughter. It was the only way to release her anger without clocking someone. “Let me guess. That witness is Rock Pierce.”

  Brooks didn’t say a word, which meant she was right.

  “First of all, you know damn well Reyna Lawson wouldn’t let anyone take over her home. Stefano was her nephew, and André was the Crown Prince of her home country. She was ecstatic to host them. And the threat Rock is referencing was self-defense against his son, Shane, who made an unwanted advance on me, which I handled.”

  Brooks snorted. “I remember vividly how you handle things.”

  “Which brings me to the last point…” She leaned forward in her chair. “Do you honestly believe anyone could ever brainwash me?”

  Another knock on the door and it swooshed open.

  “Sheriff, someone’s here to see the witness.” Dormund stepped back.

  “Unless it’s her lawyer, tell ‘em to wait. I’m in the middle of her statement.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  Gemma’s eyes shot up at the third voice.

  Stefano strolled in, his typical stiff posture and regal air filling the room, but without his signature royal guardsman uniform. Just a simple gray suit, with no tie.

  She glanced behind him. Wherever he is, André is as well. I can’t believe he followed me home.

  But her prince wasn’t there.

  The door closed behind Stefano, and Brooks stood. “Who are you?”

  “Stefano Ehsa, Head Royal Guardsman to Prince André Peralta of Solana.”

  Sheriff Brooks blinked. “Reyna’s nephew?”

  “Correct.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing you’re here. We have some questions for you as well. Deputy Dormund, please escort this man to a holdin’ cell while I finish with our first witness.”

  “Once again, that won’t be necessary,” Stefano continued, not bothering to acknowledge the smaller Dormund behind him. He pulled out a file from behind his stiff back and handed it to Brooks. “As a foreign dignitary, I have diplomatic immunity in this country. Nevertheless, I’ve supplied my notarized written statement regarding the death of Reyna Lawson and the events of April twenty-seventh. Included in that file are also the written statements of His Highness Prince André Miguel Peralta, and Rico Valéncia, former ranch hand to Señora Lawson, both witnesses to said events. Finally, a memorandum from the United States Drug Enforcement Agency confirming the attack on Lawson Ranch by international crime syndicate, the Lozano cartel based in Manila—”

  Brooks stopped flipping through the papers in the file, lips parted and silent.

  Stefano didn’t skip a beat.

  “—with a security bulletin of their hired assassin Vasco attempting to collect on a contract of the Solanian Royal Family. They’ve supplied the last known photograph of this dangerous, international criminal for you to broadcast across local authorities, and a phone number for you to contact should you spot him.”

  Brooks’ jaw hung open the entire debriefing. When Stefano finished, he closed his mouth, but his bushy brow still crinkled over his eyes.

  Stefano reached over the edge of the file and pulled out the first p
age. “This statement from the U.S. DEA, combined with the United Nations Security Council Secretary, reports that Miss Gemma Westfall was not only a victim of this assassin, but thanks her for her considerable efforts for bringing down Diego Bendetto, a top general of the Lozano cartel. Lastly, their greatest appreciation for personally saving the Prince of Solana.”

  Brooks turned to Gemma, his eyes wide. “Seriously?”

  She opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out.

  “Absolutely,” Stefano answered. “Miss Westfall has become something of a celebrity back on Solana. A national hero.”

  She swallowed at that one. Foul-mouthed, trigger-happy Gemma Westfall, a national hero. She half-expected Sheriff Brooks to choke on that.

  The four of them stood there, silently absorbing the incredible statements. Gemma had a hard time believing them herself.

  “Of course, if you have any further questions,” Stefano broke the silence, “feel free to contact her legal representative, listed on the last page of that file. Naturally, we will fully cooperate in any way you need.” Stefano held out his hand to her, his kind eyes betraying his posture’s austere authority.

  She took his hand and moved to the other side of the room. Brooks stepped to the side and let her pass.

  “Gemma,” he called back, more quiet than before. He pulled a manila envelope from the file on the table and held it out. “Reyna’s last will and testament.”

  The air squeezed from her lungs instantly. Everything blurred except for the file. It was all she could focus on. As if they were Reyna’s very remnants.

  She took it.

  “Since you won’t tell me when Rico will be back, be sure he gets his share.”

  EVERY BUMP AND JOSTLE DOWN the endless dusty road shook more of Gemma’s courage to face what was ahead and deal with her mistakes. The file with Reyna’s will lay in her lap, her sweaty palms gripping the edge. She was terrified to open it, half expecting the woman’s ghost to come screaming out of it.

  Stefano was silent—no surprise—as he drove the rented gray Jeep past the turn to Reyna’s ranch.