The hinge popped out and hit the floor with a metallic twang. Two more followed suit. Mattias removed the door and set it to the side, the pipe tucked under one arm. Not as deadly as a gun by far, but a better weapon than none.
Just as dusk gave over to night, Mattias hit the cobbled path at a run, determined to find Alannah before it was too late.
Chapter Thirteen
If Alannah thought the evening had been tense when the man threatened to slice off an earlobe, it was nothing compared to the new, dangerous sensation that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
Someone was outside the bedroom door. Correction. Someone was inside the bedroom. Past the rush of blood in her ears that reminded her of roaring waterfalls, she heard the creak of the floor and a footstep that sounded less muffled than a moment before. Whereas the older man had come in without hesitation, without attempting to hide his intent, this entrance smacked of sneakiness and subterfuge. She suspected if the other man found her like this, clearly attempting to rid herself of the binds, he would have immediately threatened and blustered.
Whoever this was did no such thing. Hands grasped the toppled chair and righted it, leaving her plenty of time to get her feet beneath her so her arms weren't twisted toward dislocation. Perched on the edge of the seat as the intruder moved behind her, Alannah hoped she hadn't just been positioned into a better posture for execution.
“Hello? What do you want?” she asked, hating the edge of fear in her voice.
No answer.
Muscles tightening with anxiety and stress, Alannah debated her options. Before she could think of a way to fight back, the intruder touched her wrist. Not just her wrists but the bindings that held them in place. The sour smell of sweat mingling with a subdued, masculine cologne suggested to Alannah that the man might be nervous. Nervous about what? Orders to kill her? Chop her into small pieces to be fed to the fish? Used as garden fertilizer?
Radical, morbid thoughts like those were useless, she chided herself, even though she understood that stress was the culprit.
The bindings eased and her range of motion increased. Snared by a strong hand under her elbow, the intruder hauled her to her feet. With the bindings still around her wrists but detached from the chair, she thought she might be able to fend him off. If only he had removed the blindfold.
“Don't think about it,” a masculine voice, thick with a Spanish accent, said. The door opened and closed after he led her into what she suspected was a hallway.
“Are we leaving? Where are you taking me?”
“Shhh.”
“But--”
“Shhh.”
Mattias avoided the brightest spots on the torch-lit path, sticking to the shadows wherever he could. He knew sentries walked the property, sometimes alone, often in pairs. If he was lucky, the silver haired man might have light security rather than an army waiting closer to the house. It all depended how threatened the man was—or felt. It also depended on what he had to protect within the walls of his home: people, money, vaults full of valuable things.
Two curves in the path later, he caught sight of a house through the dark foliage. Slowing to a walk, on alert for security patrolling the perimeter, he found a small clearing off the path to step into. He had a better vantage of the homestead from here. The sprawling mansion, with similar architecture as House Morano, let him know he was still in Spain. His attackers hadn't crossed the border after removing him and Alannah from the hotel last night.
Thus far, no guards made themselves known. Mattias knew there were at least two—the same ones who had roughed him up this morning—but their current whereabouts were a mystery. Maybe they were inside, providing more personal protection to the silver haired man.
Using trees and bushes for cover, Mattias moved closer, crossing the cobbled walkway to another patch of dense trees. A balcony ran the length of the upper floor, with many doors giving access to the interior. Assessing the low wall at a corner near the balcony edge, Mattias broke cover at a dead run, the pipe still in hand. He tucked it into his waistband between one stride and the next.
Hitting the low wall, he used a hand to brace and pivot, getting his feet up there with him. Then he stood upright, using his forward momentum to jump for the balcony wall, teeth clenched with effort. He was just tall and agile enough to succeed.
Hooking his hands over the edge, he pulled himself up. One leg swung over, then the other. Many pieces of furniture lined the balcony, along with several round tables and potted plants. Hugging the outer wall, he pulled the pipe from his belt and stalked silently toward the first french door. The lights in the room beyond were dark, indicating either this was an empty guestroom or that whoever lived there wasn't currently in residence.
He tried the curving handle. Locked. Some of the other doors along the balcony further down sported light spilling through the panes, making him think people might be within. Entering one might put him face to face with guards or guests or even the silver haired man himself. Not willing to risk confrontation until he knew more, Mattias shucked his shirt with a quick movement, placed it against one of the panes in the french door, and gave it a solid tap with the end of the pipe. The shirt created a buffer that muffled the sound of cracking glass. Shaking the shirt out, he put it back on, reached through the opening and unlocked the door. Stepping inside, he closed it behind him and let his eyes adjust to the gloom. He was in an expensively decorated bedroom, with a canopy bed and a masculine color palette of blues, browns and creams.
Aware that he might have tripped a silent alarm, he crossed to the regular door and swung it inward. One look up and down the hallway showed him it was empty—for now. Mattias gripped the pipe and walked toward the center of the house, listening for voices or footsteps. At every doorway he came to, he paused outside first, then peered around the corner. Two bedrooms, both dark, and one library with mahogany accents bathed in low lights turned up nothing. No Alannah, no silver haired man.
And no guards.
Moving on, anxious to locate Alannah, he came to yet another open door. Following identical protocol, he secured his grip on the pipe, taking a moment to center himself, and glanced in.
Behind a broad, impressive desk, the silver haired man typed on a laptop. Smoke leaked from a cigar sitting cockeyed between his lips and slithered toward the ceiling. French doors open at his back exposed part of the balcony and the tops of many jungle-like trees. Mattias knew the view would be spectacular, just from what parts of the 'garden' he'd glimpsed so far. This room looked to be more of a private office or study, with luxurious couches offsetting the desk and enormous bookcases stuffed with legal and personal looking tomes. A large, framed map of the world decorated one wall.
Mattias only needed one quick scan to know the man was alone. Rounding into the study, he made short work of advancing on his adversary. Considering the desk faced the doorway, the man became aware of his presence within seconds. The cigar tumbled end over end to the floor when the man scrambled for the top drawer, shoving the chair back in the process.
Giving the stranger no time to pull out a weapon, Mattias flipped the pipe across the room, striking a forearm. Howling, the man pitched backward. That was all the time Mattias needed to circumvent the desk and engage the older man physically. In a matter of moments, Mattias had him in a choke hold, one arm squeezing snug around the man's throat.
“Take the gun out of the drawer,” Mattias said. “Slowly. Set it on top of the desk.”
The man struggled against the hold, like he might fight Mattias off.
“I said, get the gun out. I won't tell you again,” Mattias repeated. He glimpsed a letter on the desk addressed to a Mister Franklin Carr. The name triggered a memory, but Mattias couldn't quite place where he knew it.
Grunting and gasping, Franklin fumbled for the drawer and opened it. A black handgun sat atop a pile of papers, pushed to the side as if it was an afterthought. Mattias figured Franklin kept it there for emergencies like t
his and, like most men who rarely got their hands dirty, found it more of a nuisance than not.
To discourage Franklin from thoughts of using it, Mattias tightened his hold. Satisfied when the weapon clattered to the desktop, Mattias reached for it with his other hand. He expended a few precious seconds to check the safety and the magazine.
“Good. Now we're getting somewhere,” Mattias said.
“I can't...breathe,” Franklin said with a gasp. Red faced, eyes watering from the pressure of Mattias's arm, Franklin coughed and wheezed for air.
“You can breathe enough to talk. Be thankful for that.” Mattias dragged the man's chair back far enough to close both french doors. He didn't like having his back exposed and vulnerable. Next, Mattias pulled Franklin and the chair to the side of the room, where no one would have a clear shot through the door panes from the garden.
“Now then. I want you to give me a list. A list of every single person involved in your little scheme. Was Cleary on it from the get go, or was he just a pawn, someone you used because of the tension with Mister Astbury? Who tipped you off to my whereabouts at the other hotel? I want answers, and I want them right now. Don't make me get nasty.” Mattias whispered the words next to Mister Carr's ear.
“Let go. Let...go.” Franklin pried at Mattias's arms. Precariously close to passing out, Franklin's grip grew weak, his breathing coming in labored rasps.
Loosening his hold a fraction, Mattias showed Franklin that he had possession of the gun—in case the man missed it.
“I'm waiting,” Mattias said.
“You've made...a grave mistake.” Franklin's words broke over a gravelly cough. “I can't give you that information.”
“Oh, I think you can. You will. Or I'll lean on you so hard you'll snap.” Mattias meant to convey that he would find every single one of Franklin's pressure points—family, the things most precious to him—and use them against him until he broke.
“You're a Prince, for God's sake. I know who you are, and now that you're on my security tapes, so will the rest of the world when I release them. So go ahead and kill me. Torture me. You can't erase the proof because I have it redirected to a safe location. Men in my position learned long ago to protect ourselves from thieves who also have a predilection toward technology. Where they might have destroyed tapes in years past, now they'll have to go off site and find them first, before laying their hands on the evidence. Welcome to the twenty-first century, Prince Mattias.” Franklin wheezed a laugh.
Putting his mouth close to Franklin's ear once more, Mattias said, “You're lying. Do you know how I know? Because a man in your position makes all his deals behind closed doors, these doors, if I'm not mistaken, which means at least in this room, there isn't a security camera to be found. Did you think I wouldn't notice the wear on the edge of your desk, or the sag in the seat of your chair? You use this room almost exclusively for business, and I'm willing to bet there isn't even any audio hooked up in here because you wouldn't want your own conversations recorded and sent off site. So no, there won't be any video of me floating around media rooms or blasting on television channels. There might be the story of a suicide, though, of one Franklin Carr, and if you think for one second that I can't arrange your death to look like it came by your own hand, then you've grossly underestimated me. Now, the names.” Mattias felt Franklin stiffen under the loop of his arm. Inhaling a sharp breath, Mister Carr blustered incoherent noises before falling silent.
“We don't have a lot of time before your men figure out I'm missing from that neat little room in your garden. Start talking, Mister Carr, or the patience I'm normally known for will disintegrate right before your eyes.” Mattias pressed the muzzle of the gun against Franklin's temple, betting that the older man wouldn't risk being shot.
“Wait, wait.” Franklin licked his lips and ceased prying at Mattias's arm. He exhaled, then said, “It was me. Just me. I coordinated the whole thing.”
“Really.” Mattias didn't believe him. “How did you hear those odd rumors about an Elite group, and who tipped you off about where I would be?”
“There have been rumors. For a long time. The people in this cabal have become a serious thorn in my side, purely for business reasons. You of all people know that not every deal is as squeaky clean as we want it to be. I've heard what went on in your family, Mattias. We're both aware that some arrangements come with skeletons attached. So don't pretend that your family name hasn't been dragged through the same mud as the rest of us.”
Mattias and the other members of the Elite knew that a few rumors existed about their activities. They also knew that they were a thorn in many people's sides with their penchant for breaking up murders and kidnapping. And Carr wasn't all wrong about his own family, or some of their dealings. It didn't appease him, however. Mattias had to make sure Carr wasn't working with anyone else.
“Who was your inside man?”
Carr hesitated.
“Who told you where to find me?” Mattias asked again, applying a little more pressure with the muzzle.
“No one. A shooter at the scene tagged the vehicle you and the girl were in. Out in front of the manor, when you nearly killed my man. We knew where you were the whole time.”
“And Alannah? Was there a hit out on her?” Mattias was starting to see the bigger picture, one puzzle piece at a time. Murder hadn't been on the assassins agenda—drugging and capturing Mattias had been. They'd used Alannah's kidnapping to lure him—or who they suspected to be a member of the Royal Elite—away from Morano's house, knowing there was too much security there to get someone out any other way. In the next instant, Carr confirmed it.
“No. We planted that information in the lower ranks to lure the 'Royal Elite' out. We knew she would be at the gala, as well as Cleary.”
“We?”
“The men I hired for this exercise.”
“I'd hardly call this an exercise. You could have gotten someone killed. So your whole plan was to lure whoever might have been in the group with a fake assassination claim on Alannah Astbury, and take down as many as you could. You never thought about suitors, or other people revolving around her life.” Mattias refused to admit or acknowledge his part in the Royal Elite. No matter what Franklin knew, or thought he knew, those words would never come out of Mattias's mouth. Not here, not under these circumstances.
“Where is Alannah?”
“Offsite.”
“Offsite where? I won't ask again.” Mattias didn't believe Alannah was at another location. Someone could have sent Franklin that short video, however, so Mattias went through the motions, prepared to do whatever it took to find the heiress.
“For a man who denies being in this exclusive group, you sure know your way around self defense and weaponry,” Franklin said, ignoring Mattias's questions. He said, “If I tell you where she is, then you have no reason not to shoot me. No, I think I'll keep that information to myself.”
“All the men in my family are well versed in self defense. How many guards are on your property?” Mattias felt the press of time like an anvil on his back. He couldn't linger here too long. “I'll find her one way or another. Your cooperation might not save your life, but it might save someone else you love and treasure.”
“Three, just three guards.”
“Now Franklin, your Rolodex is right over there on your desk--”
“Five. Two that patrol the grounds, one at the gate, and two in the foyer.”
Mattias wasn't sure he believed that, either. With a sinister whisper in Franklin's ear, he said, “Remember. I've got your name now. It won't take me any time at all to have the name of every person who means anything to you in my possession. Call off your dogs, cease these games. If you had ended my life, you would have brought international attention right to your feet, and somehow, I think you'd like to avoid that much scrutiny.”
Franklin tensed and drew a breath to speak. Mattias didn't give him the chance. Leaning back, he brought the butt of the gun down on the b
ack of Franklin's head with just enough force to knock him out.
Releasing the older man after he slumped in the seat, Mattias went to the desk and grabbed a small organizer off the top. Pushing it into the waistband of his pants, he stalked for the door.
“Mister Carr, when do you want Devon--” The security guard stopped half in and half out of the office when he spotted Mattias. He reached for his weapon. “Freeze!”
Mattias didn't hesitate. Bringing up the gun, he shot the guard high in the shoulder. Pitching backward, the guard tumbled into the hall beyond.
Somewhere on a lower floor, a woman screamed.
Chapter Fourteen
It was now or never. Galvanized (and frightened half to death) by the gunshot, Alannah let loose a blood curdling scream. Her eyes might be covered and the man might have control of her hands but her mouth was fair game. Realistically, she thought it was probably a useless ploy that could easily get her killed. Lacking another strategy, she used the best one at hand.
Shoved forward, she stumbled and cracked her hip against either a small table or a banister. Struggling, fighting with the man—who was taller and stronger than she imagined—Alannah twisted her shoulders in an attempt to get her hands free. Although the bindings were snug around her wrists, her hands were no longer tied together.
Struck in the cheek by an elbow, Alannah blinked stars from her vision as the snarling, angry fellow bulled her into another room. She assumed it to be a bedroom when her thigh glanced off what felt like the corner of a mattress. He slapped away her hand when she reached for the blindfold and trapped both arms behind her back.
“Shut up!” the man whispered against her ear.
“I'm in here! In this room!” Alannah thought it imperative that she make noise, do anything she could in case the police had miraculously arrived. Frustrated at the blindfold, afraid that the man might cause her grievous injury at any second, Alannah continued to make it difficult for him to maneuver her around.
The Royal Elite: Mattias Page 15