by Lily Cahill
"You're not changing my mind about this. Maybe we can find a way to warn the palace that your father wants them dead, but I'm not even going to think about that until I know you're safe."
"They already know," she said.
"Good. Then we won't have to involve them at all."
"You don't understand, Max," she said. "You either have to abdicate or ascend before you turn thirty-five, or my father is next in line for the throne."
"Then I abdicate," he said.
"Why are you saying that?" she said. "Don't say that."
"Because I don't care, Annika. I don't care about any of it. All I care about is you."
Annika couldn't believe what she was hearing. He didn't want the throne? He wasn't going back to the palace?
"Where's your suitcase?"
"Over there," she said in a daze.
The possibility of Maxwell not wanting the throne was something she'd never even considered. She'd grown up with the crown as the single focus of life in her family. Winning it back was all they'd ever cared about.
"Good. You're already packed," he said, zipping her suitcase. Then he handed over her shoes.
She put them on automatically. Was the solution really that easy? If Maxwell abdicated, then one of his brothers could take over, and her father would be cut out of the ascension line permanently.
Maybe she'd been looking at it all wrong. Maybe she didn't have to care about the throne either--why should she? It really had nothing to do with her.
Maybe she could have a chance at happiness--real happiness--not a lifetime of hiding and hoping her father would forget about her. She didn't know Maxwell, not yet, but she knew he was kind and that he loved her. Could that be enough? Could she trust him enough to let him help her?
"Come on, baby. We have to go," Maxwell said, holding out his hand.
She stared at it for a moment, the burden on her shoulders suddenly feeling lighter. But there were a few things she had to settle first. Most importantly, she had to know her father wouldn't--couldn't--take the throne.
"Promise me you'll abdicate before your birthday next week," she said. "Officially. At the palace."
He studied her for a moment. "Will you come if I do?"
"Yes," she said.
"Then I swear it."
He took her hand and she let him.
"Thank you, baby," he said, kissing her.
She pulled away, her heart heavy with the second thing she had to say to him. "This isn't ... this isn't a promise. About us. I can't make that kind of promise. Maybe not ever."
It had been too painful to see what marriage had done to her mother. Annika swore she would never follow in her footsteps.
"Okay," he said.
"I mean it, Maxwell," she said. "If I go with you, it doesn't mean I'm making any sort of commitment."
"Annika, I'm not asking for promises. If you want, I'll never ask you for promises. All I care about is being with you and keeping you safe."
"All right, then. Let's get out of here before my brother shows up."
"Sounds good to me," he said, tugging her toward the door.
Then Annika remembered something. "Wait."
She grabbed her purse and pulled out the phone her father had given her. She dropped it on the floor, and stomped it to bits.
Max grinned. "Smart. Ready now?" he asked.
"Ready."
Chapter Nine
Maxwell
Max sped with her back to his aunt's house. Once there, he packed the essentials into his old SEAL pack. It was just the basics: clothes, cash, IDs, his sniper rifle, ammo, and a few other pieces of useful gear. They could buy anything they needed on the road, but a change of clothes and some simple security measures would come in handy and mean they could put more distance between them and their last known whereabouts before they'd have to stop.
The last thing he grabbed was a small shoebox of mementos from his aunt. It contained pictures from his childhood, some of her jewelry, and the letter she'd written for him to open in the event of her death. The letter included information on how to contact the palace. He'd made a promise to Annika, and he would keep it. He would do anything to make sure she was happy and safe.
He was used to packing fast and packing light, so it took him less than twenty minutes from the moment he walked in the door. Then they were in his truck, driving down US 36 toward the private airport where he kept his plane. The airplane was small--a Cirrus SR22 GTS with only five seats and a single engine--but it did the job.
He put a hand on Annika's knee. "You doing okay?"
The smile he got in return made him happier than he'd been in months. It was cautious, yes, but it was also hopeful. "I'm good," she said. "The faster we leave the city, the better."
"I'm on it," he assured her.
They made it to the small airport in a half hour.
"We're flying?" Annika asked. "I don't have any ID."
The conditions of her life were becoming more and more clear to him with every passing moment. How could a woman Annika's age have no driver's license? No passport? She must have been kept under such strict lock and key that it had never come up. The idea of her as a prisoner in her own home made his stomach turn.
"I'm sorry," she said, anxiety creasing her forehead. "My father never allowed it."
"It's okay," he said. "It's my plane. And we're staying in the country for now. No one even needs to know you're on board. We can figure out a passport for you later."
"There won't be any record of me leaving?" she asked.
"None at all," he assured her.
"Okay," she said, her brow relaxing.
He went into the airport office to make arrangements, then came back out. Together, they boarded the plane. It was something he'd bought for fun, but it would get them were he wanted to go, no problem. He handed her a headset.
"This is to help us communicate. And to protect your ears. It can get pretty loud with the engine."
"Got it," she said, putting it on.
"You ever flown in a small aircraft before?" he asked.
"I've never flown at all," she said.
"It might feel a little bumpy, but it's nothing to worry about."
She nodded, but didn't look totally comfortable. He didn't blame her. A lot of people were scared of flying, especially in this kind of aircraft. But it was a necessity. At the moment, her safety was more important than her comfort, and he'd dealt with passenger nerves plenty of times.
"It'll be fine. I promise," he said.
"If you say so," she said.
They taxied to the runway.
"Ready?" he asked her.
"Ready," she said. She was looking straight forward, her eyes wide open. She was a brave little thing, he could say that about her.
Max took off.
Her breathing accelerated with the plane. But the moment the wheels left the runway, he heard a giggle.
He glanced over at Annika. Her face was lit up with a smile of excitement.
As they climbed, the giggle turned into a full-on laugh.
"You like that?" he asked, his smile wide.
"I love it!" she squealed. "This is incredible! Do you get to do this all the time?"
"Sometimes," he said with a grin. "I suspect more often now."
"How'd you learn to fly?"
"I took lessons and got my license in high school. But I didn't get good at it until I joined the navy."
"I thought the navy was boats," she said as they reached altitude and he leveled out.
"It is. But there's aircraft too. I was too big to be a real naval pilot, but my skills came in handy later a few times, after I joined the SEALs. I made a decent backup in a pinch."
She turned to him, her eyes wide. "Hold on. You're a Navy SEAL?"
"I was. For six years."
"All you told me before was that you were in the navy. Not that you were a SEAL."
"You learn not to talk about it much. It's just safer that way," he sai
d. "If you're at a bar, and somebody tells you they're a SEAL, it's pretty much a guarantee that they're not."
"I'll keep that in mind," she said.
"How about we just stay away from bars where guys are trying to hit on you? I vote for that option."
"Fine by me," she said, chuckling. "So why aren't you a SEAL anymore?"
"My contract ended right around the time my aunt got sick. I delayed re-upping to come home and take care of her. I thought she'd be back on her feet soon enough, but it didn't turn out that way."
"I'm sorry," she said. "That's how they found you, you know. There was a story about her in the paper."
"Yeah, I saw that," he said. The children's leukemia foundation his aunt had volunteered at had done a whole write-up when she died. "She was always careful about that kind of stuff. No school pictures for me, no social media, no articles on her charity work. Now I guess I know why."
"She looks ...," Annika hesitated. "She looked a lot like your mother."
It was true. As soon as Annika said it, he remembered, though it hadn't occurred to him in ages. It was probably why no one ever questioned if she was his mother.
But something about the thought of his Aunt Mara and his mother looking alike--about them being sisters, growing up together, loving each other--made his mother suddenly real to him. And that only made it hurt more. It was easier to think of her as cold, distant. He didn't want to think about her as anyone's sister. He didn't want to think about her as a human being at all.
"You want to see a trick I learned?" he asked, changing the subject. It might be a gamble, but if she liked the feeling of takeoff, she might like this too.
"Yes," she grinned.
Before she could change her mind, Max pitched up and sent them into an aileron roll--an aerobatic maneuver where the plane did a full 360-degree roll.
Annika screamed, but her scream was full of delight, like a child on a roller coaster. God, he loved that sound.
"Again!" she demanded when they leveled out. "Do it again!"
"One more time," he laughed. "Then we've got to book it, okay?"
"Okay," she said with a smile.
He did it again. And again, she squealed. Her glee was infectious, addictive. He wondered what other things he might do to make her so happy. He'd make it a point to find out.
Once their laughter died down, he set about building up speed. It was usually a three-hour ride to his cabin in the mountains of Montana, but he was hoping to cut it down shorter. He'd feel safer with her at the cabin, and wanted them there as fast as possible.
The cabin was a place he'd bought on leave after one of his early missions. One of their targets had been harboring a whole slew of sensitive information about some highly protected--and highly secret--operators who were officially in hiding courtesy of the federal government. Or so they'd thought. But their enemies knew exactly where to find them, and were busy making attack plans within US borders.
It had spooked him big time. Was there a thumb drive somewhere with his details locked inside? He decided he'd rather be prepared to disappear on his own someday if it ever came to that--and take his aunt with him. So he'd bought the cabin in Montana with cash three years ago, and he'd used a fake ID to sign all the paperwork. Then he'd built it up to make it a secret refuge.
It was completely off the grid and totally self-sufficient. The power system was mostly solar-based. He also had a small hydro-electric mill setup in the river as backup--which worked double duty to pump water into the cabin's plumbing system.
The property even had a small, packed-dirt airstrip just big enough to handle his little plane. A caretaker he'd hired online kept it plowed and smooth year-round.
There was enough food stored there to avoid a grocery store for a year, though they could fly the plane to a different city to take care of any shopping they needed. He had a satellite system for communications and entertainment.
He had a small armory too, but he hoped he'd never have to use it. The biggest safety measure wasn't stockpiling guns, it was making sure nobody knew where you were in the first place. And he was sure--damn sure--that nobody did. He hadn't even told his aunt about it.
They landed under cover of stars and hopped out of the plane. Annika stood there, wide-eyed and smiling for a moment.
"This place is yours?" she asked.
"Yes. And nobody knows it exists."
"It's ... beautiful," she said, and his heart nearly popped open in his chest.
Chapter Ten
Annika
Annika couldn't believe it. The place seemed like it had come out of a dream.
They'd landed in a small field near a wide, thundering river that churned a watermill like she'd only ever seen in storybook pictures. Beyond, the forest was deep and thick. She could barely make out a modest house about two hundred yards from where they stood because it was so obscured by the trees. If it hadn't been for the high, wide windows reflecting the moon, she might have missed it completely.
It was his. All his. And he was willing to share it with her.
"It's beautiful," she breathed.
"Let me show you around," he said, grinning. It was one of the things she liked about him best--that smile. And she thought she might just be seeing more of it now that they were safe.
That's when she realized she felt safe. She really did. It was remarkable, and so easy. Had it always been this easy? Had it always been just a matter of finding Maxwell all along?
He carried their bags into the house. It was Craftsman-styled with lots of rich woods in simple, classic lines, and so many windows it might have made her feel exposed in any other setting. But here, the trees protected them and the windows invited nature to be a part of the home itself.
Max let her explore the rooms unhindered. There was a spacious kitchen with smooth wood cabinets, modern appliances, and wide stone counters. The main living room was like a looking glass onto the world. Unlike the rest of the home, the ceilings here stretched up the full two stories, and looked out onto the field and river beyond. She imagined she could sit on one of the cozy couches and look out at that view all day long.
She wandered toward the back of the house where stairs led down to an unfinished basement that housed all the mechanical systems and shelves full of supplies. Back on the main level, there was also a small mudroom with a washer and dryer that led to a two car garage with a pickup truck inside much like the one Max owned in the city.
Upstairs, there were two large bedrooms of equal size. Each had a private bathroom, though they were quite different. One had a full tub and modest shower where the other had an enormous shower and no tub at all. She suspected Maxwell had the tub installed with his aunt in mind. She wondered if they'd be sharing a room, or if they'd sleep separately. She hoped it was the first option.
She went back downstairs and found Maxwell.
"Hungry?" he asked.
"Starving," she said.
"Me too."
She headed straight to the kitchen and opened up the cupboards to see what she had to work with. She wasn't a great cook--she actually hated cooking--but she could hold her own. Her brothers had always been well-fed.
"What are you doing?" he asked, walking up behind her.
"Cooking," she said matter-of-factly.
"Not a chance. Go sit down," he commanded.
She looked up at him, questioning.
"In my house, we share the duties. And I'm the cook."
"You're cooking?" she asked, disbelieving. "For me?"
"That's what I said."
Annika wasn't sure what to say. She knew outside the compound things were different. She'd seen shows and movies on TV--it was one of the only luxuries she'd been allowed--but she'd never thought a day might come when a man would cook for her. Aside from the restaurants she'd eaten in lately during her trips to meet the candidates, she was pretty sure no one had ever cooked for her. Maxwell making her dinner sounded a little too good to be true.
"A
re you sure?" she asked. "I don't mind. I'd like to help."
She really didn't mind. Somehow the idea of cooking for him took on a whole different meaning than it had at home. She liked the idea of taking care of him, of doing something that would make him happy.
"You can help with dishes later. For now, why don't you go relax?" Maxwell said. "Take a bath or a nap or something. Dinner will be ready in an hour."
A nap? That sounded, well ... it sounded fantastic.
"Okay," she said. She still felt a little dazed, but she wasn't going to argue.
Annika went upstairs, slipped out of her pants, and burrowed under the thick, warm covers. It had been such a long day. She was asleep before she'd even closed her eyes.
#
Annika woke to a delicious aroma wafting into the bedroom. She got out of bed and dressed, then went back downstairs. The smells coming from the kitchen were incredible.
True to his word, Maxwell had a feast going. There was a thick stew bubbling on the stove and what smelled like fresh bread baking in the oven. He even had on a chef's apron.
"Hi," she said, alerting Maxwell to her presence.
"Hey," he said. "How was the nap?"
"Nice," she said. She felt well-rested and calm. And hungry. "What are you making?"
"Venison stew," he said, holding out a spoon for her to taste.
"Oh my God," she said, taking the bite. The stew was thick and flavorful and her stomach was growling. "That's amazing."
"Thanks," he said.
"Where'd you learn to cook like that?"
"My aunt was a truly horrible cook," he laughed. "I mean, the worst food you've ever tasted. Call it a survival mechanism."
"It tastes like you did more than survive," she said.
"Might as well do a thing right if you're going to do it."
"Is that bread in the oven?" she asked, peeking through the small window.
"I didn't make that. It's from the freezer. Well, everything's kind of from the freezer at this point, but at least the stew wasn't pre-made. We can figure out the grocery situation tomorrow. I've got most stuff here, but we could use eggs and milk and some fresh vegetables."
"You've got quite a setup here," she said.