Brandishing a Crown

by Rita Herron

  She trembled inside. Maybe he did. But she didn’t. At least not with her heart.

  “Please, Stefan, go back inside. Let your security team protect you so you can finish your business in the States.”

  Her words seemed to tame the suggestive look in his eyes. She missed it. But she also knew it was for the best.

  “That is the reason I came out,” he admitted. “Hector reminded me that giving in to the threat, allowing whoever is terrorizing us to prevent the summit, is wrong. It gives our enemies power.”

  Jane studied his demeanor, unsure where he was going with the conversation. “That’s true. So what are you planning to do?”

  “I had intended to tour a local oil drilling site and hold a press conference there to present my environmental package. It is not scheduled for a few days, but I would like a preview of the place undeterred by the staff at the site.” He hesitated. “And undeterred by my own.”

  Jane gaped at him. Darkness had fallen while he was inside, the last slivers of sunlight straining against the sky. “But it’s night, Stefan. There isn’t much you can tell at night.”

  Stefan shrugged. “Perhaps not. But I cannot sit in that suite. I am going.”

  Jane threw her shoulders back, bracing for a fight. “Then I’m going with you.”

  Stefan stared at her for a long moment, working his mouth as if fighting a protest. But in the end, his jaw went slack as if he realized arguing with her was futile.

  “Very well,” he said quietly. “But if there’s trouble, I will handcuff you inside the car to keep you safe if necessary.”

  Jane’s lungs tightened at his declaration. Although an unseemly image of him handcuffing her to his bed danced through her mind, and she bit back a response. She couldn’t allow him to know how he’d affected her.

  It was too dangerous for her. She had to protect him from danger.

  And protect herself from him.

  STEFAN ALMOST SMILED at the myriad of emotions crisscrossing Jane’s face. He enjoyed making the woman uncomfortable. After all, she had completely ripped him out of his own comfort zone.

  “Stefan—”

  “Do not respond,” he said, knowing she’d have a smart retort if she did. He wanted to leave his last words in her mind to torment her.

  “So, do you still wish to accompany me?” he said, his voice resonating with sexual undertones.

  “I would be irresponsible if I let you go alone.”

  He chuckled, then pressed a finger to the tip of her nose. “And Jane Cameron is always responsible.”

  She started to stammer, but he brushed by her and led the way from the gardens to the front to call for a driver. But Jane closed a hand around his phone before he could make the call.

  “Don’t. Let me drive you.”

  “I told you that I do not wish to put you in harm’s way.”

  “Stefan,” Jane said. “I know you don’t respect me as a criminologist—”

  “I did not say that.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  He wrapped his hand around hers where she still gripped his phone. “I respect and admire you very much, Jane.” He hated that his voice cracked but emotions flooded him. “That is the reason I could not stand to see you harmed.”

  Jane’s breath gushed out, shaky and raw. “The feeling is mutual,” Jane admitted. “Now listen to me. So far, you received a warning that you couldn’t trust anyone. Your friend Amir has disappeared in a suspicious bombing. And you’ve been shot at.”

  Pain flickered in Stefan’s eyes.

  “Have you considered that the person behind this attack might be one of your own team?”

  Stunned, Stefan stared at her, momentarily speechless. “My people have been checked and double-checked. All of our security teams have.”

  “Maybe I’m being overly cautious,” Jane said. “But give it some thought. Someone is tracking every move you’ve made so far, meaning an insider could be feeding them information.”

  How could he dismiss her suspicions when her speculations made perfect sense?

  “I know it’s hard to fathom,” Jane continued. “But just for tonight, let me drive you. Don’t tell anyone where we’re going.”

  Tension riddled him, but he could not deny her plea. After all, they were simply going for a drive. If anyone followed, they would both be on alert.

  And being alone with Jane…now, that had a special appeal all its own.

  An appeal that had nothing to do with being safe or fear of an attack.

  JANE SET HER GPS for directions to the oil drilling sight, her nerves on edge. Miles and miles of wilderness stretched before her, the sight of wild mustangs and antelope roaming the land reminding her of how much she loved Wyoming.

  And of the problems the oil drilling had caused the environment. The air was polluted, crime had escalated, animal life was in danger.

  All problems Stefan thought he could rectify.

  Stefan…

  She hated to make him distrustful of his own people, but the facts of the case indicated that someone might be leaking information to the royals’ enemies, and she would be totally remiss in her job if she hadn’t brought his attention to the matter.

  He was obviously too close to his own people to see it. Which meant that she should probably get even closer so she could keep her eyes on them.

  But getting closer meant insinuating herself more into his life, and that meant physically being closer to the prince.

  Only being close to him was playing havoc on her nerves and seriously endangering her sanity. Because each moment she spent with him made her want him more.

  Even his loyalty to his servants roused her admiration. What would she do if a man ever devoted himself to her like that?

  Not the issue, Jane. Stop daydreaming.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she checked to make sure no one was following them, but the traffic was thin, the road virtually deserted as she veered away from the resort. The oil-drilling site was miles from Wind River Ranch and Resort and the opposite direction of Dumont, eliminating heavy traffic. That would make it much easier to spot a tail.

  Stefan sat rigid, checking the mirrors and side roads himself, honed for trouble. She saw the wheels turning in his brain and sympathized. She also recognized the tough military man who had emerged, the man who was prepared to forgo personal considerations in lieu of serving his countrymen.

  Stefan would be a formidable leader. Yet he was concerned with people and the environment and he wanted peace.

  Qualities that made her curious about his environmental research.

  She’d been so lost in her thoughts that the scenery had passed in a blur, and she suddenly realized that it was time to make the final turn for the oil-drilling site, and she hadn’t paid as much attention to the traffic as she should have.

  Dammit. What if someone had followed them? She couldn’t let her emotions play into the situation and endanger Stefan.

  She checked the rearview mirror again and noticed headlights, but a minute later, the car swerved down a side road, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Five minutes later, she spotted the oil-drilling site ahead.

  Heavy machinery, outbuildings housing equipment, supplies, and rest facilities for the workers loomed in the distance, dim lights accentuating the starkness of the area. A large hole had already been drilled for core samples and a reserve pit for wastes, eyesores and areas that could adversely affect the environment.

  “You say you have answers to environmental issues,” Jane said. “Environmentalists have complained that, among other issues, the oil drilling sites have altered the migration habits of the antelope.”

  “There is reason for concern,” Stefan said quietly.

  She thought of the untamed beautiful land and its wildlife population and her heart squeezed. Thousands of miles of undisturbed land devoted to animal and plant life were now being explored, upsetting the terrain and its inhabitants.

  If Stefan had answers to all
eviate some of these problems, the U.S. needed to listen.

  She parked, climbed from the vehicle and grabbed flashlights for both of them, a soft hissing sound echoing in the air that made the hairs on her nape rise.

  “What is that?” Jane asked.

  “Shallow gas from the big drive pipes,” Stefan explained. “Nothing to worry about, but the pressure buildup below the surface has to be monitored as the oil is drilled.”

  Jane nodded. She’d heard of terrible accidents, a man crushed at one Wyoming site, and knew the process was dangerous. “The workers are paid well,” Jane said. “But they should be considering the risks they take.”

  “Risks can be minimized if proper procedures are in place,” Stefan said.

  “We’ve also had an increase in crime,” Jane added, consumed with her own thoughts now. “Meth labs have become more prominent, and I’ve heard that many workers are using just to keep themselves awake for the long hours.”

  “Yes, not good,” Stefan murmured as he walked through the site.

  Jane shone her flashlight across the way, spotlighting trucks, pipes, chains and cables and two more mammoth holes.

  “Why so many trucks?” she asked.

  “One is a control truck,” Stefan explained. “It controls the explosive that splits the pipes beneath the surface. Then there is a pump truck, sand truck, detergent truck, water truck…” He gestured to the individual vehicles.

  “All necessary and serve their own purpose.”

  Platforms had been built to study the oil sites, and lights erected for night drilling. Jane walked over to examine one of the outbuildings and found a rear entrance unlocked. Stefan methodically moved along the trucks and equipment as if analyzing the details, then ventured into a separate building, a metal structure she assumed held supplies.

  Determined not to let Stefan out of her sight, she hurried over to the warehouse, squinting as she tried to adjust her eyes to the dark interior. The smell of machine oil, sweat and other chemicals swirled around her as she entered, a sudden wind picking up outside.

  Stefan spent the next half hour studying the contents, murmuring comments of concern and points he wanted to address regarding equipment and safety procedures. In the distance, Jane thought she heard the rumble of a car, no, a motorbike. But when she checked through the doorway she saw nothing, just dust swirling in a thick fog.

  Footsteps creaked across the floor, and she turned, thinking it was Stefan. But suddenly a shot blasted the air.

  The bullet pinged near her, and she grabbed her weapon from her purse and pivoted, searching frantically for Stefan and the shooter but it was so dark she couldn’t see. Another bullet zipped by her face, and she ducked.

  “Jane!”

  “Stay down,” she yelled.

  Spotting the shiny glint of metal from the opposite side, she crouched down and headed to Stefan, determined to get him under cover. But a thunderous roar filled the air. Then a heavy piece of metal slammed into her shoulder.

  Jane screamed and struggled to remain upright, but the blow hit her jaw, she heard a tooth crack, then something slammed into her skull.

  Pinpricks of lights danced in a dizzying circle in front of her before she collapsed to the ground. She fought to regain her equilibrium but lost the battle and darkness swallowed her into its abyss.

  Chapter Eleven

  Stefan spun around at the sound of Jane’s cry, fear gnawing at his throat. Darkness shrouded the interior of the warehouse obliterating his view, but footsteps shuffled near where he’d heard Jane, so he crept toward her.

  A bullet sailed by his shoulder, and he ducked to the right behind a stack of pipes. Had Jane been hit?

  He crawled around the mound of pipes, searching the shadows for the shooter, then heard a low groan and spotted Jane lying in a heap on the floor.

  He had to get to her, see how badly she was injured.

  Listening for the shooter, he kept low to the ground, using the stacks of pipes and cables as cover.

  “Jane.” He knelt beside her, panic seizing him at the sight of blood dotting her forehead.

  “Dammit,” Jane growled and pushed against the flooring to steady herself.

  “Jane, stay still. You have a head injury.”

  She clutched his arm with a steely grip. “I have to go after the shooter.”

  He gently pushed her back down, worried about the knot swelling on her head. “You are not going anywhere right now,” he hissed. “You are bleeding and probably have a concussion!”

  “I’m fine,” Jane protested, trying to use her feet as leverage to anchor herself to a sitting position.

  He hastily removed a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it over Jane’s forehead to stem the blood flow. “If you don’t stay put, I’m going to tie you down like I promised earlier,” he snapped. “Now where is your gun?”

  Jane must have felt dizzy because she swayed backward, and he caught her and eased her back down. “I don’t know,” she whispered frantically. “I lost it when I fell.”

  Footsteps scurried across the room again, and Stefan spotted the shooter easing toward the left side of the warehouse, slipping between rows of supplies.

  He would not let this man hurt Jane any more than he already had. “Keep pressure on your head and lie still until I return.”

  Sweeping his hand across the flooring, he searched for Jane’s gun. His hand hit a nail and tore his skin, but he ignored the pain and narrowed his eyes, searching between the rows of pipes, tubing and cables.

  Finally a shiny glint flickered in the darkness, and he grabbed it then tucked it back into Jane’s hands.

  “Keep that ready in case he comes back.”

  “No, take it,” Jane said.

  Stefan shook his head. “I am not leaving you unarmed.”

  He dropped a quick kiss on her nose, then crept toward the doorway. The shooter was hiding between a supply of explosives. Panic momentarily struck him. If this guy set off those explosives, it would be all over for him and Jane.

  He instantly resorted back to military mode and slowed his breathing to avoid detection. Then he padded quietly across the warehouse like a sniper tracking his mark.

  He had to become one with the night. Move without sound. Blend with his surroundings. Plan and attack.

  The scent of oil and other chemicals suffused the air, but he dug deeper with his senses, and smelled the musty scent of sweat and cigar.

  The shooter was a smoker.

  Zeroing in on his location took only a fraction of a second. He could track anyone by his scent, and this man reeked, even in light of the strong odors suffusing the warehouse.

  Deciding to lead the man away from Jane, he dashed toward the back doorway nearest the shooter. The man fired, but he swerved, weaving and zigzagging until he sprinted through the door. He prayed the man would follow and Jane would be safe.

  His prayers were answered when he heard footsteps racing after him. Wanting to catch the man off guard, he rushed through the exit, spun around, jumped to the side and waited. But the guy was onto him and slowed, easing around the corner with his weapon drawn.

  Stefan karate-chopped his arm and the man’s weapon flew from his hand, landing near the reserve pit. Stefan lunged for it, but just as his fingers closed around the handle, the shooter punched Stefan in the jaw. Stefan staggered backward slightly from the blow, but managed to hold on to the gun. But the man was fast and head butted him, then reached for the gun.

  They fought and struggled, the weapon released a round into the air, then the man kneed Stefan in the groin. Stefan groaned, still clutching the gun, but the beefy jerk managed to snap his wrist with his arm and the gun sailed into the dirt somewhere a few feet away.

  Anger fueled Stefan’s strength, and he lunged toward the sniper. The impact sent his attacker backward, and they both flew to the ground. Dust swirled around them as they rolled and struggled, trading blow for blow. Stefan’s fist connected with the man’s nose and bones cru
nched.

  “Damn you!” Blood gushed from his nose and he spit at Stefan, then threw a fist toward Stefan’s stomach.

  Stefan rolled again, and the man snatched his leg, trying to yank him back, but Stefan kicked at him, slamming his fist into the guy’s head. A litany of curses rent the air, and Stefan reached for the gun again.

  But the man got a second wind, bellowed, and jumped him from behind, slamming his body into Stefan’s and dragging him into a chokehold. Somewhere in the background, he thought he heard Jane yelling his name, and an image of her bloody head flashed in his mind.

  Adrenaline surged through him. He twisted, throwing punch after punch at his attacker, pried the man’s beefy hands from his neck, then flipped him onto his back at the edge of the pit. The man shouted as his body slid toward the pit. Stefan shoved him harder, and his legs went over, his hands clawing at the dirt to keep from sinking into it.

  “You have to die!” the bastard yelled.

  Stefan’s fingers closed around the man’s weapon, and he aimed it at his face.

  “You won’t do it,” the sniper ground out, his face ruddy with rage and covered in dirt. In the fight, Stefan had ripped the man’s shirt, and moonlight played across some kind of tattoo on the man’s chest. A cathedral.

  Stefan frowned. He’d heard that Russian tattoos held meaning, that the number of steeples on a cathedral tattoo indicated the number of years or times a man had been incarcerated.

  Stefan stood, the gun still pointed at the burly man’s face, and stepped on his fingers. He yelped in pain, but Stefan increased the pressure, moving the weapon so the nuzzle pressed against the man’s temple.

  “Who hired you to kill me?” Stefan growled.

  The sniper spit at Stefan’s feet, and Stefan shoved his head with the tip of the gun. “Tell me or so help me I will put a bullet through your brain.”

  One of the man’s hands slipped, and he swung sideways. “You’ll kill me anyway.”

  Stefan stomped harder on the man’s fingers, grounding his heels in painfully. “That tattoo means you’re part of the Russian mob. Who sent you here?”

  Suddenly the man swung his other hand up at Stefan’s ankle, and a sharp pain sliced through Stefan’s leg. The bastard had pulled a knife and stabbed him.