The Prince

by Jillian Dodd

  I give Ari a look and he stealthily leaves the room, hopefully to chase the man, who I watch run out of another door.

  Both Lorenzo and I are quickly surrounded by his bodyguards.

  Juan, his personal guard, asks me, "Why shouldn't he drink it? What do you know?"

  I realize I must act dumb. My being able to stay close to the Prince depends on them believing what I say next.

  "Uh, I don't know anything. I just thought it was weird."

  "What was weird?"

  "The waiter came out of the kitchen with only one glass of champagne instead of a tray full, and he had on black gloves instead of white ones." I look straight at the Prince. "I mean, I don't know how things go here in Montrovia, but I'd hate to see you end up as a plaything in a frat house getting taken advantage of." I purposefully giggle. "Oh, wait. That doesn't make sense. Maybe I've had too much champagne." What I'm about to say next is a total conflict, but I have to say it. I ready my hand to knock the drink away in case they call my bluff. I'll blow the mission if I have to, to keep him safe. "You're right, I'm being dumb. Who'd bother to roofie the future King? Everyone already knows he's easy. I just reacted, it's probably fine to drink."

  The Prince chuckles and considers this by looking at his glass.

  "Don't," his bodyguard says sternly. "Give me the glass." He speaks into his cuff, alerting the police, then takes the glass carefully. "Miss Von Allister had a good gut reaction. Better safe than sorry. We'll take care of this. You enjoy the rest of the party."

  X X X

  Ari takes off on a run after the black-gloved waiter, but the man has a large lead.

  By the time he gets outside, the man has taken off his waiter's jacket and is hopping onto a motorcycle. Ari presses a button on his phone and communicates with Ellis.

  Ellis is moving the limo toward the street when the motorcycle screams its way around the corner. The man is riding a black Ducati with no identification tags. Ellis throws the car into park, jumps out, and taps his cane hard on the ground causing a steel baton to emerge from its core. He sticks the baton out just as the assailant drives by and knocks the man off the bike.

  The assailant rolls to the ground with a grunt, but quickly pops up, pulling a slim gun out of his coat and aiming it at Ellis.

  Ellis leaps toward him with surprising grace for someone of his age and clips the man with the baton, knocking the gun free. Ari who has been sprinting to catch up, grabs the gun off the pavement and levels it at the man, telling him not to move.

  The man doesn't listen. He kicks the gun out of Ari's hand and punches at his face. Ari avoids the contact and throws a series of punches of his own, all connecting and leaving the man dazed. Ari gives the man another blow, knocking him down to the ground.

  "Who do you work for?" Ari questions, sitting on top of the man, his hands wrapped around the man's neck, almost cutting off his oxygen.

  The man gives Ari a defiant look, then head butts him, causing Ari to go crashing backwards. The man gets up, only to be shot in the arm by Ellis. The man grabs his bicep and attempts to run back to his bike. Ari stops him with another blow to the head just as the authorities arrive. They quickly take the man into custody, thank Ari and Ellis for their service to Montrovia, and leave.

  What they don't know is that before they left, Ari managed to place a small tracking and recording device on the man.

  Ari and Ellis calmly go back to the limo and follow the police to the detention center.

  They record and listen to the authorities' first--and very useless--round of questioning. The assailant refuses to answer anything.

  When they take a break, Ari slips unnoticed into the center and into the questioning room, only to find the man dead.

  Foam leaks out of his mouth.

  Ari takes a vial from his jacket pocket, scoops up some of the foam, and leaves the facility as stealthily as he came.

  X X X

  The Prince leads me to the bar and orders a stiff drink. After his earlier uneasy conversation combined with a possible attempted poisoning, I can see why he needs one.

  "Would you like to go home now?" I ask him. "It's been a long day."

  He gently brushes my hair from my face and kisses me, avoiding telling me what's troubling him and saying instead, "I've enjoyed your company immensely."

  "As I have yours."

  "I'm looking forward to our bath tomorrow."

  "Me too."

  He glances at his watch. "I guess it already is tomorrow. How would you feel about coming home with me now?"

  I know what he's asking.

  I bite the corner of my lip nervously and lower my head slightly. "Um . . ."

  He takes his finger and raises my chin. "It's okay. We should move slowly. This. Us."

  He leans in to kiss me again, but we are separated by guards. "Come this way, quickly."

  We're escorted to a waiting limo and taken to the castle.

  I lean toward him and whisper. "Is this really how you get a girl to come home with you?"

  He laughs heartily then rolls the partition down and asks Juan what's going on.

  "We'll discuss it when we are in the safety of the castle, Your Highness," he replies formally. Usually, he calls him Lorenzo.

  When we get to the castle, we're whisked down a hall to the War Room, and I'm introduced to Admiral Philipe Lamonte, the Joint Chief of the Montrovian armed forces.

  Admiral Lamonte gets in my face. "Why did you suspect the Prince's drink to be tainted? And I'd like you to be very specific. Tell me everything you can remember."

  His attitude tells me that I was right about the champagne. But I have to keep playing dumb.

  I can't blow my cover.

  "Uh, well, like I told Juan, the waiter came out of the door and headed straight toward us. He only had one glass on his tray, which I thought was both odd and kinda rude, because I would have taken another glass. Mine wasn't actually empty, but it had gotten warm. When he presented it to the Prince, I thought maybe it was something special for him, but I didn't remember him ordering anything. It's like the first thing they teach us in college, never drink something you didn't pour or order yourself. Which, obviously, only really relates to frat parties and club drinks because I have been drinking champagne off silver platters since I got here. It's just that the platters always come out full, and the waiters always wear white gloves, not black ones like this guy had. Really, it was the black gloves that gave me pause. And then when he walked straight out the other door. I'm sorry if I caused a scene. I didn't mean to. I highly doubt anyone would want to roofie the Prince." I laugh. "Well, except maybe for a few enthusiastic females who might want to bear a royal heir."

  "Describe the man."

  I try to make my description sound normal. Wordy. Not like a rap sheet. "Uh, he was shorter than me in heels, so like five-ten, maybe. He had short blond hair, light skin. There was a tattoo peeking out of his collar, but I couldn't see the design. He looked like he could have been of Slavic descent, maybe."

  "Your brother, Ari, chased a man of that description. He and your driver fought and managed to subdue the man until the authorities came and took him into custody."

  "So what did you find out?" Lorenzo asks.

  "Nothing, other than that he is Russian," the admiral replies.

  "Russian? First a German and a Moroccan, now a Russian? What, is the whole world out to get me?" the Prince asks. "Did you question him? Find out who he is working for?"

  "We did not. He killed himself with the same poison found in your glass, a cyanide salt compound. You would have been dead within minutes." He turns to me. "You have done a great service to our country, Miss Von Allister. We cannot thank you enough."

  Both the Prince's and my eyes widen as the Admiral and Juan leave the room.

  The Prince gives my hand a squeeze. "It seems I owe you my life again. If you keep this up, I'm going to have to hire you as a bodyguard."

  I press my free hand against his chest. "You d
o have a nice body, from what I've heard."

  He leans in and gives me a steamy kiss, but we are interrupted by his mother, who bursts through the door.

  "Lorenzo, darling, I just heard." She sees us kissing. "Oh, excuse me."

  "It's okay, mother," he says, pulling his lips away from mine. "I was just thanking Huntley for saving me yet again."

  "I've made a decision. I'm cancelling the Queen's Ball."

  "You can't. We cannot allow our nation's activities to be dictated by fear."

  "I know you are right, but there have been two attempts on your life in as many days. I don't want you attending any more parties. We'll say you are ill."

  "I appreciate your concern, Mother, but I'll be fine." He gives her a hug.

  "What about the charity race tomorrow?" she asks.

  "I must," Lorenzo firmly states.

  "You have nearly been gunned down and poisoned," she argues.

  "This is my country. If I can't feel safe and free to go about my business, neither will our countrymen. They will lose faith in the monarchy."

  "So you'd rather they lose the future of their country? Lose you?"

  "This country is bigger than one man."

  Although technically I agree with Lorenzo, I have to side with his mom on this one. "Um," I interrupt. "I know nothing about security stuff, but I can think of a million ways a charity race could go wrong."

  "Like what?" He smiles, patronizing me.

  "Another driver crashing into you, someone tampering with your car, tacks on the track to blow out your tires resulting in a fiery crash. The list could go on and on."

  He hasn't rolled his eyes yet, but I'm getting the feeling neither his mother nor I are going to be able to talk any sense into him. And since I can't go in the car with him, I need to make sure he doesn't compete, so I go with the only option I have left and pull out the emotional card.

  He's still holding my hand, so I give it a squeeze then turn to face him. "I don't want your mother, your country, or your father to watch you die."

  "My father?"

  "A television is being brought in," his mother confirms. It was a wild guess on my part, but I may have gotten lucky. "He wants to watch all the live footage. If he watched you die, it would kill him."

  "He's already close to death," Lorenzo states sadly.

  "Fine," I sputter out. "I don't want to watch you die."

  He sighs, slides his arm around my waist, and gazes into my eyes. I take his face in my hands and give him a single kiss.

  A kiss with more feeling than any kiss I've given him before. I keep my lips pressed against his for a long time. Our eyes are closed and our bodies still. It's intimate--all we can hear is the sound of our own hearts beating. Our kiss reminds me of when I'm in yoga class searching for inner peace. For me, it's illusive, because whenever I relax, I see my mother's face.

  But in this moment, I know what it feels like--a strength and peace within yourself.

  I open my eyes and whisper, "I care for you deeply, Lorenzo." I'm not pretending or manipulating. I truly mean every word.

  Surprise appears in his eyes. I'm sure a lot of women have expressed their feelings for him, but he seems surprised that I have. So is his mother, who I almost forgot was in the room.

  And, honestly, so am I.

  After he agrees not to participate in the charity race, I feign exhaustion and am driven home. He gives me a lengthy kiss when he walks me to my door. I rake my hands through the curls at the nape of his neck, deepening the kiss and enjoying the feel of his hands roaming across my backside.

  By the time I shut the door, it's nearly three in the morning.

  I strip down, put on my robe, and go sit on the terrace for a moment while trying to assimilate today's events. From what I've learned about the Terra Project to the attempts on the Prince's life. The fact that, so far, I've managed to keep him alive. But at this rate, if we don't figure out quickly who is behind the attempts, one will eventually succeed.

  And I don't want that.

  For a lot of reasons.

  A glint in the corner of the terrace catches my eye. I investigate, finding an old-fashioned cellular flip phone. I discover a note hidden inside that simply says, Call Me.

  I take the phone into my closet and grab one of the makeup wipes I was given by the Kates that tests for bomb residue, and glide it over the phone, just in case, then take it down to the basement lab and analyze it.

  Once I determine it's clean, I go back on my terrace and call the only stored number.

  "Huntley?" a voice I immediately recognize as Terrance's says.

  "Yeah?"

  "I'm going to ask you a question, and I want your honest answer."

  "Okay."

  "Did you know your parents were spies before we talked the other day?"

  "No, I did not."

  "So do you think your parents wanted you to find out eventually?"

  "I don't know."

  "How did you get the watch? Did your dad give it to you before he died?"

  "No. The Dean of Blackwood Academy gave it to me about a month later. I've worn it every day since. It's all I have left of him."

  "And the locket?"

  "No one knows about the locket. My mom gave it to me right before she died."

  "What happened to your parents?"

  "My mother was shot in front of me. Dad died by a car bomb. I got out."

  "Then what?"

  "I was sent to Blackwood."

  "Immediately?"

  "A week later."

  "What's really on the memory card from the locket?"

  "I don't know yet. I've been too busy trying to protect the Prince to find out."

  "What were your parents' names?"

  "Blake and Charlotte Cassleberry."

  "And your real name?"

  "I'd tell you, but I'd have to kill you."

  "Funny."

  "Fine. My name was Calliope Ann Cassleberry."

  "I think they wanted you to know, eventually."

  "Who wanted me to know what? And why?"

  He doesn't reply, just says, "Can you sneak out tonight and meet me?"

  "You're still in town?"

  "Of course, I am."

  "Aren't you glad you didn't chip me now, Terrance?" I tease.

  "The fitness room at my hotel is open twenty-four seven. There will be a keycard sitting outside. Meet me there in ten minutes. And take off your watch."

  "Why?"

  "It has a tracking device in it. I didn't remove it."

  "So someone has been keeping an eye on me all this time?"

  "I think they could be."

  X X X

  I pull a jacket over a workout bra and yoga pants, leave my watch under my pillow, throw on a ball cap, and exit through my terrace door.

  The night is chilly, and you can practically taste the salt in the air.

  With the moon lighting my short jog to the hotel, I get there quickly.

  I use the key card to let myself in the hotel and am sure to tuck my head down so that my face is hidden from the security cameras in the hall, find the gym, and hop on an elliptical. My mind is going faster than the machine.

  Fifty-two minutes later, Terrance finally shows up. He takes off his jacket, revealing a tank top and surprisingly buff arms and then gets on the elliptical next to me.

  "You're late."

  "I wanted to make sure neither of us was being followed. And I did some digging, for your parents' files and for yours."

  "And?"

  "When I searched your name--have you ever done that?"

  "No."

  "So you don't know that the Cassleberry family--including their fourteen-year-old daughter--were all killed in a car accident nearly eight years ago?"

  "What?" He shows me the article. "Did they fake my death to keep me safe?"

  "It appears that way. What did your dad tell you after your mom was killed?"

  "That something bad happened with their company. That
we were going to leave the country. When we got in the car, it wouldn't start. He told me to get out of the car and run--and no matter what--not to stop running until I got to Uncle Sam's apartment. That he would take care of me."

  "Uncle Sam?"

  "He was a guy my dad was friends with. He wasn't my real uncle, but he lived a few blocks from my dad's office in a converted warehouse."

  He stares at me. "As in the government, Uncle Sam?"

  "I never even thought of that," I say, rubbing my temples. "Terrance, I'm on my first mission. I can't deal with all of this now."

  "Tell me about how your mother was killed."

  "It was just after dusk on a Wednesday night. I had been outside sitting up in a tree I liked to climb when she called me inside--weird, I just remembered that. Anyway, we were getting ready for bed when she heard a noise coming from the living room. She told me to hide in the closet, took the locket from around her neck, told me it was top secret, and that no matter what I heard I was not to come out. But then she screamed and I somehow knew she was in danger, so I got a gun out of my father's bedside table. I knew how to shoot, but I didn't plan to. I guess I thought I could give her the gun. Or maybe use it to threaten whoever was there." I close my eyes, reliving it. "When I got to the living room, she was on her knees and there was a man holding a gun to her head. He was yelling at her. Telling her to give him something. She had her head down, but was completely calm when she said she didn't have it. He slapped her. Told her she was going to die. She looked up and into the man's eyes, and that's when she noticed me standing behind him. She held my eyes and imperceptibly shook her head. I knew she wanted me to hide. I knew she didn't want him to see me. Her eyes were pleading. The man threatened her again and his finger twitched. I screamed. Pulled the trigger. Shot him in the left shoulder. But it was too late. He had fired and I watched as a little round hole formed in her forehead."

  "Then what?" he asks, startling me and causing me to open my eyes.

  "He turned around and pointed his gun at me. I'll never forget the shape of his gun. It was a suppressed Beretta Twenty-One Bobcat pistol--I learned that later at school. They had them at the shooting range along with the Walther PPK that was like my dad's."

  "Keep going."

  "Oh, yeah. Um, then the rest is sort of a blur. I shot at him again, hit his right arm and caused him to drop the gun. He lunged at me and knocked the gun out of my hand. I grabbed a long bamboo pole out of a decorative pot, used it as a weapon. I was already well-trained in martial arts. I hit his shoulder, which was bleeding all over the place. Then hit him in the head. He fell down. I dropped the stick and ran. He grabbed my foot as I ran by and knocked me down. I managed to kick him in the face and got out of the house. He followed me, yelled at me to stop, that he just wanted to talk to me. But I didn't stop. I ran as fast as I could down the street. He fired at me. Missed. I think I ducked behind a car, because I remember glass from the window raining down on me. Then I ran into the neighbor's yard, jumped the fence, ran down an alley and out to the main thoroughfare, where I stole a coat from a chair outside a cafe and calmly walked the two miles to my father's office."