Читать книгу McKinnon's Royal Mission - Amelia Autin - Страница 13

Chapter 3

The estate’s active alarm system went off in the dead of night three days later. Alec was on duty, but both brothers responded immediately, guns drawn. By the time they made their way from the guest house to the main house, the princess’s household had been roused from sleep by the blaring alarm. Her staff was milling around, but surprisingly no one had tried to turn off the alarm. Her entire contingent of Zakharian bodyguards—only two of whom had actually been awake and on duty when the alarm went off—were already stationed in and around the princess’s sitting room, armed and dangerous. Two of them whirled and drew down on Liam and Alec before they recognized the two DSS agents.

“Don’t apologize,” Liam told them when the two bodyguards stiffly began to do so as he and Alec entered the princess’s sitting room. “You did the right thing,” he said, pitching his voice to carry over the noise. “What’s the situation? Has anyone seen anything?”

Alec left the room for a minute, then the raucous alarm was mercifully turned off. When he returned he said, “The passive alarms didn’t go off. I noticed that right off the bat. So whoever or whatever set off the active alarm didn’t come from outside the estate.”

Both Alec and Liam focused on the princess, who’d been drawn from her bed by her bodyguards and spirited into her sitting room, and was perched in an armchair in the corner of the room farthest from the window, surrounded by three of her bodyguards. She was still in her nightdress, but someone had handed her a silk dressing gown in a deep shade of peach, which she had quickly wrapped around her person. And her long hair had been bundled up, tidily out of the way. Alec glanced around and asked abruptly, “Does anyone know what set off the alarm?”

No one answered at first. The Zakharians in the room turned to the princess, and she shook her head, taking charge in a calm and composed manner. “I do not know,” she replied in a steady voice. “I do not think it was one of us.”

Liam already had his cell phone out and was pressing a speed dial button. Everyone was startled when a cell phone rang nearby, and all eyes were drawn to the doorway from the bedroom into the sitting room, to the tall man who suddenly stood there as if he’d materialized out of the darkness.

“I set it off,” Trace said in his deep voice, as he casually silenced his cell phone and leaned against the doorjamb, his gun safely in its shoulder holster. But there was nothing casual in the way he took in the status of the room, and he nodded approvingly to himself. Everyone had reacted exactly as they should. The princess’s bodyguards had quickly moved her from her bedroom to the safest, most defensible place in the sitting room, and were shielding her with their bodies. Alec, who had the duty today, had responded promptly. His brother, Liam, who Trace had known was sleeping in the guest house even though he wasn’t on duty, had also responded exactly as Trace had hoped—guarding the princess wasn’t the kind of job where a man was ever really “off the clock,” not if he was anywhere around her.

And the princess? She obviously wasn’t hysterical. She wasn’t even frightened by the alarm, not that he could see anyway, just alert and wary. And that surprised him. Somehow he’d thought she’d be the weak link, terrified at the potential threat, and he grudgingly gave her points for remaining cool under duress. He wondered if this was the first time she’d ever faced this kind of situation, or if there had been attempts on her life before. There hadn’t been anything about that in her dossier, but then he’d already realized the State Department’s dossier on her was woefully incomplete.

Both Alec and Liam had holstered their weapons at Trace’s initial statement, and now Alec said with a touch of humor in his voice, “Fire drill?”

“Yeah.” Trace straightened and walked farther into the room, heading right for the princess. “I’m sorry,” he told her gently, “but it was necessary. I had to be sure everyone knew what to do in an emergency. Your men and mine.”

She stood up, and her bodyguards deferentially moved to one side. She tightened her belt around her waist with a decided snap, then she looked up into Trace’s eyes. “It was a test?” she asked levelly.

“Yes.”

Her next question was unexpected. “Did we pass?”

“With flying colors.” When her brows drew together, questioning what he meant by that proverbial phrase, he explained, “Honorably successful.”

“Ahhh.” She nodded as comprehension dawned. “Good.” She tore her gaze away from his and glanced around the room at everyone there. “Does this mean we can all go back to sleep now?”

Trace couldn’t help it, a smile tugged at his mouth as she asked the question in a practical, no-nonsense tone. “Yes, ma’am,” he told her, for once not using the word princess. “Everyone can stand down.” Before she could ask, he added, “That means suspend and relax from an alert state of readiness. Return to normal. And since it’s—” he glanced at his watch “—two-fifteen in the morning, yes, everyone can go back to sleep.”

Everyone but me, he thought, but didn’t say. He had a report to write. And since the report would no doubt end up in the hands of the king of Zakhar, passed along by the State Department, it needed to be thorough...and reassuring.

* * *

From a short distance away, the three armed men treading in the shadows of the estate’s perimeter had heard the alarm go off. They circled back to their prearranged meeting point, shot questioning glances at each other, then shrugged their shoulders without speaking a word. They were as certain as they could be that no one had breached the estate’s walls—if anyone had attempted that they would have known—and none of them had set off the alarm.

There was little or no movement around the estate that they could see from their vantage point, even with the advanced technology that night-vision goggles provided. And though the men were prepared to disappear if necessary—considering the amount of illegal equipment they carried—no police responded to the alarm. That was a telling point. All three men noted the time, the exact responses...and the lack thereof. These details would be included in their report, which would be forwarded up the chain of command.

Their orders were clear, although none of the men knew the exact reason behind them. But they didn’t need to know. As were all the men who worked in their organization, they were intensely, militarily devoted to the man at the top. They believed. Arrest and incarceration was a definite possibility, but it wasn’t one that concerned them unduly.

Shortly thereafter the alarm was silenced. When the estate had finally settled down and the normal night sounds returned, the men resumed their catlike stalking from a distance, notating each potential weakness in the estate’s defenses for future use.

* * *

On the first day of the semester Mara woke early, with a sense of excitement barely contained. Today she would begin teaching again, but this time things would be different. For the past two years she had taught at the University of Zakhar in the capital city of Drago. She was a good teacher—she knew it—but she had never been able to fit in. Everyone at the University of Zakhar had known who she was. The faculty hadn’t been able to separate the princess from the professor, not to mention her students. Everyone there had kept her at a distance, just as she’d been isolated at Oxford. That wasn’t going to happen this time. Not if she could help it.

Ever since she could remember her secret dream had been to be an ordinary woman. Not a princess. Not an icon. And certainly not someone whose face and life story were used to sell magazines. And such stories! She made an expression of distaste at the memories of the fictional stories—all supposedly true—that had been written about her over the years. Andre had told her not to read them because they upset her so much, but she’d never been able to resist. It was almost a morbid fascination. Then she would throw the magazine against the wall, or rip the pages into tiny fragments, muttering dire threats she wished she could carry out. If only the world knew the truth! No one would want to read about her real life, so the tabloids were forced to make things up.

But that was all behind her now, and Mara hummed to herself as she dressed. She had taken note of what the women professors at the university here wore, and had gone shopping with a vengeance. No one at school except the president of the university and the dean of her college knew that Her Serene Highness Princess Mara Theodora and Dr. Mara Marianescu were one and the same person. Mara was determined to keep it that way, even though it meant camouflaging herself by wearing clothes bought off the rack and donning eyeglasses with plain glass lenses instead of prescription ones she didn’t need. All her adult life she had downplayed her looks; preferring to remain in the background rather than stand out. Now she was glad of it. Most people saw only what they expected to see. And even though her photograph had been plastered across the pages of magazines for years, no one would expect to see her here in Boulder, a simple math professor in a university that ranked in the top hundred in the US, but not in the top ten or even the top fifty.

Mara smiled to herself, remembering the battle she’d fought with Special Agent McKinnon over her insistence on being just like everyone else. That meant the limousine and chauffeur had to go. It had required a phone call to her brother, but in the end Andre had relented. She would be allowed to drive herself to and from school without her Zakharian bodyguards in tow—just one of the special agents assigned to her “riding shotgun.” Mara laughed with delight as she thought of it. English was such a colorful language, full of imagery and idioms.

Then her laughter faded. Special Agent McKinnon would be guarding her today. She was already on excellent terms with the other two special agents, the ones from the Diplomatic Security Service, Alec and Liam. She called them by their first names now, and although they had both refused to call her Mara, and she had refused to allow them to call her Princess Mara, they had laughingly agreed to call her Dr. Marianescu.

And while Alec and Liam zealously guarded her, they treated her like a normal person, which was what she so desperately wanted. She knew all about their large family—mother, older brothers, younger sister and her daughter, their one-year-old niece. They had shared with her a little of their dreams and aspirations, and knew something of hers, too, and how much she wanted to belong.

But Special Agent McKinnon was different. When she was with him she always felt on edge, and it wasn’t just because his face and physique set her senses jangling. It was as if he were judging her and finding her wanting, and that hurt more than she’d ever thought possible. He never told her anything about himself, either. After more than a month she knew no more about him than she had that first day—the facts in his dossier and the effect he had upon her senses.

Because of him she had drastically restricted her rides on Suleiman, a real sacrifice. Neither Alec nor Liam rode, so if she rode she was forced to do it with Special Agent McKinnon at her side. That meant riding only on the days he was on duty, instead of every day as was her habit. The first time he had appeared on horseback on one of his days off Mara had been startled. He hadn’t said anything about it, and it was so difficult to talk to him about anything. So she’d asked Liam, who was officially on duty that day. After that she had requested a copy of the duty roster every week, and planned her rides accordingly.

But Special Agent McKinnon didn’t seem to appreciate her sacrifice. Didn’t seem to appreciate her. Sometimes in bed at night she thought about him before falling asleep. Wondered what kind of woman would appeal to him. Wondered why he didn’t like her. And she wanted him to like her. So much so that she wondered what it would take to change his mind. Wondered what it would take to make him stop calling her Princess in that subtly mocking way she hated.

She watched him when he wasn’t looking, especially on horseback. She rode English and he rode Western style, but that didn’t mean she didn’t admire the way he rode. Man and horse seemed as one, and she imagined he had been born in the saddle. He was such a superb horseman she would even have trusted him with Suleiman—and she had never let anyone but Andre ride her precious Suleiman.

But it wasn’t just the way he rode. He did everything well, from training her household on security measures—including the two additional alerts in the past few weeks and his no-nonsense dissecting of everyone’s actions, including hers—to picking a veterinarian for her horses, to dealing with the hundred and one problems that cropped up as her staff adjusted to life in a new country. Competent. Self-assured. Liked and respected by everyone, from her housekeeper to her chefs to her chargé d’affaires. Everyone in her household turned to him as the final arbiter. Alec and Liam didn’t say much about him, but she could tell they, too, thought highly of Special Agent McKinnon.

You do, too, she told herself sadly. It wasn’t his handsome face she was drawn to, although looking at it filled her with the challenge of making him smile at her. A real smile. A private smile, just for her. And it wasn’t that incredibly fit body of his, either, although her thoughts had followed a forbidden path more than once as she imagined what it would be like in his arms. No, it wasn’t either of those things, but something entirely different. Even though he made her nervous and edgy, she trusted him implicitly where her safety was concerned. She knew nothing could happen to her when he was there, the same way she felt with Andre. Safe. Secure. Sheltered.

And something more. She wasn’t sure what that was. Not exactly. But she wanted to find out. If only he didn’t dislike her...

* * *

The order to stand down two days before had come as a surprise to the men who had covertly surveilled the estate for weeks. They had quietly discussed the order among themselves, but there was no question of disobeying. The reason behind their original posting and their withdrawal order was beyond their need to know. They had filed one last report, then disappeared as if they had never been there, leaving no trace of their passing. What, if anything, had been learned from their observations would be used—or not—at the discretion of the man whose word was law to his men. Their operation was over...for now.

* * *

Trace woke late, with barely enough time to shower, shave, brush his teeth and grab some breakfast in the guest house’s kitchen. He was not in a good mood. He’d had big plans for the weekend—his first full weekend off in a month—but nothing had gone according to plan.

First, Keira had called him early Saturday to say his goddaughter was running a fever, and it would probably be best to postpone his visit to another day. He’d really been looking forward to spending time with Alyssa. Not to mention he’d wanted the opportunity to favor Alyssa’s father with a few choice words about the current assignment he’d been suckered into taking on.

Then his date Saturday night with the tall hot blonde who was subletting his condo had turned into a complete washout. Not that she’d given him the cold shoulder. On the contrary. He wasn’t cocky or conceited about it—at least he tried not to be. But he knew when a woman was giving him the green light. And the green light had been flashing all evening. The problem was...him.

Don’t lie to yourself, a little voice in the back of his head mocked. It’s not that you didn’t find her attractive. It’s just that she didn’t have green eyes.

Green eyes fringed with long, delicately tinted lashes that owed nothing to artifice. Hair the color of wild honey. Lips that wore just a touch of lip gloss; that curved into an open, natural smile more often than not. And a voice like water trickling through a mountain stream bed, cool and clear, with just the faintest hint of an accent.

Sunday he’d gone to his cabin near Keystone, but that hadn’t been a success, either. He’d done the long-overdue yard work and prepped the cabin for winter until his body was aching and dripping with sweat. But his thoughts continually strayed to the princess, wondering what she was doing on her last day before the semester started. Wondering what she’d think of his rustic cabin in the mountains if he ever dared take her there. Wondering what it would be like to kiss her until her lips were naked of anything but the color of passion.

When he’d caught himself thinking along those lines he’d severely chastised himself, but it hadn’t done any good. It had only been a month, but she was slowly driving him crazy with wanting her. How was he going to make it through the rest of the year?

Trace had reminded himself he had no intention of falling into the trap that falling for the princess would eventually become. Hadn’t he made it quite clear to his boss and to the State Department that he would not, under any circumstances, use his looks to attract her the way the State Department had wanted him to do? That he would not compromise the princess that way? But who would believe him if he said now that he was drawn to her for reasons totally unrelated to his job? Even he’d have a hard time believing it of himself, though he knew it was the God’s honest truth.

He’d returned to the estate last night in a foul mood. Then he’d lain awake until the wee hours of the morning, unable to banish the princess from his mind. Thinking about the way she watched him when she thought he wouldn’t notice, and what that meant. Thinking about the way she looked on Suleiman, how she handled the high-spirited thoroughbred with ease and rode as if she and the horse communicated on a higher plane. Watching as she groomed Suleiman with firm and sure strokes—she never left that manual chore for her groom to do, earning Trace’s respect for her as a true horsewoman. Hearing in his head her gentle voice as she talked to her horse in Zakharan when she thought no one could hear, all soft and sweet and loving, nothing held back.

Would she be like that with a man? With him?

He’d finally fallen asleep, for all the good it did him. She haunted his dreams, memories of the times he’d spent in her company interwoven with fantasies. Vivid fantasies. Erotic fantasies.

Now Trace tried to shake off the remnants of his dreams as he dressed in the jeans and casual shirt she insisted her bodyguards wear on campus so as not to stand out. Then he strapped on his SIG SAUER, automatically checking the action and the clip before shrugging on a blazer to cover the gun and its holster and heading out.

He wasn’t looking forward to today. Guarding the princess meant he’d have to sit in on her classes. And since she didn’t want anyone to know she was being guarded, he was going to have to pretend he was a student. A little long in the tooth for a student, he thought, smiling wryly. But that meant he couldn’t read the newspaper, couldn’t do the crossword puzzle, couldn’t do anything but sit there, listen and pretend to take notes.

Why did she have to be a math teacher? Well, maybe he’d learn something. He couldn’t imagine how it might apply to his job, but you never knew. He’d just have to make the best of it.

He started out the door, but was called back by the ping of the secure fax machine indicating an incoming fax was pending. He quickly keyed in the code to release the fax, then waited impatiently for the two sheets of paper to print. His brows drew into a frown as he perused the latest intelligence report from the State Department. It was disquieting, to say the least, to think that the estate might have been under observation by a person or persons unknown. The good news—if you could call it that—was that if there had been surveillance, which the State Department was by no means sure of, that surveillance had since been withdrawn.

Trace considered things for a moment, correlating known facts with this latest intel. No one had been following the princess, he was sure of that. And no one had attempted to penetrate the estate’s perimeter. So the reason for the surveillance—if there had been any, he reminded himself—was unknown at this point.

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like unknowns, but there wasn’t much he could do about it, except kick up their state of readiness, just in case. He made a mental note to discuss the situation with Alec and Liam. Before he mentioned anything to the princess and her Zakharian bodyguards, he wanted to get the Jones brothers’ take on it. He had to be careful about how much he revealed regarding his government’s secret intelligence reports—especially if they showed his government in a poor light the way this one did. He considered how he might word a warning to the Zakharians as he folded the pages and tucked them securely in an inner pocket of his jacket before he walked outside.

The princess’s chauffeur had parked the brand-new midnight blue Lexus SUV in front of the main house in preparation for her, leaving the keys in the ignition, and Trace took a minute to look the vehicle over. On the one hand it wasn’t a vehicle many college professors could afford to drive. But on the other hand it wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility, either. If she wanted to fit in, as both Alec and Liam had made a point of telling him, at least the SUV would be less noticeable than the limo and driver.

The princess had already driven the two DSS agents to and from the university, getting a feel for the SUV and learning her way about town. They’d both assured him she was a good and careful driver, if a little nervous at times. Only to be expected, he thought. Zakhar doesn’t have the kind of traffic we take for granted, and she probably didn’t have much opportunity to drive herself there anyway. The same goes for the time she spent in England.

The front door opened and the princess walked out alone. She was dressed as casually as he was in jeans topped with a pale green blouse open at the throat, exposing a creamy expanse of skin. A brown leather purse was slung over one shoulder, she carried a leather briefcase in her other hand and brown leather flats were on her feet. A delicate gold necklace, a discreet gold watch and tiny gold studs in her ears were all the jewelry she wore. Her hair was pulled back into the chignon she customarily wore in public, a style that begged for a man’s hands to undo to let her wavy tresses flow free.

Her makeup was understated, as always, as if she didn’t want to draw attention to herself. And the disguising horn-rimmed fake eyeglasses were firmly in place—they really did make a noticeable difference in her appearance, although they didn’t really hide her lovely green eyes. Not from him, anyway.

“Good morning,” she said, smiling hesitantly.

His heartbeat quickened when her eyes met his, and he had to steel himself to be brusque. “Good morning, Princess.”

Her smile faded, and she took a deep breath. “Please do not call me that. Not today. Today I am Dr. Marianescu. Only that.”

She’s right, he thought. She’s gone to a lot of trouble to fit in, and it would defeat the purpose if anyone overhears me calling her Princess.

He knew why he called her Princess. It was his only defense against her, against the way she tugged at his emotions, the way his body responded to her. It was the only way he could remind himself of who and what she was. Not to mention who and what he was. She was a royal princess, sister to a reigning monarch. He was a man who didn’t even know his father’s name. And while Trace was as egalitarian as they come, there was still a vast gulf between them. Too vast to cross.

“Dr. Marianescu it is,” he told her. Her smile returned, and it was like the sun rising over the horizon. He almost smiled back, but then stopped himself and added, “At least while we’re at school.”

An odd expression flitted over her face and her eyes darkened behind the clear lenses, but she kept the smile in place with an effort. Something about that forced smile made him feel as if he’d kicked a defenseless kitten—not a good feeling at all. Trace wished he hadn’t said it, but it was too late for that. “We’d better get going,” he said curtly. And despite telling himself not to, he couldn’t keep the mocking inflection out of his voice when he added, “You don’t want to be late on your first day, Princess.”