Читать книгу Romancing The Crown: Drew and Samira - Carla Cassidy, Eileen Wilks - Страница 12

Chapter 5

At thirty-five minutes short of midnight Drew headed for Lorenzo’s new home on the palace grounds. It was ironic, really, Drew thought. For years Lorenzo’s half brother had been jealous because Lorenzo lived in the palace, while Desmond had to settle for a house on the grounds. Now that Lorenzo was married, he’d casually relinquished what Desmond wanted so fiercely, preferring the privacy of a separate dwelling.

Drew doubted that the move had done anything to ease Desmond’s envy.

Lorenzo’s new wife, Eliza, let Drew in and showed him into the study, then withdrew discreetly.

Lorenzo was sitting at his desk with a map of the palace grounds spread before him, anchored at the corners by a book, a half-full decanter, a chunk of quartz and a .9-mm pistol. ‘‘If you’d like some brandy,’’ he said without looking up, ‘‘the glasses are on the credenza.’’

Brandy sounded entirely too civilized. ‘‘Not now,’’ Drew said, sitting in the chair across from his cousin. Lorenzo had been pressed for time that morning. He’d briefed Drew quickly on what they knew about Rose Giaberti, and he’d given him some instructions. Tonight Drew meant to learn more—and make a few suggestions of his own.

‘‘I hadn’t expected to see you back quite so early.’’ There was a gleam of amusement in Lorenzo’s dark eyes.

‘‘If you’re expecting regular reports on my sex life, you’re doomed to disappointment.’’

Lorenzo leaned back in his chair. ‘‘No. I wasn’t expecting you to be this prickly, either.’’

He hadn’t even kissed her good-night. She’d been angry when she learned he was taking her to the palace and on her guard when he took her home. That was one of the reasons for his restraint. There were others—he preferred not to do the expected. Her aunt had been waiting for her behind the yellow door at the top of those stairs. He wanted her to trust him, and quick, hot sex wasn’t the way to build trust.

But those reasons were garbage. He knew that, just as he knew that, wary or not, she’d wanted his kiss. But he remained unsure of his real reason. ‘‘Have you any evidence that a cell of the Brothers of Darkness remains intact here? Any names you can give me, descriptions, anything like that?’’

‘‘I’m afraid not. There were indications in the records we recovered after the raid on their headquarters that there had been a cell in Montebello at one time. Nothing to identify its members. We don’t even know for sure it still exists, though the bombing at the airport makes that seem likely. If so, it’s operating on its own now.’’

‘‘I don’t think she’d have anything to do with the Brothers.’’

‘‘You’ve reached that opinion based on one evening? An evening spent in the company of others?’’ He shook his head. ‘‘I don’t see how even you could have coaxed any confidences from her in between salad and chicken piccata.’’

‘‘Logic,’’ Drew said dryly, ‘‘is sometimes more useful than waiting for people to tell me secrets. First, the Brothers are exclusively male. Their beliefs about women wouldn’t allow them to admit a woman to their councils. At most she might be a friend or lover of one of the terrorists, but that doesn’t fit. This isn’t a woman who would waste time on a man who wanted to put her in purdah.’’

Lorenzo gestured impatiently. ‘‘People kill for love, for money, for more twisted or obscure reasons—hatred, revenge, even social advancement. We can’t assume she has no reason to cooperate with the Brothers just because we don’t know what it is. She could be part of some other group that’s climbed in bed with them for their own reasons.’’

‘‘If that’s the case, why isn’t she dead?’’

‘‘Because she tipped us off about the bomb, you mean? Trust me, that has occurred to me. She’s being watched. But it’s possible they don’t know who called in the tip.’’

Drew drummed once, twice, on the arm of the chair. ‘‘Your Captain Mylonas detained her for questioning at the airport, then took her to the police station. If the Brothers are too stupid to figure out what that means, they aren’t much of a threat.’’

‘‘Please. Mylonas is not one of my men, which he made quite clear. The idiot wouldn’t turn her loose until I persuaded his superior to override him. As to why she’s still alive…you have to remember that we’re dealing with a small, isolated remnant of our old enemy. The Brothers had resources in terms of arms, information and men that these people lack. They may not have enough men to risk exposing one of their number by trying to kill her right now. They’ll know we’re watching her.’’

It was some consolation. Drew’s heart was pounding too hard, and there was no reason for it. None. He steepled his fingers. ‘‘It’s also possible that she isn’t tied to the Brothers in any way. I’m going to proceed on that assumption.’’

Lorenzo’s eyebrows snapped down. ‘‘You want to tell me why?’’

‘‘Because that’s the most useful assumption for me to make.’’ Not because he found it impossible to believe otherwise. Though that was true, it was subjective and proved nothing. ‘‘I won’t be much help if she’s connected to the Brothers. She isn’t going to open up to me about that. But if she heard or saw something she wasn’t supposed to, she might have decided to use this psychic nonsense as a way of tipping you off without admitting she can identify one of the Brothers.’’

‘‘I see what you mean. She’d be afraid of what they would do to her if she identified one of them. But she may trust you enough to tell you the truth.’’ Lorenzo nodded. ‘‘All right. You work with your assumption, but don’t forget that’s all it is. Watch yourself.’’

‘‘Of course. You want to tell me why you had me bring her to the palace tonight?’’

‘‘Because I’m hoping like hell your assumption is wrong.’’ Lorenzo stopped suddenly, as if mastering whatever emotion had his jaw so tight. ‘‘We had another tip.’’

‘‘And?’’

‘‘There may be an attempt on the prince’s life at the Investiture.’’

‘‘Holy hell.’’ The Investiture was a centuries’ old ritual in which the king officially named his heir, who was then installed by the island’s elected body as the Crown Prince. ‘‘If they smuggle in another bomb…’’

‘‘They could wipe out most of the government.’’

Drew sat in bleak silence a moment, absorbing the implications. ‘‘How reliable was your tip?’’

Lorenzo shrugged. ‘‘Hard to say. It came from a petty criminal who sometimes turns informant. His information has been reliable in the past, but he’s never given us anything of this magnitude before.’’ Lorenzo paused. ‘‘He’s since disappeared.’’

‘‘Dead?’’

‘‘Or gone into hiding. The information he gave my man was vague. We’re trying to corroborate some of it. No luck so far, but it’s early yet.’’

‘‘You’ve told the king, I assume. He intends to go through with the ceremony?’’

‘‘I tried to talk him into postponing it. He refused. He’s convinced it’s necessary to hold the ceremony as soon as possible, both to secure the succession and as a symbol for the people. Hell, he may be right. My job, as he pointed out, is to make sure he can do his job.’’

That sounded like his uncle. ‘‘And the prince?’’

‘‘Lucas knows. The queen hasn’t been told.’’

‘‘I still don’t see why you had me invite Rose to the palace tonight.’’

‘‘Like I said, I’m hoping your assumption is wrong. If she’s one of them and seems to have easy access to the palace—to the prince—they may decide to make their attempt through her. It’s easier to guard a single, known quantity than to prevent attack from an unknown direction. And if she does try something—’’ his left hand closed into a fist ‘‘—then we’ll have her. And through her, the rest of them.’’

Drew’s temples were beginning to throb with the dull precursor of a headache. He needed to finish up and leave. ‘‘I have a suggestion. Ask her to help with your investigation. Police departments do occasionally work with psychics.’’

Lorenzo’s chair creaked as he leaned farther back. He laced his fingers together over his stomach and spoke mildly. ‘‘I’m sure you have a good reason for suggesting we work with a suspect.’’

‘‘Her value to you is as a conduit to others. You need her alive, so you need to convince the Brothers they have nothing to fear from her. If she is working with them, this might help persuade them to make the next attack through her, as you said. They’ll think you trust her. If she’s an innocent witness, let it be seen that she’s sticking to her story of seeing visions. The Brothers will have a good laugh at us for believing that psychic nonsense and put less of a priority on silencing her.’’

Lorenzo considered that for a long moment. ‘‘And if they believe in that psychic nonsense? We could be making her more of a target than she is now.’’

‘‘If they actually believe she can peer into her crystal ball and identify them, she’s as good as dead now,’’ Drew said flatly. ‘‘Unless you lock her away somewhere for her own good.’’

‘‘I need her alive and where they can contact her. And dammit, I need to know what she knows and hasn’t told us. All right. We’ll try it your way and see how it goes. Not that I plan to believe a word she says, you understand. Here’s how we’ll play it.’’

They talked for another ten minutes. Drew was on his feet, about to leave, when Lorenzo said, ‘‘One more thing.’’ He moved the chunk of quartz and picked up the pistol, letting the map roll up in a quick shudder of paper. He held out the gun. ‘‘From now on, I want you armed whenever you leave the palace.’’

Silently Drew accepted the weapon. It was a Glock automatic, the model he’d learned to shoot with on the firing range below the palace more than ten years ago. ‘‘Your memory is remarkable. I’m still better with a rifle, but a rifle would be hard to tuck under a jacket. I’ll need a shoulder holster.’’

‘‘That could be awkward. Not that I’m asking about your sex life, mind. But she’s apt to notice it.’’

‘‘Not a problem.’’ Drew slid the gun into his jacket pocket. It was heavy, the weight obvious. ‘‘I pointed out my tail earlier and gave Rose a brief explanation. She might be surprised to discover that I’m armed, but she’ll associate it with the threat of kidnapping.’’

‘‘You pointed out Roberts?’’

‘‘She would have spotted him sooner or later. Chances are she’ll spot whoever you have on her, too, but that’s okay. She’s expecting it. And no,’’ he added, smiling at the expression on Lorenzo’s face, ‘‘I didn’t tell her you would have her followed. She told me. She’s bright, and not one to play ostrich when life gets nasty. Will palace security be alarmed by the bulge in my pocket?’’

Lorenzo didn’t look happy. He stood. ‘‘I’ve notified them. Find some time to visit the shooting range. I doubt you’re in practice. You know, Drew, if it were anyone but you, I’d be worried. This woman is smart, she’s sexy, and you sound as if you admire her. Maybe it’s just as well you came home early tonight.’’

Anger hit, making Drew’s head throb. ‘‘But you know better, don’t you? If I were capable of losing my head over a woman, I’d have done it long ago.’’ He nodded curtly and left.

The night was warm and quiet, the noise of the city cushioned by the trees that rimmed the grounds. From somewhere nearby a nightingale called, its song rising in a liquid crescendo. Drew hurried along the path that led to the palace, wanting to be in his room, alone, as soon as possible.

It might be a normal headache. Probably it was, and a couple of aspirins would prove that. In the past year he’d had six crazy spells, none of them closer together than four weeks. But the interval between them had shortened, and a headache was the usual precursor.

Still, this particular ache could be the product of pure sexual frustration. He’d been very ready for Rose when he didn’t kiss her good night. Alarmingly so. And maybe that was the real reason he hadn’t kissed her—on some level she frightened him.

No. No, that was absurd. He might fear losing control, but he wasn’t afraid of the woman.

For once Rudolpho, the majordomo, wasn’t on duty, and if the guards at the palace door noticed the bulge in Drew’s pocket, they ignored it. He took the stairs quickly.

He’d done what he could to protect her. He wouldn’t apologize for wanting to. Drew thought of the way she’d discussed the economic consequences of the bombing at the dinner table with four royals, himself and Lorenzo, and smiled. She’d been nervous, but she hadn’t let it show.

What made him think she’d been nervous? He frowned as he crossed the picture gallery, unable to remember an expression, an awkward word, anything but his simple certainty. Maybe he’d imagined it, or assumed—

Between one step and the next, it hit. All at once this time—the glassy separation, the slicing agony in his skull, the dislocation of his senses. Walls melted into floors, colors ran together, and chaos chuckled in the hollow space between self and madness. He lost touch with his body—was he moving, falling, frozen in place? Was he anywhere?

He still was. He was here, dammit, even if he couldn’t find here in the swirls of colors and jutting angles, the walls that moved and traded places with floor or ceiling. Even if he couldn’t feel his body, he still existed in his mind. Desperate, he began to count, then switched to long division…

‘‘…get help? Drew, answer me!’’

He blinked. He was standing in the hall near the royal suite. His skin was clammy, chilled. And his aunt’s face was looking up at him, the patrician features tight with worry. Her hand clutched his arm. He felt her fingernails, dulled by the cloth of his sleeve, digging into his flesh.

He felt. The reliable witness of his senses had returned. Dizzy with relief, he tried a smile. ‘‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to worry you.’’

‘‘Never mind that. Are you all right? I haven’t seen you look like that since you were a boy. Those migraines you used to get—’’

‘‘Yes.’’ Gratefully he seized on the explanation she’d unwittingly offered. ‘‘I’m afraid they’ve come back.’’

She released his arm, but her worried frown didn’t ease. ‘‘Are you sure that’s what this is? You look ill. Have you seen a doctor?’’

‘‘A neurologist, actually.’’ Amazing how easy it was to deceive while speaking the truth. ‘‘He put me through any number of indignities and didn’t find anything wrong. No bleeding, tumors or other abnormalities.’’ No traces of drugs. No explanations at all.

‘‘Now, that scares me almost as much as your pallor did a moment ago. The headaches must be severe for you to give in and see a doctor without being nagged into it. Unless…oh, your mother must have—’’

‘‘She doesn’t know,’’ he said quickly. ‘‘I hope you won’t tell her. You know how she worries.’’

‘‘Oh, Drew.’’ She caught her lower lip with her teeth. ‘‘It doesn’t seem right to keep something like this from her.’’

‘‘Aunt Gwen.’’ He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. The exhaustion was already sweeping over him, making his thoughts sluggish. I can’t hold it off this time. Panic and adrenaline turned him light-headed even as they plundered the last of his reserves. How long did he have? Minutes? ‘‘You know why I had migraines as a boy. Mother doesn’t deal well with reminders of that time.’’

The queen was still chewing on her lip. ‘‘It was terrible for all of us, but worse for you. If the migraines have come back, is it because of Lucas’s disappearance? Oh—I’m so selfish. That never once occurred to me. We did think at first he might have been kidnapped, and I never stopped to think how that might affect you.’’

‘‘Don’t.’’ Drew had to get away. Now. But he took a moment to put an arm around her shoulders and squeeze quickly. ‘‘You had no reason to think about that. You were sick with fear, then grieving. I didn’t want you to worry about me. I still don’t.’’

Her mouth turned up wryly. ‘‘I know that well enough. But I reserve the right to worry about the people I love.’’

‘‘I’m fine,’’ he told her with every bit of sincerity he could muster. ‘‘Aside from being more of a sorehead than usual. I’ve got some medicine for it in my room, if you’ll excuse me.’’

Hearing that, of course, she sent him on his way.

When the door to his suite closed behind him, he locked it, closed his eyes and leaned against it. He was shaking.

This time had been different. He’d been in the hall leading to the wing that held the Harrington suite when the spell hit. When he came back to himself, he’d been near the royal suite. This time, he’d continued walking after the spell hit. That had never happened before.

Fear bit deeply. What else might he do while out of his senses?

He straightened and pulled the gun from his jacket pocket, staring at it with a chill that cut partway through the exhaustion dragging him down. Maybe he shouldn’t carry it. Tomorrow…tomorrow he would decide. Weaving slightly, he made it to the desk, opened a drawer and shoved the gun inside.

Seconds, now. It was all happening much faster this time. He had only seconds left.

Lorenzo was right to worry about him, though he had hold of the wrong reason, Drew thought as he stripped, his clothes falling in a ragged trail to the bedroom. He wasn’t losing his head over a woman. He was losing his head, period. Or his head was losing his body…. And as the darkness closed in, taking him to a place where thought stopped, there was time for one image to float through his mind—a woman’s face, her lips moist and parted, her eyes smiling, her skin as soft and smooth as every unbroken promise ever made. Rose’s face, tilted up to him as it had been earlier, inviting his kiss.

There was time, too, for the flash of fear that followed him down into the waiting darkness.