“Earl Dunkeith’s dead,” the man said, his words a knife to her heart. She felt her chest tighten.
Reginald had been her benefactor, her one-time lover, her friend, and the man who made everything she had become possible. She owed everything to him. He brought her out of a life of virtual slavery and raised her, trained her, molded into a force to be reckoned with. Politicians trembled at the mention of her name. And she owed it all to Reginald.
And that bitch Svea took everything away from her with one pull of the trigger. They didn’t even give you a proper burial…
“Just because he’s gone doesn’t mean I can’t get things done.”
“Is that so?” the man asked. “Who’s funding you now?” he asked, making the question sound dirty.
Jayne frowned. “I’m running a self-funded operation. I’m the regent now. Did you know?”
An even longer silence occupied the line now. “Nyet. I had not heard. So the Council survived?”
“More or less…” Jayne muttered. “What really matters is, I’m in control of everything Reginald had.”
“Everything?” Gregor asked.
“Yes, dear, everything,” she purred.
The assassin grunted in response.
Jayne continued, building her momentum. “I’m on the move, but I need you to set up a beachhead for me.”
“Where?”
Jayne smiled. You’re mine, now, Gregor. “Scotland.”
“I can be there in two hours.”
“Where are you?” Jayne asked.
“Close.”
She pursed her lips in thought. “Good. One other thing.”
“Da?”
“Do you still have your contact at the Department of Defense?”
After a long pause, the man sighed. “Da. Why? I have not used him in months.”
“Because, dear, I like to cover my tracks. I want you to tell them where I’m at.”
“What?”
Jayne smiled, looking out over the chateau’s estate. “Tell them where I am. And mention that the new king is with me.”
“But they will come for you—with drones or…”
“Indeed they will, my dear Gregor. I’m counting on it.”
The Russian laughed. “I did not know you had a death wish. This I like.”
Jayne smiled again. “Gregor, darling, I can do so much more if I’m dead. Make the call.”
“Da. As you wish. Madam Regent.”
10
The Arrival
Danika stared at the pompous civil servant before her, speechless that the man would dare deny her request to ride with the senator back to Edinburgh. She glanced beyond Senator Tecumseh’s Chief of Staff and his outstretched hand, waiting for the folder she wanted to present to the senator herself. Over the whine of the turbine engines on the Air Force transport jet as it settled itself for an overnight stay in Scotland, she heard him request the file one more time.
“Ms. Baker, everything has been set up. We’re not changing plans now, not for you, not for anyone. The senator and I have an important matter to deal with on the way to the parliament building. We have just enough time to take care of it, which will clear his schedule—”
Danika focused her eyes on the short, balding man again. Her fingers squeezed the folder even tighter. The knowledge that she could reach across and snap his neck in several ways with her bare hands did her no good as her mind scrambled to come up with a way to argue her way out of the predicament. “As head of his security detail, I insist that I ride with him—”
“I’m sorry, but your request is denied. The senator gave me express direction to set up the cars this way. Give me the folder, I’ll go over it with him while we are in route. You and the rest of the staff will ride in the lead car.”
“You are aware that there is an active threat against this summit he’s attending, right?” she snapped, fighting to control her accent.
If the chief of staff recognized the slip, he didn’t give it away. “Do you have any specific threats against the senator?”
“I…” Danika closed her mouth and straightened her shoulders. “We have no actionable intelligence that points to a specific threat against the senator specifically, no.”
“Then please hand me the damn file so we can get this dog-and-pony show underway. Look,” he said, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “I understand you’re a little worked up over the bombing. I can’t imagine being just down the street from that when it went off.”
Let alone stopping the second bomb…
“This is the best way to handle this,” he continued. “Believe me, if there’s some kind of threat out there, do you honestly think I want to be riding in the same car as him? We’re counting on you to stay in the lead car and be our eyes and ears. Clear the road, and get us to the parliament building. I promise,” he said, finally just taking the folder from her hand, “as soon as he steps foot inside the parliament building, he’s all yours.”
“I was not hired to have my recommendations pushed aside—” she began stiffly.
“That’s right, you were hired to keep Senator Tecumseh alive,” he said, looking down at the folder in his hands. He tapped the manila envelope. “This is a good start. Keep it up—I’ll make sure the senator knows of your efforts.”
The little man turned and stalked off toward the senator, just emerging from the Air Force transport, and flanked by two men in dark suits.
“Fucking civil servants,” Danika muttered under her breath.
She turned and glared at the western horizon, and the gathering storm clouds in the distance. She had to take her eyes off the plane, the senator, and his chief of staff—she had to look at something else, anything to show she wasn’t nearly as upset as she really was.
One of her lieutenants approached from the two identical black Mercedes sedans parked behind her on the airstrip. “Ma’am?”
She turned and nodded at him. “It’s fine, Joshua. You and me and the rest of the staff will be in the lead car. Let the drivers know the senator and the chief of staff will be in the chase car.” She turned and walked toward the lead car, twirling one hand in the air to signal the drivers to start their engines. By the time she reached the car, both engines were warmed up and ready to go.
Joshua rushed forward and opened the rear passenger door for her.
“Thank you, Joshua, but I’ll take shotgun.”
He blinked like an owl and stood there as she smiled and walked around him, stepping up to the passenger door.
It took Senator Tecumseh a full three minutes to make it the 30 yards from the airplane to his car, surrounded as he was by a gaggle of staffers on cellphones and security personnel. A dignitary from the United Nations was on hand to warmly welcome him to the summit, and she assumed, to bend his ear and gauge which way the wind blew. She frowned at the Egyptian delegate as he shook hands and bowed repeatedly, talking and walking with the senator.
Danika’s eyes traveled up and down the length of the delegate’s body, searching for hidden weapons or tells that the man might attack at a moment’s notice. She would’ve been more concerned, save for the fact that she’d hand-picked the senator’s security staff, and the three men flanking him were all former special forces and did their job well. The one in front of the senator kept his eyes on the delegate and anyone who approached from the front. The one behind the senator walked backward, watching the plane and the mechanics poring over the engines. And the one walking to the senator’s left kept an eye out on the empty tarmac and the hangers across the way, while also minding the staffers yakking on cellphones around him.
As she turned to get in the lead car, she spotted a flash of light coming from the top of the hangar directly across the tarmac from the senator’s Air Force transport. Narrowing her eyes, she pulled out her phone and immediately called base security.
“This is Tomahawk Lead, you have any scheduled activity over in hangar ten?”
After a moment, the voice of t
he airport’s head of security came on the line. “Yes, ma’am, they’re working on an air handling unit. Should see some activity on the roof of the building, aye?”
Thanks.” She hung up as the man started to ask her another question.
Never taking her eyes off the tiny figure on the roof across the tarmac, Danika waited until the senator was safely ensconced in the bulletproof chase car. She slapped the roof of her own car and climbed in before shutting the door.
“Okay, get us to the parliament building,” she ordered, watching hangar ten in the side mirror.
The driver spared a quick glance at her before shifting in the drive. “Pardon my saying, ma’am, but you seem a little tense. Everything copacetic?”
Danika let her mouth curl up in a grin. Another hand-picked former special forces soldier. In a way, he reminded her of Cooper Braaten. “Nothing specific, just get us there as quick as possible.”
“You want me to piss off the local cops?”
Danika snorted. “No, we’re not in that much of a hurry. But let’s not take our time.”
“Hooah.”
As they pulled off the tarmac and headed toward the VIP exit, Danika yanked her cellphone out of her coat pocket. She nodded at the security guards who waved them through with lighted batons and dialed the number registered under Braaten, Cooper.
He picked up on the first ring. “Yeah?”
Danika rolled her eyes. You sound like a civilian. “Cooper, it’s me. Tomahawk is on the move.”
“Cool,” the former SEAL replied, then hung up.
Danika pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at it. Really? You’re not even going to ask how it went?
She slipped the phone back in her pocket and settled into the seat for the thirty-minute drive through Edinburgh’s narrow streets to the parliament building.
“Nothing to worry about, ma’am,” the driver said, casually merging at the first of many traffic circles. “I’ve traveled this route—and the backup routes—so many times, I can do it with my eyes closed. Barring traffic, we’ll be there in twenty-nine minutes.”
Danika checked the sideview mirror out her window, watching the chase car as it nestled into the traffic pattern right off her car’s rear bumper. The drivers she’d selected for this mission had worked together on several previous VIP escort missions. They came highly recommended from Brent Atkins, the man running Oakrock Security, the same tier-one contractor outfit she’d snatched Braaten from. So far, so good. Brent didn’t lie about you guys—you know your shit.
As they passed down increasingly narrow back alleys and ancient streets once lined with cobblestones and now choked by vehicles, Danika’s eyes swiveled back and forth across the windshield and outside windows. Every movement caught her attention, every vehicle, every person was catalogued and tagged as a possible threat. This was the part she hated about VIP escort. This was the most vulnerable Senator Tecumseh would be until she got him secured inside the walls of the fortresslike parliament building. She checked her watch as they passed through yet another roundabout.
Twenty minutes to go.
Her phone vibrated, an incoming checkup message from Cooper. Right on time. She slipped the phone out and tapped the quick, prearranged response.
All good.
A second after she hit send, the response came back.
ETA still on track?
She replied in the affirmative and hit send.
Danika was about to slip the phone back in her coat when a chilling sensation rippled down the back of her left leg. Something wasn’t right. Holding her breath, she did a quick visual scan of the interior of the car, glancing out each window and checking each sector.
“Something up?” asked the driver, not taking his eyes off the vehicles in front, as they slowed to prepare for yet another roundabout. “This country’s full of these damn things…anybody ever heard of a fucking streetlight over here?”
Everything looks fine.
That was the problem. There was literally nothing she could find outside or inside the car that could point her to the fact that something was wrong. She checked mirrors again. The chase car carrying Senator Tecumseh was still right behind them. Copacetic.
“Damn, we’re making really good time today…”
The breath caught in Danika’s throat. That’s it.
“Take the alternate route—go!” she ordered, activating her phone. She dialed the number for the driver in the car behind her. He answered before the first ring completed. “Take the alternate route!” she repeated. “Go, we’re taking the alternate route! Stay on our six!”
“Roger that,” was calm reply.
“What’s—” began a startled voice from the background in the second car.
Danika didn’t have time to deal with the Chief of Staff’s questions. She killed the call and hit Braaten’s speed dial button.
“Problem?”
Danika braced herself with one hand on her window as the driver made an abrupt right turn, causing a cascade effect of honking horns and squealing tires. The two black sedans cut across a pair of lanes and merged onto the roundabout early. Instead of taking the first right as was the scheduled route, he deftly brought them up around full-circle and headed back the way they’d come.
“Something’s up—no credible threats yet—but the traffic is way too light. We’re ahead of schedule and that never happens.”
“That’s a bad thing?” asked Cooper.
Danika checked the mirror and found the chase car right on their bumper again. Well pleased with her choice and drivers, she replied, “That’s just it. This time of day in Edinburgh, the traffic should be bumper-to-bumper…well, for Scotland. We’re taking an alternate route. Adjust the ETA accordingly.”
“Okay, I got your location here on the tracker box. I’m gonna scramble the cavalry.”
“No—I don’t think it warrants that just yet. I don’t want to tip our hand. But I wouldn’t mind if you were ready to go, along with a couple of trusted friends.”
“Hey, I’m okay with suiting up, but I normally handpick a small team…I don’t know these guys…”
Up ahead, a motorcycle cut through traffic and sliced across two lanes just like they had done, causing the cars in front of him to slam on their brakes. The motorcycle disappeared down a side street. Her driver cursed and swerved, hopping the curb to the right to avoid smashing into the car in front of them that’d just narrowly avoided hitting the motorcyclist. He clipped the street sign as the metal pole scraped the length of the car. The staffers in the backseat let out surprised yelps and Danika heard two cellphones clatter to the floor in the sudden movement.
“What the hell is going on?” Cooper demanded.
“Somebody almost caused an accident right in front of us—we’re taking evasive maneuvers,” Danika reported.
“Road’s blocked ahead—our only option is to the right. I’m following that bike,” the driver said as they approached the intersection, driving half on the sidewalk and half on the shoulder.
Danika cursed in Swedish. “Knulla. Cooper—send the cavalry.”
11
Brunch
Jayne stepped out of her limo and stood in the bleary morning light. “God, I hate Scotland.”
“Weather’s coming in soon, ma’am,” said the driver, holding the door for her.
Jayne followed his gaze to the west at the low gray clouds on the horizon. “When isn’t it? I’d almost forgotten how fucking damp it is here.” She ran fingers through her thick, golden hair. “This is just going to ruin my hair.”
Jayne marched across the cobbled street, her high heels clicking on the ancient stones. She paused, realizing she’d forgotten the king. “Come along, Your Majesty, or we’ll miss our brunch.”
The boy-king exited the car and pretended to ignore the driver, failing miserably. “Th-thank you,” he stammered. “I’m ever so hungry.”
She waited as he rushed to her side. “They have a lovely chicken basqua
ise here, sire.”
“Shouldn’t you call me something else…” he whispered close, peering around. “At least while we’re in public? It feels risky…”
Jayne lowered her couture sunglasses and peered over the enormous rims at the deserted streets around them. “Who, pray tell, is going to hear me?” she asked, making no effort to lower her voice. “Look around, sire, we’re all alone on the street.” She stared at him for a moment. “The driver won’t say anything, because he knows I’ll have his family killed. Slowly.” The king paled even more, and she sighed. “Oh, very well. Let’s say you’re my…”
“Son?” he offered, leaning forward, hopeful for her approval.
She recoiled as if slapped. “God no,” Jayne blurted. Recollecting herself and adjusting the light sable trimmed coat she wore, Jayne tried again. “How about…nephew?”
“N-nephew?”
She held his gaze until he blinked. No son of mine would be so spineless.
“Oh. I…well, yes…I s-suppose so,” he muttered looking at the ground, which he suddenly found fascinating.
She pushed the sunglasses back up her nose and smiled brightly. “Yes, that’ll do nicely.”
The driver walked past them and held the restaurant’s VIP door open. “Enjoy your meal, sire—madam.”
“Come along, dear nephew,” she cooed. “The Shadowbook is known for its fine dining, but not for its gracious reservation policy. They’ll boot us in a heartbeat if we aren’t prompt,” she said, utilizing her best British accent.
The king goggled at her as they stepped inside the darkened interior of the exclusive restaurant. Despite the recent ban on foot traffic, vehicle traffic, and tourists, the Shadowbook—perched high atop the Royal Mile within spitting distance of Edinburgh Castle—remained just as busy as ever. She hated taking the risk of bringing him here, despite her outward nonchalance, but felt the king was far safer at her side than left to his own devices—even under McTavish’s capable care—in Normandy. It would be a quick trip, if all went well, regardless.
The Regent Page 8
