by Julie Miller
If they found out they’d abducted the hired help… Paulo’s dead staring eyes leaped to mind.
Think, Ellie, she coached herself. A jumble of ideas vied for consideration. How did she play this game? It had taken every bit of her nerve to try just to look like a princess last night. How could she act a part she was so unsuited for? And more importantly, how did she get out of this mess? Alive and safe?
What would a real princess do?
“How did you…find me?”
“Pick up the princess at the Carradigne penthouse. Red dress. Inferno Ball. That’s all my contact said I needed to know.” The short man sidled right up to her and fingered the broken strap that had fallen down her back. He draped the frayed silk across her shoulder and pulled the length of it between his index and middle finger. Ellie sucked in her breath and flinched away from the purposeful caress. “Sorry about the dress.”
He paused with the back of his knuckles resting atop her breast where it pillowed above the neckline of the gown. She held his lustful gaze, imagined him smiling or slobbering or some other foul thing beneath his mask. Knowing she watched him, he pressed his palm to her bare skin and squeezed.
Ellie smacked him away. “Don’t touch me!”
She jerked back and slammed into the wall of the big man’s chest. Her instinctive struggle was quickly subdued by the large hands that pinned her arms—and the long knife pressed against her throat.
For his burly size, the short man had moved with surprising speed. “Now let’s review the facts, Princess.” He stroked the blade along her collarbone and slipped it beneath the remaining strap of her gown. “I have all the power, and you—” with a flick of his wrist, he severed the strap and the bodice dropped to an indecent level “—have none.”
Ellie withered in the big man’s hands.
I am Princess Lucia Carradigne of Korosol. The chant she’d used to build her self-confidence the night before now played like a death knell inside her head.
She had no idea where she was. No idea who these men were or what they wanted. Did they have a grudge against Lucia or her new husband, Harrison Montcalm, a retired general and outgoing royal advisor to King Easton? Did these men or their contact want something from King Easton himself? Power? Money? Korosol was a small, but wealthy country. The king had his own fortune at his disposal. He had the power to sway Parliament. Was their motivation political? Economical? Vengeful?
Or did they simply enjoy torturing her with her own inadequacies?
“What do you want from me?” Her docile voice and downcast eyes seemed to have a calming effect on the short man.
He laughed again as he propped his foot up on the stool and put his knife away in his boot. “We just want you to be a good girl and mind your manners. Sinjun here has fixed the place up real nice for you. And we’ll be right upstairs if you need anything.”
What sort of name was Sinjun? She glanced across the room to the silent man. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe he’d be her ally, yet he had been kind enough to bring her food. To insist she eat.
“It’s almost time for the call, Jerome.” The big man’s deep voice resonated in the air behind her, though he was surprisingly soft-spoken.
He finally released her, and Ellie turned her attention back to what little she could do to protect herself. She tugged up the bodice of her dress to better cover her exposed skin, then crossed her arms in front of her.
Jerome seemed amused by her attempts at modesty. “Sugar, you do exactly what we tell you and you won’t get hurt.”
“How do I know that? How do I know I won’t end up dead in your trunk?”
A dangerous glint replaced the amusement in his dark eyes. “You don’t. You might be used to calling the shots back home at the castle…” The notion registered that he didn’t know Lucia had never lived in a castle. But then, these men didn’t know Lucia at all, or they wouldn’t have mistaken the plain brown mouse that she was for the vibrant, blond Lucia. “…but around here, I’m in charge.”
“The call?” the big man prompted, already striding toward the stairs.
“I’m on it, Lenny.”
Lenny. The big man was named Lenny. Jerome was the short and smelly jerk with the all-too-friendly hands. The silent one was Sinjun. She didn’t know how the information could help her, but she filed it away, anyhow.
“Don’t worry, sugar. I’ll be back to keep you company. I have a phone call to make. I’ll bet there’s somebody wondering where you are.”
Jerome and Lenny climbed the stairs and disappeared without another word. Sinjun spared her one final look, then headed up after them.
“Wait.”
At the last moment Ellie acted on the desperate need to escape. Dragging her chain behind her, she scuttled to the bottom of the stairs in time to see the door close and hear the dead bolt slide into place.
Exhausted, confused and more frightened than she had ever been in her life, Ellie sank to the floor and let the tears she’d fought finally overtake her.
Jerome was a mean little man. Lenny was an immovable force. Both were dangerous. Of that she had no doubt. She’d had firsthand experience with their easy violence. And yet neither one of them spooked her the way Sinjun, the silent panther of a man, and his intense blue eyes had.
I’ll bet there’s somebody wondering where you are.
True. Several people would wonder where Princess Lucia had disappeared to if she’d vanished. Her new husband. Her sisters. Her mother. King Easton himself, Lucia’s grandfather.
But Eleanor Standish?
She’d been easy to overlook her entire life.
Would anyone be missing her?
Chapter Two
Cade St. John locked the basement door behind him and pulled off his ski mask. He wiped his sleeve across his sweaty brow and combed his fingers through his hair, settling it into neat waves across his crown. Whenever it got beyond the crewcut stage, it had a tendency to curl and fan above his forehead, giving him a deceptively youthful look that belied his thirty-three years—and masked a life experience that on some days qualified him for retirement.
Days like this one.
Are you going to kill me, too?
The woman’s voice and those sad, accusing eyes had struck a nerve.
Dammit, that wasn’t supposed to have happened—taking out the chauffeur like that. No one was supposed to get hurt. This job was already unraveling from the original plan. Cade wasn’t naive. That meant he’d been too damn arrogant to think he could control this gig with a loose cannon like Jerome Smython calling the shots.
Jerome was just a middleman with delusions of grandeur. Whoever had hired the three of them had been stupid enough or callous enough to give Jerome free rein with his temper. Maybe if Cade knew who the boss really was, he could argue his case.
Problem was, Cade didn’t know who had hired him.
Big problem.
He tossed the mask onto the countertop extension that served as a kitchen table and headed straight for the half-size refrigerator. If he was in charge of this operation, he’d be wearing a ball cap and dark glasses. But then, he wasn’t in charge. He did have a few useful connections, though. He knew his way around guns and explosives, and could drive an untraceable getaway car from Manhattan to the Connecticut countryside in record time.
“Sinjun. Hand me a beer.”
Cade shrugged off his instinctive response to a man like Jerome Smython telling him what to do.
Two weeks ago Jerome had come into Cade’s office at the Korosolan Embassy in New York with one very interesting proposition.
Let’s kidnap a princess.
Cade might possess a royal title himself, but it was no secret that his family was bankrupt. That his late father had gambled away his inheritance. That the lands they had once owned had been auctioned off to make an inroad into Bretford St. John’s accumulated debt. That Cade’s mother had found herself a wealthy Texas oilman to keep her in jewels and furs, and written off Koros
ol—and her son—in the process.
So Cadence St. John, Duke of Raleigh, former army officer, acting Korosolan ambassador to the United States, accepted the lure of a one-million-dollar payoff for services rendered and signed on to Jerome’s “proposition.”
Cade pulled out three beers, twisted off the caps and carried them into the living room, where Smython and Lenny Gratfield had made themselves comfortable on two mismatched couches. He crossed to the scarred window that overlooked the woods surrounding the abandoned house where they were hiding, and pretended an interest in the gray-green surface of the lake beyond the trees.
But with just a shift of his eyes, he could keep an eye on the other two men by watching their reflections in the window. He took a long swig of beer to cool his throat and quietly studied them. He’d already run a background check on his two compatriots—a basic rule of survival meant knowing who you were dealing with. They were mercenaries who’d received some of the best training on the planet as former members of the Korosolan Army. He’d gone through the same training himself when he was twenty-one. But it was an old habit of his—always watching. He’d gotten himself out of sticky situations, kept himself alive more times than he could count, by simply keeping an eye on everything going on around him.
Jerome lit one of his imported European cigarettes and kicked his feet up on the frayed ottoman that doubled as a coffee table.
Lenny peeled the stocking cap from his shaved head and pulled out a thin black notepad. He jotted something down. Was the big guy keeping a journal? Writing a friend? Recording expenses? Cade had noticed a zenlike calm about him, a quiet sense of purpose that bore up well under Jerome’s hot-tempered actions. Fire and ice, Cade had dubbed them.
But while Jerome’s interest in kidnapping Princess Lucia seemed to be rooted in nothing more complicated than old-fashioned greed, he couldn’t say the same for Lenny. The big guy didn’t share Jerome’s interest in fast cars and big yachts and the women they attracted. He hadn’t figured Lenny out yet. And until he did, Cade would keep an especially close eye on the man.
Cade checked his watch. As the big hand hit the twelve, Jerome’s cell phone rang. Right on cue. He swallowed another drink of the cold, bitter brew and turned, showing a mild interest in the expected call, but wishing he had an extension to eavesdrop on.
Mr. Fire of the hot temper and smoky stench waited for the second ring before picking up. “Three o’clock,” he said. “I like punctuality.” His thick chest shook as he laughed at his own clever greeting, and Cade wondered if the caller found Jerome as amusing as Jerome did. “Yes, sir. The package is safe and secure. Not too much trouble. I’ll make the call as soon as we’re finished here.” He pulled a long drag on his cigarette and sat up straight. As he exhaled the sweetly pungent smoke, his puttylike features mirrored his displeasure with whatever was being said. “I don’t like being left out of the loop.”
Jerome hopped to his feet and paced the length of the room. “Three days?” He eyed Lenny and Cade over his shoulder, his expression changing back to its good-ol’-boy facade as the caller placated him. He nodded. “We can manage three days. As long as we get paid what we’re due.”
Another moment passed and then he pulled the phone from his ear and punched the off button.
Lenny tucked his notebook back into his pocket. “Three days?”
“Yeah.” Jerome tossed the phone onto the empty couch and finished off his cigarette. “We’re to hold the princess here while he takes care of the ransom.”
A faint twinge of alarm made Cade step forward. Maybe it was the instinctive danger he felt at having to alter their original plan. Maybe it was his conscience kicking in. “Her family hasn’t been contacted yet?”
Jerome shrugged and reached for another cigarette. “He says it’ll take that long to negotiate the deal.”
“What deal? Don’t we get paid cash? And who’s he?”
Fire-man grinned. He took the time to cup his hands around his mouth and light his cigarette before answering. The bum knew all about power, but nothing about team leadership. “You’ll find out when I do. All I needed was that hundred-grand retainer fee to get this project started. Nab the woman in the red dress. Bring her here. Wait for the call. I can take orders for the kind of money we’re making on this deal. So can you. If he says to turn the little lady over in three days, that’s what we’ll do.”
Cade challenged him on the impracticality of blind faith in a man he’d never met. “You ever wonder what makes a man willing to commit treason and risk a lifelong prison term by kidnapping a member of the royal family?”
“I don’t know. You’re one of those royals. You could have the world eating out of your hand, if you wanted.” Jerome blew out a cloud of smoke and flashed his teeth in a smug grin. “But for the right price I finally turned you. For the right price, a man’ll do anything.”
Cade resisted the urge to cross the room and ram the cigarette down Jerome’s throat. “So we just sit here for three days and trust this guy to show up?”
Lenny rose, consuming a good portion of the room with his mammoth size. He, too, was clearly interested in Jerome’s answer.
“He’s coming here tonight to check out the merchandise. You can voice your concerns then.” Jerome spread his arms wide and shrugged. “Frankly, I don’t care why the man wants to do it this way—I’m just the hired help. As long as the money’s there, he has my loyalty.
“But I guarantee you, by Monday night, if I don’t get my million, her highness is dead. And so is he. And then his motive won’t make a damn bit of difference, now will it?”
Jerome left the room with a cloud of that sickening smoke trailing behind him. Lenny sat back on the couch and pulled out his notepad again. Cade strode into the kitchen, grabbed a bag of pretzels and sat at the breakfast bar. As he munched, he let his gaze stray to the bolted basement door.
The light snack gummed up his throat as he thought of the year-old C rations he’d given their prisoner. At least she’d been smart enough to take the food, though cautious enough not to trust him. She’d seemed so young. So frightened.
So innocent.
She was nothing like the world-savvy women he’d known over the years. Ling in Hong Kong. Rosa in Brazil. Elise in London and Jeanne back home in Korosol. He’d always sought out women who knew the score. Women who enjoyed a night of great sex when he was in town, but who never expected more than a few days of clubbing and dining and bedtime fun.
The woman in the basement looked as if she still believed in heroes and happy endings. She had the wide-eyed wonder and indignant shock of someone who expected to find good in people. She seemed more suited to pen pals and puppy love than that damned two-sizes-too-small red gown she’d poured herself into.
When was the last time he’d seen such a wide-eyed look? Big, beautiful blue eyes the same clear shade as the mountain lakes of his boyhood home.
Cade took a swallow of beer. Then another. And another, angrily reminding himself he had no business reminiscing about childhood memories or guileless blue eyes.
He had a job to do. And despite all the transgressions he’d committed in his life, he’d always taken pride in being very, very good at his job.
He pitched the empty bottle across the room into the box of trash and considered all that was about to happen to her, all that she had already endured. He made no excuses for being a part of that dangerous destiny, but he did make her a silent promise.
He hated men like Jerome Smython. Men who used others to fulfill their own avarice, men who bartered with people’s lives and fed on their fears to get that intoxicating rush of power over others.
Cade had done a lot of things in the name of getting the job done that weren’t exactly in line with the law. In fact, he was damn good at circumventing the authorities when he needed to. But breaking the rules and breaking someone’s spirit were two different things.
And that woman in the basement, though she was chained and frightened and cluel
ess about the events unfolding around her, definitely had spirit. She’d stood to face him when she could just as easily have cowered in the corner. She’d made demands and called him rude when he refused to answer. He’d seen her spirit in the determined tilt of her chin.
It had nearly killed him when she finally bowed her head and surrendered to her fear of him. He’d had to be tough with her, he reasoned. He had a job to do. But he’d felt an alien urge to comfort her. He’d almost touched her, almost offered some lame platitude about bucking-up and hanging-in-there.
And then Jerome and Lenny had arrived on the scene. And just like that her spirit reasserted itself. She’d tilted that regal chin and faced the new attack, just as she had faced him.
A woman like that, innocent to the games and cruelty and power plays of a man like Jerome, would expect this all to turn out right. Despite coming face-to-face with the chauffeur’s dead body, she’d expect to stay safe.
Cade found himself making a rare, foolish promise.
He’d do that for her. He could do nothing to stop the chain of events her kidnapping had already set into motion—he didn’t want to. He wanted to find out who was paying them for the job.
But he could keep her safe.
It was his responsibility, after all.
Because Cade knew something Jerome and Lenny didn’t.
They’d kidnapped the woman in the red dress, all right.
But the wrong woman was wearing that dress.
He’d met Lucia Carradigne Montcalm at her sister CeCe’s wedding a couple of months ago. It had been a big affair, a princess marrying an American millionaire. Lucia had made a bit of a spectacle of herself at the reception.
The woman chained in the basement had a lot of class, but she wasn’t any princess. She wasn’t even a Carradigne. She seemed familiar to him, but he couldn’t place her. Maybe he’d met her at an embassy function. Or back in Korosol.
Cade eased his conscience with the promise of keeping her identity a secret. She might not understand or appreciate the importance of that favor—but he did.
