The Duke’s Covert Mission

by Julie Miller

  Simple. Worthless, but simple.

  Cade’s goals were considerably more complicated.

  How the hell had he ever gotten the notion that Ellie Standish could save his sorry hide? Rescue him from outcast status and help him find a way home?

  She wasn’t just sweet and innocent and tempting and full of a hope he had long since lost.

  She was strong.

  Her giving spirit hadn’t been broken, couldn’t be broken—even by the likes of him and his deceitful plan.

  But at the same time he acknowledged the discovery, he mourned the loss.

  Because Ellie would never be his. Not after all he’d put her through. Not with what he had left to ask of her.

  She should hate him. It would be healthy to hate him.

  So much for salvation.

  Jerome’s cell phone chirped in his pocket, startling him without fully rousing him. His bruised, puffy eye opened a tiny slit and glanced about the room. When the phone rang a second time, Cade got up and reached inside the front of Jerome’s jacket. He pulled out the cell phone, checked the number and punched the talk button.

  “St. John,” he identified himself.

  “Where’s Smython?” Winston Rademacher’s crisp, accented voice sounded like an accusation.

  Jerome’s battered eye drifted shut. Cade shook his head and turned away, striding to the far end of the room near the fireplace. “He’s indisposed at the moment. What do you need?”

  Winston considered the question for a moment before answering. “I’ll bet you’re a gambling man, aren’t you, Sinjun?”

  The clear reference to his father goaded him. But Cade resisted the taunt. “Not really.”

  “You should be. King Easton has decided to play the part of an American cowboy and turn our standoff into a showdown. His right-hand man, General Montcalm, is apparently quite taken with Princess Lucia.” Cade knew Harrison Montcalm. The man had been a good soldier and an even better leader for many years in the Korosolan Army. He also knew the general was more than “taken” with Princess Lucia. The two had married in a private ceremony only days ago. “He wants her back. At the king’s direction, Montcalm has contacted the American authorities to help with their search. I’m afraid our time has been cut short. Have the princess ready in an hour. I want to finish this deal.”

  Uh-oh. Cade pushed his fingers through his hair and rubbed at the tension gathering at the base of his scalp. “Every time you change the plan, that puts us at a disadvantage. We’ve got the drop-off set up for tonight. We can’t put backup into place on such short notice.”

  He couldn’t find out the truth in an hour, either.

  Cade went on the offensive. “That’s been your intention all along, hasn’t it, Rademacher? You’re going to hang the three of us out to dry, then walk off with the money—and your man as the next king.”

  “Who’s hanging us out to dry?”

  Cade glanced over his shoulder. Great. Sleeping Ugly had finally decided to rouse himself. “Who are you talking to? Is that my phone?”

  Cade figured he had about thirty seconds before Jerome fully oriented himself to the idea of being awake. He turned his mouth back to the phone. He had to work fast. “What does Prince Markus think about your change in plans? If we’re captured, we might talk. I, for one, would love to drop some names.”

  “You wouldn’t dare—” Winston retreated a verbal step, catching himself before revealing anything incriminating regarding the identity of their employer. Cade could almost envision a thin, smug smile creasing Rademacher’s angular features. “Good show, Sinjun.”

  His praise marked the acknowledgment of a worthy adversary. But he quickly turned the compliment around and put Cade in his place. “I find your obsession with my client tedious. One reason I’ve kept the identity secret is for just such a contingency. My client doesn’t know you and Smython and Gratfield are working for me, either. You should be grateful for the precautions I’ve taken.”

  “What’s to keep us from turning you in?”

  An image of the snowy-haired hit man living next door popped into his head. Of course. Plan B. Eliminate the hired help.

  “I know you have a hard time thinking beyond the moment, Sinjun, but I’m a man of vision. I expect this project to be a success. You’ll have your money, your father’s debt will be paid, and I’ll have what I want.”

  “Which is what?”

  But Winston was too cool a player to be rattled. “Understand that what we’re doing isn’t just for personal profit, but for the good of our country.”

  Sounded like the KDF party line. But Cade still couldn’t reconcile the man who looked down on commoners who had to work for a living with the man whose interest in politics was altruistic. He could also interpret “good” as meaning a younger monarch would make a stronger king. Prince Markus had to be the motivation behind the kidnapping.

  “So you’ll be there with us when we deliver the princess and pick up the ransom?” Cade challenged him to back up his pretty speech with actions.

  “Of course not.” The man was too good to dirty his hands with something as mundane as actually handling the transaction. “I did promise my client I’d keep an eye on this project until the very end, though. So keep looking over your shoulder, Sinjun. I’ll be watching you.”

  “Give me the damn phone!”

  Jerome had finally shaken off his mixture of beer and painkillers. He jerked to his feet and limped across the room, smacking his walking stick on the floor with each step, making no effort to hide the message that each smack was an imaginary blow aimed at Cade. Though the man was bracing for a fight, Cade had no intention of wasting his time giving him one.

  “You’re welcome to it.” He slapped the phone into Jerome’s outstretched hand and stalked from the room.

  He had an hour to prove Winston Rademacher was carrying out Prince Markus’s orders. One hour to prove that another royal was behind this plot to unseat King Easton. One hour to get the hell out of this mess before Winston called on Tony Costa to clean things up.

  And somewhere in the midst of those seemingly impossible tasks, he had to figure out what to do with the impostor princess, who lay chained and waiting to die down in the basement.

  SHE WAS GOING to die.

  Like their first meeting in the basement three short days ago, Cade worked in swift, efficient silence. He unlocked her chain and packed a small duffel bag. He pulled her glasses off her nose and tucked them into her pocket. While she stood at his silent bidding, he draped the blanket over her shoulders and gave her his stocking cap. He pulled the black wool down over her face and hair and tucked her braid inside the collar of the black knit shirt she wore.

  A shiver of fear and longing cascaded down her spine as his fingertips brushed the nape of her neck. He must have seen the clench of muscles, because he stopped moving. She could feel the wall of heat he created behind her and almost leaned into it.

  She was hopeless, completely hopeless, seeking comfort from the man who was about to become her executioner. Instead, she huddled inside the blanket, finding no comfort in the cold, scratchy wool.

  He was going to do it. He was really going to do it. He was going to march her up those stairs and kill her.

  Because she was the wrong woman. In the wrong place. With the wrong dream. She felt a bit like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. She should have been content in her own backyard. In her own quiet, unassuming world, instead of wishing for grand adventures. There, she’d have been safe. She’d give anything to feel safe again.

  “How could I have been so wrong about you?” Her words fell into the dead air of the basement. She turned to look over her shoulder, but without her glasses to bring him into focus, he was just a big shadow amongst the other shadows. As big a mystery to her inexperience and shy sensibilities as ever. “You kept giving me hope, Cade. You shouldn’t have done that. It was cruel.”

  He folded his hands around her shoulders and gently squeezed. Ellie jumped at th
e unexpected reassurance. “You’re the one with the hope, Ellie.” He bent his head to her ear and whispered through the wool. “Hold on to that.”

  “I’ll need it, right?”

  His chest contracted in a weary sigh and he released her. “C’mon. Let’s go.” With his hand at the small of her back, he guided her to the stairs. “And whatever you do out there, keep your mouth shut.”

  The air outside chilled her skin, despite Cade’s ski mask and the blanket. Or maybe the shivery sensation came from the icy countenance Cade wore as he walked her out to the black sedan.

  He held her by the arm and opened the trunk. “No.” Ellie gasped in remembered horror and backed up a step. She slammed into the wall of Cade’s chest and was trapped.

  “Get in.” His whisper was as commanding as a shouted order.

  She shook her head in violent protest. In her stunted vision all she could see was a gaping black hole. What if there was another dead body in there? What if it was an empty hole waiting for her dead body?

  Her sinuses plugged with tears she was too frightened to let fall. Adrenaline poured pure fight into her veins, and despite Cade’s warning, she refused to cooperate.

  His hands closed around her shoulders and half-pushed, half-carried her forward. She managed to get her foot up on the bumper and push back, but she was no match for his strength. He simply lifted her up and set her inside.

  An instant later she smelled Jerome’s smoky stench and braced for his skin-crawling touch. “Here. This ought to quiet her.”

  “Get away from her.”

  A loaded syringe dropped into her line of vision and she screamed. But the tranquilizing liquid never touched her. A large hand snagged Jerome’s wrist and smacked it against the side of the trunk.

  Jerome cursed. The syringe flew out of sight. Cade released her to deal with Jerome’s predictable, ineffectual rage. Their scuffle was enough of a distraction for her to scramble up onto her haunches. But the blanket had tangled around her legs. She twisted and worked herself free, intending to jump out and hit the ground running.

  “Is there a problem?” Ellie froze the same time Cade and Jerome did. She knew that voice. European accent. Proper. Refined.

  She squinted hard, but try as she might she couldn’t make the man’s face come into focus. Automatically she reached for her glasses in her pocket, but Cade’s hand was there to stop her.

  And while she couldn’t make out much of the world around her, she could tell by the shifting of shadows that Cade had moved in front of her. But he wasn’t preventing her escape from the trunk. She frowned beneath the mask. He stood shielding her, blocking her view of everything except the broad plane of his back.

  Blocking her from someone else’s view.

  Jerome massaged his sore wrist and moved away from the car. But she heard him blame her for his pain, tattling like a child scolded for fighting. “The two of them have gotten pretty chummy,” he said. “But I don’t trust her.”

  “Is that right?” Ellie tilted her ear toward the man’s voice. He’d had business with King Easton. Or was it the Carradignes? She knew the owner of that voice. Hovering in the background of royal comings and goings, she overheard a lot of things. “Imagine. Our own lowly Sinjun setting his cap for a princess.”

  His haughty remark was meant to tease, but Ellie heard little humor there. The unmoving expanse of Cade’s back told her he found the joke lacking, as well.

  Was there a fourth kidnapper? Or did this man play some other role in her abduction?

  “Smython,” the smooth voice ordered, “contact Gratfield. I’ll have him drive. I don’t believe either one of you is worthy of escorting Her Majesty to the rendezvous.”

  “He can’t,” Jerome whined.

  “Why not?”

  “Lenny’s not here.” Cade was speaking now, tossing off the order. “I sent him on a wide reconnaissance of the area.”

  “Expecting trouble?”

  “Always.”

  Like right now. Right here.

  Ellie felt bombarded by all kinds of nonverbal messages. Cade’s battle-ready posture. His do-or-die tone of voice. Faint memories of the fourth man in a conversation with…with… The scene hovered in the fringes of her mind. The man, was talking to…the butler!

  The Carradignes’ household butler. A nice, older man. A bit of a character. Quincy Vanderling. Quincy and this man were discussing…what? Oh, why couldn’t she remember?

  “You have an instinct for survival that your father lacked.” The scene vanished from Ellie’s mind as she began to absorb events much closer at hand. The familiar voice blended praise with an unforgivable taunt. “If Bretford had had your strength, maybe he wouldn’t have seen the need to kill himself.”

  Cade’s shoulders lifted slightly as he shifted on his feet, the only outward signs that the other man’s words had struck a nerve. “If people like you hadn’t taken advantage of his addiction, maybe he’d still be alive today.”

  Ellie’s view of the standoff might have been limited, but she didn’t need eyes to hear the other man’s throaty laughter and his heartless amusement over the St. John family tragedy.

  “Touching. Loyal to your father even though he gambled away everything that was rightfully yours.”

  “Loyalty makes people do funny things.”

  Cade propped his hands on his hips—a sure sign of the fight to come. It didn’t immediately register with her that she was siding with one enemy against another, but Ellie found herself secretly rooting for Cade.

  The cultured man’s laughter stopped. “If this is another half-witted attempt to determine where my loyalties lie, save your breath. Now lock her up and let’s move out.”

  Ellie’s struggle was automatic as Cade turned and seized her by the shoulders. Sympathy aside, she was not dying without a fight. “No! Let me go.”

  Cade hushed her, but it came too late to avoid her mistake.

  “Wait.” The man who had given the order moved into her peripheral vision, little more than a brown blur framed in the peepholes of the mask she wore. Cade froze. Ellie froze. The man came closer still. “Get her out of there.”

  Cade shifted slightly. Shielding her from view? He pushed her down into the trunk. “I thought we had a tight time frame.”

  “Get her out of the trunk,” the man repeated impatiently.

  Ellie held her breath, not yet understanding the full implication of his suspicions. Cade lifted her out of the trunk and stood her on the ground in front of him. His fingers snaked around her upper arms, pinning her from behind.

  The brown blur moved closer. Ellie went still. Cade’s hands clenched, then loosened their grip while the other man studied her. Then, in a move too swift to react to with anything more than a surprised gasp, he snatched the stocking cap off her head.

  Ellie’s squint matched his, bringing his startled expression into momentary focus. “Winston Rademacher,” she said.

  Shock was too mild a word to describe her reaction to the royal advisor, who seemed to be giving the orders here. Prince Markus’s right-hand man laughed. The joke was on him, but Ellie felt the sting of his laughter. It labeled her as a nobody who had done something quite unexpected for someone of her station.

  “Enchanté, mademoiselle.” His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply and looked skyward toward the gunmetal-gray clouds that promised as much temper as he was concealing. “This is rich.”

  Jerome misinterpreted Rademacher’s displeasure. He managed to sound accusatory and apologetic all at the same time. “I just hit her once. Only ’cause she came after my busted leg.”

  “Cease your prattle, man.” Ellie turned her face from Rademacher’s unblinking scrutiny. “This woman is not Lucia Carradigne.”

  “What?” Jerome sputtered in shock. “She was wearing the red dress from the picture you gave us.”

  “Playing dress-up, were we?” Winston Rademacher stroked his smooth-tipped finger across her jaw, then angled her chin so that she was forced
to look at him. Though most of him remained out of focus, his dark, slanted eyes sent a clear message. Ellie was history. “You’re Easton’s secretary. A commoner. And you had these fools believing you’re a princess?”

  His disbelief bordered on insult, though a bruised ego was the least of her worries at the moment. She pushed at her left temple, wishing she had her small, round lenses to hide behind. “Yes.”

  “Brava.” He released her with a smile that had her backing up until her hips butted the fender of the car and she could retreat no farther. “This is damnably inconvenient. Nothing personal, mind you. But I simply can’t have you around to repeat my name.” He turned. “Sinjun.”

  Cade’s big, rangy body drifted up beside her. “Yeah?”

  “Shoot her.” Rademacher gave the order and headed for the SUV.

  Ellie’s lungs emptied on one big whoosh of air and she grasped the fender, feeling light-headed and so far beyond fear that she could barely stand, much less think of a protest.

  But Cade stopped him. “We already have a dead body in the lake. You sure your boss wants to leave a trail?”

  Winston spun around, the rise in pitch of his voice the only outward sign of his patience unraveling. “My boss has given me carte blanche to do whatever I see fit to achieve our goals. Right now I question whether or not you knew she was a fake.”

  Cade looked him in the eye and lied. “I didn’t.”

  “Prove it.”

  “Prove what?”

  Winston took a step toward Cade. “Your loyalty. To me. To this entire project.” He pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket, and even Ellie’s eyes could see him wiping his hands as if he had dirtied them. “Unless you’ve gone weak like your father. Don’t forget—you owe me.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.”

  Jerome snagged Ellie by the elbow and dragged her into the middle of the battle of wills. “I’ll shoot the lying bi—”

  Winston cut him off. “Is there anything you do that isn’t coarse and self-serving?”

  “I deserve it. I’m the one who’s paid the price here.” Jerome’s grip tightened in a painful pinch. Ellie grunted and tried to twist free. “She’s giving it away for free to Sinjun. Isn’t that right, sugar?”