by Katie Knight
“I bet.” Deacon sat back as the waitress brought two trays of appetizers—loaded potato skins and Asian barbecue chicken wings. Both guys loaded up their plates and ordered seconds on their drinks, then dug in. “I heard on the news they had some big parliament thing earlier this week?”
“Yep. That went off without a hitch, thank goodness,” Z said around a bite of chicken. “But I still can’t help feeling like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. At first, I thought something would happen at her father’s funeral, but nothing did. Then I thought maybe at the parliament session, but nope.” He finished off his chicken wing then tossed the bone aside. “Now, I’m looking ahead to the coronation.”
“They do that in utero?”
Z chuckled. “Nah, man. For Esme. She’ll be ruling in our son’s stead until he’s old enough to take the throne himself. So, parliament will hold a coronation ceremony for her now and then later, again, for our son.”
“Our son, eh?” Deacon wiped sour cream from a potato skin off his mouth then grinned. “Sounds mighty cozy to me. You sure this is just business, bro?”
Sighing, Z shoved half a potato skin in his mouth to cover the awkward silence. That was exactly the problem. It wasn’t just business anymore, not for him. But he had no right projecting that onto Es. She had more than enough to deal with right now without his unrequited love on top of it.
“You care about her, don’t you?” Deacon asked, always far too perceptive for his own good.
“Of course I care about her,” Z said, swallowing hard. “We made a baby together. But it’s not like that, at least not for her. I don’t think she feels the same way about me.”
“Hmm.” Deacon polished off several chicken wings and half his beer before answering. “What’s your gut telling you?”
“My gut?”
“Yeah, your instincts saved our butts more than once out on the battlefield. If you’re feeling this strongly for her, I can’t imagine she’s not at least reciprocating those feelings a little bit. Not to get all mushy or anything on you, but you two need to talk. Before the baby comes.”
“Yeah. I know.” He toyed with an uneaten bite of potato skin on his plate. “I just… there’s so much going on right now. So much stress and worry on both our parts. Most days we barely see each other, and when we do, I’m always on edge because of some new threat or other. It’s gotten to the point I hate to even let her out of my sight. Coming here tonight was like torture, man. No offense.” He gave Deacon a sheepish look. “Your company is great as always, but I can’t stop thinking about Es. There’s this weird tension gurgling inside me, like trouble’s on the way, like something’s going to happen and I’m not going to be there to stop it.” He sat back and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I think the royal tailor is going to kill me.”
Deacon laughed. “Is that a credible threat? And I never even knew there was such a thing as a royal tailor.”
“Oh yeah. There’s pretty much a royal everything around here, dude.” Z laughed too. “It’s crazy. But the poor guy’s been by three times already to fit me for my tux for Es’s coronation ceremony and he still hasn’t been able to finish because I’ve been called away every time on one crisis or another. Crazy. Thank God my team’s able to pick up the slack because otherwise I’d never leave work. Like now, the only way I could be here with you is because my team is trailing Es while she goes to her florist appointment. Apparently, fresh flowers in the winter are a big deal at this coronation thing too. Symbolizes life eternal or reborn or some crap.”
“Huh, sounds hectic as hell,” Deacon said, taking the last chicken wing.
“You have no idea, man.”
Z was just reaching for the final potato skin when a commotion sounded near the front doors of the pub. He turned to see one of the security guards from his team hurrying toward their booth. His stomach fell to his toes as he and Deacon exchanged a look.
“Looks like trouble has arrived, my friend,” Deacon said.
“Unfortunately.” Z shifted his attention to the panting security at their table, the guy out of breath and sweating like he’d run all the way over there. “What’s going on? What’s happening? Is it the princess?”
“They took her, sir,” the guy managed to get out between wheezes. “We were watching her the whole time, but they were too fast.”
“Took her?” Z was out of the booth and on his feet in seconds, pulling his sidearm from the holster at his waist and checking the magazine before slapping it back into place and jamming it back into his holster. “Where? Tell me exactly what happened.”
He started to walk out with the guard when Deacon called from behind him, “Hey, wait for me, bro! You know I always got your back and I’m here until tomorrow.”
“Hell yes!” Z said, waving him over to follow them out. “Come back to the palace with me and we’ll get this figured out. I’ve got a pretty good idea who took my wife, but a swear to God if he harms one single hair on her head, I will kill the bastard with my bare hands!”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Es was pissed. More at herself than anyone. She’d let duty and protocol and the fact she and Silvester used to be friends blind her to the fact that even when they’d been younger, he’d always snuck around and tried to manipulate people and events to make himself look good. As he’d gotten older, and it became clear her father would not be having any more children, it seemed her cousin had gotten even bolder as his place in the line of succession had solidified. Es had known he’d be angry at being supplanted, but she’d had no idea he was capable of kidnapping.
Granted, the place where she was being held wasn’t exactly some dank, dark dungeon. More like a bright, sunny, luxuriously decorated summer cottage on the water, but still. She’d been here once before, as a child. The place had belonged to Silvester’s grandmother and sat on an isolated stretch of land on a peninsula. Silvester had been quite attached to it as a child, and from the loving care she could see had been taken with the decorations, his fondness for the cottage had persisted. That thought gave her some comfort. Whatever his plans regarding her were, surely he wouldn’t kill her in a home he loved, nor would he stupid enough to hold her for an extended period of time in a place so closely associated with him. Would he?
Then again, she supposed her cousin wasn’t thinking rationally at the moment, so maybe he would.
Silvester walked back into the room, whispering to the two men accompanying him. He glanced over at her and smirked, holding up the roll of duct tape in his hand. Es swallowed hard. Her cousin might not murder her in his favorite summer cottage, but the two men with him didn’t look like they had any such qualms, regardless of whether she was pregnant or not.
Her nerves ramped up as Silvester came over to where she was sitting in a red velvet chair near the center of a large, airy living room. The men began binding her ankles to the chair legs and her arms behind her back with the tape while Silvester sat on the arm of the sofa across from her and watched. The bastard.
“You won’t get away with this,” she said, struggling to no avail against the men holding her in place. “My husband will already be looking for you and when he finds you, you’re a dead man.”
“Yes, your husband has a history of losing his temper, doesn’t he? That’s what got him kicked out of the SEALs. Going off on his own, disobeying orders and being insubordinate with his betters.” At her outraged gasp, he smiled. “Well, I wouldn’t worry about him too much. Especially since he obviously doesn’t care that much for you. A couple on paper only, isn’t that right, cousin? And the way he went off and left you today, drinking and carousing with his friend, leaving you vulnerable. Tsk, tsk.”
“I wasn’t vulnerable. I had my security team with me the whole time.”
“Yes, and just look how well they protected you.”
She fisted her hands so hard her nails dug into her palms. If she could just get loose, she’d punch him a good one right in his stupid, arrogant face.
“It’s a moot point anyway, since no one will ever figure out you’re here, cousin. And if by some remote chance they do, it won’t matter.”
“Of course it will matter. I’m Princess Esme of Prylea, mother of the next king. People will wonder where I am.”
“I doubt it.” Silvester gave a dismissive wave. “Though, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You were always flaunting your lineage in my face every chance you got when we were growing up.”
“Flaunting? I did no such thing. You were the one who was always scheming behind my back.” The men restraining her let her go, as she was now fully taped up and unable to do anything more than rock in her seat. “What about evidence? DNA? If anything happens to me or the baby, I can assure you there will be a full investigation.”
“Hmm.” He blinked at her several times, his expression quizzical. “Evidence won’t be a problem, cousin. You’ve spent as much time here in the past as I have. Anything they find can be easily explained away. Perhaps you just needed a bit of a break from all the stress of the upcoming coronation. Perhaps you decided not to go through with it after all. Perhaps you want to put it all behind you and, awash in grief over the loss of your father, you decided to abdicate the throne.” Silvester shrugged a shoulder. “The world may never know. In the end, it won’t really matter anyway.”
“What do you mean, in the end?” Real fear was taking up residence inside Es now. Her cousin had been shifty before, yes, but today there was a wild look in his dark eyes, a desperation she’d never seen before. He was on edge and pushed to the brink and that was a very dangerous place to be. Her mind whirred through all the crime shows she’d used to watch back in college. When trapped, rule number one—keep the madman talking, stall for time. “Tell me, cousin,” she said, doing her best to keep her tone even and calm, despite the trembling terror inside her. “Was it you this whole time? All the bomb scares and death threats?”
Silvester’s Cheshire cat smile widened into a full-blown grin, bursting with pride. “Pretty sly, eh? No one would ever believe I’d be behind such heinous acts, not after I’ve spent years visibly working with the national security teams and with all my devoted hours of public service. I mean, I had to do something with my time, since you and your father all but excluded me from any of the family business.” He stood and clasped his hands behind his back as his two henchmen walked back over to join him. “Soon, I’ll take the throne and no one will be wiser. The people will love me even more when all the attacks stop after I put my new policies into place. And don’t worry, cousin. Whatever means by which you meet your end, I’ll be sure to make it quick. Wouldn’t want you or your child to suffer.”
With that, he walked out of the room with the two guards. The sound of the door locking behind them echoed loudly, followed soon by the roar of a car engine outside that slowly faded into the distance. Alone. She was all alone out here in the middle of nowhere with no food, no water, no way to free herself and call for help.
Es tried with all her might to break free of her bonds, but there was no use. The tape was too strong. As if on cue, the baby began kicking in earnest and tears gathered in her eyes. It just figured that the first time she felt the baby kick would be at a time when all hope seemed lost.
If only she’d decided not to go to the florist today. If only she’d stayed at the palace and waited until Z could’ve gone with her. If only…
She blinked away tears and hung her head, hungry and achy and needing to use the bathroom. No. She refused to just sit here and wait to die. Somehow, some way, she’d find a way to survive until either Silvester came back or Z found her. Surely, the guards from his team would tell him what they saw. With his SEAL training and skills, he should be able to track her down, right?
Now it was just up to her to hang on until then. “We can do this, baby. We can do this.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“What have we got so far?” Z asked as he stalked back into the palace’s security command center with Deacon following. Several of the security guards paused to stare at the huge, muscled, African-American soldier in their midst before turning discreetly back to their work. “Everyone, this is my good friend and fellow Navy SEAL, Deacon Jones. He’s in town temporarily and will be helping me coordinate the rescue efforts for my wife and child. Whatever he says, take it as if it were a direct order from me. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” the guards said.
Z gave his friend a quick glance before moving to the large black table in the center of the room where various maps and pages of notes were scattered. “I need a rundown, people.”
The bulky guard who’d been assigned to watch over Z stepped forward. “Sir, while we were traveling back here from the pub, I took the liberty of coordinating with the other guards and compiling the information into a single report. I thought it might be more expedient than interviewing everyone one-by-one now.”
Z blinked at the guy for a minute, feeling a bit stunned. “Thanks, uh…”
“Felix, sir.” The guard smiled and handed Z his tablet with the report brought up on screen. “And my pleasure.”
“Call me Z.” Z grinned at him before scowling down at the screen. “Right. According to this report, she was abducted at fourteen hundred hours from outside the florist shop. Her captors put her in the back of a black SUV and sped off in an easterly direction. There appeared to be two muscle guys and the driver. All wore ski masks with no distinguishing marks or distinctive clothing.” He set the tablet aside and focused on the maps of the area spread out before him on the table. “Sounds like a basic bag and snatch.”
The routine jargon they used for kidnappings clogged his throat because this situation was anything but ordinary for him. This was his beloved wife, his precious child involved. But he had to keep some sort of control over his emotions, keep his heart out of it so he could think rationally and clearly. Otherwise, they could lose valuable time.
Deacon placed a strong hand on his shoulder. “We’ll get ‘em back, man.”
“I know.” He just hoped that bastard Silvester didn’t do anything to her before he and his men arrived. The thought of anyone harming Es had his blood boiling and his fingers itching to grab his weapon. Z shook it off as best he could and concentrated on finding a solution. “Okay. Given the time frame we’re dealing with and their direction of travel, I’d say these would be the best exit routes out of the city.”
“You think they left town?” Deacon asked, frowning.
“Makes the most sense. I’m betting her cousin was behind this. He’d want to get Es as far away from the palace as possible. Guys, can you bring me a list of the most recent threats we’ve received?”
He went over the information, sure he’d seen something come in recently…
“Here! Look at this.” He handed a paper to Deacon. It was an email that had come in shortly after the announcement about the coronation ceremony details. “Look at the last verse of that little poem. With the princess locked in her shabby castle by the sea, the rightful king will become what he truly ought to be. If that doesn’t have Silvester written all over it, I don’t know what does.”
“Sir,” another guard said, approaching. “I’ve been working on the dossier for Silvester and think there might be a viable location where he would have taken the princess.” The guard pulled up several pictures of a modest-looking cottage near the center of an isolated peninsula. “It was a summer home belonging to Silvester’s grandmother. Both he and Princess Esme are familiar with it, having both spent time there as children. Silvester inherited the home and the property after his grandmother’s death a few years ago. We’ve been tracking his movements, however, and did note that he recently paid several visits to the property shortly after the king’s death.”
“Where is he now?” Z asked, trying to locate the home on the map in front of him.
“His itinerary shows him at an opening ceremony for a new office building downtown, but the palace guards at that location cla
im he never showed up,” one of the other guards said from his post in front of a computer. “Let me see if I can pull up the footage of his limo.”
“How close was this office building to the florist shop where Esme was?” Z asked.
“Several blocks,” the guard said.
“Close enough for this dude to make a detour,” Deacon said.
“Agreed.” Z took a deep breath as a picture of the kidnapping began to form in his head. Silvester had to have been planning this for a while, watching and waiting for the perfect moment to catch Es alone. Dammit. Z had had his misgivings about meeting Deacon today for lunch and now he knew they’d been well founded. Seemed Silvester had a mole within the security team. If only he’d stayed his course, kept watch over Es, she might be safe and sound and here with him right now. And the baby. Oh, God, his son. If anything happened to his child now, he wasn’t sure he’d survive it.
“Hey, man.” Deacon slapped him on the back. “This wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known—”
“No. I should have known. That’s the problem.” He tossed the tablet down on the table. “It was all right there, in front of my face, but I didn’t put two and two together. The fucking poem, all his snide remarks, the waiting and the watching.” He cursed under his breath and turned away, ashamed and embarrassed and more scared than he could ever remember being in his life. It was like the night his parents died all over again. They were gone and Z was stuck waiting to hear something, anything, about them. He felt helpless, hopeless.
He slammed his fist against the wall, ignoring the stares of the guards around him. Pain shot from his hand up his arm, jarring him out of his self-pity. This was getting him exactly nowhere. Stewing in recriminations would not help him find Es and their son. He might have been a scared kid all those years ago, but now he was a full-grown, fully capable man and he’d be damned if he’d sit around and wait for Silvester to play his next cards.
