by Amelia Autin
At first, Angelina was afraid she would have to take the cameraman out by way of the side chapel, where people would see what she was doing, and perhaps cause a panic. The king wishes nothing to disrupt the ceremony or detract from the religious solemnity of the occasion flashed into her mind again.
The door to the sacristy appeared in her side vision, and Angelina gratefully steered her captive toward it. Perfect, she thought. The door had scarcely closed behind them when it opened again, and Angelina whirled around, dragging the cameraman backward with her to confront this new threat. She breathed a quick sigh of relief when she recognized Alec, until the idea occurred to her he might think she wasn’t capable of handling this on her own.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded fiercely, while at the same time making sure she didn’t raise her voice loud enough to be heard outside the sacristy. “This is not your responsibility! I do not need your assistance!”
Alec’s eyes narrowed, but the flash of admiration in them mollified her. He turned, locked the door, and faced Angelina again. “I know you don’t need me—you’ve got everything under control,” he said in the same low voice. “But Princess Mara recruited my help in saving her brother and his family—that makes it my responsibility.” He indicated her captive. “And shouldn’t this discussion wait for a more opportune moment? Like after this man is secured and interrogated?”
Angelina realized he was right. She needed to contact Captain Zale immediately to let him know her status, that this would-be assassin was no longer a threat to the royal family. But with both hands occupied, that was impossible. Not to mention she could use some help tying him up.
She glanced around for something, anything, they could use. She hated to use any of the priestly vestments for this very unpriestly requirement, but the sacristy was woefully lacking anything else that might substitute for the handcuffs a policeman would carry but a bodyguard didn’t. Alec made it easy for her, grabbing a pure white stole—the long, narrow strip of cloth priests and bishops wore draped around their necks— from a hanger, and approaching Angelina and her captive, careful not to interfere with the control she still maintained over the man.
“Hands behind you,” he told the cameraman in Zakharan.
The man hesitated, and Angelina pressed her weapon even tighter against his neck. “Do it!” she commanded.
It wasn’t easy. Since she still held the man in a chokehold, Alec had to maneuver between her body and the cameraman’s in order to bind the man’s hands behind his back. Despite the adrenaline still coursing through her body, or perhaps because of it, Angelina was acutely conscious of everywhere Alec accidentally touched her. When he was finally finished and the cameraman was securely trussed, she released the iron hold she’d had on the man’s neck and swiftly holstered her SIG SAUER P320. She gave the man a little push in Alec’s direction.
“Watch him, please. I must contact Captain Zale.” She moved a short distance away, tapping her earpiece and uttering Captain Zale’s name but still keeping her gaze glued on Alec and their prisoner.
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“All secure here, sir. We are in the sacristy. But I was forced to leave the gun he was going to use—” She stopped abruptly as Alec shook his head and opened his coat, showing the would-be assassin’s Glock 18C tucked neatly into his belt. Her eyes met Alec’s, and this time it was her admiration for him glowing there. She smiled her appreciation of his quick thinking. “Cancel that, sir. Alec Jones, the US RSO is with me. He secured the weapon and has it with him.”
“Good job, Lieutenant.” Just three little words of praise, but the tone they were uttered in meant the world to her. She’d done her job. She’d saved the crown prince. And she’d managed to do it without disrupting the religious ceremony, just as the king had wished. A flush of pride rose to her cheeks, despite her best efforts to contain it.
“The other cameraman is already in custody, also without incident,” Captain Zale continued. “And the christening ceremony is nearly over. Stay there for the time being. I will send someone to retrieve your prisoner so you can accompany the queen back to the palace. With this attempt on the royal family, their security is paramount, and I want you guarding the queen. I must stay to interrogate the prisoners, so I am counting on you and the other man I assign to ensure the queen’s safety. You are not relieved of that duty until I say you are relieved. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
When they disconnected, Alec raised his eyebrows in a question, and Angelina quickly relayed the conversation to him. Not the few words of praise or her reaction to them, but that Captain Zale wanted her to accompany the queen back to the palace and was sending someone to relieve her here.
Only a minute later they heard the rattle of the doorknob on the locked sacristy door, followed by a sharp knock. “Lieutenant Mateja?” said a muffled voice.
Angelina drew her gun before she stood off to one side, reached out and unlocked the door quickly, so if someone tried to burst through the door she wouldn’t be taken unaware. She relaxed her guard when she peered out and recognized the man as a fellow bodyguard.
“Sorry, Sasha,” she said, letting him in, then locking the door behind him and turning to follow him into the room. “I did not want to take a ch—”
A gunshot reverberated through the sacristy, and the cameraman Alec was guarding dropped to the ground without a sound. Angelina didn’t hesitate. Sasha’s arm had already shifted in Alec’s direction, but before he could get off another shot, she fired. He crumpled.
With her P320 still pointed at Sasha, she approached his body cautiously and then kicked the gun that had fallen from his hand into the far corner of the room. She went down on one knee to check his pulse behind his ear, but she knew even before she did it that it wasn’t necessary. He was dead.
She glanced over at Alec, whose own SIG SAUER was now drawn but who was also on one knee, checking the pulse on the cameraman. Their eyes met and Alec shook his head. “No chance,” he said.
Guilt slammed into her. “My fault.”
“Are you crazy?” Alec stood, quickly holstered his weapon and approached her. He grasped her arms with his strong hands and shook her slightly. “How the hell is this your fault?”
She swallowed hard and fought the shakes that suddenly threatened to overwhelm her as the realization sank in—she’d killed a man. She’d never killed a man before. She’d always known she might have to in her line of work. Had tried to prepare herself for the possibility...the eventuality. Had told herself she could handle it, especially if the man deserved to die, as Sasha most certainly had.
But thinking and doing were two completely different things. A man had lost his life at her hands. A man she knew. What she was feeling now was nothing like she’d imagined she’d feel.
“I let down my guard,” she whispered. “I should not have, but I did.” She tore herself from Alec’s hands and backed away. She glanced down at the SIG SAUER in her right hand, almost as if she was surprised to see it still there, and she holstered it automatically.
Just as automatically, she tapped her earpiece. “Captain Zale?” When he answered, she said in a wooden voice, “My prisoner is dead, sir. The man you sent to retrieve him, Lieutenant Tcholek, must have been part of the conspiracy, because he shot the cameraman. Lieutenant Tcholek is also dead, sir. I shot—”
“I did not send Tcholek. I sent Liev Arkady. But I just sent him—he should be there shortly. What the hell is going on?”
Angelina was startled out of her autonomic state. She glanced at Alec and mouthed the words He did not send Sasha. And knew from his expression he’d made the same connection she just had. Sasha must have seen her go into the sacristy with her prisoner. Must have seen Alec enter shortly thereafter. Must have been involved in the conspiracy. Part of her had already known he had to be, but she hadn’t really focused on
it before. Now she did.
Was he the one who’d retrieved the guns for the would-be assassins? she wondered now. She couldn’t remember Sasha’s assigned post in the cathedral—there were so many on the various security teams here, it would be impossible to remember who was posted where. But it made sense he was instrumental in getting the weapons into the hands of the would-be assassins. What else had he been involved in? And was anyone else she knew, anyone else on one of the security details, involved in the assassination conspiracy? It made her sick just to think of it, but the question had to be asked.
Another knock sounded on the sacristy door. “Lieutenant Mateja? It is Lieutenant Arkady. I am here to collect your prisoner.” This time when Angelina unlocked the door, she was taking absolutely no chances. One man too late.
Chapter 7
It was very, very late—almost midnight—when Angelina returned to her apartment. She unlocked the door, secured it behind her and headed for her bedroom. But the blinking light on the answering machine stopped her. She almost ignored it, not really up to dealing with anything else tonight, but what if it was important? She hesitated for only a moment and then hit the play button. Her mother’s voice, with its plaintive tone, floated out of the speaker.
“Angelina, darling, where are you? Why did you not call us tonight? We have been waiting, wondering where you could be. We did not see you at the christening ceremony this afternoon, but then we were forced to join the crowd in the square outside—we were not able to get into the cathedral. The lines were too long, and your father complained his feet hurt too much to stand all that time. He said a better daughter would have arranged invitations for us—a better daughter would make sure her parents would not have to stand in line with everyone else. But you know his way. He did not really mean it.”
Angelina closed her suddenly aching eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to calm the turmoil inside caused by her mother’s careless words.
“Still,” her mother continued, “with such an important job, as you are constantly telling us—so important you do not have time to find a husband and give us the grandchildren that would make our remaining years worthwhile—it should not have been too difficult to arrange. A word to the queen, perhaps, and we could have... But then, you do not mean to be so thoughtless, I know. Your father says it is all my fault, that I should have raised you better, that you do not think of the sacrifices we have made for you all these years. But I told him—”
Angelina clicked the delete button without waiting for her mother to finish. She didn’t need to hear the rest because it would be more of the same thing. On and on. The constant criticism. The “we do not mean to complain” complaints. Always managing to throw into any conversation Angelina’s lack of a husband. Lack of children. Never understanding the choices she’d made for her life. Her life. Not theirs.
As for asking the queen for an invitation for her parents, she should never have mentioned the queen’s friendship to them. It had slipped out one day in conversation, and she’d known it was a mistake almost immediately, but it was too late. How many times since then had she told her parents she would never presume on her friendship with the queen? Not even for them. But they’d refused to believe her. Refused to understand. They will never understand, she thought, a band of pain tightening around her heart. Just as they will never understand me.
She pushed those thoughts aside with an effort and went directly to her bedroom. She stripped off her clothes and left them in a little pile on the floor, but carefully hung her shoulder holster containing her SIG SAUER P320 on its designated hook inside her closet door for easy access. She’d been surprised her interrogators had allowed her to take her gun home with her, but they had, after they’d performed ballistics tests on it.
A hot shower beckoned. With the steaming-hot water streaming over her head, she could finally let herself cry. Cry the way she’d been wanting to cry since the moment she’d killed Sasha. Cry the way she hadn’t cried since she’d finally admitted she wasn’t going to be able to find her cousin, no matter how hard she tried.
She sagged against the tiles, the fingers of one hand splayed against the water-slick wall as sobs tore through her—her regret over taking a man’s life all mixed up with her remorse over Caterina, her inability to make her parents proud of her no matter how she tried and everything else she’d failed to do right in her life. She cried until the hot water turned lukewarm, until she cried herself out, and then wiped her eyes. She stepped tiredly from the shower and toweled herself off. She used a separate towel for her hair, rubbing it briskly until it was barely damp, then grabbed a comb off the small counter beside the washbasin and quickly combed her hair, forcing herself to look in the mirror.
She scarcely recognized the woman who stared back at her. Her eyes were red and swollen, her face puffy. She remembered the pride she’d felt earlier when Captain Zale had told her, “Good job, Lieutenant.” Proud. You were so proud, and now what? A proverb from the Bible came to her, one her mother had often quoted. Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.
She’d been so proud she’d helped save the crown prince. So proud she hadn’t interrupted the christening in doing so. But now her pride was humbled. In ashes. The questions her interrogators had thrown at her made it very clear they’d suspected her—as if she’d killed Sasha to cover up her own involvement. Crazy as that idea was, it had made a kind of illogical sense to her when her interrogators had raised the possibility.
Even Captain Zale had not defended her, and that hurt most of all. Everything she’d done since joining the queen’s security detail, all the sacrifices she’d made, and no one stood up for her.
The doorbell rang, startling her from her sad reverie. Who could possibly be calling on her at this hour of the night? She’d already spent hours being thoroughly interrogated by Captain Zale and the heads of the other two security details. They’d finally let her go when they were convinced she had nothing more to tell them and the crime scene reconstruction and preliminary ballistics tests had corroborated her story that Sasha had shot the cameraman to cover up his involvement in the plot, and that she’d shot Sasha in self-defense.
Even if she were completely cleared of suspicion, as seemed likely, given the strong evidence, would she ever be trusted—really trusted—again? Or would they insist on believing a man would not have let down his guard? That a man would have acted differently in the same situation?
She pulled her full-length ice-blue chenille robe on, firmly tying the belt as she walked barefoot to the front door. “Yes?” she asked in a voice that said whoever was on the other side had better have a damned good reason for being there.
“It’s Alec, Angel. Open the door.”
Angelina hesitated for a moment and realized she probably owed Alec thanks. If he hadn’t been a witness to what had occurred in the sacristy, she might not be a free woman now. She might still be suspected of being part of the assassination attempt.
She unlocked the door and pulled it open, then just stood there staring at Alec. He looked good, given it was past midnight after a long, adrenaline-packed day. A hell of a lot better than I do.
“I thought so,” Alec said, taking in her still-swollen eyes. “I thought you’d be beating yourself up over this.”
She breathed sharply, and then said mechanically, “Come in.” She turned around and led the way into her small living room. She faced Alec again, good manners dictating she say, “Please be seated,” as she indicated the couch.
But Alec was having none of that. He moved to stand right in front of her, his hands grasping her arms. “You’re not thinking straight,” he told her roughly. “You did what you had to do. You’re not responsible—not for any of it.”
“I am,” she replied, her words just a breath of sound. “I killed a man. And I caused the death of another man because I let down m
y guard.”
Alec shook his head. “You can’t second-guess yourself like this. Not now. Not ever. You saved a life today, and that has to count for something.”
“Yes,” she said. “I prevented that man from trying to kill the crown prince, but you cannot say with certainty I saved a—”
His hands tightened on her arms as he pulled her flush with his body. His rock-hard body. “I’m not talking about the king’s son. I’m talking about me. You saved my life, Angel. I saw it in Tcholek’s eyes when he shot the cameraman. I was next. I was dead in the water, caught without my own gun drawn. It was my own damn fault, there was no way I wasn’t going to die—except you prevented it. You shot first. If your reflexes had been just a half second slower, I’d be dead now.”
She breathed deeply as the truth of his words sank in. So maybe she had done something right, after all, even if she’d been forced to take a man’s life to do it.
If only she could roll back the clock to yesterday. Or even to the moment before Sasha had entered the sacristy. But I cannot, she reminded herself with brutal candor. I cannot turn back the clock any more than I can forget killing Sasha.
If she couldn’t change what had happened, could she distract herself from remembering that moment when she’d touched Sasha’s still-warm body and had known he was dead? Could she focus instead on Alec? Alive, whole, uncompromisingly male...
Out of the jumble of her thoughts and emotions, one thing stood out—she wanted him. Now more than ever. She’d wanted him from the beginning, although she’d told herself it was impossible. But was it really? Would it be wrong to use Alec to forget what she didn’t want to remember, just for tonight? How many times had she dreamed of what it would be like to take Alec to her bed? How many ways would she regret this lost opportunity if she let it pass her by?
