by Amelia Autin
“Let us say until further notice. Until we hear what the king has to say.”
Angelina followed Captain Zale down the long corridor, but instead of taking the grand staircase down to the king’s public office suite on the first floor, he stopped abruptly at the door to the king’s secluded private office off his personal suite of rooms and knocked. She didn’t know if this was a good sign or bad—she’d rarely spoken to the king, and never in his private office.
The door was opened by one of the king’s bodyguards, Major Lukas Branko, a man she’d known only by sight until yesterday’s interrogation. The expression on his face wasn’t encouraging, and Angelina’s heart sank further. But she wasn’t about to betray how she felt to anyone. No one would know it would kill her to be relieved of duty. No one would know she would never be able to hold her head up again if that happened.
“Captain Zale and Lieutenant Mateja to see you, Sire,” he announced without letting them enter.
“Thank you, Lukas,” came the deep voice she recognized as belonging to the king. “Please leave us. And take Captain Zale with you.” The king moved into her line of sight. “Come in, Lieutenant.” He waited for Angelina to enter and the two men to leave. Then he closed the door behind them. “Please have a seat,” the king said, indicating one of the chairs in front of his massive desk.
“I would prefer to stand, Sire,” she said, speaking nothing more than the truth. If the ax was going to fall, she’d rather receive it standing than sitting.
“As you wish.” The king seated himself behind the desk, silently observing Angelina standing ramrod straight in front of him, then smiled his faint smile. “It has just occurred to me you might have misinterpreted my invitation,” he said finally.
She was startled into blurting out, “Invitation, Sire? Captain Zale presented it as a command.”
“Ah,” he said, his smile deepening as the little mystery was explained to him. “Let me apologize, Lieutenant. I have not called you here to relieve you of duty. Nor have I called you here to reprimand you. I merely wanted to thank you in person for saving my son’s life.”
Monumental relief flooded her at the king’s words. She wasn’t being relieved of her commission. She wasn’t even being removed from the queen’s security detail, the two things she’d feared most. She closed her eyes and thanked God. Fervently. Then she opened her eyes again and looked at the king. “No need to thank me, Your Majesty. Keeping your family safe is my duty...and my honor.”
The smile that had faded from the king’s face at Angelina’s initial reaction to hearing she wasn’t being relieved of duty—the relief she’d found impossible to keep from her expression—returned. “Very good, Lieutenant,” he said softly, his vivid green eyes gleaming with approval. “That kind of devotion is what I like to see in all my men. Especially those who are assigned to guard the queen. The queen,” he amended, “and now the prince.”
Like every Zakharian, Angelina knew the king would gladly sacrifice his own life to keep his wife and son safe. And like every loyal Zakharian on the three security details, love for their king made them fiercely protective of the entire royal family.
But the king was still speaking, and Angelina forced herself to focus on his words. “I heard everything yesterday from Captain Zale and others. I even had the US embassy’s regional security officer here—at his request.”
Alec? Alec talked to the king about what happened? Why did he not tell me? “I did not know that, Sire.”
“The US embassy’s RSO was my sister’s guest at the christening yesterday—you probably know he was once her bodyguard. When her husband told her of the danger, she apparently asked Special Agent Jones to assist in any way he could, which is why he... I think intervened was the word he used. But his involvement was after the fact. After you had spotted the would-be assassins. After you had accurately deduced their target and informed Captain Zale of the threat.” The king’s voice hardened. “After you had realized exactly what the would-be assassins were waiting for—the precise moment my son would be most vulnerable.”
Angelina suppressed a tiny shiver at the coldness in the voice uttering that last sentence. The king had gone from friendly and approachable to hard and implacable in seconds. “And after you had taken one of the would-be assassins prisoner,” he continued without pause, “ensuring he would no longer be a threat to my son.”
It was exactly what Angelina needed to hear. But she didn’t want the king to praise her for something that had been an accident. “I was not looking for threats at that precise moment, Sire,” she confessed. “I was watching the baptism...like most people in the cathedral. Thinking about the religious meaning of the ceremony. One of the cameramen happened to be in my line of sight. That is when I saw the gun half hidden in his camera. And I knew...”
She trailed off and took a deep breath. “When I looked at the other cameraman and saw he also had a weapon in his possession, it all fell into place, and I knew the crown prince had to be the target. Once I realized that—”
“You realized what they were waiting for. Yes, Lieutenant, I had already deduced that.” She watched as the king made a visible effort to relax the tension in his muscles at the thought of what had nearly happened yesterday. “Who can say what guides our thoughts, our actions? Divine intervention? Perhaps. But I have learned to my sorrow that God does not always intervene to save the innocent. He relies on us. And in this case, on you, Lieutenant. You did not fail God. You did not fail me.” He smiled his faint smile again. “So. How do I reward you for saving my son’s life?”
This is why every loyal Zakharian loves the king, Angelina realized as emotion welled up in her throat, threatening to overwhelm her. She swallowed hard. “That your family is safe is reward enough, Your Majesty.”
“Hmm.” He leaned back in his chair, observing her, and Angelina knew he was seeing more than she really wanted him to see. “I will have to think about this. In the meantime, Lieutenant, please accept my heartfelt thanks for a job well done.” He stood and held out his hand, and when she tentatively offered hers, he shook it firmly, decisively, giving her his trust so completely that she swore to herself she would never let him down.
* * *
Angelina had no sooner exited the king’s private office when Major Branko stopped her. “Colonel Marianescu wishes to see you, Lieutenant,” he said.
“But the king—” she began, almost blurting out that the king had cleared her of wrongdoing. Then, “Yes, sir.”
She headed down the corridor without another word, stopping at the door to Colonel Marianescu’s office. She drew a deep breath, tapped on the door and pushed it open at the strong command to enter.
“You wished to see me, Colonel?” she asked from the doorway.
“Come in and shut the door, Lieutenant.” When she did, the king’s cousin crossed the room to where she stood nervously by the door and offered his hand. “Thank you, Lieutenant, from the bottom of my heart.”
She took the hand but couldn’t help asking, “Sir?” Not really understanding. She knew the colonel and the king were close, almost like brothers, but...
“If anything had happened to the crown prince,” he explained, “there are those who would firmly believe I had a hand in it somehow.” His expression was even more austere than normal. “The way many still believe I had a hand in my brother’s schemes eighteen months ago. Or at least knowledge of them.”
Angelina didn’t know what to say. Like the king, she didn’t believe it. No one who’d ever served under Colonel Marianescu—including all those on the security details—believed it, either, but she knew many Zakharians still harbored the question in their minds.
She didn’t have to say anything, though, because the colonel added, “I owe you a debt of gratitude, Lieutenant. Know that you can call upon me anytime, anywhere, should you ever need anything. This is not
coming from the head of internal security. This is coming from me, personally.”
* * *
But that wasn’t the end of her incredible day. No sooner had she returned to duty in the queen’s suite, when diminutive Queen Juliana threw herself at Angelina, her long dark hair curling around a face flushed with gratitude, her violet eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “Thank you, Angelina,” she uttered in a fervent voice as she hugged her fiercely. “I can never thank you enough. Oh, I knew if anyone tried to hurt Raoul or me, you would prevent it. And I was right.” Then she burst into tears.
Angelina quickly seated the queen in an armchair in the sitting room, and knelt on one knee in front of her. “I’m sorry,” the queen said, using the heels of her hands to wipe the tears from her eyes like a little girl. “I wasn’t going to cry. Honestly, I wasn’t. But I can’t seem to help it. If anything had happened to Raoul...” A fresh upwelling of tears overwhelmed the queen’s efforts to hold them back.
A touch of humor speared through Angelina as she acknowledged the queen was one of those few women who looked beautiful even when they were crying, her tear-stained eyes like damp pansies, the delicate color in her cheeks unaffected. Unlike me, she thought with an inner smile, remembering her red, swollen eyes and puffy face last night.
But Alec did not care how I looked. The thought hit her like an avalanche, and hard on the heels of that thought came another one. All he cared about was convincing me I did the right thing yesterday. All he cared about was making me accept the truth. Not just about killing Sasha, but about the two of us—Alec and me. About how we feel. Not only how we feel physically, but all the things we share...like what motivates us.
She wasn’t going to be able to walk away from him. Not after he’d abolished every sexual inhibition she’d ever had—wiped them right off the map. Not after he’d taught her it was perfectly acceptable to be demanding in bed. Not after he’d taught her just how demanding she could be with the right man. A man who could fulfill every sexual fantasy she’d ever had and then some.
But it wasn’t just the sex. If that were all, she could take her fill and walk away. No, what she couldn’t walk away from was the way she felt when she was with him. The way he made her feel even when she wasn’t with him. As if she were more when he was in her life. As if she could accomplish anything...when he was in her life.
She was strong, but so was he. Bigger, more muscular, yes. But also strong inside, where it counted most. She was determined, but so was he. And that appealed to her. She couldn’t respect a man who wasn’t at least as strong and determined as she was.
She’d killed a man, but so had he. No one who hadn’t lived through that experience could really understand. But Alec could. He did. And he hadn’t let her fall into despair over it. “You did what you had to do,” he’d told her, and he’d been right. Why hadn’t she seen that on her own?
* * *
Alec had never seen his job as a nine-to-five that he could put away at the end of the day. He never “closed up shop,” never stopped working if he was on something that needed to be finished.
Except today. Come hell or high water, he would be at Angelina’s apartment at five-thirty. Waiting for her. Because he couldn’t not be there. Because he knew—even if she didn’t—that yesterday’s events weren’t over. Whoever had arranged the assassination attempt was still out there. Still a danger. Not just to the royal family, but to Angelina, too. He shuddered when he thought about how close she’d come to dying. Not just in the sacristy, but when she’d confronted the cameraman and dragged him away. A second here, a second there, and things could have had a very different outcome.
And yet, he’d been so proud of her. He hadn’t been close enough to hear what she’d said to the cameraman, but he’d seen every move she made, could almost have predicted everything she’d do because he would have done exactly the same thing under the circumstances. He’d grabbed the Glock from the camera that she’d been forced to leave behind, and had joined her in the sacristy as soon as he could. Not because he didn’t think she could handle things—he hadn’t been lying yesterday when he told her she had everything under control. But because he’d wanted to be with her for whatever happened.
The clock’s minute hand, the one that had seemed frozen in place for the past half hour, finally clicked onto the twelve. Five o’clock. Time to go.
He said good-night to his administrative assistant and was gone before she could reply, and then he made the five-minute walk to his apartment in less than four minutes. He showered, shaved and dressed swiftly—jeans, a long-sleeved polo shirt in a deep shade of forest green and a brown tweed blazer. He was out the door again in ten minutes, which left him plenty of time to walk to Angelina’s apartment.
He passed the flower shop almost without seeing it, but then backtracked quickly. The flower arrangement that had caught his eye in the window seemed to have been made just for her. Lilies, he thought, remembering her middle name. Perfect. Lilies of the valley—with their small, white choral bells hanging upside down from their stalks—tiny blue forget-me-nots and jasmine. Sweet-smelling jasmine. He paid for his purchase and waited impatiently while the florist wrapped the arrangement in tissue paper and placed it carefully in a box.
He was a minute late when he finally arrived, but it was worth it when she promptly opened the door, as if she’d been waiting for him. She wore jeans and an ice-blue sweater that matched her blue-gray eyes and reminded him of the robe she’d been wearing last night. As if he needed a reminder.
The complete surprise on her face when she unwrapped his floral offering touched something deep inside him. Had no one ever given her flowers before? Was he the first in this way, too?
“They are beautiful,” she told him with just a hint of shyness. “Thank you.”
“When I saw them in the shop window, they whispered your names to me—Angelina Zuzana. I had to stop, even if it meant being late.” He touched one tiny bell on a stalk of lilies of the valley. “My mom loves these, and always has them in her garden. They’re a perennial, you know. And when they bloom, she goes around singing that children’s song about lilies of the valley.” He smiled at the memory. “My mom was always singing to us when we were kids. She still does to my niece, Alyssa, and she still has her garden.”
“My mother loves flowers, too,” Angelina confessed. “But her garden is a bower of roses she tends as if they are her children.”
“She’s still alive?”
“Oh, yes. Both my parents. I see them every week, if I can. She is not so old—just fifty-four. My father is much older—almost sixty-six. But I...” She trailed off.
Alec wanted to know what she’d been going to say. “But you...?”
“But I am not close to them. They do not...that is...they are very old-fashioned, even for Zakhar. They wanted me to marry young. To give them grandchildren. Especially since my brother died when he was a baby, and I am my parents’ only remaining child. They do not like that I am still unmarried at twenty-nine. And they especially do not like that I am on the queen’s security detail. The danger, you see. If I were to die without giving them grandchildren...”
Alec correctly interpreted this, and stated flatly, “So they don’t know about yesterday, do they? They don’t know you were involved.”
Angelina shook her head. Not sadly, just with acceptance of something she could never change. “I cannot tell them. They would not understand. Not just because it would be a reminder of the danger to me, but...to have killed a man...that is a... It goes against tradition, you understand. Not a womanly thing to do.”
Alec cursed under his breath, but he was starting to understand Angelina a little better. Not just the woman she was, but the forces that had shaped her, and how she’d had to fight to overcome those prejudices. How she’d had to fight for everything she was.
In many ways she reminded him
of his younger sister. Keira had always fought for acceptance—as the only girl in their family, in the Marine Corps, in the agency she worked for. Had always fought for respect. As he’d told Angelina, when he was younger he hadn’t seen it, hadn’t realized he was perpetrating a stereotype with regard to his sister. But that didn’t mean that was how he saw things now. He’d learned in the years since then, and was still learning.
Yesterday had rocked his world. Shaken it off its foundations. Before yesterday, if someone had asked him whether a woman should sacrifice her career for a man’s, he’d have had no hesitation in saying, “Absolutely!” Not just because he was a man, but because that was the way his father had raised him. Because that’s the way things had been for years and still were for the most part, despite some relatively recent changes in the United States.
What had happened yesterday had clearly shown him how wrong he’d been. Why should Angelina give up a job that meant everything to her, the culmination of a lifetime of sacrifices on her part? A job she was damned good at? But if he wanted a future with her—and right now, he couldn’t imagine not having a future with Angelina—what other choice did they have? He wouldn’t be staying in Zakhar. Not permanently. He couldn’t even if he wanted to, because he’d eventually be reassigned. That was the nature of his work. And if he wanted to be promoted, it was almost guaranteed he’d have to relocate to wherever that promotion was—that’s how the federal government operated.
It wasn’t until he’d convinced himself he’d never ask Angelina to make that kind of sacrifice for him that he realized just how devastating a blow it would be to him if he asked her and she didn’t choose him.
Chapter 9
They had dinner at Mischa’s in the central district again. Afterward they walked as they’d done the first time, although this time they were able to walk much farther afield since Angelina wasn’t wearing heels. Conversation at dinner had been restricted by their surroundings—neither had wanted to discuss anything related to yesterday since it might be overheard by other diners. But as they walked, they talked freely.
