“I’m not expecting anything. Why?”
“Well, I know how you feel about me opening your mail, but I’ve asked Ira to—”
“You’re beginning to cramp my style, Nicholas.”
“Ericka.”
“What?”
“The package. Ira said the package is ticking.”
“What do you mean, it’s ticking? Like a clock?”
“Like a bomb.”
Coffee sloshed over the cup and burned her hand. “I’ll be right there. Where are you?”
“The royal office. Ira has the bomb outside and the area will be cordoned off until his experts dismantle it.”
She stuck her burned and shaking hand under running tap water. When the tap water did nothing to alleviate the heat, she opened the refrigerator door, found a pitcher of chilled water and poured it over her skin.
Wrapping her hand in a cool paper towel, she hurried out of her suite. Two men guarded her door. One of them followed her as she hurried toward Nicholas.
“Is everything all right, ma’am?” the guard asked her.
“Sure.” Oh sure, everything was just terrific. She’d just burned her hand. The king had proposed to her without saying he loved her. Then he asked her to promise him not to leave without telling him—which effectively trapped her under his thumb. And now, his security chief was opening her mail, which happened to have a bomb inside.
Life couldn’t be peachier.
ERICKA HURRIED THROUGH the guarded doors and into the royal office. Her gaze focused first on the desk, a desk that held very precious memories. But Nicholas was nowhere to be seen. She looked around the room and suddenly spied Natalie standing against the wall. Ericka could have sworn the room had been empty when she entered it, but in her rush to find Nicholas, she must have been mistaken. Natalie couldn’t simply have appeared out of thin air.
The secretary of state’s wife appeared startled to see her, but smoothly recovered. “If you’re looking for Nicholas, he’s in the courtyard.” She pointed to the private garden beyond the bay window.
“Thanks. Nicholas said they found what they think is a bomb.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“Anton told me on the way over. The general is sending a bomb squad. I’m glad Larissa is off with Alexander. While I’m sure the men have things under control, it’s better to be safe, don’t you think?”
“Actually, I’m worried about Nicholas. He isn’t—”
“I assure you, he’s safe, but you certainly look frazzled, dear. How about a cup of coffee? Tea?”
Ericka shook her head. She couldn’t help fearing that any moment, she would hear another explosion. While she yearned to go to Nicholas and assure herself of his safety, Natalie’s calm gave her pause. Natalie seemed to be a person tuned in to palace politics; perhaps she would learn more by staying here. “On second thought, I’d love a cup of tea.”
Natalie used the intercom to have tea brought to them, obviously comfortable in Nicholas’ office. She wore a stunning dark pantsuit, sandals and a lovely silk scarf fastened with a brooch.
“I take it you’ve been here a lot?” Ericka asked as she sank into one of the plush antique chairs positioned around a coffee table, thinking it would be rude to ask the woman why she was here, so she hoped she’d volunteer the information.
She didn’t. Composed and relaxed, Natalie sat in the opposite chair, crossing one elegant leg over the other. Totally in control and comfortable in social situations, Natalie appeared to be the perfect wife for a secretary of state. “Anton and Zared I were good friends for over thirty years. Back in the old days, the men planned the revolution around my kitchen table, and we all ate fish Anton had caught that morning.”
“Do you know any more about the bomb?” Ericka asked, knowing she wouldn’t relax until she had all the details.
“Actually, I do, since I overheard Anton and the general. The package addressed to you is tied with string and the address is handwritten.”
“Nicholas said it’s ticking.”
“Don’t worry. The men have detection devices. And a portable X-ray system. I’m surprised you’re so interested—”
“Why would I not be?”
“Ah, our tea. Set it right here and I’ll pour,” Natalie directed the servant. “I thought you would be more interested in the coronation.” Natalie poured and handed her a steaming cup of green tea.
Ericka helped herself to a slice of lemon and two sugar cubes. “Correspondents are often sent to cover one story and find themselves on another.”
“Ah, but the pomp and ceremony of the coronation, the sheer romanticism of Nicholas becoming our king sort of grabs a woman’s heart, don’t you think?”
“Tell me more,” Ericka suggested. She assumed that Natalie could tell her no more about the bomb, but the woman clearly wanted to talk about the Vashmiran society event of the decade.
“You must understand our history to comprehend the events about to take place. This is the land of Spartacus, which belonged to the kingdom of Macedonia. By 46 B.C. the Romans had conquered the area.”
“Whoa.” Ericka didn’t want a two-thousand-year history lesson. “Why don’t you tell me about the royal family. My editor only wants relatively recent news. Say the last twenty years?”
“After Zared’s revolution succeeded,” Natalie switched gears without effort, “our people had unrealistic expectations. At first abrupt curtailments of trade with the Soviet bloc brought about hardships. Our people have had to readjust. Twenty years ago, we had no checking accounts, credit cards or ATM machines. We had to catch up. Some of our people missed the old social benefits like guaranteed employment, free nurseries, higher education and medical care. Lack of resources set our differing factions at odds with each other.”
“But you never returned to communism?” Ericka asked, knowing the answer, but curious how Natalie interpreted her past.
“Not like Lithuania, Poland, Bulgaria and Hungary. We stayed a democratic monarchy, thanks to Zared I.” Her voice turned proud. “Vashmira is a prospective member of the European Union, and we are now considered ‘investment grade’ by international grading companies.”
“But?”
“We paid a price for the painful economic restructuring. Unemployment was very high and inflation almost went out of control before Peter Surak, our economic advisor, got a handle on it. Through it all, our people stuck together. We had internal squabbles, but no fighting. Now, we will show our success to the world with a peaceful transition of power from father to son. And Nicholas will announce your engagement,” Natalie leaned forward. “I’m so pleased.”
“Would you have preferred he’d chosen Larissa?” Ericka asked and watched Natalie’s eyes carefully.
The woman met hers with no embarrassment. “Nothing would have made me happier,” she admitted. “But it’s not to be, I’m afraid. Larissa seems to prefer Alexander.”
“You don’t approve?”
“Alexander is a notorious playboy. I fear in the end, my daughter will be hurt.”
Natalie seemed no more, no less, than a concerned mother. And while Ericka assumed she was hiding some secrets, she didn’t dig further.
“Tell me about Janna and Peter Surak,” she requested, instead.
“I have nothing but respect for Peter. He’s a financial genius. Educated at Eton. From a fine Muslim family. He works hard, but I’ve often thought he works so hard to escape from his home life. You’ve met Janna…”
“Is there a reason she is so bitter?”
“Janna loved Zared I.”
“Really?”
“He was charming to all the women, but he wanted nothing to do with her. However, I don’t think that made her into the shrew she is today…. Please don’t quote me?”
“Okay.”
“Her husband cannot have children. An old war injury, I believe.”
Had Janna’s bitterness turned her into a killer? Ericka didn’t know, but s
he vowed to learn the woman’s whereabouts the day the boat exploded on the beach.
“How long has Ben Golden worked for Nicholas?”
“Our Jewish press secretary? Would you believe he won a scholarship to Eton and the Jew and Peter, a Muslim, became best friends? Peter recommended Ben for the position several years ago.”
“Ben’s single?”
“As is our general. Although the general keeps a mistress.” Natalie gave the information with a smug smile, almost as if she approved. Possibly she was just pleased she could impart gossip.
“And Sophia? Her year of mourning is almost over. Will she marry again?”
“If you’re asking me if the woman truly loved Zared I, my answer is an unequivocable yes. She adored him. She would have done anything for him, given him ten children if he asked it of her. Whether another man can ever fill the void in her heart? That I do not know.”
“You certainly are well informed.”
“I thought since you’re soon to become one of us it would help if I filled you in. Tashya is a fine girl, but she’s oblivious to gossip.”
“Really? How does she spend her time?”
“With her horses.” Natalie wrinkled her nose. “She often smells like a stable hand. I’ve never understood why she can’t leave the care of her animals to servants.”
“I take it you’re not a horse lover.”
“Afraid not.”
“But Larissa rides.”
“Her father insisted she take lessons so she could go on the royal outings. She fills in as hostess when I’m committed elsewhere.”
A servant entered and handed Ericka a note from Nicholas. “Come to the courtyard. You’ll want to see this.”
NICHOLAS CLUTCHED THE device in his hand, barely noticing the pain as the sharp edges of metal bit into his palm. He simply waited for Ericka to find him in the courtyard, knowing she needed to hear a full explanation—even if she left him now that they knew her life was truly in danger.
“Nicholas, what’s wrong?” Her guard trailing her footsteps, Ericka hurried to him, her face full of concern, her gaze scanning the courtyard for danger.
He led her to a bench beside a marble fountain with a statue of Hercules at the center. After they both sat, he gathered his thoughts. “I suppose I should start at the beginning.”
“When our fathers made our marriage contract?”
“Earlier than that. In fact, my story starts shortly after your birth.”
He took her hand, and she scooted closer to him but turned so she could watch his face. “During the revolution, my father, your father and General Vladimir often shared a foxhole. Since they often spent the nights planning the next day’s battles, other men performed the chore of digging for them.”
“One rainy morning, the trio found themselves pinned by especially heavy mortar fire. Your father took a bullet in the fleshy part of his arm.”
“He died from a superficial wound that became infected?” Ericka guessed. Obviously her mother hadn’t known or hadn’t told her the details of her father’s death.
“His wound was not life threatening, but knocked him deep into the hole. He landed face downward in the wet mud. And between the hail of bullets, the thunder of mortar fire and the rain, he must have heard an odd ticking.”
“A bomb?”
“He didn’t know. Ignoring his wound, he took off his helmet and used it to dig into the mud. The general and my father continued to shoot back at the enemy, unaware of the problem below their feet.”
“Damn. He found a bomb, didn’t he?”
“Apparently he uncovered the mechanism a mere second before detonation. He had no time to dislodge it or pitch it out of the foxhole. He fell on it, used his own body to protect the others. Due to his actions and the soaking from torrential rains, the gunpowder only partially detonated.”
“He didn’t die right away, did he?”
“My father wrote some of this to you, but I never knew exactly what he said,” Nicholas gently told her.
“He said my father died protecting his back.”
“He did.”
“And then they made our marriage contract, so my father must have lived for at least a little while afterward.” She paled and her hand trembled in his.
Nicholas didn’t tell her it had taken several excruciating hours for her father to die. There had been no morphine, not even for Zared’s best friend. He cleared his throat and continued. “The bomb was Russian made, the timepiece dented from your father’s heroics. The general kept the timepiece—first to try and trace the serial numbers, but he failed. Later I suppose it became a souvenir.”
She quickly regained control of her emotions, morphing into reporter mode. “Nicholas, why are you now telling me about the past?”
“Because of this.” He opened his hand and showed her a twisted bit of brass.
“What is it?”
“It’s the timer from the bomb that took your father’s life.”
“But you said the general kept it.”
“We found this in the bomb sent to you, supposedly from your editor at the Washington Herald.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I. Ira dusted the parcel’s wrapping paper for prints. The general’s weren’t on the package.”
“He could have worn gloves.”
“Actually, there were no prints at all on the paper, which is odd, since it had to have been handled by postal workers.”
“Maybe it wasn’t,” she said. “Diplomatic and military mail comes through in special pouches,” Ericka suggested, “which isn’t leaving us much to go on—just like the boat explosion which burned up the pieces at such a high temperature that Ira had no clues to track down.”
“This time we have one.” Nicholas tossed the timer into the air and caught it, closing his fingers fiercely. “The general has some explaining to do.”
“Is he in the palace?” Ericka asked.
“Why? You want to question him?”
“Absolutely.”
At her answer, relief washed through him along with more worry. “I thought…”
“What?”
“You might…want to leave.”
She lifted her chin, her determination warriorlike. “If I left, I’d never find the man who murdered my father.”
“Okay.” He’d been hoping she’d stay for him. But he could understand her need to track down her father’s killer. How could he not after he’d spent the last year doing exactly the same thing?
“However, a lot of this puzzle doesn’t make sense,” she went on, completely oblivious to how much he wanted her to let him handle the investigation while she stayed out of the line of fire, safely guarded. But he knew better than to insist.
“In what way?”
“It would make sense to assume the same person was responsible for the bomb in that foxhole and the bomb sent to me. But…” She frowned as she worked through the details. “The general wouldn’t have set a bomb in his own foxhole.”
“Unless he’d planned to make an excuse to leave and couldn’t because of the heavy shelling.”
“And why would he use a timer traceable to him?” Ericka shook her head. “He has access to parts from an entire arsenal. No doubt, he’d know you’d recognize that particular part—”
“Not if Ira’s men hadn’t disarmed the bomb, we wouldn’t. The timer would have been blown to bits.”
“Well,” she looked at him. “I’m up for talking to the general. Why don’t we surprise him with an unexpected visit?”
When he didn’t reply immediately, she sighed. “What?”
“I have to ask.”
“I’m not staying in the palace.” Already she knew him well enough to guess his thoughts. Her words were soft but forceful. “Forget it. I’m the one who grew up without a father. And apparently, it’s my life at stake.”
They both stood, and he took her into his arms. Strong, powerful arms that held her with tenderness and p
romise. “Your life means a lot to me.”
“Yeah, I know. If we don’t marry, Vashmira will—”
“I meant to me—personally.”
“Oh.”
“In fact, despite having to face your temper, I’m considering sending you someplace safe—”
“No. You speak five, make that six languages. You do know the meaning of the word?”
He held her closer, close enough to feel his heartbeat, close enough for her to feel his warmth. “I should send you someplace where no one can hurt you, no matter how much you protest.”
She looked at him without pulling away. Instead, she stroked his shoulder soothingly. “Nicholas, we’ve been through this before. I could be attacked anywhere, even here in the palace.”
Like his father.
She snuggled against his chest. “Actually, the safest place is next to you and your contingent of guards.”
“You have a point.”
“And I like going with you.”
“Enough to marry me?” he asked, his confidence blooming with every word she spoke.
She winked at him. “I’m considering your request.” She slipped her hands around his neck and tugged his head down. “How about trying to convince me with another kiss?”
ERICKA BREATHED IN HIS kiss like a drowning woman starved for oxygen. She plastered herself against him, parlaying a stolen second into a treasure trove of sparkling moments. And just like every other time she had touched him, she wanted more, more than lust, more than a quick kiss.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes resembled hot blue sparks, sparks she wanted to set aflame. However, much as she yearned to pursue her growing feelings, now was not the time.
Still, the heat of his kiss kept the edge off her impatience during the short car ride to the general’s house. Set in an established but modest neighborhood, the one-story log home had a steeply pitched roof, a smoking chimney and a front porch, and it was shaded by fir trees. It appeared to be the home of a family man—not a bachelor. Purple and white flowers grew in window boxes, and the lush green lawn was well tended, the sidewalks and driveway newly edged.
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