by Alice Ward
When I sipped it, though, I realized I hadn’t been missing all that much. It was too sweet, but in a strange contrast, was also very strong. So much so that it burned my nose, and to my mortification, made me burp, more than once.
Tossing it into the trash, I purchased a bottled water instead, then waited with other passengers, being sure to never let my canvas duffle bag leave my side.
“You have only the necessities here,” the man had told me. “We couldn’t give you more because it’s vital that the bag is small enough that you can carry it on board. It is essential that it never leaves your sight.”
He explained how the jewels had been hidden, or more specifically camouflaged so that the security x-ray equipment wouldn’t recognize them for what they were.
“On the plane, read and memorize your backstory. Your identification has been backstocked to fit.” I hadn’t understood what that meant, but I nodded, intent on doing what I was told with no questions. “That means that, if your background is ever searched, it supports the story you will tell. That is why you must tell people exactly what is written.”
I nodded. “That’s good thinking.”
“We’ve done our best with the little time and preparation we’ve had. There’s another thing of vital importance. Before you land in New York, rip the pages into small pieces and flush them down the airline commode. Sprinkle them in over several flushes so nothing gets clogged. Don’t be tempted to keep the instructions. If it is found, it will be of mortal danger to those who have helped you. The prince…” he stared at me for a long moment, “is not a good man.”
I swallowed. “Yes. Thank you for saving me from him.”
It seemed as if my mother and this man had thought of everything, and I longed to know their relationship. Longed to know how this plan had come about. But my curiosity wasn’t important, I knew.
My escape was.
According to my identification — that somehow even had me pictured as a brunette — I was now Madalyn Elaine Durand, daughter of Kevin and Simone Durand, who had died in a car accident three years ago. I was now officially twenty-two years old, but I didn’t mind being older. It would give me more freedom in America, I was told, and it better fit with the story that I had studied in Paris the past two and a half years, wanting to escape America and painful memories after the death of my parents.
When I landed in New York, I was to catch a cab and get as far away from the airport as quickly as I was able. I was to change cabs five times before deciding on a destination. A map of New York was included, and I’d studied the different names of the areas, but my eyes were always drawn back to the big block of green grass in the middle. Central Park.
Stowing the map away in the little purse I was given, I held the letter tightly in my hand and excused myself to the man and woman sitting in my row. It made me sick to leave my bag, but I thought it would be too conspicuous to haul it down from overhead storage and drag it down the aisle with me. I’d just have to be quick.
Inside the bathroom, I ripped the note into the tiniest pieces I could manage, then flushed them away over a series of five flushes. I peed, then looked in the mirror, startled again at my changed appearance. Taking a deep breath, I washed my hands under the cool water before making my way back to my seat just minutes before we were told to prepare for landing.
JFK was enormous, with people rushing about, cutting in front of me, a few almost knocking me over. I found a family of five and moved into their wake, following them until they stopped to collect their baggage.
Even that was new to me.
I’d only flown in private jets before, and my suitcases had always magically appeared at my destination, my clothes already unpacked and neatly stowed away by the time I arrived.
I had so much to learn.
Outside was just as confusing. People yelled and horns honked, and I clutched the oversized duffle bag to my chest as I searched for and found what the note had told me to find. A taxi cue.
Which was terrifying.
The driver had to have been insane. He honked his horn, waving at people to get out of his way, grumbling things I was glad I wasn’t able to hear. After only ten minutes, I asked him to stop, then dug into my little purse when he told me the fare.
Fifty dollars seemed like too much for such a short ride, but I was too nervous and confused to argue as I counted the dollar bills out, glad to escape his vehicle. I walked for a few blocks before finding the nerve to catch another ride. I got lucky. A yellow car pulled over and a man jumped out right in front of me. I managed to catch the door before it closed and climbed inside.
“Where to, hon?”
I didn’t know. When I didn’t answer, the cabbie turned in his seat and looked at me, his eyebrows raised to nearly his hairline.
“Central Park,” I blurted. It was the only thing that came to me.
“Which entrance?”
Entrance?
“Um…”
He sighed. “You got your east entrance and your west entrance, you got your zoo entrance, and—”
“Zoo,” I practically shouted, then forced myself to calm down.
He chortled. “You ain’t from around here, are ya, hon?”
Thankfully, he must not have been expecting an answer because he faced the front and took off, then stopped, throwing me forward when we almost hit another cab.
Traffic was horrible, and it seemed like hours of driving between concrete and steel buildings that blotted out the blue of the sky. The very environment made me anxious as the driver yelled at someone for daring to walk in front of him. A bicycle whizzed by my open window, nearly scaring me to death.
How will I ever be able to live here? I wondered, anxiety like spiders crawling over my skin.
“Almost there,” the driver said and pointed ahead of us.
Trees!
Just the very sight of something green loosened the knot that had been growing in my chest. And when he told me I owed fifty-two dollars, I narrowed my eyes, realizing I had been royally ripped off by the first guy, just like I’d thought.
I would learn, I promised myself. I would figure this place out and thrive in the busy environment. If only Mama could see me now.
My heart squeezed.
Was she okay?
There was no doubt that I’d been found missing by now. Were they searching the sea for my body? Had the media been tipped to the story? Were the headlines already reading, Missing Princess Feared Dead After Falling From Yacht?
Dark thoughts followed. How had Prince Vitalievich taken the news? Was he already flying back to his country or would he play the grief-stricken fiancé for a while?
And why did I care?
Madeleina Birgitta was dead. She was no longer my concern.
Still… I thought of my mother’s face as she looked at me one last time.
Live a good life.
A sob nearly escaped me.
I’ll try, Mama. I’ll try.
Dropping the long strap of the small purse over my head until it rested safely against my abdomen, I hitched the duffle onto my shoulder and followed the sidewalk into the park, in awe of so many people there. Walking and biking, running and sitting. Artists painting portraits while people on skateboards or roller skates whirled past them. So much activity, but it was almost peaceful at the same time. A strange mix.
Walking past the zoo entrance and the towering brick columns, I told myself I’d come back when I had time to explore. Right now, I needed to sit. To think. To find something cold to drink while I planned my next move.
It was hot here, and the sweatshirt I wore began to cling to my skin, even under the shade.
Setting the bag and purse between my feet, I pulled the thick material over my head and wrapped the sleeves around my waist. I felt better almost instantly as I picked up the bags again.
Continuing to walk, I was both exhilarated and exhausted.
I’d never had such freedom, and better, I had no agenda. There w
as no calendar with my every minute carefully planned. If I wanted to walk down the path to my right, I could. Or if I chose to go left, I could do that too. It was my choice, and for the moment, I chose to go straight, smiling at the elderly people doing yoga on the grass.
I loved yoga. Maybe I could learn to teach a class just like the girl in the electric blue tights was doing. She appeared to be having fun as she shouted out her instructions to the participants. A younger girl in the class toppled over, and her joyous laugh made me smile as she brushed herself off.
Then… a man came from out of nowhere and pushed one of the elderly women down. I gasped as he reached down and picked up her purse, tucking it beneath his arm and running off. Within seconds, the blue clad instructor went chasing after him.
I clutched my duffle and purse tighter when a jogger in front of me joined the chase. I silently rooted for the pursuers as they closed the distance. The woman reached the thief first, and just as she was stretching her hand out to grab him, the jogger sprang from behind, toppling the man to the ground. They got him! I very nearly cheered, although no one else in the park seemed to be paying the incident a bit of attention.
Well, that was interesting.
So far in America, I’d witnessed crazy taxi driving and a thief, and I’d had my feet on the soil for less than an hour. I didn’t know what else New York had in store for me before I found a place to stay for the night.
The elderly people from the class began to shuffle after the criminal, but the younger girl was struggling to pick up yoga mats, bags, and water bottles.
I hurried over to help, bending to roll up one of the mats.
“That man stole Lois’s purse,” the girl said, and looked up at me with light blue, almond-shaped eyes. “You’re pretty.”
I laughed, and it eased something that had been coiled tight in my chest. “I saw him steal it. You’re pretty too.”
She gave me one of the most beautiful smiles I’d ever seen. “I know. Bye now. I have to go.”
I handed her the mat. “Bye. Good luck.” I was still smiling as she hurried off after the pack. My first contact with a New Yorker that wasn’t a taxi driver had been a nice one. Maybe this place wasn’t so bad after all.
When police arrived on the scene, I decided to take the path to the left and circle around the excitement. My stomach growled as the scent of grilled meat filled my nose. I was starving. Maybe some food would give me the strength I needed to decide what I should do next.
Following my nose, I found a stand that sold gyros and purchased one with a bottle of water, then wandered over to a bench near a playground. The sound of laughing children made me smile as I dug into my meal.
One man in particular caught my eye. He was wearing dark gray pants and a snowy white shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair was dark as was the neatly trimmed beard that gave him a sexy, rugged look.
He was carrying a little girl dressed in pink and purple on his shoulders, an older boy by his side. The boy was tossing a ball up, then catching it in his glove. The man reached out and snatched the ball midair, causing the boy to yell, “Hey!” before he jumped and reached to get it back.
I took another bite of my gyro as he let the girl down and wrestled around with the boy, ending up getting him in a headlock and scuffing the boy’s nearly shoulder-length hair. They must have been father and son. Except for the hair, they looked so much like one another I couldn’t see them as anything else.
The little girl ran to a bright set of curving slides while father and son began to toss the ball back and forth to each other. The dad laughed and tossed the ball high into the air, then cheered when the boy caught it.
My heart squeezed again as I thought of my mother’s words.
Marry. Have children of your own.
Would I ever be so lucky?
I watched the man, and as if he could feel my eyes on him, he looked my way and our eyes met just seconds before the ball hit him directly in the chest.
He let out a loud whoomph and bent over. The boy laughed and jogged over, patting his father on the back as I took another bite of gyro, covering the smile on my face.
Deliberately looking the other way, embarrassed to have been caught staring at the handsome man, I noticed a small white dog emerge from a row of tall bushes, its pink tongue hanging out as it walked in front of its owner. My heart squeezed. With its ears pointed straight up in an inverted V, the dog looked so much like CeeCee, I couldn’t help but watch it trot along for a few seconds.
I took a sip of water and frowned as I studied the dog’s owner. He had to be burning up. Even on such a warm day, he was wearing a thick black and red plaid jacket with a black woolen cap pulled down low over his ears. I wondered if he was looking for someone because his head kept twisting side to side as he walked. When he looked in my direction, though, I shivered, and looked back down at my food.
“Doggy!”
I glanced up as a sweet voice caught my attention, and the little pink and purple girl from the slide jumped off and began running toward the man, her long dark ponytail swinging side to side. Her arms were spread wide, and I thought that she must surely know the dog’s owner.
To my right, father and son were talking, their faces more serious now. They still tossed the ball back and forth, but neither of them were laughing anymore. The boy hung his head, but the father moved closer, placing his finger under the child’s chin, urging it up. As they began to speak more seriously, the ball lay on the ground between them, forgotten.
I wondered why they both looked so sad.
To my left, the little girl was petting the white dog, her giggles ringing out when the excited animal licked her face.
To my right, a couple approached the father and son. But this was no ordinary couple, I quickly realized. The man was holding a camera on his shoulder while the woman thrust a microphone in the father’s face. Reporters, I knew, although I couldn’t hear what the surprise interview was about.
I looked left, back to the little girl. She was on her knees now, hugging the dog while gazing up at the man holding the leash. He said something to her, and she nodded, her eyes wide as she said something back to him.
Right… the first camera crew was joined by a second, and the father was pushing the boy behind him, trying to protect him from the unexpected onslaught. I could hear shouting now, although I still couldn’t understand the words being said. The father looked furious, jabbing his finger into the reporters’ directions, pushing at the camera while holding his son behind him.
My heart began to pound furiously as I looked left, back to the little girl, who was now taking the leash from the man. My breath left my body when she slipped her small hand in his, and he started to lead her away.
I looked right. Yet another camera crew had arrived, and the man had pulled the boy’s shirt up over his head to shield his young face.
Left… the little girl getting closer to the thick row of bushes.
Right… the father knocking a cameraman down.
Left… the girl had stopped, clearly digging in her heels. She didn’t want to go, but the man was pulling her, dragging her on the ground.
Oh my god. No. I couldn’t let this happen.
“Stop!” I screamed and began to run as the man picked the little pink and purple bundle up, holding her in the crook of his arm. “Help! Stop!”
The man with the dog turned and saw me racing in his direction. He took off, and his legs got tangled in the dog’s leash. He tripped but didn’t fall, but in the process lost his grip on the little girl, who fell to the ground.
“Let her go!” I screamed as I got closer. “Let her go!”
The dog began to yap fiercely. The little girl was crying. As I got closer, our eyes met, and I saw the man make his decision.
He ran.
I fell to my knees next to the girl, pulling her to me as he escaped through the bushes in which he’d arrived.
“Ne t’inquiète pas, petit, c’
est bon maintenant,” I soothed, stroking her hair before realizing I’d reverted to French and repeated, “Don’t worry, little one, it’s okay now,” in English. The dog was cowering next to us, and I reached out to stroke it too.
I jumped as strong arms came around us all. “Kenzie.” The voice was breathless, low and masculine. Citrus and sandalwood enveloped me as he took his daughter from my arms. The boy dropped to the grass beside us, crying hard. The father pulled him into his arms too, tears sliding down from the corners of his eyes.
“Thank you,” he said to me over their heads just as the camera crews came down on us, a microphone thrust into my face.
“Miss, did you just save this little girl from a kidnapper?”
“Miss, how does it feel to save Xander Armstrong’s daughter?”
“Can you tell us what just happened?”
“Who was that man?”
The reporters were in a frenzy to scoop the story, their questions spilling on top of one another. I normally had press secretaries and bodyguards to shield me from their intensity on the occasions I traveled off the island.
But I was alone now, and I did the only thing I could. I recoiled, lifting my hands to cover my face, saying nothing.
I didn’t know where to go, but I knew it had to be anywhere but right there. I couldn’t be in the spotlight like this. Not now. Not ever. I wasn’t sure that my disguise could hold up to intense scrutiny. I had to escape this mess.
Pushing to my feet, I made a run for it, ducking between reporters, holding my hand up to at least partially hide my face.
I’d just broken through when I faced a new horror.
The bench where I’d been sitting was empty.
My duffel bag was gone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Xander
All I wanted to do was take my kids to the park after being on the plane all afternoon.
We were all physically and emotionally exhausted, but it was still too early for bedtime, especially with the time zone change factored in.
So, it’d been me who’d made the suggestion that we walk across Central Park West and spend an hour or two at the park.
