A Player for A Princess: Dirty Players Duet #2

by Tia Louise

  “Thanks,” I say, unable to smile. “I’m sorry I don’t share your opinion. I was angry, and I wanted to make her confess what she’d done. I wanted to…”

  My voice trails off. I can’t say the truth out loud, that I’d wanted to hurt her the way she’d hurt me. The truth of that statement cramps my stomach. If anything happens to her…

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to get her back,” I continue. “We’ll never stop searching until we’ve found her.”

  “Let’s go to the palace.” Rowan says, leading us to the waiting Towncar with Ava tight against his side.

  Once we’re on the road, she uses a tissue to wipe her eyes. “Seth disappeared, Zee disappeared, they all just vanished?”

  My lips tighten, and I look down at my hands. “From what we pieced together, they were only there for one reason—to take Zelda.”

  “Do you have any idea what they intend to do with her?” Her voice is just above a whisper, and I hate that I don’t know.

  “They took her for leverage, which is a good thing,” Rowan says. “It means…” I watch as he covers Ava’s small hand with his larger one.

  “It means they won’t kill her.” Her voice wavers as she says the words.

  Bending my elbows, I rub my hands across my face. I’m tired and I’m anxious, and I haven’t slept since this ordeal began. “It would be a lot of pointless effort and planning if they did,” I say.

  She blinks rapidly and manages to smile. “So she’s alive, and they want something. We just have to wait and see what it is.”

  My brother puts his arm around her again, hugging her close. “That’s exactly what it means. In the meantime, you need rest. You’re still getting over your own injuries.”

  Looking up at him, her expression softens. She touches his face and places her thumb on his lips. The familiar gesture causes me to turn away and look out the window. I don’t know how I couldn’t see they were sisters before. I was so blind.

  “I’ll be better once I know something,” she says.

  “Still, when we get back, I’d like you to go up and rest.” He says gently. “I’ll tell you anything we learn. Okay?”

  She smiles and nods as Hajib guides the car through the enormous palace gates and into the circular drive leading to the entrance.

  * * *

  Once we’re alone in the war room, I rehash what we know bit by bit. After viewing the security footage… Jesus, that security footage. The sight of my Zelda fighting for her life still sends shards of rage ripping through my chest.

  We’d gone to Seth’s hotel room and found the entire place scrubbed clean. We tore it apart anyway, looking for anything—a scrap of paper, a notepad, a magazine, anything that didn’t belong. We found nothing.

  We went to Frenchman’s, where he’d put up Zelda that first night, but the owner claimed not to know Seth or any of the men in Wade’s group. She insisted she took the reservation over the phone from an American for his sister, and the sister left the next day with another man. A man who she thought looked a bit like me.

  No fingerprints, fibers, paperwork, or even scraps of trash were found in the abandoned SUV. It was emptied the same as Seth’s hotel room and left in long-term parking.

  No one matching Zelda, Wade, or the large hirsute man from the video passed through airport security that day or the next. Freddie scoured the security footage and found nothing. The port authority had no unscheduled cruises. They even provided the roster of every charter in or out of Tortola for the past two weeks, and nothing.

  “God dammit!” I shout, pushing back against the heavy mahogany table. I’m frustrated again that we have no leads. “It’s like they disappeared into thin air.”

  Rowan’s voice is even. “When Zee left, she said they’d been planning this for months. She said they had everything in place before they even locked her in that bathroom. They’ve been ahead of us from the start.”

  “Now is the time for the succession referendum,” I say, leaning forward in my chair. “The wisdom you showed cleaning out the cabinet after father died couldn’t be more obvious than it is now.”

  We’re alone in the ornate cabinet chamber. A heavy mahogany table monopolizes the space, and thick velvet curtains hang over the twelve-foot windows. Our family’s coat of arms stands oversized above the head chair.

  “I remember a time when this room was filled with men our father trusted,” my brother says. “Now they’re all trying to seize control.”

  “Not all, brother,” I say, rising from my chair. “Have you made any progress tracking down the leak at Occitan?”

  I consider how dangerous our position has become. Everyone is at risk, and until we know more, I don’t even want to visit that gorgeous estate on the coast. The first place Zelda and I ever made love…

  “No,” he says, anger clear in his tone. “It’s like we’re in the middle of an undeclared war!”

  He turns to the window and looks out. His hands are clasped behind his back, and I’m struck by how kingly he appears tonight, trying to solve our problems and protect our country. I wonder if this is Ava’s influence in his life.

  A sharp knock on the door draws both our attention. “Come in!” Rowan says.

  The large door opens slowly, and Logan enters. He’s carrying a brown envelope, and his expression is grave. I’m on my feet at once.

  “Logan, what do you have?”

  “You might want to sit down, sir.”

  My brow tightens, and I take the envelope from his hands before he can stop me. Pulling the tabs, I hastily open it and reach inside to remove three large photographs. They’re black and white, and I do sit when I see the subject.

  “Zelda…” I whisper.

  She’s still in that denim halter dress, but a large bruise covers her face. Dark circles are under her eyes, and her mouth is smeared with dried blood. Her hair is messy like she’s had something over her head, and she seems disoriented. My fists clench at the sight of her this way.

  “I’m going to kill Wade Paxton with my bare hands,” I growl.

  “That leaves Seth to me,” Logan says with equal intensity.

  Sliding the next photograph from the stack, it’s her again, but this time, she’s holding a newspaper. A man’s hand is in the frame, holding the cover page under her chin. I can’t see what it says.

  “What is the date?” I ask.

  The stocky guard pulls a scope out of his pocket and hands it to me. “The date is what he’s showing us.”

  Dropping the print on the table, I place the round piece over the date field and lean forward. June 12. “Yesterday.” I look up at him.

  “Where were these taken?” Rowan demands, and Logan is quick to answer.

  “We’re not sure yet, your majesty. As you can see the walls are bare beige, and the newspaper could have come from anywhere in the Western Hemisphere.” He flips through the three photos, and pulls out one, pointing to a glass on the floor beside Zee.

  “Use the scope again and look at the reflection on that tumbler,” he says.

  I do so, and the setting opens before me. They’re in a room with a veranda. From the arrangement of the beds and the shelf, it looks like…

  “They’re on a ship? But we checked all the cruise ships…”

  “Yes,” Logan says, slowing down as if leading me to the answer. “We checked all the cruise ships.”

  In a flash it hits me. “They sneaked her out on a cargo ship!”

  “It’s the only option that makes sense,” Logan smiles, and I’m out of my seat. It’s the smallest break, but we need it so much. “We checked all the cruise ships and charters,” he says. “They must have known we would do that. But a cargo ship—”

  I’m pacing, thinking. “They could carry her onboard and wouldn’t even have to worry about papers.”

  “Especially if they knew the captain,” Logan says in a knowing voice.

  My eyes flash to his. “You found a connection?”

  He shakes hi
s head, dampening my enthusiasm. “Freddie is searching the list of captains operating cargo ships in and out of the area. He’s looking for any who might have a connection to Totringham. It’s only a matter of time.”

  It’s the best news we’ve had so far, and I turn to Rowan. “We need to tell Ava—”

  I stop short when I see his face lined with concern. He’s holding a sheet of what looks like printer paper. “How much time will Freddie require?”

  Logan’s face drops as if he knows why my brother is asking. “He’s moving as quickly as possible. He knows about the deadline.”

  “What deadline?” My tone is sharp, and my brother passes me the sheet.

  My throat tightens as I read.

  * * *

  Dear Sirs:

  We are holding Miss Wilder at a secure facility on an uncharted island. If you ever want to see her alive again, you have six weeks to complete the following tasks:

  1-Cancel the contract with the American tech company.

  2-Reinstate Monagasco’s oil leases in Tunis and reinvest the profits in future leases there.

  3-Decline the succession referendum naming Rowan Westringham Tate King of Monagasco.

  4-Sign the Open Borders Treaty uniting Totringham and Monagasco as one united, free-trade cooperative overseen by elected members of parliament.

  5-Sign the pardon for Wade Paxton for his alleged role in the Grand Prix assassination attempt and reinstate him as Prime Minister of the newly united kingdom.

  Confirmation these tasks have been completed is required by August 1 or you will receive a piece of Miss Wilder every day until either it is done or until nothing is left.

  Enclosed are photos starting the clock, and your first piece of Miss Wilder as a gesture of sincerity.

  We look forward to working with you.

  * * *

  Dropping the sheet, I rip the envelope open looking for what the hell they’ve done to her. “Where is it?” I shout.

  My eyes fly to Logan’s, and he slowly reaches into his pocket. “I’m sorry, sir, I wanted to keep it safe.”

  “Give it to me!” I’m nearly blind with fury and fear and anger when he produces a small, white bundle.

  Snatching it from him, I quickly unroll the parcel, searching for what might be inside. It unrolls and unrolls, “Good god,” I mutter in exasperation and impatience.

  Until with a little tap a tooth drops onto the table. I scoop it up in my fingers, feeling my insides straining.

  Grasping my forehead, I can’t bear to think how this happened. “Did they use medication. Did she suffer?”

  “We have no way of knowing,” Logan says quietly. “Although if you look at her photograph again, you can see this large bruised area.” He moves his finger over my love’s battered face. “It’s possibly a byproduct…”

  He doesn’t finish, and I feel as if I might be sick. Dropping into the chair, my face is in my hands, and I clutch my hair trying to hold it together. Rowan’s warm hand covers my shoulder, and he gives me a squeeze.

  “Six weeks,” he says quietly. “It’s more than enough time. We will find these bastards. We will stop them, and when we do, they will pay.”

  I’m fumbling for control. I take the small tooth and carefully roll it in the damp gauze as if it’s a precious artifact. Pieces of Zee.

  “We have to decide how much to tell Ava,” I say quietly. “Until we know how this happened, I’ll take responsibility for keeping it from her.”

  Rowan’s expression is grave. “Only for a few days. We will tell her when she’s stronger.”

  “We have to double our efforts,” I say, rising from my chair. “Take me to where Freddie is working.”

  13

  The Women

  Zelda

  I’m lying on a stiff cot when I wake. The ache in my mouth has diminished, but my head feels like the top of my skull is breaking open. I’m pretty sure that blow to the temple did more than knock me unconscious. The bright light hurts my eyes, and I try to remember the signs of a concussion.

  When I try to sit up, my head spins and my hip throbs from where Blix ripped me over the side of the truck and then dropped me flat on the sand.

  “Bon bini,” a soft voice is at my side.

  Squinting, I see the dark eyes I remember from the open window before I blacked out again. Her skin is the color of mocha and her long, dark hair hangs stick-straight down her back. She looks Hispanic or some kind of Native American. I remember seeing a photo of the Anasazi once. She’s like that.

  “Where am I?” I say with my sandpaper voice, easing slowly into a sitting position.

  Her brow lines, and she stands, crossing the room to a small table where a bucket sits. Using a gourd, she scoops water and returns to me.

  “Bebe,” she says.

  Her voice is soft but direct, and she only meets my eyes briefly before looking down again. I take the cup and hold it to my lips. The water is warm, but it’s wet, which is all I care about. I slurp it down with all the decorum of a Labrador retriever.

  “Thank you,” I say, gasping for air.

  She’s up and across the room repeating the procedure and giving me another scoop of water. Again, I drink it down in record time.

  We repeat this process once more until I’ve had enough. She looks around the space, and I do the same. We’re in a one-room, cinder-block structure. The table is in the center, and an ancient, small stove is in the corner. A box, which I guess is a refrigerator, is a little further down. My cot is against the eastern wall under an open square that serves as a window. Two other cots are on the opposite wall from me. I assume that means another person shares this shelter with us. Is this woman married? Is it for another woman? I have no idea what to expect.

  “Baño?” she says, doing a nod and holding her hand toward the door.

  I think about the word. I’ve heard this word in Miami. It means bathroom. Suddenly my bladder feels like it might burst.

  “Yes,” I say, nodding. “Si,” I try, and she lights up at that.

  “Si!” she repeats, smiling and nodding.

  She stands. I try to do the same, but my knees shake so hard I have to sit down again. Dizziness hits me. I don’t know what I’m doing as instinct takes over, and I lean forward moaning, holding my head.

  “Dushi!” she says, sitting beside me and rubbing my back. “Sori!”

  It’s hard to think through this hurricane of pain, but I recognize the last thing she says. I need to make it to the toilet. I’m not sure if I’m about to vomit all over myself or pee in my pants—or both.

  “Help… me.” I say, barely able to see. “Help,” I whisper again. “Baño.”

  Her arm is around my waist and mine is over her shoulder. Together we rise slowly, and I lean heavily against her as she walks me across the dirt floor to the thin cloth constituting the door. It gets caught up around us, but we keep going until it gradually falls free. Thankfully, the bathroom is only a few paces down from where the line of side-by-side cinder block houses stands.

  It’s a closet-sized tin room and inside is a chair with no cushion over a hole in the ground. The tin door slams shut, and the smell of urine and fecal matter hits me full force. I immediately vomit all over the ground and flies rise around me. I start to cry again.

  “Oh, god…” My shoulders shudder, and my heart feels like it’s breaking.

  Breathing through my mouth to avoid the stench, I pull my skirt up and my panties down and hover over that bottomless chair as I pee in that hole. When I’m done, I look around. No toilet paper. No surprise.

  I wait, doing a little hip-shake, hoping the final drops fall away. When I can take it no longer, I step forward, pushing through the door. The blast of fresh air that hits me has me gasping frantically.

  “Oh, god!” I gasp, leaning against the wall of the outhouse.

  My new friend looks at me and nods. “No bon.” She motions to the trees around us. “Baño.”

  Blinking at her a few moment
s, I try to understand. Is she telling me to pee in the woods? It would certainly make more sense than enduring that torture test every time I need to relieve myself.

  I nod as if I understand. The vomit followed by peeing cleared my head a bit. I’m able to walk back toward the cinder-block houses by myself, but I need to lie down again. I stagger through the cloth hanging over the door and make it to my bed.

  For a minute I sit watching the makeshift door, but my new friend never joins me. After what feels like an eternity, but is probably only a few minutes, I give up and lie on my side to sleep.

  Voices rouse me, and when I open my eyes again, I see my friend is back and with her is a little girl. I say “little,” but she’s probably twelve or thirteen. She’s skinny and tall, and her dark hair is wavy, unlike the woman’s.

  I watch a few moments as they move around the kitchen talking in their strange language. The girl is animated and fun, as if somehow she’s managed to rise above the squalor surrounding us. She’s also dressed in a plaid skirt and a white, button-up shirt. It looks like a school uniform.

  Whatever my friend is cooking smells delicious. Or maybe it’s because I haven’t eaten in two days. Sitting up, I rub my eyes and wonder if I can figure out a way to communicate with them.

  “Wak! Wak!” The woman motions to me, and the girl turns.

  She looks at me, and I’m struck by her clear green eyes. Clear green eyes, wavy dark hair, tall and skinny… She’s so much like—

  “Hello!” the girl says, skipping to my cot. “I’m Selena. What’s your name?”

  I’m taken aback. “You speak English,” I say through an exhale.

  “I go to school,” she says with a cute, superior look.

  Her friendliness and happy manner are so out of place. My throat tightens, and I miss Ava. “That’s good,” I say, blinking fast, swallowing my tears. “I’m sure you’re a very good student.”

  “I’m at the top of my class!”

  The woman says something, and she replies in their language before turning back to me. “Mama says do you feel like eating?”