by Jenna Kernan
A black-haired woman in a cream-colored suit moved in behind the prince at the podium and tapped him on the shoulder. “Do not forget to mention the city’s name, Your Highness,” she reminded him.
“Thank you, Galina,” the prince whispered before turning back to the microphone. “Kansas City, Missouri, our sister city, will become Lukinburg’s partner in worldwide respect and future prosperity. We shall be great friends.”
The crowd erupted in applause. He adjusted his glasses at his temple and scanned the throng of onlookers through the bulletproof glass surrounding the podium. He looked past the placards here to support the new regime to the handful of scowling doubters with their own less supportive signs, waiting for the opportune moment to voice a protest.
A public gathering of this size in the capital on one of the country’s biggest holidays once would have been a prime target for dissidents. Change was hard for any citizen. Change was the enemy to those who’d once held positions of power, who were now either imprisoned or being asked to embrace what was good for the country over what was lucrative for themselves. But the prince had reached out to those dissidents, had listened to their complaints and fears, had formed alliances and reached compromises with many of them. Yet, some of the most die-hard rebels hadn’t given up the fight, and they would always see the new monarchy as their enemy.
Lukinburg’s army had some of the finest trained soldiers in the world, and the plainclothes security force that now surrounded the country’s leaders at every venue were on constant guard against any threat that would topple the fragile new government. He looked at his friends and former military comrades flanking him on the podium. They were doing this. They were making Lukinburg great again. Their hard work and dedication had given the country reason to celebrate today.
Ivan Mostek, the crown prince of Lukinburg, was nearing the end of his long fight to replace the corrupt government of this country. A hardworking regency government and brave voters had replaced the corrupt dictator and mafia-like power brokers who had made Lukinburg a haven for criminals and arms trafficking. Part of electing a new Parliament and reestablishing the democratic monarchy this picturesque country had enjoyed before World War II was locating a true heir to the Lukinburg throne. As a distant cousin of the last legitimate king’s late grandnephew, that dubious honor fell to Ivan. Plucked from graduate school where he’d been earning his MBA, he’d accepted the position. Patriotism and DNA had left him with no other choice but to say yes, and accept that within the next year, he would be crowned king.
With the discovery of gold and mica deep beneath the mountains east of Lake Feodor, Lukinburg now had raw materials that countries in the West and Far East were clamoring to build their electronics and develop new computer technologies. The prince had implemented environmentally safe mining practices to sustain the new resources. From his newfound position of power, he was jump-starting the country’s economy, feeding the poor, capitalizing on new industries and putting people to work—all while paying tribute to Lukinburg’s traditional culture and storied history.
Public appearances were necessary to assure the citizens of the solidity of the new government. And public appearances meant crowds of people and noisy fanfare and making speeches. After the cheers had died down, he continued, “Kansas City’s manufacturing, agricultural and business leaders will be in our beautiful country, in this fair city, in three weeks. A carefully chosen delegation of representatives from Lukinburg will negotiate trade agreements and cultural exchanges that will benefit both our countries.”
He spied movement in the shadows of the pointed Gothic archways in the cathedral across from the palace steps where he stood. He looked across the podium to his friend Konrad Pavluk. They exchanged a nod of awareness. Konrad had spotted the movement, too. The other man drifted across the dais to stand beside Galina. Anyone less observant would have missed the hidden squeeze of hands, the subtle whisper of a warning. She nodded and moved up behind the prince again to relay a message.
The military marksmen stationed in decorative ramparts atop the stone buildings surrounding the public square didn’t seem concerned by the hooded man in the long coat making his way through the crowd of bystanders. Maybe they didn’t see him. Or perhaps, as the prince had confided to his best friend only days earlier, someone within his inner circle was still working with the extremists. Did the uniformed guards’ lack of response mean they were unobservant? Traitors? Was he overly paranoid about the prince’s safety because an attempt had already been made on his life?
Although that sniper had been captured and taken into custody, the threats against Ivan’s life continued. It had been random gunfire that had wounded his driver and ignited the engine of the car they’d taken to an ore refinement facility being built outside the city. Were the extremists here today? Mingling with this crowd of innocent civilians? Would they strike again, regardless of the casualties a group this big might sustain? Was the man in the hooded coat one of them?
He glanced over to the security chief, Filip Milevski. Although the dark glasses he wore made the direction of his gaze unreadable, the stocky man with salt-and-pepper hair was on the radio pinned to his wrist, no doubt asking for a situation update from his men and hopefully sounding a potential alert to stop the man who was now circling the fountain in the middle of the square.
The prince’s voice was slightly less composed, tinged with a bit of anger, when he continued. “I promise to make Lukinburg great again. We will move past the shame of our former leaders. We will return to the democratic monarchy of our ancestors. I will work closely with the new prime minister and your votes will count. All your votes,” he added, perhaps emphasizing to the extremists in the audience that they were not excluded from the new government.
Another round of cheers from the crowd nearly drowned out a lone dissenter who booed him. “You’re selling us out, Ivan!”
Security Chief Milevski sidled closer to the prince. “Wrap it up, Your Highness.” He moved Konrad and another one of his men farther down the granite steps in front of the podium. “There are too many of us exposed here. We’re all in danger.”
His gaze zeroed in on the hooded man. He’d sat on the edge of the fountain and was unbuttoning his long coat. The prince kept talking into the microphone, keeping the crowd engaged while members of the security team made their way through the onlookers to reach the suspect. “We need free trade. Our people need food.”
“Our people need a leader they can respect!” The protest came from another corner of the audience.
“I agree. For too long, we have been led by men our people fear. Fear doesn’t put food in people’s bellies. Our people are working again. They aren’t afraid to leave their homes and share their opinions and vote however they please.”
A tall man, with hair as black at the prince’s himself, moved in beside him with a whispered warning. “Your Highness. We need to go.”
The security team converged on the fountain as the hooded man stood. “End Ivan!”
“Bomb!”
There were too many screams to make out the words that followed. The crowd split and ran like a tidal surge away from the fountain.
“Stop him!”
“Save the prince!”
Armed men in suits ran forward.
A sniper guarding the gathering from a turret high above the street raised his rifle and took aim at the insurgent. But he was too late.
“Save yourselves!” Prince Ivan warned. His bodyguards swarmed around him and shoved him to the stone steps behind the podium. The square erupted with light and the deafening roar of an explosion.
The prince’s cheek scraped against stone as the black-haired man covered his body with his. His ears were stopped up by the concussive blast. But he heard the screams of his people, the stampede of running feet, gunfire, as if the violence was all happening far in the distance instead of a mere few yards beyon
d the podium.
He spotted blood on the steps a split second before something sharp and hot seared his skin, cutting through the invisible target on his back.
The prince’s public rallying speech in the heart of Lukinburg’s capital left him wounded. Landmarks had been damaged. People were injured, dead.
The dignitaries from Kansas City wouldn’t be coming.
Copyright © 2019 by Julie Miller
ISBN-13: 9781488046018
Adirondack Attack
Copyright © 2019 by Jeannette H. Monaco
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 22 Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor, Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
