Operation: Monarch

by Valerie Parv

  As his mouth claimed hers, sensation gripped her, starting as a gentle flutter that fast became full-blown, thrilling pleasure. Untamed thoughts of where the kiss might lead danced in her mind. She'd said they weren't exploring sexual fantasies, but he'd triggered hers like lighting a fuse.

  By the time he lifted his head she was trembling.

  She turned blazing eyes on him. "Do that again and you won't have to ask what a cop can do."

  "You just gave me a fair idea."

  The kiss had awakened too many memories. She'd thought, hoped, she was immune to him by now, but all it took was the lightest touch of his mouth to hers to prove her wrong. She tried to tell herself it was better if they got it out of the way now, but couldn't make herself believe it.

  Far from getting him out of her system, the kiss had fired a dangerous longing for more. "You're trying to distract me," she said weakly.

  He gave a devil-may-care grin. "It worked."

  She didn't need to ask how he knew. The carelessness was in his smile but not in his eyes. They were dark with a desire she knew only too well because its counterpart throbbed through her. Diving with sharks would be tame by comparison with the promise she read in his gaze. Not only of desire satisfied beyond her wildest dreams, but of a deeper, more meaningful involvement.

  The kind that terrified her because it stood between her and what she wanted to do with her life.

  She couldn't, wouldn't allow that he wanted that kind of involvement with her when he had always maintained that he didn't want it with anyone.

  He was Garth, remember? He was good at sending messages she didn't want to receive.

  He was doing it now. She stood for several heartbeats, feeling herself drown in his gaze, until she shook her head. "No."

  He didn't ask what she was refusing, probably because he already knew. "You started to ask me something."

  It took an effort to get her thoughts back on track. Much more of this and she'd be useless to Prince Lorne and to Garth. She felt useless to herself, her training no help against this. Her question came out more accusing than she had intended. "When were you planning to tell me you were a member of Carramer First?"

  She'd caught him off balance, she saw. Good. It was his turn. Asking the question had acted like a cold shower for her, too, stemming some of the desire running rampant through her, and not before time.

  "How long have you known?"

  "You may not think so to look at me, but I take my job seriously. I can tell you what you eat for breakfast and what size and style briefs you prefer."

  This time he didn't take advantage of the opening to taunt her. Instead he used an old Carramer oath that sounded almost poetic in the musical language. It was a fallacy that the Carramer language had no swear words. Only tourists believed it.

  "Anatomically impossible," she stated. "And it doesn't answer the question."

  "I'm not a member now."

  "You were once."

  He ran a hand through his hair. "A long time ago, just after I got out of school and well before I joined the navy."

  "Why?"

  "You have to ask why I had antiroyalist leanings?"

  She scuffed the sand with the toe of her shoe. "I'd be surprised if you hadn't." For a family as struggling as his, Carramer First's message that royalty sucked the country dry would ring true even though it wasn't. The promise of equality and liberty for all was an old one, but still seductive.

  "You didn't really believe their propaganda, did you?"

  "I had some crazy idea of working from within, making them into a political force to be reckoned with."

  If anyone could he probably could, she thought. "What happened?"

  "They turned out to be a bunch of placard-waving, slogan-chanting fools, social misfits who thought exchanging a president for a prince would wave a magic wand and solve all their problems."

  "You didn't agree?"

  "After I joined, I started researching what the royals actually do. To my amazement, it's a lot more than take salutes and open fetes."

  As a castle employee she'd known it for a long time, but was pleasantly surprised to hear him say it. "They're the glue that holds Carramer together."

  He nodded. "I found out that they don't rest on any inherited laurels. Most of them work their butts off for this country, and if one of them doesn't, the others soon pull them into line." He gave a harsh laugh. "I expected to find the royals raking in money from their oppressed citizens. Instead I found that many of their activities are funded by their private fortunes."

  She felt her spirits lift. "Is that why you got out of Carramer First?"

  He shook his head. "I was disillusioned but I still believed anyone with the potential should have the chance to lead the country, whether or not they're born into the right family."

  Ironic, considering the situation he found himself in now. "We do have a government," she observed.

  "Headed by a prince who inherits his right to rule. If not for an accident of history he'd be a king."

  Every Carramer child learned from infancy about the ancient king who had so cruelly oppressed his people that when his son inherited the crown, he swore to remain a prince as a sign that he would never follow his father's evil example. The island kingdom had been ruled by a prince ever since.

  "Doesn't that tell you something?" she asked.

  "If you mean does the fact that Lorne chooses to remain a prince make a difference? Whatever he calls himself he's still a de Marigny, the only one entitled to wear the crown."

  "Maybe not the only one," she reminded him. "If you're the heir, how will that fit with your republican beliefs?"

  "I didn't say I still believe them," he countered. "I was there when Lorne's parents were killed helping their people during a cyclone. Despite the weather warnings a group of Carramer First members insisted on demonstrating outside the castle. When the cyclone struck, the prince and princess didn't discriminate. The castle gates were opened and the placard-wavers were taken in along with anyone else who needed shelter."

  His tone turned harsh and he paused, the memory obviously still painful. "We were heading for the main building when a gust of wind ripped a chunk of roof the size of a football field off a building a couple of miles away then dropped it right on top of us. A second before it hit, someone dragged me clear. I didn't know till later that it was Prince Eduard. But for him I'd be dead."

  A knot of tension pulsed at her temples as she dragged out the rest of the memory. "Seconds later a piece of debris hit the prince in the chest, crushing his heart."

  "Prince Eduard didn't know me from a bar of soap. Nor did he care that I opposed everything he stood for. He saved my life at the cost of his own."

  Silence fell between them. She let it stretch, wondering at the strange forces that had moved the prince possibly to save his own son without ever knowing it. She saw the recognition on Garth's drawn features. "His wife also died that day trying to help others. No wonder you changed politics," she said softly.

  "How could I not? I'll never be a flag-waving monarchist, but I'll also never forget what a prince of royal blood did for me. Your research can't be as good as you think if it didn't tell you any of this."

  "After the cyclone things were chaotic. Many records were lost or destroyed, and the death of the monarch and his wife caused a power vacuum until Prince Lorne assumed the throne." He was only twenty at the time, she recalled.

  "Carramer First lost a lot of members, not only those who died in the cyclone, but folk like me who saw another side of the monarchy," he told her.

  "Around the same time the Hand saw his opportunity and took over, filling another power vacuum. Pity you didn't stay around a little longer or you might be able to help us identify him."

  He slanted her a grin. "Does that mean you've stopped thinking I could be the Hand?"

  "If what you've told me checks out, it would be unlikely. We know he has some heavy-duty connections in the underworld, probably a crim
inal past of his own. And he's proved he's willing to kill." She couldn't bring herself to believe that of Garth.

  "Guaranteeing his followers will be too frightened to talk."

  She nodded. "If they know anything. Our friend operates on a strict need-to-know basis. According to my informant in the group, only one man reports directly to him."

  Garth massaged his chin with one hand. "Have you considered this man may be the Hand, creating a phantom leader to keep the others in line?"

  "I thought of it but it didn't check out. It's my belief that the only way the Hand can remain so elusive is if he doesn't live in Carramer permanently." She scanned the horizon. "On a boat at sea perhaps."

  "Interesting concept. It limits your chances of pinning anything on him."

  "Why do you think he's still walking free?"

  * * *

  Garth was not good at feeling helpless. Allora might be safe, but he didn't want safe right now. He wanted action. He hated the idea of staying cooped up in this luxurious cocoon for the next two weeks while a nerd in a laboratory determined his fate based on a genetic code you couldn't even see with the naked eye.

  The two days he'd wasted since they got here were already making him chafe. When he'd demanded something useful to do, Serena had parked him at a computer with a list of questions they would need answered.

  He could make a computer sit up and beg, a talent he'd unexpectedly discovered at night school and later honed through specialist courses in the navy. But he took no satisfaction in the skill. He'd already finished sifting through Serena's list, although he suspected it was meant to keep him busy for longer.

  He now knew that both the doctor and nurse who'd assisted at Louis de Marigny's birth were dead. The doctor of a stroke brought on by years of alcohol abuse. The nurse in a hit-and-run car accident. The ex-commando who'd attacked Princess Aimee, triggering her baby's premature birth, had been released from prison ten years before and had drowned on a fishing trip after a storm blew up, capsizing his small boat. The sharks were welcome to him, Garth thought.

  All he was getting were dead ends, dead being the operative word. The growing body count made him uneasy, but all the deaths had been investigated. No loose ends. Even the hit-and-run driver who'd killed the nurse had eventually been brought to trial.

  He swung his gaze to Serena seated at a desk at the other end of the reception room she was using as a command center. Tilting her chair back, she'd swung her legs onto the desk. Someone should tell her not to do that wearing minuscule denim shorts and a hot-pink T-shirt that left her midriff bare. It gave a man all sorts of ideas.

  He dismissed them and concentrated on the conversation taking place between her and someone at police headquarters in Solano. The acoustics in the room were impressive. She kept her voice low but he could follow the conversation without really trying.

  "Matt, Alain Pascale is the royal physician, for goodness' sake. He wouldn't just drop out of sight. What if Lorne got sick and needed him? Yeah, I know he's known for being crusty and difficult, but he's also the prince's closest friend." There was a pause while she listened, then said, "I'll take anything you can dig up. I owe you." She chuckled. "Not that much. Well okay, but only for one night, and the information had better be worth it."

  Still smiling she flipped the phone closed, then jumped as Garth loomed beside the desk. She swung her feet down. "Don't do that."

  "Matt?" he queried.

  Her gaze narrowed. "What's it to you?"

  He dropped a bundle of printouts and computer disks on the desk in front of her. "Now you owe me, too. Do I qualify for the same reward Matt was angling for?"

  "Don't tell me you're jealous?"

  For that he would have to care, and he didn't. His reaction to hearing her talk to the anonymous Matt had caught him off guard, that was all. The low, throaty pitch of her voice had needled Garth. She didn't sound anything like that when she spoke to him.

  Matt wasn't even here. He didn't have to put up with doing some lousy make-work job designed to keep him out of Serena's hair. When it came to payoffs, justice demanded equal treatment. "I'm not jealous, but fair's fair," he insisted.

  "In that case you'd better scare up a couple of kids under the age of seven."

  "What?"

  "Matt Hayes was my partner when I was in uniform," she said with exaggerated patience. "He's married to my best friend, Melanie, and they have two kids, four and six. Their anniversary is coming up and Matt was trying to coerce me into baby-sitting for them in exchange for getting me some information."

  Garth pasted on his best poker face "I knew that."

  "You did not. You were jealous."

  He refused to let her bait him, knowing he was nothing of the sort. "Baby-sitting, huh? What do you do, cuff them and read them their rights instead of a bedtime story?"

  "Not that it's any of your business, but I'm a very good baby-sitter. Carla and Ben are great kids."

  Garth had no trouble imagining her surrounded by children. She would treat them as equals and they would love her for it, he thought. He had already seen that she treated everyone in the royal household the same way. Within half a day of their arrival, she'd even had Anselme, the stuffy Jeeves look-alike senior footman, calling her Serena and acting as if they were old friends.

  "How come you don't have any of your own?" he asked.

  "Again it's none of your business, but I have other priorities," she said.

  He perched one hip on a corner of her desk. This was far more interesting than chasing dead ends on a computer. "Since I'm in over my head already, what are your priorities?"

  "Number one, getting your butt off my desk. Number two, finding Alain Pascale."

  Garth took his time straightening up, thinking of the conversation he'd overheard. "He's the crusty, difficult one who's currently missing."

  She gave him a sour look. "Next time why don't I put my calls on the speaker to make it easier for you? Yes, he's the royal physician. He's also like a father to Prince Lorne."

  "So he's not likely to go off without telling Lorne where he can be contacted?"

  "He and his wife, Helen, were booked on an island cruise, but they never showed up, and the ship sailed without them."

  "Could they have changed their minds?"

  "If they had, they'd have notified the palace. Matt is going to look into it and get back to me."

  "You think this has something to do with Operation Monarch?"

  Her eyebrows tilted. "Operation Monarch?"

  "Don't you security types give your assignments catchy names?"

  "You've been watching too much television. Well, okay, I think there may be a connection to Operation Monarch." Her mouth twisted as if the name left a sour taste. She tapped the file Garth had just delivered. "Of all the people connected with the birth of the lost royal baby, Alain Pascale is the only one who hasn't turned up dead."

  He thought about his own research findings. "I had noticed the escalating body count, although every death has a perfectly reasonable explanation."

  "Still too coincidental for my liking."

  He could see why she'd been headhunted from the police to work for the R.P.D. She took nothing at face value. Time he followed her example. "You think my parents' death wasn't an accident, as well, don't you?"

  "It made sure they couldn't answer questions about your birth, strengthening the idea that you're the heir to the throne."

  He'd slowly arrived at the same conclusion and had to work at controlling his rage now. "If it's true, there'll be another accidental death before this is over."

  "I'll pretend you didn't say that. Whoever's responsible will answer to the law, not to you, understood?"

  He felt a muscle work in his jaw. All very well for her to say. She didn't have to deal with his loss, or worse, the chance that it might not have been an accident. Then he saw anger sparking in her gaze and knew it was on his account. He took a deep breath. "Understood."

  "We will catch whoe
ver's responsible," she vowed.

  It had to be enough for now.

  Tempted to reclaim his corner of her desk, he settled for spinning a gilt-framed chair around beside it, straddling the velvet-covered seat and resting his arms along the back. "What's Alain Pascale's connection with the birth?"

  She tilted her chair back but kept her feet on the floor. "Only an indirect one. When the baby was born he was one of two nominees for the job of royal physician. He was supposed to attend Princess Aimee, but was in the middle of a life-and-death operation when the baby came prematurely. The baby was delivered by Pascale's rival."

  After chasing phantoms on the computer all morning, Garth knew the name. "Dr. Armand Junot, the alcoholic who all but drank himself to death a year ago." Nothing accidental about that.

  She snagged a paper clip and began straightening it out with great concentration. "In those days he was more of a problem drinker. He didn't become a full-blown alcoholic until after Alain Pascale had him dismissed for incompetence."

  "In the process, getting the job Junot wanted," Garth concluded. "Didn't it strike anyone that Pascale may have been biased?"

  "You don't know Alain Pascale. He'd turn himself in if he had good reason."

  "You're saying he couldn't be involved in stealing a royal child and pretending it had died?"

  "His disappearance might look suspicious, but it's so out of character as to be virtually impossible. He's delivered almost every royal baby including Lorne, and appointed himself as their conscience into the bargain. The prince wouldn't let him dictate to him unless he had unshakable faith in his morality. Right now I'm more worried that the doctor is the only lead to what really happened when Louis was born."

  Garth stood up. "Then we'd better find Pascale and his wife before they become the next accident statistic."

  Chapter 6

  "We?" Serena echoed. She let her look play over him, not wanting to admit even to herself that it wasn't exactly a hardship. He'd taken Lorne's invitation literally, outfitting himself from the supply of clothes the prince kept at the summer palace. Also the prince's subtle and very expensive private blend of aftershave lotion, if her keen sense of smell wasn't mistaken.