Operation: Monarch

by Valerie Parv

  "I'll notify them as backup, but I don't think we should wait."

  She could practically hear the wheels turning in the monarch's brain, as he evaluated the risk to Dr. Pascale and his wife and reached the same conclusion she had. "Do it," he said, his tone banishing any hint of indecisiveness. Another pause, then, "Get Alain and Helen out of there in one piece. Keep me informed."

  "I will, sir," she said and replaced the receiver.

  Garth folded his arms. "I take it we're good to go?"

  She couldn't resist it. "I'm good to go."

  Muttering an oath, he reached for the phone, but she put her hand on top of his. The heat radiating from him almost made her pull away. "No need to call the palace. Lorne's instructions include you."

  He slid off the desk, impatience in every line of his body. "This may come as a surprise to you, but it wouldn't make any difference."

  "That's what I told Prince Lorne."

  Garth looked annoyed at being read so accurately, then eased into a relaxed pose that didn't fool her for a minute. "His response?"

  "He wants his friends back in one piece."

  "Then we agree on our objective."

  She caught his arm. "Why do you care enough to risk your neck? It's my job, but the navy kicked you out. By all rights you should be Carramer First's biggest fan."

  He looked at her hand on his arm. "The doctor and his wife are innocent victims. I don't like injustice in any form."

  She wished she could tell him what Prince Lorne had told her about the investigation into Garth's dismissal from the navy, then realized it also wouldn't make any difference. As long as Garth knew he wasn't at fault, it would be enough for him. He didn't need her validation any more than he needed Prince Lorne's. Slowly she let her hand slide to her side.

  "Then we'd better get some rest. We won't be able to approach Black Cat Cay until after dark, so we can finalize our plans tomorrow."

  * * *

  She disliked inactivity almost as much as Garth hated injustice, but she saw the sense in being well-rested before setting off on their mission. Whatever they had to deal with on Black Cat Cay would be easier if they were fresh and alert.

  Rest didn't come easily, and she wondered if Garth had fared much better by the time they met for breakfast. Six hours of sleep, most of it fitful, had left her feeling worse than when she went to bed.

  "One thing I'll say for royalty, the coffee is excellent," Garth observed when she joined him. His new-minted appearance banished any suggestion of a bad night. In front of him was a plate piled with sausages, eggs and at least three pieces of toast.

  She poured herself a cup of coffee from a silver carafe, breathing in the fragrant steam before taking her first sip. "Wonderful," she murmured, feeling the liquid spread warm tentacles through her. She looked around. She must be getting used to having servants wait on her, when she noticed them only in their absence. "Where is everybody?"

  "I told them we'd serve ourselves. I'm getting tired of being fussed over."

  Delicious aromas were coming from silver covers ranged along a buffet. She lifted the first one to reveal fluffy omelets laced with herbs. Replacing the cover, she worked her way along the row until she came to grilled tomatoes and field mushrooms glistening with butter. She began to fill a plate.

  She topped the food with a croissant and sat down opposite him. "If the DNA test comes back positive, you won't have a choice," she pointed out.

  "There's always a choice. I could abolish the monarchy."

  "You wouldn't."

  "No, I wouldn't. Like it or not, the institution has served the country well. I just don't plan on living in an institution."

  She lowered her fork. "If you turn out to be the true heir, you're going to step aside in favor of Prince Lorne."

  He nodded. "So fast your head will spin."

  She wondered if Lorne had guessed. "Carramer First isn't going to like that."

  He steered toast around his plate, mopping up egg yolk. When he looked up, she saw the flash of anger in his gaze before he blanked it. "Their agenda isn't going to dictate how I live my life."

  "You hate this, don't you?"

  He glanced around the morning room. Sunlight streamed through the leadlight windows, gleaming off the antique furnishings, oil paintings and crested silverware. "As a luxury vacation it has its moments, but I won't have any regrets about returning to my own life."

  "It's your life I'm talking about. How do you deal with finding out that everything you believed about yourself could be a lie?"

  "The same way you deal with anything, one day at a time. Not that I expect you to understand. You've always been a planner, a goal setter."

  His matter-of-fact tone did little to soften the criticism she heard. "Is there something wrong with that?"

  He shrugged. "It works for a time. Then something like this happens and plans go right out the window."

  "If you don't have goals, what do you work toward? What do you hope for?"

  "To stay alive and healthy." He pushed his plate away. "What do you want me to say? That I dream of a house with a picket fence, an adoring wife and one point five kids?"

  "You don't dream of those things any more than I do." To her ears, the words didn't carry as much conviction as they should have.

  "It helps if you have the right role models."

  It was the first time he'd come close to admitting that his family life had left a lot to be desired. "Mine weren't much better," she said. The best she could say about her parents was that they had stayed together through thick and thin. Her mother often joked that they were the only two people who'd put up with them.

  "They loved you."

  She stared at him in amazement. "They exploited me, you said it yourself."

  "They didn't see it that way."

  "How the devil can you know that?"

  "I saw you together when they came to the school. They could hardly take their eyes off you. They wanted the whole world to appreciate your beauty and your talents."

  Choked because she didn't want to think of them in that light, she turned away. "We should talk about the mission."

  "We did that last night. Oh, I get it. It's okay to analyze me, but you don't like the tables being turned. No wonder there's no one close in your life."

  "My career keeps me too busy," she stated, annoyed at the defensiveness she couldn't keep out of her voice. She'd had her share of affairs. So what, if none of them had lasted? She liked her life the way it was. She didn't want the picket fences and children any more than Garth did. Too much risk of turning into a clone of her mother, depending on her children to fulfill her fantasies. He might think her parents had pushed her into modeling out of love for her, but she knew differently.

  "No biological clock ticking away?"

  She shifted uncomfortably. Whenever she baby-sat for her former partner and his wife, she felt something, but she wasn't about to admit it to him. "When this is over I might get a puppy."

  He rolled his eyes. "I suppose you want a fluffy white thing small enough so you can carry it around?"

  "It's more than you're prepared to let into your life."

  "I had a dog once," he said unexpectedly.

  "Let me guess, a Rottweiler."

  "Close. A mixed breed big enough to plant both paws on my shoulders when he stood up."

  "What happened to him?"

  "When I joined the navy, I gave him to the friend who's lending us the boat."

  "Do you visit?"

  He shook his head. "What would be the point? I'd only confuse his loyalties."

  And he talked about her dodging commitment. Maybe they should get something going. At least they wouldn't expect it to last till death did them part.

  The forced closeness must be affecting her thinking, she decided, aware of a warmth rampaging through her that had nothing to do with the coffee. If she hadn't been thrust into this situation with Garth, he would be the last man she'd imagine having any kind of re
lationship with.

  She wasn't that much of a masochist.

  The reality check didn't stop her imagination from running riot. She already knew his kiss tasted of pure seduction. It wasn't a big leap to imagine what would come after. Pure arousal ripped through her, soul deep and powerful, hammering at the boundaries she'd constructed so carefully around herself. She wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh, scream or wrap her arms around him so tightly he'd never let her go.

  She'd never felt this way about any man and didn't want to now. The problem was, she had no idea what to do about it.

  It was going to be a long day. And that was before taking the mission ahead of them into account.

  Chapter 8

  As Garth pushed the door of his friend's house open, a blur of movement had Serena dropping into a defensive crouch until her brain caught up with her reflexes. "Good grief, is that a dog?"

  The creature standing on its back legs with both massive front paws planted on Garth's chest looked more like a jet-propelled carpet than an animal. Its coat was the shaggy gray of an Irish wolfhound with a body that was part setter and part lion, and quite possibly larger than either.

  Garth ruffled the thick fur around the ears, and the animal growled in delight. At least she hoped it was delight. Then he set the animal back on its haunches. "Serena, meet Gusto." A shaggy paw was extended. "Go ahead, shake hands."

  "You're sure he won't take it off at the wrist?" The dog looked more than capable.

  "I'm sure."

  She let the dog sniff her hand first, then took the huge paw and shook it. "Hi, Gusto. Pleased to meet you, I think."

  "His name is really Cousteau, after the marine biologist who invented scuba gear, but Brett started calling him Gusto and he seems to like it."

  "Judging by the welcome, it suits him better. Is this Brett's house?"

  Garth nodded. "His dog, too."

  So he was the friend who had taken custody of Gusto when Garth joined the navy. Seeing the dog glued to Garth's side, she wasn't sure that Gusto had entirely transferred his allegiance, no matter how many years had passed. The sight of such devotion made her uneasy. She had always been too busy to have an animal in her life. Why did it feel like a lack suddenly?

  "Where is his nominal master?" she asked.

  "Checking on the boat. He told me to use my key."

  "You two must be close."

  "We did DARE training together."

  This was the first time he'd volunteered any information about his friend since they set off from Allora. During the helicopter flight he'd assured her that Brett Curtin was loyal to the crown and would help them in any way he could. None of this was news to her since she'd had Matt run a background check before letting Garth contact his friend. Garth's revelation of his true role in Carramer First had made her wary. She didn't want any more unpleasant surprises.

  So she knew that Brett had been invalided out of the navy after an accident, the nature of which wasn't specified. But if they had served together, why had Garth given his friend the dog? Brett would have had the same problem taking care of an animal as Garth himself.

  Her first sight of Brett solved the mystery. He was a big man, as tall as Garth but more solid around the chest, with muscular arms that felt as if they could break her in two when he wrapped them around her in greeting. He was obviously no shrinking violet. And he had just as obviously lost one leg below the knee.

  Her questioning look swung to Garth but he was playing tug-of-war with the dog. Then it dawned on her. He hadn't wanted to part with Gusto, who had been living happily with his parents. He had wanted to give his injured friend a companion. A lump the size of an orange jumped into her throat. How many more facets of Garth was she going to uncover before this was over?

  Garth embraced Brett, almost knocking the crutches out from under his friend. "You should feed your dog better. When we walked in here he tried to eat Serena."

  Brett looked at her in concern. "Did he hurt you?"

  "Not unless you count being licked to death." The dog's banner tail was liable to do more damage as it battered her. She pushed it aside, and the dog parked himself at her feet, leaning heavily against her side. "Thanks for letting us use your boat. Did Garth tell you what we need it for?"

  The test question won her a black look from Garth, but Brett shook his head. "I didn't ask."

  Thank goodness for DARE training, she thought, happy to avoid further explanations or worse, lie to Garth's friend about their mission. She had taken a liking to Brett Curtin at first sight, but the fewer people who knew what was going on the better. They had left the helicopter and royal pilot at Perla's private airport. He had no more idea of what his passengers were up to than Brett did.

  "Lunch?"

  Hearing the magic word, Gusto's tail thumped furiously. She followed Brett into a vast country-style kitchen, seating herself at a wooden table beside Garth while their host pottered around. From the easy way he used the crutches, she assumed his injury had happened some time ago.

  As Gusto settled himself on her foot, she looked around with interest. In contrast to the almost sterile neatness of the living room, the kitchen was painted a sunny yellow and cheerfully cluttered with maritime memorabilia and boating magazines. Not hard to discern Brett's passion, she thought.

  The rich patina of old timber suggested generations of family use. A set of open French doors led down a ramp to an overgrown garden. Beyond it she could see a jetty jutting out into an arm of the harbor, presumably where Brett's boat was anchored.

  He put a plate of doorstep-size sandwiches and a jug of ice water on the table then sat down, propping the crutches beside him. He gave her a long, assessing look. "Your taste is improving, Garth."

  To her annoyance she felt color flood her neck and face. She never blushed. But there was something oddly appealing about Brett's backhanded compliment. As if she liked being mistaken for Garth's latest. And considered an improvement.

  Refusing to let herself wonder about the women in his life that she might be an improvement on, she bit into a roast beef sandwich. English mustard seared her throat. Seeing her eyes tear, Garth offered her water. "I should have warned you. Brett likes a little meat with his mustard."

  As she took the glass, her fingers brushed his. Tension powered through her, the effect of the mustard tame by comparison. Someone should have warned her, she thought. She gulped water. "I'm okay, I like hot things, too." Her look dared Garth to read a single, solitary thing into her statement.

  He did, she saw by the flames leaping into his gaze, but to his credit he kept quiet. He had possibilities, she decided. She took a more cautious bite of sandwich and decided the mustard added something. But she kept the ice water handy. When the thick crusts proved too much of a challenge, she slipped them under the table. Gusto didn't seem to mind the mustard.

  By the time the sun was an orange ball balancing on the horizon, she and Gusto were best friends. Brett wasn't far behind. She could see why Garth was so fond of the man. He answered her questions without asking any of his own, although he must have been curious.

  They were relaxing—or trying to—on a wide planked deck behind his house. Screened by a thick growth of trees, it was totally private except for the section looking toward the harbor. "What else can you tell us about Black Cat Cay?" she asked. They had spent the afternoon going over charts and maps, but that wasn't the same as local knowledge. Garth had dived in the vicinity but without landing on the island.

  "It's a long, thin island with two small peaks to the north and a thin spit of land to the east. If you have a good imagination they represent the cat's ears and tail. The black part comes from the thick stands of trees fringing the leeward side."

  "And the cay part?"

  "Most islands are originally the tops of mountains once attached to the mainland. In prehistory, the land sinks and the sea floods the low parts, cutting off the islands from the new coast. A true coral cay is made from the skeletons of coral polyp
s built up on the sea bed over millennia," Garth explained. "As time passes, waves, tide and wind break up the coral turning it into boulders, then shingle and finally sand that's piled up by waves and wind until an island forms."

  She nodded. "Then the sea birds move in, deposit their droppings and make soil, so wind-and waterborne seed can take root."

  Garth's lazy grin acknowledged the accuracy of her conclusion. "Here endeth the lesson."

  Brett levered himself to his feet and reached for his crutches. "Is this the part where I go make coffee?"

  "Sounds good." As Brett had guessed, she needed to talk to Garth privately, and the caffeine would provide fuel for the job ahead.

  "I'll help you bring it out when it's ready," Garth said.

  She waited until Brett was inside. "I like your friend."

  "He likes you."

  He made it sound as if she was one of a select few. "How did he lose the leg?"

  "Somebody else's war."

  When he didn't elaborate, she let it rest. Carramer had been at peace for a thousand years, but they occasionally lent their military expertise to other countries when the cause was just. Like America's Navy SEALs, the DAREs were highly trained and equipped for peacetime rescue or operational duty.

  Garth had been one of them. A shudder gripped her as she imagined him in Brett's place. Brett could even have been injured on the same mission. Slowly she let the air out of her lungs. She needed to concentrate on the here and now. Rescuing Dr. Pascale and his wife was her priority. She would keep Garth well out of it because of who he was or might be. Not because she needed to keep him safe for herself.

  She had to believe it.

  By the time Brett yelled that the coffee was ready, she had quelled Garth's protests and outlined exactly how she wanted to proceed. If he didn't think that was enough action for him, too bad. This was her show.

  He went into the kitchen. Their voices reached her as a low murmur, and she heard laughter. Was Garth talking about her to Brett? What was he saying?

  When the two men came out bearing steaming cups and a plate of mango muffins, she had almost convinced herself she didn't care. Almost.