Jewel of Solana

by Susan Sheehey

  Flynn licked at her nipple like an ice cream cone, relentless and thorough. She clung to him, letting each wave of building inferno crest with every suckle. He hummed over the incredibly sensitive nub, and it vibrated through her chest.

  “I didn’t know it could be like this,” she panted. She dragged a hand through his hair again, loving his tongue’s soft texture.

  “Like what?” he murmured, massaging her other breast with his free hand, paying equal attention to her nipple.

  “Is it always this consuming?”

  Flynn stopped and stared up into her eyes. The flushed cheeks faded slightly, but his lips were still full and red. He breathed heavily, yet the wary look spreading across his face made her swallow.

  “Is this your first?”

  “I…does it matter?” Is it that obvious?

  “Yes,” he answered simply, the creases in his forehead deepening. He leaned back in the chair, the distance between their chests now a mile wide.

  Was I doing something wrong? The warm tingle through her body chilled.

  Instinctively, she covered herself. Flynn dragged his hands over his scalp and grimaced.

  “Jesus, I can’t believe I almost…”

  “Como?” All the warmth in her body shifted to her cheeks. “You’re saying no?”

  “Of course, I’m saying no.” He grasped her by the hips again and lifted her off his lap. She plopped into a chair, humiliation infiltrating every pore. “This is your first time, and you don’t even know me.”

  The light in his emerald eyes faded and jawline hardened. The hazy, lustful look drifted to anger. Anger?

  “I trust you,” she replied, wincing at the naïve sound in her voice. “Can’t you sense the good in someone by looking at them?”

  “You trust a complete stranger?” The words harsh and bitter, his blunt tone was like a slap in the face. Flynn stood and adjusted his shorts. He scowled and then drained the glass of water on the table.

  Alanna went to fire back, but the words lodged in her throat. She did trust him. He’d saved her with no foreseeable gain. He was as attracted to her as she to him. Even more, the attraction was to her, not the crown. For the first time ever, someone liked who she was, not what.

  Disbelief flashed in his green eyes. “Is this all about getting the necklace back? Seduce me so I’d believe your story, and just hand it over. I thought you were better than that. I planned to…”

  A moment of pain flashed across his face, and he turned away.

  Her face stung as if he’d really slapped her, and something akin to heartburn filled her chest. The thought to seduce over the jewels had never crossed her mind. Romantic relationships up until this point had been taboo. The one quasi-relationship she had ended before it ever had a chance to really begin. Now Flynn thought of her as nothing more than a common provocateur.

  “How dare you accuse me of something so despicable and slanderous!” She whirled around to find he’d already walked off, escaping to the bridge.

  With no acknowledgement that he’d heard her. Or believed her. He left her alone with the outrage and embarrassment, the three, full bowls of pasta still steaming on the table. Worse, with the overwhelming pain of reality.

  THE CLOSER THEY CAME TO Manila, the more crowded the waterways grew with freight tankers and fishing vessels. The occasional cruise ship or yacht floated by in the distance, as if on sea-foam carpets. Alanna watched most of them from her starboard side cabin window, her hope dwindling with the sunlight.

  After the disastrous evening with Flynn, she escaped to her room for the rest of the night and most of the following day with no appetite to entice her from the room, and wounded pride to keep her there. The knowledge that he thought so little of her made the situation bleaker. Like she needed a worse scenario.

  Instead of wallowing all night in the misery her life had become, she focused on the arrival to the Philippines. As a visiting dignitary in distress, she’d need to visit the consulate as soon as possible. Granted, in the cartel’s backyard, but she figured that would be the last place anyone would expect her to go. She ran through the words she’d need to say, an official statement and request for temporary asylum. With as much diplomacy as her father had shared with the Philippines over the years, someone in the government would recognize her. Especially since her photo had been all over the news, even in Palau.

  Alanna climbed out of the shower and dried off. Her clothes hung on the rack in the bathroom, where she hoped the steam would release the wrinkles. With no makeup or styling products, she hardly looked the regal expectation, but she’d make herself as presentable as possible. Mere cleanliness would have to do.

  Manila Bay held a greener tint than the rest of the sea, as if a storm just passed through, but the early evening sun still highlighted the lush vegetation of the islands. Not as spectacular a sight as Solana, but still beautiful in its own right.

  The city of Manila itself was a towering metropolis against the tropic landscape. Metal, glass, and concrete overtook the land in a breathtaking mockery of paradise. Barely any greenscape—at least not visible from the shore as the rest of the coastline. Not at all like Solana. It was one of the things Alanna loved about her home country. Despite all the development and progress, they still maintained the island’s natural beauty for the tourists. El Jardin Royal, the most exquisite and exotic garden commissioned by the first Queen of Solana, had been showcased in more than a dozen travel magazines as one of the pride and joys of Micronesia.

  The drastic commercialism and deforestation of Manila made her miss home even more.

  Four police boats circled the yacht, their red and blue lights flashing, followed by a custom’s vessel idling along the starboard bow. With armed officers.

  Something heavy dragged on Alanna’s stomach. She doubted this was a secure escort for a visiting dignitary. Which meant they were either here to arrest her, or at the very least confiscate Luna de Azul.

  Alanna forced a deep breath. It didn’t matter. Once they knew who she was, everything would work out. She was sure of it.

  When she climbed the stairs to the main deck, her confidence wobbled. Six armed officers crowded the salon, automatic weapons strapped around their shoulders. Both Dean and Flynn were interrogated by separate officials with serious faces.

  “Is this her?” one of them asked, his eyes not warming in the least. He was young, maybe mid-twenties with an air of superiority as thick as his short, black hair. Or perhaps it was his finger hovering over the trigger.

  Before she could respond, another official turned to her. “Your passport, Miss.”

  Alanna glanced across the room at Flynn, who looked like he just swallowed a rotten mango. His eyes were sharp, his stance too defensive.

  Trust no one, Rona’s father had said. Get to a U.S. Consulate. These guards didn’t look like the trusting type. It was probably better to keep up her false identity—at least for now.

  Alanna dug in her bag and handed him the fake passport. The man compared her to the picture, and then input something into the electronic device he held. He scanned her information and pressed more buttons. The man looked at her again. A stare that lasted longer than she liked. Chills danced on her neck.

  “You’re from Solana. The purpose of your visit, Miss Kalani?”

  “A temporary visit,” she answered with her diplomatic voice. Soft and sure. “Until the danger on Solana is over. I’m sure you’ve seen the news.”

  “The property you’re bringing into the country,” the man continued, clearly unconcerned with the danger to which she referred, “is over the limit for our custom’s regulations. I will need you to come with us to file the proper paperwork, while we scan our system to ensure it’s not reported stolen.”

  “I didn’t steal it,” she returned sharply.

  “That may be, Miss Kalani, but we must follow procedure to check. At the very least, you need to pay the proper duty on property of this value to bring it into the Philippines.” />
  Another man handed the official a clear plastic bag. Inside was Luna de Azul. Mustache sealed the passport inside it. Alanna’s heart raced, and she looked at Dean. He appeared less nauseated than Flynn, but his jaw still flexed with a distinct scowl, judgment flaring in his eyes. Though he wasn’t looking at her. The scowl was aimed at the custom’s official.

  “Confiscating property over the legal limit requires five armed guards and police escorts?” Since Dean and Flynn had stayed silent the whole time, it was up to her to cut through the crap splattered on the newly painted walls. Something was wrong.

  Dean shifted on his feet, while Flynn’s jaw tightened. They must have thought the same thing.

  “You two are free to enter Manila,” the man directed at her co-passengers, skimming over her veiled accusation. “You must come with us, Miss Kalani.” The way he kept saying her fake name, like he was in on some joke she didn’t know, made her toes itch in her oversized shoes.

  “I’ll go with you,” Flynn announced.

  Relief washed over her, smoothing the goosebumps skittering up her arms. As if he was the glimmer of hope in this ever-darkening mess. She wouldn’t be alone. Her guardian was back.

  Everyone else looked at him like he just shouted Bingo in a retirement home. Except Dean, who uncrossed his arms and shook his head.

  “That won’t be necessary, sir,” the customs man replied, his thin mustache twitching. He held out his hand to Alanna. “This way.”

  His wrinkled fingers were anything but inviting. More like greedy claws that would snatch her wrist in a split second.

  “I’m going with her,” Flynn repeated more clearly.

  The customs man rolled his eyes. “Are you a relative, sir?”

  “No.”

  “Then you aren’t permitted.”

  “Not permitted? For filling out paperwork? What law states that?”

  “Me! I say that!” The man glared at Flynn. Alanna jumped at the sharp change in the man’s voice and demeanor, but Flynn didn’t cower as Mustache stepped closer to him. “I’m the law on this boat. Do you want to be detained for interfering with a custom’s investigation?”

  “This is ludicrous.” Flynn fisted his hands. Dean shushed him, but her savior pressed on. “Alanna, call me as soon as you get finished.” His eyes flashed at the official. “This is not interfering. This is gross overuse of power run amuck.”

  Dean grabbed Flynn’s arm, and whispered something in his ear. Flynn didn’t look happy about whatever he said, but relented and stepped back. Alanna’s glimmer of hope faded, and her stomach squeezed in on itself.

  “I apologize, sir.” Dean moved forward. “It’s been a long voyage. We’ll cooperate in any way you need.”

  “I advise you to finish your business in Manila quickly, and be on your way.” Almost on cue, two of the guards ushered Alanna onto the side deck.

  Alanna’s mouth went dry the instant her feet reached outside. A panicked glance at Flynn revealed his fiery eyes glued to hers. Something in his demeanor made her worry more. Why else would he have insisted on coming with her? And continue to argue when denied?

  The dense, tropical air engulfed her instantly, the sun’s setting rays beating down on her like a spotlight. The mass of armed men followed behind her, their steps clogging the sounds of the sea. The customs official climbed down the ladder to the immigration boat first, then waited for her to follow. The eight-foot drop to the vessel below might as well have been thirty feet.

  Finally, her feet touched the deck of the other boat, and an unfriendly arm pulled her away from the side. Alanna gripped the rail, scared to take her eyes off the Breezy Dreams. As they pushed off, the chill of isolation rained over her. Then Flynn appeared on the side deck. His green eyes glimmered in the sunlight with an ethereal glow that made her soul ache, but his face was hard.

  This was it. Her stomach twisted as they throttled away, her arms trembling at the growing space between them. There was nowhere to run.

  Then he nodded. Just once.

  She had no idea what it meant. A goodbye, a see-you-soon, or you-get-what-you-deserve. But the move bolstered her resolve. She cast aside the rising fear, tipped her shoulders back and held her head a little higher. After all, she was a Peralta. Centuries of royalty flowed in her veins. That had to count for more than just luck.

  “AT LEAST FAKE THAT YOU’RE listening by looking at me,” Dean complained.

  Flynn gripped the beer bottle, staring at the edges of the red label peeling from the condensation. A shitty product for an overpriced fermentation process. He swallowed the lukewarm ale, the chatter in the Yacht Club Bar secondary to Dean’s.

  “Dammit, Flynn.” Dean slammed down his bottle, and three drops splattered across the wooden surface. “It’s done. Another delivery in the books. The client is mostly happy and we fly home tomorrow. Let it go.”

  Let it go. It had been two hours and seventeen minutes since Alanna disappeared from his sights a second time. The horrible twist in his stomach—like the first time in Palau that told him something was wrong—squeezed his insides. Only worse this time. So much worse, it made his beer taste horrible and drew further on his obsessive tendencies.

  “You can’t tell me none of this bothers you,” Flynn bit out. “This situation doesn’t scrape your brain like a steel brush on your ass? Who sends five armed guards? Hell, you hadn’t even called in the theft yet.”

  “Of course, it’s fishy. But it’s not our problem.” Dean guzzled his beer. He cursed through a sigh. “She’s not our responsibility. Our job was to deliver that ship in one piece, on schedule. And we did. Job done, money banked. Besides, she’ll be fine. Don’t fixate on another project that has nothing to do with us.”

  “An unfinished project.”

  Dean stopped mid-sip. “Her unfinished project. Not ours. You do realize the difference, right?”

  Flynn shook his head. An unsolved problem had to be fixed. Otherwise they worsened. They festered in the mind and degraded the intelligence of those who could fix it.

  “Your father is pissed enough already. Don’t obsess over it. Just finish your damn beer and head to the hotel for a decent night’s sleep. You have your plane ticket?”

  Flynn nodded absently. Dean signed the credit card slip and stood from the cushioned stool. He slung his bag over his shoulder, the duffel containing everything he’d brought with him on the trip, including the weapons he’d have to check at the airport.

  “If nothing else, remember this: you’re in a foreign country. Governments do not operate on what you consider common sense. If you make a scene, they’ll incarcerate you just because they can. Don’t give them a reason to lock you up.”

  Flynn turned his head, but didn’t look Dean in the eye.

  Governments do not operate on common sense.

  The twisting worsened.

  “Just be on that plane tomorrow morning.” Dean slapped Flynn’s back and left.

  The bar was mostly empty. A pair of men in business suits sipped on mixed drinks in the corner. The restaurant on the other side of the glass partition started to fill with the dinner crowd, seeking a four-star meal. With the air conditioners blasting full-force, it was an upscale place to escape the exhausting humidity and heat from outside.

  But it was the view opposite from the entrance that pulled on his attention. The water. A small port sectioned off with concrete and stone that separated it from the rest of the bay reserved for Yacht Club members. It was full of small yachts and sailboats.

  The sun had turned orange, casting an eerie glow across the bay. He used to think of that amber color as calming; the world going to sleep. Not tonight. More like a beacon for the dredges of a dark city, summoning them to wreak havoc on civilization.

  Was it a coincidence the beacon appeared at the same time he docked in port?

  The bartender stepped over. “Would you like another?”

  Flynn shook his head. He took a swig and eyed the television’s reflection in th
e mirror behind the bartender. More specifically, the picture on the news channel.

  Flynn turned in his stool, the beer threatening to regurgitate in his throat.

  Alanna’s picture on CNN.

  She appeared younger in the photo, her smile more reserved, yet a much stronger glint in her eyes. Her hair was twirled up on top of her head in an ornate braided bun made to accentuate the elaborate sapphire and diamond tiara.

  “Princess Alanna Peralta of Solana has still not been found after the initial attack on the Royal Palace. It is now believed she has been kidnapped by the terrorists. The king and crown prince of the small South Pacific island were assassinated during the strike, and her exiled brother—who lives in the United States—was also attacked in a coordinated assault. He is now missing as well. Under Solanian Royal Law, Princess Alanna is the sole heir to the throne.”

  Flynn’s jaw dropped.

  A princess. Every conversation he ever had with her replayed in his mind. Of banquets and fancy dishes. She couldn’t make toast or pasta, but was an exceptional sailor. Insanely formal with strangers, and carried the most elaborate jewels he’d ever seen. Every puzzle piece finally fit together.

  “The terrorists—believed to be controlled by the Lozano cartel in Manila—have full control of the island. A few recordings of the attack are finding their way to the Internet from citizens trapped in the chaos. A warning to our viewers, you’ll want to remove small children from the room as some images are graphic.”

  The news flashed grainy images of a lush island and a large palace with smoke pluming from the roof. Bright flashes of grenades or rocket launchers lit up the night sky, amidst the chaos of rapid gunfire and high-pitched cries.

  His stomach sank at the memory of the night they met.

  She’d run right through all that madness. Holy shit.

  Another cell phone video showed someone recording from behind a car as a mass of men in black fatigues lit up a government building with bullets, stepping over a few dead bodies in the street in the process. When one of the armed men turned toward the car, the video shut off.