Saving the Princess

by Helena Newbury

  I tried to hit the man who was strangling me. But he was bigger than me, his arms longer. My fingers scratched and clawed the air an inch short of his face. I tried to pry his hands loose from my throat, but they were iron-hard, trembling with the power he was putting into killing me. The power and the hatred. I could see it in those gray eyes: I disgusted him.

  I thought I heard the handle of my door move and my heart lifted. They were coming in! But then to my horror it went quiet again.

  My eyes searched for something, anything that would make a noise. I was so woozy now, my vision lagged and lurched. The lamp! But it was out of reach of my straining fingers.

  Muffled voices outside. I was hysterical, now, pleading in my mind. Come in! Please! But then I heard heavy footsteps walking away. Garrett! No! I need you!

  My fingers brushed something on the nightstand, smooth and glossy and thick. The magazine! My muscles were going limp, but I summoned all my strength and shoved it as hard as I could. It hit the base of the lamp and sent it skidding towards the edge….

  The assassin heaved me by the throat, pulling me away from the bedside table so I couldn’t do it again. My eyes locked on the lamp. It slowed and came to a stop half off the edge, rocking back and forth.

  The assassin froze on top of me, his eyes on the lamp too. If he released me to catch it, I’d scream. The lamp teetered. Come on, please!

  It fell to the floor with an almighty crash.

  I heard running footsteps outside. But the assassin was squeezing my throat even harder, desperate. My vision narrowed until all I could see were his eyes. My stomach lurched. They’re going to be too late.

  Everything went black.

  15

  Garrett

  I hurled the door open, my stomach knotted. I was praying that I’d find the Princess half-awake, frowning sleepily at something she’d knocked over in her sleep. I’d apologize, close the door and—

  She was limp on the bed. Unmoving. A dark figure knelt over her, his hands locked around her throat.

  I bellowed a wordless cry of rage and surged across the room, fists already coming up. This is my fault! Twice, I’d heard something, but I’d second-guessed my instincts because of my own selfish feelings for her. Never again. If she could just be okay, I’d happily bury those feelings forever. Just let her be alive!

  I lowered my shoulder to ram the bastard off her—

  And suddenly I was knocked sideways. I slammed into the wall and went down. And looked up into the face of the second guy, the one I hadn’t seen, hiding in the shadows.

  I managed to get back to my feet, but he grabbed me and swung me against the wall again. I felt the cheap plaster crack. These guys were tough, definitely military.

  Emerik ran in, dived and tackled the guy on the bed, carrying him down to the floor. The Princess’s body was tugged sideways for a second and then, as her throat was released, she flopped back like a rag doll. Oh Jesus, no!

  I punched my attacker in the guts, then in the face. He was a big guy, but I was pissed and my fists had all my anger behind them. He went staggering backwards, then recovered and came at me again.

  I didn’t have time for this. I had to help her. I pulled the gun out of the back of my waistband and shot him twice in the chest, and he crumpled to the floor.

  Emerik was on the floor on the far side of the bed, tussling with the assassin. I saw the old guy take two good punches in the ribs: he was holding up well, but it was obvious he was losing and I couldn’t shoot, not without risking hitting him. I waded in and kicked instead, hooking my boot right into the assassin’s chest, and he tumbled backwards. Jesus, it was the same pale-faced guy from the plane, the one who’d parachuted out!

  I raised my gun to fire. But the assassin was too quick: he grabbed a vase of flowers off a side table and hurled it at me. It hit the gun and my shot went wide. The vase shattered on the wall to my side, spraying me with fragments. The assassin dived across the bed—Jesus, he was fast—and raced through the open door.

  I took a single step after him... then I looked towards the bed. I didn’t know if she was alive or dead, but no way was I leaving her alone again.

  I jumped onto the bed and fell to my knees, straddling her. She was still silent and unmoving, her head turned to the side, her long hair covering her face. I brushed it back out of the way, but her eyes didn’t open. “Your Highness?” There was no response. “Your Highness! Please!”

  16

  Kristina

  My eyes opened slowly and he was there, his big form looming over me, his hands warming my cheeks. I saw those blue eyes open wide as I woke up and the elation, the sheer joy and relief on his face as he saw I was alive sent a huge, warm throb through my chest.

  Then two huge hands slid underneath me and I was being lifted off the bed and clutched to him like a child. My head was against his, my chin on his shoulder, and every part of me from neck to ankle was pressed against him. His life and warmth soaked into me, bringing me back from the edge.

  It was the best thing I’d ever experienced. I’d never felt so safe.

  I heard other people running into the room. Jakov cursed. Caroline gave a cry of fear. I couldn’t see either of them. I had my eyes firmly closed, focused on just breathing. It felt like my bruised throat was the width of a drinking straw and it was terrifying. The only thing that made it bearable was Garrett.

  It wasn’t just that he was so solid, a wall of muscle between me and those who’d harm me. It wasn’t just the knowledge that he’d smash anyone who threatened me.

  It was the way he held me.

  He held me like he’d never let me go. His whole body was tense against mine, almost trembling with rage and emotion. Everyone else in the room was silent. I knew Emerik must be there, but even he didn’t say something about this being inappropriate and I knew why. He didn’t dare. No one in the world would have dared try to separate Garrett from me, right then.

  At last, my breathing started to ease. Slowly, reluctantly, Garrett put me back down on the bed and I opened my eyes. The others gathered around me. Jakov looked furious. Emerik was pale, sick with fear or... guilt? Caroline was biting her lip, tears in her eyes. And Garrett was looking down at me with an expression of raw, vengeful fury that was growing by the second. His gaze was focused on my neck. They were all looking at my neck.

  I turned to Caroline. God, even turning my neck hurt. I tried to speak, but that was a mistake: it sent me into a fit of coughing that closed my throat up completely and brought tears of pain. Caroline grabbed my hand and held it and Garrett held my other one and all of them watched helplessly until I recovered. “Is it bad?” I rasped to Caroline at last.

  She looked at my throat and tried to force a smile onto her face. “No, Your Highness,” she lied. Then, more firmly, “Nothing make-up won’t cover.”

  Emerik turned away, still looking guilty, and started to pick something up off the floor, something made of pottery that was in pieces.

  “No!” Garrett told him. “Don’t touch that!”

  I expected Emerik to make some scathing comment, but he just nodded meekly and moved away. What’s wrong with him?

  I drew in my breath when I saw the body in the corner. Garrett searched the man’s pockets. “No ID,” he said. “Nothing.” He fetched a towel from the bathroom and used it to cover the body.

  Jakov picked a latex glove up from the bed, then found its partner on the floor. “The bastard wore gloves, so he didn’t leave prints breaking in,” muttered Garrett. “So why would he take them off?”

  I thought, and when I got the answer, I wanted to throw up. “Because he wanted to feel it, as he was strangling me.” I said, my voice a weak rasp. Everyone looked at me in horror. “I saw his eyes. He hated me. He wanted to feel me die.”

  And that’s when it really hit me: it isn’t over. For a few glorious hours, I’d felt safe. I’d felt normal. I thought we’d escaped, but we hadn’t at all. The assassins were still after me. Sick fear crep
t up my body and I turned cold despite the night’s heat.

  “How did they get in?” Caroline asked.

  Everyone looked around. There was only one door and one window next to it and Emerik had been on guard right outside. Then Garrett pointed: one of the ceiling tiles was ajar. He was tall enough that he could reach up and lift it, and we saw a dark crawlspace above. “They must have picked the lock on your door, while we were eating dinner.”

  That whole time I’d been lying in bed, unable to get to sleep, they’d been up there waiting. When I was asleep and defenseless, they’d crept out like spiders and—I shuddered.

  “I need to speak to you alone,” said Garrett.

  Again, Emerik didn’t argue. “We’ll go and patrol,” he said. Then he grabbed Jakov and pulled the younger man with him. That hadn’t changed, then, just how he interacted with Garrett. Caroline followed them out and closed the door.

  Garrett sat down on the corner of my bed. For the first time, I remembered what I was wearing: a traditional, lacy nightgown that was very pretty, but not at all substantial, and the comforter had fallen down to my hips when I sat up. I felt his eyes track down my body before he managed to tear them away and they left a smoldering trail in their wake.

  “We have a problem,” he said. “The FBI didn’t know we were coming here. No one knew we were coming here. I paid in cash and we all threw our phones away so they’re not tracking us that way.” He looked at the body on the floor. “But these guys still managed to find us.”

  I swallowed. “How?”

  Those hard lips pressed together. “One of us is working with the assassins. You trust Caroline?”

  I gaped. “Caroline’s my best friend!”

  “Then one of your guards is a traitor.”

  17

  Garrett

  She’d been brave all the way through this: on the plane, on the highway, even having been strangled half to death. Now, for the first time, she looked truly shaken. The idea that someone so close to her could betray her, hit her right where she lived.

  “You’re wrong,” she croaked. I could hear the pain from her bruised throat every time she spoke and it lit a white-hot anger in my chest. I was going to find the man who’d done this and tear him apart. “There’s got to be another explanation.”

  “There isn’t,” I said.

  Tears shone in her eyes. She trusted those two guards completely.

  I tried to pick my words carefully, wishing I was better at this stuff. I’ve always been about doing, not talking. And it didn’t help that I was mad at myself for failing to protect her. “Your Highness, Jakov—”

  She shook her head. “I know what you’re going to say and—”

  “We can’t just ignore—”

  “No!”

  “You said one of the assassins sounded like he was from Garmania!” I hated snapping at her but she needed to hear it. “Jakov’s folks are from there.”

  “Jakov’s completely loyal. And we don’t know for sure that the assassins are anything to do with Garmania. We’ve heard one man’s accent, that’s it.”

  I stood up and started pacing. I was completely out of my depth. I’m a soldier, not a damn detective! “Then it’s Emerik,” I said at last.

  “That’s even crazier! He’s been protecting me since I was a kid!”

  I shook my head in frustration. We had to figure it out. As long as we had a traitor with us, my plan to get her home via New York was useless: the assassins would set a trap there, or put a bomb on the plane. “One thing I do know,” I told her. “We gotta leave. We got a dead body and folks heard those gunshots. Cops are probably on their way. If they arrest me, that leaves you alone with the guards. Can you travel?”

  She nodded—even that small movement made her wince in pain—and climbed out of bed so that she could get dressed. I swallowed. She was wearing some sort of nightgown, half Victorian, half Victoria’s Secret. It had a high neck and long sleeves and the hem reached down to her ankles. But it was gauzy and, when all the frills stretched out and the light hit it the right way, you could catch glimpses of...everything.

  Then I saw the vivid red finger marks on her neck and I ground my teeth so hard in anger that they ached. My fault. I’d been right outside the goddamn door and I hadn’t come in because I was second-guessing myself. My feelings for her had almost gotten her killed. Never again.

  She grabbed some clothes and ran to the bathroom to get changed. I put my head out of the door and told the others we were leaving, then ducked back inside to wait. I wasn’t leaving the Princess’s side, not tonight.

  “Ready,” she said. She’d thrown on a loose green sweater and the dark jeans. Then she stopped dead. “Wait...if you’re right, if one of the guards is the one working with the assassins...then the FBI are in the clear! They can protect me. They can put me on a flight home!”

  I thought about it, then sighed. “No. Maybe one of the guards told the assassins about the convoy, but they couldn’t have sneaked them on board the plane, or fed them satellite data to help find us in the pipes.” I ran my hand over my face, the exhaustion catching up with me. “We’ve got two problems. Somebody high up, in the FBI or connected to them. And another person, right here in our group.”

  “Someone really wants me dead,” said the Princess in a small voice.

  She suddenly looked so vulnerable. My hands itched with the need to grab her and fold her into my arms. “I’m not gonna let that happen,” I told her. Shit! Was that sirens, in the distance? “Let’s go.”

  But halfway to the door, my foot nudged a piece of the broken vase. I stopped, frowning.

  “What?” the Princess asked.

  I held up my hand: let me think. I felt like there was something important about it. That’s why I’d stopped Emerik from tidying it away. But what?

  “What is it?” she asked. “Don’t we need to hurry?”

  I nodded. I was getting frustrated with myself. Dammit, why aren’t I better at this? In our unit, I was the big, dumb guy. Doing the thinking was Baker’s job. But tonight, all my size and strength hadn’t been enough to protect her. I needed to be more than just a grunt. So I thought. Until, suddenly….

  “When he picked up the vase, he’d already taken the gloves off,” I said with great satisfaction. “He left fingerprints, and they’ll still be on these pieces. We can find out who the bastard is!”

  The Princess drew in her breath and smiled, delighted, and I felt my chest swell with pride. It was the first tiny piece of good luck we’d had. But now we had to get the hell out of there before the cops arrived. I opened the door, hustled her out—

  And my eyes fell on the towel I’d thrown over the body. Blood was soaking through the white fabric in two places, splotches of red merging together into one big stain—

  Suddenly, it wasn’t a towel anymore. It was a bandage around Martinez’s torso. He was lying on a wooden table, howling, begging for relief from the pain, and Felton, our medic, was holding him down. “I can’t give you anything else!” he snapped, and I could hear the raw emotion in his voice. “We’re out! There’s nothing left!”

  The gunfire from the militia was getting closer, no more than fifty feet away, now. I needed to go back out there and help Baker but I was still slumped against the wall, coughing and choking. The dust was blocking my nose and coating the inside of my mouth. It was down in my lungs—

  A hand gripped my arm. One of them was inside the house! I spun around and grabbed the arm, muscles already tensing to break it—

  But the arm felt wrong under my fingers. Soft. Slender.

  Her.

  And suddenly I was back in the motel room. I had the Princess’s arm gripped in both hands, so tight it must be hurting. I released it as if burned, the nausea rising in my throat. Jesus, I was about to break her arm!

  She was looking up at me with huge eyes, terrified. But there was sympathy in her expression, too. It made my chest tighten but it sent a hot wave of shame and anger washin
g through me.

  The sirens were much closer. How long had I frozen for? Seconds? Minutes? I’d put us all at risk again.

  “Come on,” I growled. “We gotta go.”

  18

  Garrett

  We tore out of the motel parking lot just as the whole place lit up red and blue. I drove a few miles, then pulled over at a gas station and called Director Gibson. I didn’t trust the FBI with our safety but I could at least let them help figure out who the assassins were. I filled him in and told him about the prints on the broken vase.

  We sped on through the night, our pickup the lone car moving on the deserted highway. The guards and Caroline were dozing in the back, the Princess up front with me. The guilt built and built in my chest until I finally broke the silence. “I’m sorry, Your Highness,” I muttered.

  “For what?” That beautiful voice, glass-smooth and gentle. It seemed to glow in the darkness, lighting up the dark places.

  “Grabbing you like that.”

  She didn’t answer, but I could feel her looking at me. I stared hard at the road. I knew what was coming. I felt myself tense, felt all that anger and shame rise up and lock me down.

  “It looked like maybe you were remembering something,” she said carefully.

  My forearms flexed. The steering wheel creaked. But there was something about that voice. It coated my mind like cool running water, calming me. Everything was still locking down, but more slowly.

  “What was it?” she prompted.

  I owed her an explanation, but I couldn’t let those memories out. I couldn’t handle reliving it all, or seeing Baker’s face again. And I didn’t want her to see what a mess I was. Bad enough that she must be terrified of me, now.

  “Nothing I want to talk about,” I muttered.